tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72472583928813629912024-03-13T00:51:59.901-07:00the second best timeThe best time to plant a tree is 25 years ago. The second best time is now. A blog from a late developer and notorious daydreamerBookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.comBlogger67125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-42635483099386105062016-01-21T00:53:00.000-08:002016-01-24T00:42:44.079-08:00David Bowie and the Importance of Failure...LIKE everyone - like you - I've been reading a lot about David Bowie over the last couple of weeks. I have wallowed in the old songs, compiled my own mental Bowie's Greatest Hits and then revised it the moment I heard another half-forgotten classic come on BBC 6 Music. (current fave song: Everyone Says Hi: a kind of Kooks aimed at the child now grown up... It says we're here for you, don't stay in a sad place...)<br />
<br />
But in all the coverage I've read or heard, there's been are still a couple of things no one else has said. And it's how about important failure is in the Bowie story. How long it took him to find his artistic voice.<br />
<br />
The Man That Would Become Bowie - David Jones - first appears to the nation as the well spoken 17 year old spokesperson for the SPCLHM - say what? It's okay, I'll help you out. That's the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Long Haired Men. Under the avuncular questioning of Cliff Michelmore young Jones and his fellow sixth formers complain in a mild sort of way that they are called 'darling' as they walk down Carnaby Street. The group get most excited when Cliff suggests their look is influenced in any way by Britain's Newest Hitmakers The Rolling Stones. No, no, no they say with one alarmed voice. Though you have to say that David looks the very spit of Brian Jones. There's one good gag. A kid is talking about possibly organising a protest march on the lines of the recent CND ones and someone off camera - I really hope it's David - quips that they could call it Baldermaston. Get it? Oh, suit yourselves.<br />
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You can see it here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5zxeLwUSdk">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m5zxeLwUSdk</a><br />
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Then he disappears from the radar and there are determined attempts to break into the pop charts with standard issue beat groups like Davy Jones and The Lower Third. These songs aren't necessarily rubbish exactly, but they are not The Who, they are not The Pretty Things (the acts Davy would like them to be) and they're certainly not ground-breaking, innovative or any of the things we love him for.<br />
<br />
You can hear the Lower Third here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgVfAkIOTOo">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BgVfAkIOTOo</a><br />
<br />
And then there is the name change (so as not to be confused with the Monkee Davy Jones) the early solo singles, the Antony Newley impersonations. There is The Laughing Gnome.<br />
<br />
The song is a ridiculous cockernee knees-up of the kind that Tommy 'flash-bang-wallop-wot-a-picture' Steele might have thought was a little silly. It's good-natured, it's full of cracker joke puns ('haven't you got a gnome to go?' etc). It's a breezy novelty song and on the strength of it, you could not have predicted that its singer was going to be any kind of important cultural figure. It would be like thinking Father Abraham of Smurfs fame was going to reshape the entire pop landscape.<br />
<br />
You can see an animated video of it here: <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Oet1pKb0Vo">https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1Oet1pKb0Vo</a><br />
<br />
Imagine if it had been a hit. It was enough a millstone as it was without anyone actually buying it. Imagine if he'd had to try and live it down if it had been huge. (Famously the folk-punk group The Men They Couldn't Hang played it while supporting Bowie on his Greatest Hits tour, much to the Thin White Duke's chagrin)<br />
<br />
He left novelty pop to the likes of The Barron Knights but still the failures went on. There were the mime years. And he wasn't even a big noise in the world of mime.<br />
<br />
Even after Space Oddity was a TV tie in hit (released to coincide with the first moon landings) it looked like Bowie was destined to be a one hit wonder. You could make a very decent album from the Bowie singles of the early 1970s that flopped. Moonage Daydream, Hang On To Yourself, The Prettiest Star, even Changes all got nowhere first time around.<br />
<br />
There was a brief flirtation with a new band. The Hype even played a few gigs.<br />
<br />
By the time of his real break through with Ziggy Stardust in 1972 he's been at it for a long time. (yes, Ziggy, because even the magnificent Hunky Dory didn't really connect with the wider public at the time. Didn't make the charts at all. Not even number 73. Hunky Dory. Flopped. The cognescenti loved it, but one of the things about Bowie was that he wasn't that interested in the cognescenti. He always wanted hits.)<br />
<br />
Anyway by the time he was a proper star he was 25 (pretty middle-aged to be a new pop act back then) and had been trying to Make It Big for eight long years. This was an ice age in pop's most fast moving years.<br />
<br />
And all the failures and the frustrations gave him the impetus and time to explore back streets and alleyways pop artists don't usually go down. Allowed Bowie to develop something fully worked out. By the time he finally got a platform he knew exactly what he wanted to say and exactly how he wanted to say it. He was like a lottery winner who'd spent every day of the previous decade planning how he'd spend the loot if he were ever to get his hands on it.<br />
<br />
Bowie is possibly the finest example of the success of the mature student. By which I mean talent plus a restless, frustrated curiousity, plus being ignored when others among your peers are getting ahead, plus sudden unexpected opportunities plus a sense that time is running out.<br />
<br />
We all remember this from University, where the mature students were better prepared for study than any of the rest of us. Maybe you've been that mature student too.<br />
<br />
And Bowie so understood the importance of experiment and failure to his own work that he almost deliberately courted it whenever he seemed to feel inspiration flagging. Invited failure into the studio as a means of pushing himself towards success.<br />
<br />
And he didn't just Fail. Fail again. Fail better. (To use Beckett's famous one liner) quite often he failed worse. The Tin Machine is just the most obvious example of this, but among all the genius music there are examples throughout his career of ill-advised excursions into idioms he just doesn't master. You could, if you could be bothered, put together a sort of anti-Greatest Hits. Rubbish Bowie tracks sprinkled amongst the great stuff. Turds scattered over the diamond heap if you like.<br />
<br />
Anyway, my point in writing this is to stress how artists, if they are to fulfil their potential and purpose, need the freedom to fail. They also need the space and time to fail (proper time too. They might need years.) Artists need to have their Laughing Gnomes supported every bit as much as their Ziggy's. The one might lead to the other, even if the path isn't straight-forward and we can't see it yet. <br />
<br />
Recently I've become interested in the possibilities of older people as emerging artists and the story of David Bowie is quite inspiring in this context. But that's another blog post probably.<br />
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<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-42163044195021962392015-09-10T08:13:00.002-07:002015-09-10T11:59:41.768-07:00Why I couldn't support an unelectable leader<br />
<br />
I almost didn't get a vote. When the nice young man from my trade union - Unite - cold called me I nearly hung up on him. I had assumed that he was going to ask me about PPI or changing gas supplier and he obviously guessed that he had a window of about 3 seconds to grab my attention so he gabbled through the sentence helloI'mfromUniteandI'mringingtoaskwhetheryouwouldbeanaffiliatedmemberandbeapartoftheprocessofhoosingthenextlabourleader... And then he took a breath. And while he was doing that I thought yes, I might consider that actually...<br />
<br />
I didn't have much enthusiasm for the process however. And that didn't change even after Jeremy Corbyn had scrabbled together enough nominations to be allowed to compete. Not at first. I remember the sickened feeling I got at 10.05 on May 7 and I didn't want that feeling again. And I assumed that what the media was telling me was the true. Jeremy Corbyn was unelectable and that our only chance was to go with one of the others. I was also initially resistant to the Vote Corbyn movement because a lot of the people telling me that Labour HAD to choose him had also spent the weeks before the election telling me they weren't Labour any more and would vote Green or SNP or TUFC or whatever the Trades Union party is called. Anything but Labour basically.<br />
<br />
So if pushed I'd have said I was vaguely pro an Yvette Cooper leadership, but the process was as long as a couple of back-to-back ice ages so there was plenty of time to ask around. To find out what other people were thinking. To ask ordinary decent people - people who weren't tribally Labour, people who might have flirted with the the Liberals those who thought the coalition hadn't been all bad - even those who sympathised with UKIP (there a lot of those in Yorkshire before you get all liberal metropolitan on my ass) - to ask them who might persuade them to back a Labour programme.<br />
<br />
And I have to say I was pretty startled by the answers. Without exception the only one - the ONLY ONE - who had any chance with this diverse group of people was Comrade Corbyn.<br />
<br />
I'll say it again. Corbyn was the only electable one. None of the others mustered anything better than a derisive snort. Their very names made a lot of people quite angry. If Labour has elected Corbyn it may not win. But my (haphazard) research suggests that if it has elected anyone else that it has absolutely no chance.<br />
<br />
It isn't a left-right thing. It's more that Cooper-Kendall-Burnham are all too closely associated with the miserable and chaotic opposition of the last five years. From the people I asked there was the distinct impression that other right wing candidates would have done ok with the public - better anyway. A Dan Jarvis maybe... someone who wasn't so visibly rubbish during the campaign, not so associated with the Edstone and all that crap. These three were not only Blairite, they were a Blairite B-team. Not just Tory-lite but Tory Lite-lite.<br />
<br />
The other big factor in the affection felt for Corbyn from right as well as left is that he seems so reasonable. He's gently spoken but says what he thinks in a straightforward way and in that he seems to resemble a Johnson or a Farage a Goldsmith or a Lucas. Only not as egotistical. He's anti-establishment in a mild and and safe sort of a way. And he seems attractively unstyled. And this resonates with people too. As a nation we are - let's face it - fairly comprehensively unstyled and quite proud of it.<br />
<br />
And then there was the graceless way his opponents reacted to his taking the front-runners position. Not very sportsmanlike. <br />
<br />
I'm not a natural bandwagon jumper. I'm suspicious of sudden enthusiasms and I'm also quite persuaded by those commentators who think Corbyn will hate being leader, that he may not last the course. But before he goes he might have shifted the debate. And the way the public mood has swung over migrants shows that change is possible.<br />
<br />
And in any case I don't think the British people wanted a Tory government in the first place. Not really. If anything they maybe wanted another coalition, maybe wanted a Tory party with its hands tied and now they see what it is capable of with the LibDem cuffs off, they're changing their mind about wanting them near the levers of power in any shape or form.<br />
<br />
Anyway, the voting is over (and there's still a decent chance one of the others will swing it - the Shy Blairite factor might kick in) but there's plenty for us to organise around. For me its housing, equal opportunities, the need for more creativity in schools, the chance for people of all ages and backgrounds to express themselves imaginatively, to be free from the drudgery of pointless work, and we could agitate properly for a fair voting system, to make this Queen our last monarch - enough to be going on with and it'll be nice to talk about what we're going to do rather than who is going to be on PMQs.<br />
<br />
Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-48036986456652141892015-01-24T09:27:00.000-08:002015-01-25T03:38:17.700-08:00The puzzle of the all-too diligent anti-fan<br />
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<br />
You pick up a book. Maybe the cover is striking. Maybe the the blurb sounds interesting. Maybe the reviews are good. Maybe your mates have raved about it. Maybe it's a set text for book club. Whatever, you read it. You don't really like it. The cover and the blurb misled you. The reviews were clearly written by mates of the author. Your own friends are all idiots. Fuelled by a not half bad rioja you give it a right kicking at book club. And when you get home you go on Goodreads and give it two stars.<br />
<br />
That's quite a common scenario isn't it? And entirely fair enough. Then, a few weeks later, you come across another book by the same writer. Do you read it? Well, you might, I guess, give him another chance. You're nice like that. <br />
<br />
So you read his second book. You don't like it. No surprise really, and so you give that book a two star review on Goodreads too. Still fair enough. Still understandable. But then - and here's where it gets a bit weird - you find yourself looking at a<i> third</i> <i>novel </i>by the same writer. You thought the first book was a 2 star book. You thought the second book was a 2 star book. What do we imagine you'll think of this third book? It's not a hard guess is it? So you're not going to waste your time on this one are you? Of course not. So you pass on, pick up something else, something by a novelist whose previous works you've enjoyed. Or maybe another new writer whose book has a good cover, good reviews, another book you're mates have raved about. <br />
<br />
Only you don't. You pick up this third book and yes - give it two stars on Goodreads. <br />
<br />
There's something going on here isn't there?Something beyond the normal interaction between book and reader.<br />
<br />
I don't mind people not liking my books. I almost expect it. But I'm puzzled by why someone would go to all the trouble of reading all three of my novels(and rating them) if they've disliked both the others. And let's not forget that you actually have to work quite hard to find
all my books. The first one came out with a very tiny publisher and the
most recent hasn't been out long and is still only available in expensive
trade paperback form. (£12.99 - at least wait until the cheap £5.99 mass market paperback is out)<br />
<br />
So forgive me but I can't help taking it a bit personally. Can't help thinking that this particular Godsread enthusiast is someone I know. Is a friend even. Only not really a friend because a friend wouldn't publicly diss my books.<br />
<br />
I'm sure I do have friends who don't like all my books. Quite a lot of my friends are writers (it happened by accident I swear) and writers rarely wholeheartedly love any of the books they read, especially if they are by people they know.<br />
<br />
Which means there's someone out there who knows me and who wishes me ill who is sticking their little pins in whenever they can. Trying to hit me where it hurts and going to some trouble to do so. And that makes me feel a bit sad and a bit paranoid.<br />
<br />
So what's going on? Is it envy? Hard to imagine given how invisible a writer I am. I'm hardly Zadie Smith. (Except in looks obviously) Is it just someone who wants to wound me because they think I'm a knob? And if that's the case Supercosmic, then I wish you'd stop the nonsense and just tell me to my face exactly why.<br />
<br />
And of course I know I should rise above it all. But rising above stuff isn't really my way. Rolling in the gutter, that's my way.<br />
<br />
<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-41290457386465661052014-11-26T23:32:00.002-08:002014-11-27T02:31:38.382-08:00101 Days Sober - Possibly The Least Exciting Post You Will Ever Read<br />
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I had thought things might be more dramatic to be honest.</div>
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Imagine you have set off for uncharted waters, unmapped lands. You’re expecting mountains and jungles and strange beasts. A flying unicorn or two. Dragons. You’re expecting to have to do battle with many headed crocodiles, scale cliffs, maybe live off berries and sips of evil smelling water as you cross inhospitable lands. Deserts. You’re expecting the driest and hottest and sandiest of deserts, deserts swept by fiery winds. A demon mistral blowing straight from Hell.</div>
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And you’re worrying too about the people you might meet. Desperate outlaws. Robbers and highwaymen. Flaxen haired temptresses. Capricious wizards. Capricious wizards in hoodies juggling with flick-knives. It’s going to be an adventure – that’s why you’re doing it. You are Bilbo Baggins, a pudgily reluctant hero fallen into a world you can hardly comprehend and just hoping you’ll be up to the many trials you’ll be facing. Crossing your fingers that you won’t disgrace yourself</div>
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And you discover that this brave new world of fearsome thrills looks a lot like the Home Counties. Mild and ordered. Exceedingly clement. A bit… well… a bit dull really… And then you discover that it turns out you didn’t want adventure after all. Turns out that dull was really what you needed all along.</div>
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101 days ago I stopped drinking. </div>
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At first I thought I’d just do it for a month. I’ve done a month off the sauce before. I knew I could cope with a month. I wouldn’t enjoy it but good to test your self-discipline every once in a while. </div>
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I didn’t have especially high expectations. I thought I might lose a few pounds. I thought I might get through a bit more work. I thought I might find it a little easier to get up in the mornings.</div>
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I should say here that I love drinking. I love pubs. To be in the corner seat of the rub-a-dub at 6pm with good mates, twenty notes in your pocket and no rush to get home is – or was – possibly my very favourite thing. And if they’re serving decent beer then so much the better.</div>
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And I like wine at home too. A good red with dinner or in front of a film. A crisp cold white on an unexpectedly warm evening. A cheeky vodka and tonic when you get home from work. And then an even cheekier second one. A good malt whisky before bed. Or a cheap blend even. Tesco’s own brand. Hell, even a can of piss like Fosters or Carling can hit the spot from time to time.</div>
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I started drinking regularly at about 13 and apart from a couple of miserable sober Januarys I’ve not gone more than a day or two without the company of Mr Booze since then. Many of best nights out (and all of my worst ones) have featured rivers, waterfalls, foaming fucking <i>seas</i> of alcohol. I love getting pished. I have got wrecked on almost every drink. I don't think I've met a fermented or distilled beverage I couldn't get on with. I even like Advocaat. And not just as part of a snowball either. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(A Xmas snowball made by my gran was my gateway drink as it probably was for you too)</div>
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My gran and my uncle ran pubs. My mum was born in a pub! Pubs are important to us as a family.</div>
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And yet, this time, for whatever reason giving up drinking didn’t seem grim. It didn’t seem like I was holding on and just trying to get from day 1 to day 31 without going completely crazy. This time it was fine. I did find I was eating more chocolate and of the worst and cheapest kind too. Freddo bars, for fuck’s sake. And that pretty much did for the potential benefit of losing a few pounds. But hardly the daily terror I'd been expecting.</div>
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I had thought people might pressure me into drinking. The writer Satnam Sanghera tried not drinking recently and he describes situations where good friends practically beg him to drink and finally give up the attempt to browbeat him to submission by sighing and saying ‘well, ok, I’ll just get you a beer then…’</div>
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That sort of thing has happened to me in the past, but not this time. No one said ‘go on just have a small one.’ Not once. And this worries me a little. Had I really got so I was so boring under the influence that people were very happy not to encourage me to drink. Or maybe they just wanted a lift home. Or maybe it’s just that we’re all older now and more respectful of other people’s choices?</div>
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And the answer seemed to be… never. </div>
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Instead I managed to kick my incipient<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Freddo habit. And so did, finally, start to lose a little weight. I went to some parties and drank sparkling water. I’d go out and when I got bored I’d just drive home without waiting at bus stops or railway stations or handing over fistfuls of paper money to cabbies and getting a tiny handful of small denomination coins back in return.</div>
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And about six weeks in I realised I felt… well… I felt amazing. It was like I’d had some undiagnosed disease and was now cured. A kind of low level ME, a sluggish that I had been mistaking for normality. A cloud that had lifted. I had somehow forgotten that sometimes it was meant to be sunny. It was like discovering that there were other climates apart from Yorkshire rain. (I love Yorkshire and its rain, but nice to know that other weather is also available)</div>
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So I pushed on into the third month… And that was fine too. No biggie. Maybe I have just had enough to drink. Maybe that’s all it was. </div>
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So 101 days of sobriety. No big revelations. No white-knuckle ride. Instead a sunnier disposition. A lot more energy. 16 pounds lighter. A spring in my step.</div>
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And Christmas is coming and maybe I’ll have a Stones ginger wine on Christmas Eve (I love ginger wine!). Maybe I’ll have a nice whiskey before bed. Maybe I’ll drink the sherry we leave out for Father Christmas. That would be traditional. Maybe I’ll be wasted for the whole period. That would be traditional too. That will be entirely fine.</div>
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But maybe I won’t. Maybe I’ll stay out here where the countryside is cultivated, the rivers meander and where life is congenial and nothing much happens. Maybe I’ll just leave the sherry to Santa. Maybe I'll just do that.</div>
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<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-62762536295557382122014-09-09T11:36:00.001-07:002017-03-13T11:37:56.872-07:00Away To Think Again - Why I was Wrong About Scottish Independence<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 10.0pt;">AWAY TO THINK AGAIN - WHY I WAS WRONG ON
SCOTTISH INDEPENDENCE</span></b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
THERE’S a great episode of Happy
Days where – shock, horror – The Fonz finds he’s been mistaken about something
(I can’t remember what, it’s not the point). Determined to do the right thing
he tries to apologise, to admit that he was wrr, he was wrr, he was wrr. It’s
no good. No matter how hard he tries to he can’t say it. He screws up his face,
digs his fingernails into his palm, makes a supreme effort of will – but still
he only gets as far as ‘I was wro, wro, wrrrnnn…’</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
As we watch the programme we all
feel Fonzie’s pain. It’s hard to say sorry. Hard to hold your hard up. But in
this one respect I can honestly say I’m better than the coolest man in 1970s
kids TV. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can admit it. I was wrong –
wrrrrrooooonnngggg - <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on Scottish
independence.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
See I wasn't surprised by the surge in support for the YES campaign. After all it simply echoed the surge in my heart. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Just a few weeks ago you’d have
found me rehearsing the NO arguments. A leap in the dark, people should be
working together for change, internationalism is better than nationalism. We
need fewer borders actually. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Only I didn’t really believe it.
The more I argued with pro-yes friends the more I was forced to face the fact
that were I living North of the Tweed I would be arguing for independence too.
My arguments boiled down to a feeling of abandonment. Why they should they get
out while we have to stay? And that’s not very grown-up is it?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
I don’t have a vote, so my
opinion doesn’t count (and why should it? I live in Yorkshire) but I
feel emotionally connected. My father was from Fife. My daughter lives in
Edinburgh, her mum is from Buckie on the Scottish North-East Coast. I have
relatives and friends in Scotland. I feel tied to the place, that land is also
my land. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
However an independent Scotland
doesn’t deny me my roots. My father's family were from Ireland originally anyway, and I don't feel disenfranchised because I can't elect the Taosiach. My relatives are my relatives still. If my daughter
becomes Scottish that doesn’t make me any less her dad. It was actually me that
was letting emotion cloud my judgement.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
All of us on the left can
appreciate the thrill and excitement of building a new nation. A new political
system with new, fairer ways of voting? The possibilities of a more equable
distribution of wealth? A country that isn't so weirded out by the EU? A country
where political discourse isn’t managed and shaped by the interests of a
distant elite? Yes, please. We can all see how exciting that might be. And if I’d support it
living the other side of Berwick, how can I oppose it just because I live
in West Yorks?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Of course my efforts to remain a
NO supporter weren’t helped by the campaign that purported to represent my
views. Complacent at first, condescending almost uninterested, it moved through
increasingly desperate and unpleasant phases that have included hectoring,
finger-wagging, cajoling, wheedling, <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and
now outright, deceitful bribery. The English establishment has reacted to the
swelling of YES support like an inept teacher faced with an unruly class. Equal
parts flapping and shouting of empty threats. And now the offering of sweeties...<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
I can honestly say Alex Salmond
didn’t change my mind at all. Not one iota. He got spanked in that first debate
(He’s not immune to complacency either – and I find his manner as aggressively
bumptious as any Home Counties Tory) but he didn’t have to. Osborne and the
increasingly hysterical Tory press were doing his work for him. The more they
tried to bully and frighten the Scottish people, the more I felt kinda sickened. Not in my bloody name, George.
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Normally, the desire to become a
politician should be a disqualification from office. Who would want to do that?
A psychopath obviously. We should stop them by any means necessary. But I do
make occasional exceptions to this rule. And my two big exceptions are Gordon
Brown and Alastair Darling. Decent men, horribly traduced during
their careers by the right-wing establishment. These two were viciously,
shamefully, utterly wrongly blamed for the global recession. Their policies were given as the
reason for the absolute necessity of austerity measures more extreme than any
imposed almost anywhere else outside the Eurozone. And in fact the opposite
might be true. Far from causing the collapse of the UK economy Brown and Darling
may well have saved it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
How opportunistic, how desperate,
do the Tories have to be in order to turn to this particular duo to preserve
their Union? (A union that was born in duplicity to serve the desires of the elite
- offering the ghostly promise of a slice of British Empire spoils for the
Scottish nobility in return for their nation – those nobles got precious little spoilwear btw).
It’s sickening and depressing.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Darling has fought a pretty good
fight actually. But he has, as others have said, been all head no heart. An
appeal to the wallets of the middle class. And Gordon’s fundamental decency is
heart-warming whatever he’s supporting. Nevertheless, they are wrr, they are
wrr, they are WRRRRROOOOONNNNG on this. Why should the people of Scotland continue to be
ruled by a managerial class based in London and working for
international money markets and multi-nationals? Why should the Scots the be
dragged into military adventures they don’t support, host a Trident missile
system they don’t believe in, or put up with the frothing blimpish bigotry of
UKIP? No reason at all actually.<br />
<br />
And the supposed economic uncertainty of independence cuts no ice with me either. In fact it's annoying. What about the uncertainties involved in voting no? Imagine an election next year dominated by anti-EU rhetoric, followed by withdrawal from the EU? And there are no guarantees an English electorate will allow the passing of so called devo max in any case. Cameron (and the others) are promising what they may not be able to deliver. <br />
<br />
And it's almost too obvious to keep listing all the small countries that do very well thank you economically with their own currency to boot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
I also think a left leaning
Scotland over our border might – in the long term – be good for the Left in
England. If there’s a stable, fairer society across our border why wouldn’t
increasing numbers of people begin to wonder aloud why that couldn’t happen in
their (our) own country? And why wouldn’t they begin to join the organisations
and movements that could make it happen?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
The most likely thing is still
that the Scots will probably say thanks but no thanks. And I think they’ll
regret it. Most of us regret most the things we don’t do, rather than things we
do. It’s the chances we don’t take that hurt us. The times when opportunity
knocked but we couldn’t make it to the door in time. That’s what keeps us awake
in the cold dark hours.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
And yes, if they do go for it, there’s
bound to be unforeseen and surprising consequences – and there certainly won’t
be a Scottish Socialist utopia coming into being overnight – In fact in many
ways the real arguments will begin after the vote. But I can’t help being
energised by the prospect of a new country exploding into being next door. We should all respond to the adrenalin of that. And it’s a lesson in how passion and
organisation and having the right arguments and being prepared to deploy them over and over again can achieve wonders. And that’s a
marvellous thing to see. As marvellous as Fonzie’s jacket and quiff...</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
It’s not w, wrr, wrr-wrr- wrrrooonnng.
It’s right. I'm sorry it's taken me this long to see it. </div>
Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-49782770911612804692014-07-15T09:57:00.001-07:002014-07-15T11:31:15.309-07:00The School I Want<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWs3M1wLYP6CrJNKPDTtiCi_adXPgGP3GkuuZm6yejMogF9oOUUpH_-9n52VFbObrPyNOPCnDLaz0zNYG-HdcfD4tXSaG1wsCcZFZvgo6q3S_M2sa2gsfqSGUmhbgzFum9t_e8X19Tg9S4/s1600/TeacherAppreciation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWs3M1wLYP6CrJNKPDTtiCi_adXPgGP3GkuuZm6yejMogF9oOUUpH_-9n52VFbObrPyNOPCnDLaz0zNYG-HdcfD4tXSaG1wsCcZFZvgo6q3S_M2sa2gsfqSGUmhbgzFum9t_e8X19Tg9S4/s1600/TeacherAppreciation.jpg" height="320" width="319" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
The school I want</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Gove hasn’t gone. Unusually for a
chief whip he’s still in the cabinet, so he’s still influential, still there in
the woodwork, in the heating pipes, under the table. Still whispering policy
initiatives, still being listened to. He goes to PTA quizzes with Cameron so it’s
not like they’ll be pretending not to see each other when they bump into each
other in the parliament corridors.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
And the education policies won’t
change. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
But nevertheless all the brouhaha
about his departure has made me think about what really makes a good school.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
(And by brouhaha I mean ecstatic
calls, texts and facebook messages from anybody connected with teaching. I mean
the cheering, the dancing in the staff rooms, and the breaking open of the emergency
cava that has been chilling for just this moment). </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
I was at school for 13 years from
1969 – 1982. I was a teacher for nine years from 1994 - 2003. My eldest child
started reception in 1991 and left in 2005. My stepson left in 2012 and the
youngest goes up to High School in September. All at ordinary – what we used to
call ‘bog standard’ – comprehensive schools, Hannah in Essex and the other two
up here in West Yorkshire.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
In addition to that my mother was
a teacher for thirty years from 1973, so I think it’s fair to say I know my way
around schools. I’ve certainly had time to think about what makes a good one.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
So here they are then my welcome
pack for the incoming Education Secretary.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: 16.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"></span></span></span> <b>Small
is beautiful</b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
In the notional school we’re
going to build every teacher will know the name of every student. And every
student will know the name of everyone of his peers. This means not just small
class sizes (which is also a given) but also small school sizes. Primary
schools of not more than 200 hundred. Secondary schools of not more than 500.
You could also think about bringing back middle schools. People who went to middle
schools love them; people who have taught in middle schools love them. Parents
love them. People who don’t love them are accountants but the motto of our new
school system is going to be fuck the accountants (only in Latin – Because
that’s what Latin is for: providing great school mottos). A year eight middle school kid is a
different kind of creature from a High School year eight kid. Generally they are
nicer, more innocent, more in touch with that loveable, eager, keen to learn
early years kid. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: 16.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><b>More
drama, music, art please, Miss</b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
In any decent education system
these would be compulsory subjects. They might actually be the <u>only</u> compulsory subjects.
Subjects that require reflection on the world, that require engagement with
that world, that encourage expression and development of what we might call the
soul. They are also the subjects that fit people best for the modern workplace.
Creativity and emotional intelligence are what makes a modern business thrive.
Artists are persistent, they practice, they work in groups and on their own.
They take what is arcane and difficult and make it accessible for the audience.
They turn dreams into things you can see, feel, touch, hold, look at. Artists are
dreamers and it is only dreamers who ever change anything.<br />
<br />
They also often work
for buttons.<br />
<br />
Now that UK PLC doesn’t actually make anything much in its
factories, we need to get used to selling our creative brain power and the arts
develop these more than anything else you might study at school.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: 16.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><b>And
more sport too please, Miss</b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Not just football. Not just
rugby. Not just hockey or cricket. But tennis, badminton, judo, karate, squash,
athletics, fell-running, cycling. There is a sport for everyone and we’ve just
got to find it. It will save the NHS of the future a fortune. And decent school sports
centres that don't smell of piss and with the kind of showers you find in top level fitness clubs.<br />
<br />
There should be yoga.
A fitter nation eats better, sleeps better, and doesn’t feel the need to hang
around the mall intimidating old people quite so much. It does mean you can’t
sell off the playing fields for starter homes which I know your cabinet
colleagues will find a bummer but you’re clever you went to Oxford, you’ll find
a way around that…</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: 16.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><b>Language, Miss! </b></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
Could you have a go at making us
the most linguistically able people in the world please? We are not innately
thicker than the Dutch or the Swedes or the Indians – all of whom routinely
switch between several languages. Unless you think we are. It’s embarrassing
isn’t it the way Johnny Foreigner can discourse in English fluently about
astrophysics or the physiology of Elks while we can’t order a coffee in Calais
or a Bolognaise in Bologna.<br />
<br />
And you know don’t you Nicky, that people from
abroad learn English not to speak to us, but to speak to each other. They are
not really interested in us, because we are not really interested in them.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraph" style="line-height: 16.0pt; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span style="mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-fareast-font-family: Arial;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">5)<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><b>Let
the teachers decide what they teach</b></div>
<b>
</b><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
You wouldn’t tell Paul McCartney
how to write songs, or Jamie Oliver how to cook (actually you might, the
arrogance of Tory politicians is often breath-taking but I hope you're different) so why tell teachers what they should teach and how they should do it?
Trust them. They're smart. They know their stuff. And oh, pay them more, like they do in the public
schools. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
All the rest – uniforms, hair
styles, length of the school day, how many periods, phonics -<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>let the staff and the parents argue it out
school by school. (I think phonics is a bit shit but I might be wrong and I’m
prepared to let others decide. The truth surely is that over a couple of
thousand years we’ve developed many, many different successful strategies for
teaching reading of which phonics is just one. I think uniforms are pointless - they manage without them in Germany and France, not to mention the USA but parents like them. Hell, even the students seem to like them...)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
It occurs to me of course that
there are already schools like the ones I’ve mentioned. They are called public schools.
The big scandal of Tory education policy is that they only want it to apply to
our kids. Their own offspring work in small classes in schools where the teachers
are properly paid, where the students get long holidays and plenty of sport,
music, art, drama. Where there are well-stocked libraries, lap-tops for all and
where they can learn Japanese, Russian, Mandarin and Arabic as well as French,
German and Spanish.A snip at 30k a year (or more) per child.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
It’s only our kids they want to
inflict the pernicious Gradgrind curriculum on. And that’s because they see our
kids as only fit to file, to photocopy, and to answer phones. They see ours as
over-seeing the self-scan aisles in Lidl while their kids plan to inter-rail
from festival to festival in a gap year, prior to getting the groovy jobs and
generally running things.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">There is a reason the pop charts are full of public school kids these days. It's because the elite see no reason why they shouldn't have everything. Banking, Law, Parliament... Why not rock and roll too? Hell, why not boxing? Why not rap? They'll be after those scenes too soon, mark my words... </span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">We can have the schools we want, the schools our kids deserve. Our kids are as bright as theirs - which the elite know of course - that's why they want them to have as boring and culturally impoverished an education as possible. Otherwise their kids would have to scrum for the fun stuff on a fair playing field and they're not risking that. </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">It's quite blatant. They're not making any secret of it.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 16.0pt;">
<br /></div>
<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-80808522833639542472013-04-25T10:09:00.003-07:002013-04-25T10:09:54.635-07:00BERNARDINE EVARISTO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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WHAT, I wonder, does it feel like to know a whole county is reading your book at the same time? Pretty good I imagine. BERNADINE EVARISTO knows because her book HELLO MUM was chosen as the Suffolk big read a couple of years ago, which meant thousands of people from Ipswich to Lowestoft, from Newmarket to Felixstowe were reading that book. And loving it. And not just because it was given away free either. 70,000 copies of Hello Mum have been sold since then. Not bad.<br />
<br />
Hello Mum is a very accessible, readable book, taking the form of a letter written by a 14 year old boy to his mother. But Bernadine has written experimental and challenging work too. Her first novel THE EMPEROR'S BABE is a historical novel-in-verse and SOUL TOURIST is a novel-<i>with</i>-verse. There's also the subversive and satirical BLONDE ROOTS - a counter-factual story which imagines a world where white people are enslave by black owners. And then there's her plays, her collaborations with musicians - her anthologies, her teaching and her latest book MR LOVERMAN - out in August - where the protagonist is a 75 year old male Antiguan poet who has spent his whole life hiding his true nature and has to face up to the consequences of dealing with he truth coming out, as he is trying to come to terms with the dying of the light. <br />
<br />
Oh, and Bernardine is an MBE. Did I not mention that? The only Member of the British Empire to have answered these ten scary questions... (so far)<br />
<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Can I have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</b><br />
<br />
Anglo-Nigerian writer; female; Londoner all my life; fourth of eight children; writer of seven books of fiction and verse fiction; explorer of the African diaspora - past, present, imagined, lived, travelled; teacher of creative writing at Brunel Uni and for UEA-Guardian; award’s winner, award’s judge; critic, editor, cyclist; MBE<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Why should people read MR LOVERMAN?</b><br />
<br />
Because they won’t have read anything like it before. Black, gay, 74, blinged-up Londoner from Antigua who is married to his deeply religious wife. Also, funny (and tragic), irreverent, structurally adventurous, and set in the hipster Stoke Newington.<br />
<br />
<b>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</b><br />
<br />
I’m concerned about inequality of all kinds, especially society’s hegemonic structures that maintain privilege and power for the few and damn the rest.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b><br />
<br />
I have written quite a few first person male protagonists and I enjoy the literary transvestism involved in adopting a male voice. I want my fiction to have emotional depth, and this could be one of the strengths of being a woman writer. However, once I’ve had the sex change I’ll let you know what it’s like to write with a willy. Best, Bernard.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</b><br />
<br />
So many people, so many writers, but too many to mention. Off late: Glenda Jackson for her speech about The Milk Snatcher last week – it made me realize how much we need to hear more orators in politics. For the tiddlywinks reading this, Glenda was the No I classical actress of her generation; Ken Livingston (always); Gary Younge for being one of the few black media commentators allowed to speak in mainstream medi; Michelle Obama and her husband…<br />
<br />
<b>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</b><br />
<br />
To promote women’s fiction but it does make a mockery of that when it simply<br />
gives more to those who have most, which I think somehow defies its objective.<br />
<br />
<b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b><br />
<br />
Not in million years, mate. Actually, the very idea has me retching. Where are we, Victorian England? That’s like asking me if I’d eat a McDonalds. It’s Pret,<br />
Itsu and Carluccios all the way for me, love.<br />
<br />
<b>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</b><br />
<br />
My next book is floating around the blue skies of my imagination…er..<br />
<br />
<b>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</b><br />
<br />
A ‘luxury room’ stay in a Champneys in, say, Bali? Can you fix it?<br />
<br />
<b>Tell me something I don't know...</b><br />
<br />
I used to heckle ‘offensive’ theatre plays in the angry early twenties. I’d always sit at the back so that I could make a quick escape. Now I sit at the back for the same reason, but<br />
I don’t heckle, obv.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<i>MR LOVERMAN is out on August 29 with Hamish Hamilton. You know what to do.</i><br />
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Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-33152243523488458432013-04-18T00:49:00.000-07:002013-04-18T00:49:11.936-07:00JANE HARRIS<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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YOU like books with strong characters and powerful voices. You like situations that make you squirm and sweat. And laugh. You like irrepressible language that dances off the page. So, naturally you like JANE HARRIS and her novels THE OBSERVATIONS and GILLESPIE AND I. And I think you'll like her answers to my questions...<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Can I have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</b><br />
<br />
Born Belfast. Brought up in Glasgow. "Interesting" childhood in which reading was refuge. Escaped to London, then Europe. Started scribbling stories in Portugal and realised that writing was missing ingredient in life. Took a long time to write first novel. Took a long time to write second. Now writing third.<br />
<br />
<b>Why should people read The Observations and Gillespie and I?</b><br />
<br />
Hopefully, these two novels make the reader laugh and also shiver. <br />
<br />
<b>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</b><br />
<br />
We have had to move out of our home in order to let the builders take over and replace moth-infested carpet with new flooring (and also carry out a number of other long-overdue building jobs). Since I usually work at home - and love my home - this is a double-upheaval for me and I have found it quite difficult, psychologically, to adapt to being turfed out of the nest.<br />
<br />
<b>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b><br />
<br />
I’ll never know the true answer to that question. However, at a fundamental level, I suspect that most men who write are taken more seriously than women who write.<br />
<br />
<b>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</b><br />
<br />
Jane Austen, Charles Dickens, Anne Tyler.<br />
<br />
<b>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</b><br />
<br />
So that - one day - people will stop asking this question.<br />
<br />
<b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich? </b><br />
<br />
I ate bone marrow and a lamb's bollocks last week but I don't think I'd eat a dripping sandwich, no.<br />
<br />
<b>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</b><br />
<br />
Only a working title which I’m reluctant to share. The novel is based on a true story from the 18th century and is set in the French Antilles (Caribbean).<br />
<br />
<b>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</b><br />
<br />
Possibly at La Sagesse in Grenada, drinking Rum Punch and playing cards or reading a wonderful book.<br />
<br />
<b>Tell me something I don't know...</b><br />
<br />
A Japanese researcher has recently invented artificial meat based on protein from human excrement.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-18856570089286088422013-04-13T02:35:00.001-07:002013-04-13T02:35:20.606-07:00Liz Jensen<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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A simple question, ladies of the women's prize for fiction jury. And you should think carefully before you answer. Make sure you take all the time you need. Ready? Then here goes. HOW THE FUCK IS LIZ JENSEN'S <i>THE UNINVITED</i> NOT IN YOUR TOP 20?<br />
<br />
You really, really, really think that XXX and XXX are better? Really? Not to mention XXX (Yes, I'm a chickenshit. Too scared of reprisals to name and shame) But, no, really, I'm interested. What was your thinking?<br />
<br />
And sorry for shouting just then, but you'll have to help me out because I don't get it.<br />
<br />
The Uninvited begins with a series of apparently random - and inventively brutal - killings of parents by their children. These are happening all over the world and begin to unleash panic and violence and state-sanctioned vengeance. So it's a horror story, but it's not just that. THE UNINVITED is compulsive reading. Shocking even. Nightmarish in all the best ways. Gripping doesn't even begin to cover it. It'll keep you awake with all sorts of thoughts you really don't want to be having.<br />
<br />
THE UNINVITED also has one of the most carefully drawn damaged narrators I've read in years. And for a terrifying white-knuckle ride it's got some funny set-pieces, some forensic observations of the way we live now, and - more importantly works as a shrewd prediction of where might be headed.<br />
<br />
It's science fiction horror - John Wyndham by way of Atwood, Lessing and Angela Carter. As well written and as seductive as that. I love it. Have I made that clear enough? I fucking love it. And I love her answers to the questions too... 50 shades of terracotta indeed.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1779" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1778"><b>Can I have you autobiography in exactly 50 words. </b></span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1779" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<span><br /></span></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1779" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<span>Grew up in a creative but dysfunctional family, went to uni, regretted studying English, escaped abroad as far and as often as I could, became a journalist as a stepping-stone to writing, forgot about writing but never stopped reading, started experimenting with fiction on first son's birth: never looked back.</span></div>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1779" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<span><b>Why should we read The Uninvited?</b></span></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
You should read The Uninvited because sometimes you need to be scared, and if children randomly killing their parents doesn't give you the creeps, what will?</div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>What, right now, is your most pressing concern?</b></div>
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In general, it's the future. Everyone's. But on a more prosaic and specific note, my immediate issue is what shade of terracotta to paint my kitchen wall. The work-tops and cupbaords are quite pale. But just how dark can I go without invoking gloom? So many choices!</div>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1785" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>How does being a female writer differ from being a male writer?</b></div>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1789" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
Writers are writers first and foremost: imaginatively, we share a constantly expanding landscape in which there's room for everything and everyone, and sex doesn't matter. That said, there are important differences when it comes to our attitude to what we do. I live with a male writer, and I've noticed that he and other male colleagues have more confidence in their work than us. I envy them this. I also note that male readers trust them more, and read them more than they read women. That's really a crying shame. Cynically, if I could start out again, I'd choose a unisex nom de plume, or use initials. My male readers love my work. But I know I'd have more if I had a different name. I don't feel bitter about it, because bitterness is a waste of time. But I regard it as unfair.</div>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1789" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</b></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
In life: Carsten Jensen, my namesake and husband. (We share a surname by coincidence rather than marriage: freaky or what?) Get hold of a copy of his brilliant seafaring epic, We, The Drowned, and discover a world-class novelist. I'm also a huge admirer of the climate scientist James Hansen, and campaigners like George Monbiot who continue to inform the world about climate change in the face of depressing resistance from those who should - and secretly do - know better.</div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>Why do we need a Women's Prize for Literature?</b></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
We need a Women's Prize for Literature because despite all the progress we've made, we're still under-recognised in the literary world. By male readers and, crucially, by ourselves too. I'd like to see the day when such a prize is no longer neccessary but I don't think it will happen in my lifetime. </div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>What you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b> </div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
Only if it was microscopically small, and you paid me to.</div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>What is your next book about? And does it have a title?</b></div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
It doesn't have a title yet, but if it did I might not tell you because I'm coy that way. It's the third in the trilogy that began with The Rapture and continued with The Uninvited. It's set in the close-to-now future, and it spans several continents and lives. I loved David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas and Jennifer Egan's A Visit from the Goon Squad, so this time I'm experimenting with the linked-short-story format. When it's not slow-cooking my brain, and making me want to give it all up and become a fruit-picker, I'm having a certain amount of fun with my multi-narrative.</div>
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>If you could be anywhere, where would you be at this moment?</b></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
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<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
In the Blue Lagoon in Iceland, reading the new Kate Atkinson with a massive gin and tonic.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<b>Tell me something I don't know</b></div>
<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1802" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1800" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
There are fifty shades of terracotta. </div>
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<div id="yui_3_7_2_1_1365845005705_1796" style="font-family: 'times new roman', 'new york', times, serif; font-size: 24px;">
<i>Liz Jensen has published loads of novels as well as the brilliant The Uninvited (Bloomsbury). Another great one is War Crimes For The Home - You know what to do.</i></div>
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Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-4590439771247808332013-04-11T04:58:00.000-07:002013-04-11T05:47:02.375-07:00Kate Worsley<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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THERE aren't enough novels set in small towns. Which, given that that's where most of the population of this country actually live, is a damned shame. There are even fewer books set in small Essex towns. I think there's only me and my latest interviewee KATE WORSLEY doing it. My book's set in a kind of contemporary Manningtree and Kate's is - partly -set in a vividly imagined eighteenth century Harwich. And in her's people do get actually manage to get themselves away from Essex.<br />
<br />
Her widely applauded first novel SHE RISES takes its title from the sea shanty the drunken sailor, and is a visceral read. Right from the beginning of the book the reader is tossed into the roil and swirl, the wet dirt stench of sea-faring England 250 years ago, though it's not all storms and sails. We are also guided through the cool, quiet, bucolic world of dairy farming. And the back-streets and rookeries of the pre-industrial working class.<br />
<br />
SHE RISES gives us characters in revolt against the place in society allotted for them, surprising themselves with their capacity for risk and adventure. This is also a gripping, sensual tightly-wound love story of the kind Sarah Waters would be proud of.<br />
<br />
And Kate Worsley also claims to know where the world's best pub is.<br />
<br />
<strong>Can I have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</strong><br />
<br />
Born in Preston. Spent my teenage years mooning about in various get-ups. Got to London as soon as I could. Worked as journalist, follow-spot operator, massage practitioner, restaurant manager... Moved house as often as I changed jobs. Finally got down to writing fiction when I moved out, to the coast. <br />
<br />
<strong>Why should people read your book?</strong><br />
<br />
Because, I hope, they'll have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. And if enough people buy it I can write another one.<br />
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<strong>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</strong><br />
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Remembering to take my chores headscarf off before I leave the house in 30mins to visit someone I've never met before. And to put my contact lenses in.<br />
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<strong>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</strong><br />
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Anecdotally and personally, it seems women are far less confident about our work, and find it harder to prioritise writing over everything else. But both factors can benefit the writing, as long as you actually get it done.<br />
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<strong>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</strong><br />
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In life, my other half. In writing, anyone who can combine humanity of feeling, and clarity of thought and expression with humour. Current literary crushes include William Trevor, Helen Dunmore, Joseph Conrad and Jon Cantor.<br />
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<strong>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</strong><br />
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Because I think both men and women don't take women's writing as "seriously" as men's. If we did it wouldn't be an issue.<br />
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<strong>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</strong><strong><br /></strong><br />
Only as research for novel number two.<br />
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<strong>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</strong><br />
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Working title is Newbourne, about a Depression-era miner's wife moving south under a government land settlement scheme. Hence the dripping.<br />
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<strong>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</strong><br />
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In a sauna. My own sauna. I wish.<br />
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<strong>Tell me something I don't know...</strong><br />
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The best pub in the world is in Harwich. It's called the Alma.<br />
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<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-19818262043764338562013-04-09T04:53:00.000-07:002013-04-09T05:16:34.198-07:00Caroline Smailes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think I've said before that the test of a writer is not whether they've got one book in them, but whether they've got at least five. And this week CAROLINE SMAILES launches that fifth book, THE DROWNING OF ARTHUR BRAXTON. A very modern, very Northern fairy tale this book has already been delighting - and exciting - those who have managed to get their hands on advance copies.<br />
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Tanya Byrne, author of The Heart-Shaped Bruise called it 'strange, beautiful and wholly unexpected.' Matt Haig, author The Radleys, called it 'magical.' and the magazine Bella called it 'beautifully told and sometimes disturbing.' And the always straight-talking Bookcunt said it 'fixed something inside that was broken before.'<br />
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The thing about Caroline is she always pushing herself on, always trying to find new ways to tell stories - and new ways to reach audiences. She experiments, she doesn't settle. She's a restless, questing spirit - always in search of the story that shocks her readers out of complacency. And she is - book after book - getting herself a reputation as a force to be reckoned with.<br />
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As is my way at the minute, I pinged her some questions and she got back to me within fifteen minutes. dark, magical, unsettling, wholly unexpected - with quick brain and fast hands.<br />
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<strong>Can I have your biography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</strong><br />
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Caroline watched an interview on Richard & Judy where they referred to someone as a ‘nearly woman’. She identified with that label and faced a ‘now or never’ moment. She enrolled on an MA in Creative Writing. Now, eight years later, The Drowning of Arthur Braxton is Caroline’s fifth novel. <br />
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<strong>Why should people read The Drowning of Arthur Braxton?</strong><br />
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To remember the redemptive power of first love, to see how that love can transform even the bleakest of childhoods into something truly extraordinary.<br />
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<strong>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</strong><br />
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Ants. I have ants in my office, they are mocking me, we are playing hide and seek.<br />
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<strong>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</strong><br />
<br />
I don’t think there is a difference. The process, the angst, the concerns about the industry are experienced by many authors, regardless of gender. Perhaps, I’d suggest, the dominance of females in positions of power in the publishing industry balances out any latent chauvinism?<br />
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<strong>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</strong><br />
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Roald Dahl. He wrote what children wanted to read, even when many adults felt the subjects were taboo or difficult. Roald Dahl was never frightened to kill off parents or to address a child’s sense of loneliness and abandonment head-on. He set new boundaries for children’s literature, he mixed together sorrow and wit, he cut through to the essence of what a child finds funny. His stories are timeless.<br />
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<strong>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</strong><br />
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To celebrate a woman’s view, her craft, her perspective and her creation – this prize offers both men and women the opportunity to read what is perceived to be important literature by women. What’s not to love? I don’t feel this is a feminist stance, it isn’t about minorities. I’d be equally as interested in seeing a Men’s Prize for Literature.<br />
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<strong>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich? </strong><br />
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Oh yes, can’t beat a bit of dripping on a stottie cake. You can take the girl out of Newcastle…<br />
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<strong>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</strong><br />
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It might be called ‘Lime Street’, it’s a story set in a lost property office in Liverpool Lime Street train station, it’s an exploration of what it is to be lost or found or both.<br />
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<strong>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</strong><br />
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Paris, sipping champagne from a plastic wine glass, underneath the cherry blossom tree outside Shakespeare & Co.<br />
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<strong>Tell me something I don't know...</strong><br />
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Some ants can swim.<br />
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<em>The Drowning of Arthur Braxton is published by The Friday Project (an imprint of HarperCollins) on Thursday - you know what to do...</em>Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-33154949223805345312013-04-06T03:41:00.000-07:002013-04-06T03:42:03.565-07:00Melissa Harrison<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I when I last met Melissa Harrison she was holding a room full of pissed students enthralled as she read with quiet intensity from her book CLAY. She didn't win the literary death match - there are showier more peacocky types for that - but she did get people to fall in her love with her writing. Of course she did. </span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">What marks Melissa out is the way she notices everything. Absolutely everything. Most good writing is about paying attention to what's around you and CLAY is startling in the precision of its observation of the natural life that teems, flocks, swarms, grows and dies around us. Human beings tend to focus on their most immediate concerns not taking much account of the fact that we are just one part of a fragile system, which we might well screw up with all our blind stumbling.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">So Melissa's book is an urban book, a city book, but it'salso a nature book. A book where the squirrels and the birds and the foxes are viscerally present with all their hot stink in their own whole other city in the midst of ours.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">She's smart too - as you're about to discover from her answers below...</span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Can I have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">I think it’s probably impossible to do it in exactly 50 words and still take in being the youngest of six children, going to a comprehensive school and then to Oxford, working in book publishing and magazines and living in South London with my husband, Anthony, and rescue dog, Scout.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Why should people read your book CLAY?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Because it’s about noticing, and noticing has the power to bring something genuinely transformative into our lives.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Whether there are any Yorkshire teabags in the office.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Impossible to say, as I’ve only ever been a woman! My guess is not at all; motherhood may create a difference, but that’s a separate question.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Who – in life or writing – do you most admire?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Too many people to mention – but when it comes to literature I find Hilary Mantel’s current prose the closest thing I can imagine to taking flight. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">It’s my understanding that while women read books by men and women, men overwhelmingly choose books by men. Add to that the fact that we all (both men and women) tend to recruit, promote and generally identify with people who are similar to us (hence the perpetuation of men-only boardrooms) and you have a playing field that isn’t yet level. Ask me again when it is.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Absolutely. I have a fairly undiscriminating and resolutely carnivorous palate.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">It’s about landscape and belonging. It does have a title, but an obscure sense of literary decorum prevents me telling anyone what it is until it’s finished. </span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be...?</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Deep in the British countryside on a warm June afternoon, a quiet pub within an hour’s walk, my camera and a good book in my knapsack and nothing to do but walk, and look, and dream.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><b>Tell me something I don't know...</b></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;">Despite a) being a keen amateur naturalist and b) being married to one, I am terrified of ants.</span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #333333; font-family: arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 18px;"><i>CLAY is published by Bloomsbury. - you know what to do...</i></span></span><br />
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<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-61754089296596688032013-04-04T05:25:00.000-07:002013-04-04T05:57:28.184-07:00Martine McDonagh<br />
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ON the day that the (all-male) shortlist for the Arthur C Clarke Award is announced it seems fitting to profile a writer best known for her first book, I HAVE WAITED AND YOU HAVE COME. This book imagines a bleak near-future where rising flood waters have pretty much drowned Cheshire. <br />
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I am an admirer of those writers who don't stand still or repeat themselves and Martine heads back in time with her second book. Heading to mid-seventies Bristol for AFTER PHOENIX a book about how a family struggles to deal with loss and grief. <br />
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Martine McDonagh writes simply, sparingly, intelligently and unsentimentally about both big and small things and she also doesn't take herself too seriously. As you can see in the answers to my questions.<br />
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<strong>Can I have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</strong><br />
<strong></strong><br />
Born at the northern end of the A23. Moved to Bristol area. State-educated. Grew up in a psychiatric hospital, thanks to father’s occupation. Thirty years in music industry. Single parent, one son. Mature Degree and Masters. Writer. Lecturer. First novel first published 2006. A few brushes with death. Still breathing.<br />
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<strong>Why should people read your I HAVE WAITED or AFTER PHOENIX?</strong><br />
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My first novel, I Have Waited, and You Have Come, is dystopian anti-chicklit – a stalker story with an unreliable narrator set in a climate-changed future, so might suit people who like creepy female characters and being scared.<br />
The new one, After Phoenix, might appeal to someone interested in how differently the members of one family react to the same tragic event. Especially if they grew up in the seventies, or are interested in how people communicated pre-upspeak. <br />
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<strong>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</strong><br />
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I’m really worried about poor Iain Duncan-Smith.<br />
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<strong>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</strong><br />
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I’ve never been a man - although I do love football and hate shopping - so I’m not entirely sure, but having spent time with male writer friends I get the impression that they find it just as difficult. Although, men are very good at giving that impression to women because they know eventually some sucker will come along and do the things they say they can’t do for them. Doesn’t work with the actual writing though…but then there’s that word muse…hmmm.<br />
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<strong>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</strong><br />
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This week it’s John Steinbeck. But also, you’ve got to love L Ron Hubbard.<br />
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<strong>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</strong><br />
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Because despite the majority of readers of fiction being women (maybe this is changing with the increasing popularity of electronic reading gadgets) and the majority of publishing employees being female (based on no true statistic, just a general impression), male writers still seem to be taken more seriously than women writers. And if that’s not true, well then if we say we need it, it’s because we just do. Okay?<br />
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<strong>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich? </strong><br />
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No thanks. But after a long hike I do enjoy the vegetarian equivalent: cheese pie, chips and gravy.<br />
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<strong>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</strong><br />
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In Cannery Row, John Steinbeck says this about superstition: ‘It’s all right not to believe in luck and omens. Nobody believes in them. But it doesn’t do any good to take chances with them and no one takes chances.’<br />
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I’m not superstitious, so yes, it does have a title, and the central theme is narcissism. <br />
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<strong>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</strong><br />
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I’m pretty happy in Redondo Beach, California at the minute. It would be quite nice to have somewhere to live when I get back to the UK though.<br />
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<strong>Tell me something I don't know...</strong><br />
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Men are great too.<br />
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<em>I Have Waited And You Have Come is published by Myriad AFTER PHOENIX is published by Ten to Ten Publishing and both are available in the better kind of place</em>Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-70110024752916752702013-04-02T02:09:00.005-07:002013-04-02T02:10:46.016-07:00Mavis Cheek<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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MY daughter has come to stay and was telling me about her plan for a new cultural revolution, a way to kick start a renaissance in the arts. It's a beautifully simple idea. For the next ten years no men will be allowed to produce any cultural artefacts at all. No books, plays, films, TV, or recorded music. All men everywhere will have to JUST SHUT THE FUCK UP. For a decade.<br />
<br />
And I think I sort of agree with this. Certainly I think all the other male writers should sit down and think very hard about what they're doing... There is a lot of noise around in the arts now isn't there? A lot of gimmicks. Quite a lot of shouting. Not all of it from men of course. There are quite a lot of women just banging on the table too. Though they often have more excuse.<br />
<br />
And - whether men or women - writers who get attention seem to come from the same old places. Even when you meet a young writer in tramps clothes, speaking about crystal meth in a cockney accent, chances are they come from a big house in the suburbs and went from A Good School to Oxbridge just like the ruling class have always done.<br />
<br />
And it's a shame because listening too long to these guys can means the quiet and the thoughtful and the genuinely unusual can get lost.<br />
<br />
MAVIS CHEEK, for example. If you like great stories about ordinary people showing grace under pressure (which are the only kind of stories that matter in the end) then you like the books of Mavis Cheek. If you like generous, warm-hearted, sharply observed and FUNNY books, then you like those of Mavis Cheek. And there are a lot of them. Many people have one book in them. But that's not the real test. The real test is whether you can you stay interesting for five, for ten, or, like Mavis Cheek, for FIFTEEN books.<br />
<br />
And she's not just a warm and generous and funny writer, she's a warm, generous teacher of writing. She's worth shutting out the noise to go and discover. But then you, you're smart, you know this anyway.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Give me your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words. Not 49, not 51...</b><br />
<br />
Born Wimbledon: Failed 11-plus: Secondary-Modern, B stream. At 16 took job in contemporary London art world. After 12 years took degree at Hillcroft College. Daughter born. First novel published 1988, won She/John Menzies prize. 15 published in all. Now live in rural Wiltshire, write, teach, give talks, run Marlborough LitFest.<br />
<br />
<b>Why should we read your books?</b><br />
<br />
They hold a beady-eyed mirror to the way we are now and most of them will make you laugh.<br />
<br />
<b>What is your most pressing concern right now?</b><br />
<br />
It's waiting for a publisher to offer on my new book which is currently with my agent. These are hard times.<br />
<br />
<b>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b><br />
<br />
I’m sure we see the world differently and our concerns are not identical (though many are). When a woman writes me a fan letter, it’s a fan letter. When a man writes me a fan letter, it’s a fan letter with a PS about where I got a fact wrong. This, I think, may be at the heart of gender difference in writing.<br />
<br />
<b>Who - in life or writing do you admire?</b><br />
<br />
In life - Helen Bamber and her Foundation that works to hold, contain and sustain people who have suffered immense atrocity and loss – she began with Holocaust survivors and she is, 65 years on, a signatory for Jews for Justice in Palestine.<br />
<br />
In writing – the character of Jane Eyre who had wit, humour and intelligence in a time when women were required to be demure – she’s a survivor who stuck to her principals and found happiness in the end.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Why do we need a Women's Prize for Literature?</b><br />
<br />
Because men have had the sole ascendancy in all things worldwide for thousands of years so let’s redress the balance whenever we can and give a share of the goodies solely to women.<br />
<br />
<b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b><br />
<br />
I’ll say – it was one of the treats of my childhood – either beef dripping (which had dark bits that tasted salty and sweet) or more delicately flavoured pork dripping – spread thickly on white bread. <br />
<br />
<b>What's the next book about</b>?<br />
<br />
About 300 pages – Oh OK – it’s about a woman who decides to go to bed for the rest of her life – and its subtext is the untrustworthiness innate in interpreting history – and Becket’s eternal<br />
‘I can’t go on like this,’<br />
‘That’s what you think.’ <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>If you could be anywhere right now where would it be</b>?<br />
<br />
In Corfu, in hot sun, lying by the pool at Kontakali, with an audio book plugged in. (Here it’s minus one outside currently).<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Tell me something I don't know?</b><br />
<br />
Michael Morpurgo failed his 11+, too.<br />
<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-22095307771266645082013-03-31T04:01:00.001-07:002013-03-31T04:01:33.870-07:00Claire King<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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SOME people are attracted to extreme sports. They sky-dive, bungee jump, bob-sleigh or tombstone (would any sane person do something called Tombstoning? Of course not. Clues in the name isn't it?). And in the same way some novelists are attracted to the idea of a child narrator. It's a similar kind of high risk endeavour. If you can pull it off then it's exhilarating, but it's tightrope walking, escapology. If it goes wrong you can look foolish. Or dead.<br />
<br />
Most readers are wary of spending all that time with a child's voice. Let's be honest, most <i>parents</i> are wary to spend too much time with a kid's voice anywhere nearby. The problem is adulteration in its most literal sense. If you get it wrong - if even a trace element of the adult writer's perspective survives in your kid's voice - then the whole novel is corrupted. It's like that film The Fly, you can end up with something that becomes quite grotesque, something that can't survive in this big unfriendly world that books have to fly out into.<br />
<br />
Successful examples? Well, there are a few. ROOM by Emma Donoghue of course. WHAT I DID by Christopher Wakling. and now THE NIGHT RAINBOW by Claire King. King's protagonist Pea is described as 'a heroine you won't forget.' by Maggie O Farrell no less. And Joanne Harris describes the book in glowing terms as 'quirky, elegant and sweet.' Which actually describes very well Claire's answers to my questions below.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="yiv664497001MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364727204321_1986" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding: 0px;">
<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364727204321_1985" lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Can I have you autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</b></span></div>
<div class="yiv664497001MsoNormal" id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364727204321_1988" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding: 0px;">
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<i id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364727204321_1991"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364727204321_1990" lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">The problem is that I never had any sense of my own limitations. Aged three, I attempted to jump off the battlements of Conisborough castle, thinking, presumably, that I would either fly or bounce. Aged 41 I still haven’t learned better. Perhaps I have wings, or am made of rubber.</span></i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364727204321_2000" lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Why should people read The Night Rainbow?</b></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">To remind themselves what they have forgotten : That when, as a child, they thought they knew best, and that adults were all strange, they were largely correct.</span></i></div>
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<div class="yiv664497001MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding: 0px;">
<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</b></span></div>
<div class="yiv664497001MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding: 0px;">
<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">Finishing my second book. It shouldn’t be, because we have a leaky roof, an uncertain work situation and rubbish pensions. But it is chewing me up and I will be much less insufferable when it is ready and sent to my agent.</span></i></div>
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<div class="yiv664497001MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding: 0px;">
<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">In the actual writing, getting an agent and getting published, not much. At least not so much that you can generalise. </span></i><i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">There is, however, still a great difference in terms of the amount of critical reviews given to women writers, and possibly a general perception issue. But it’s not as simple as that. Throw into the mix race, class, celebrity, establishment…it’s not a level playing field is it ? It’s complicated.</span></i></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</b></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">I admire people who follow their dreams and help others follow theirs. Those who know their place in the universe. Those who are kind and charitable. Those who</span></i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"> <i>get up when life knocks them down. And anyone who has ever pushed a person out of their fanny.</i></span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</b></span></div>
<div class="yiv664497001MsoNormal" style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px; padding: 0px;">
<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">Because we are feminists, which means we believe in equal opportunities for men and women.</span></i></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b> </span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">It wouldn’t be on my top ten, but yes, in the right circumstances. My parents & grandparents ate it. When I lived in Ukraine, as a guest you were often offered bread and salo, which is effectively the same thing. The French call it saindoux and you get it in fancy restaurants. Go figure.</span></i></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>What will the next book be about? </b></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">It’s an existential love story about a man who lives on a houseboat on the Canal de Midi. The working title is Candice, but it might change.</span></i></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</b></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">At my mum’s house on Arran, where she’s had no power for a week.</span></i></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"> </span></div>
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<span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><b>Tell me something I don't know</b></span></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #262626; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">The name of </span></i><i><span lang="FR" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">Lake Chargoggagoggmanchauggagoggchaubunagungamaugg<span style="color: #262626;"> is Algonquin for “I fish on my side, you fish on your side, and nobody fishes in the middle.”</span></span></i><i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"> </span></i><i><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;"><br /></span></i></div>
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<i><span lang="FR" style="color: #1a1a1a; font-family: Garamond; font-size: 19pt;">The Night Rainbow is published by Bloomsbury. Available in all the best places. You know what to do...</span></i></div>
Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-24586408905903675022013-03-29T03:28:00.000-07:002013-03-29T03:30:06.361-07:00Ros Barber <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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CALL me old fashioned but I'm inclined to think that the plays we think of as being written by William Shakespeare were, in fact, written by a jobbing actor and son of Stratford glovemaker called, er, William, er, Shakespeare.<br />
<br />
Ros Barber does not think that. Ros Barber thinks that there is at least a good chance that they were the work of another playwright. The work of Dr Fautus author Christopher Marlowe in fact, and it's this idea that provides the propulsion behind her WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR LITERATURE nominated novel THE MARLOWE PAPERS. But, actually, the real authorship of the Shakespeare's plays is hardly the point. THE MARLOWE PAPERS is first and foremost a great story. A thriller even. A man - a drinker, a lover, a fighter, a spy - fakes his death and goes on the run, changing his identity... This is classic thriller territory and the fact that it is written in verse doesn't detract from that.<br />
<br />
A novel about a linguistically gifted, shape-shifter and risk-taker should be linguistically and thematically daring itself, shouldn't it. The iambic doesn't interfere with the story-telling, quite the opposite. Given the seventeenth century setting and the florid personalities of the protagonists it seems entirely fitting and gives the work a depth most writers couldn't begin to manage. Ros is a poet with several highly regarded collections behind her and to deny herself use of these gifts in her debut novel, would seem perverse.<br />
<br />
So a great and provocative book and some great and provocative answers below. (Oh and my favourite Shakespeare 'fact' is that his dad made a lot of his money from the manufacture of reusable condoms made of kidskin)<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"><b>Can I have you autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</b></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Born in the States, raised (or depressed) in Essex, Brighton adoptee.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">First class Biology and EngLit degrees; latterly MA and PhD. Two</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">poetry collections (Anvil). Four offspring. Author of verse novel The</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Marlowe Papers, winner of the 2011 Hoffman Prize, long listed for the</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Women’s Fiction Prize (formerly Orange) 2013.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">><b> Why should people read your THE MARLOWE PAPERS?</b></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">To find out what all the fuss is about. And because it's not as scary</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">as it sounds. People courageous enough to face their fear report</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">forgetting the layout and finding themselves gripped by the narrative.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">It's a historical thriller full of sword-fighting, cross-dressing and</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">sex. A cross between Wolf Hall and James Bond. And much more</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">besides.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">><b> What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</b></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Saving the molar that my dentist yesterday pronounced 'doomed'. And</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">finding a cheap flight to Washington for a conference that will still</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">allow me flexible return dates in case I'm called back for something</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">I'm not yet allowed to speak about.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">><b> How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">You have to work harder to prove you're serious. You're more likely</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">prickle at terms like 'poetESS'. If the house looks a mess after</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">you've been buried in your study for ten hours it is deemed your</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">fault. Your children don't understand why they don't see much of you.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Men are a little scared of you. You have one extra major literary</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">prize in your sights than a man has.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">><b> Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</b></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Absolutely anyone who follows their dreams, commits, burns the</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">lifeboats. Writing-wise - on numerous fronts and for different</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">reasons - Hilary Mantel and Will Self. Both are amazingly talented</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">novelists, and both were extremely kind to me when it really mattered.</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">><b> Why do we need the Women's Prize for Literature?</b></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Because otherwise men (and also women) tend not to notice how</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">brilliant women are. Because women make up the majority of fiction</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">readers, and deserve access to a list of fiction that other women have</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">loved. And, from my own experience, because all-women judging panels</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">can clearly be more courageous and visionary than mixed ones!</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">> <b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Only if my life (or the life of a loved one) depended on it.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">> <b>What will the next book be about? (does it have a title yet?)</b></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Ten years from now, when Richard Dawkins is dead and revered as a God,</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">a psychologist assessing a woman accused of murdering atheists must</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">decide whether religious fundamentalism is a form of insanity.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">(Devotion).</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">> <b>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</b></span><b><br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">In a shady hammock overlooking a blue sea and deserted white sand</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">beach in Tobago.</span><br />
<br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">> <b>Tell me something I don't know</b></span><b><br style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;" /></b><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">I have a certificate in Apiary Management from Plumpton Agricultural College.</span><br />
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<i>THE MARLOWE PAPERS is published by Sceptre and available in all the usual places. You know what to do...</i></div>
Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-22695489774145977642013-03-28T00:55:00.000-07:002013-03-28T11:24:46.332-07:00Jess Richards<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqQl1Iz2qceYjpvc_FSb-3LJ6HSykNmmfiqvrx7JxHgDWT6sjs1dAY4XkNkJUutxi7cMVi6_RTKtG0-ZXzU1aF_fH5FvfiH4aVblsVjcK_PeSkZxze0krE-QqO8Q63k7aeXxqfEs435-5/s1600/jess+richards.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="311" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqQl1Iz2qceYjpvc_FSb-3LJ6HSykNmmfiqvrx7JxHgDWT6sjs1dAY4XkNkJUutxi7cMVi6_RTKtG0-ZXzU1aF_fH5FvfiH4aVblsVjcK_PeSkZxze0krE-QqO8Q63k7aeXxqfEs435-5/s320/jess+richards.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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CONVENTIONAL wisdom says that men don't read books by women. Now, it's a fact that conventional wisdom is wrong about almost everything. Conventional wisdom is a bloke droning on in a pub, giving you lists of facts when you'd rather have, you know, a conversation. Conventional wisdom will also tell you that men don't talk about emotions or feelings which is certainly not true of the men I know. Though we like to do it with a pool cue in our hands. Or some darts. In other words we like to MULTI-TASK as we do it.<br />
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So I don't know if men are reluctant to read books by women or not. I think a lot of men are reluctant to read full stop. But I do know that I, personally, honestly don't think about the sex of the author when I pick up a book. I've just checked and the last five books I've read are all by women... Anyway, in honour of the not-the-orange prize, the new WOMEN'S PRIZE FOR LITERATURE, I thought I'd do some interviews with great contemporary women novelists - or novelists who happen to be women...<br />
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And first up is JESS RICHARDS. Jess was on the Costa Shortlist for First Novel and her book is an unsettling fairy tale about healing and loss that challenges the reader through having two unreliable narrators who also bend language in inventive ways. It's an intricate and eerie book. Daring too. A book that pushes at boundaries and is, genuinely, a book that has extended the idea of what is possible in modern fiction. But don't think it's not an accessible read, because it is. Every line is imbued with the very essence of story-telling...<br />
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2230" style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Can I have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words (not 51, not 49)?</b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2224" style="color: black;">Jess Richards was born in Wales (1972), and grew up too fast in Scotland watching the ferry boats going to Northern Ireland. She left home at 17 and after getting an education, moved to Brighton aged 23 where she has grown up a bit slower, and has lived ever since.</span><span style="color: #1f497d;"> </span></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2233" style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Why should people read Snake Ropes?</b></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2211" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Because curiosity is a wonderful thing. It kills cats, apparently. And yet they take the risk so it must be worth it. There are already many amazing books in the world. If people weren't curious, no new writers would ever have their novels published. My novels aren't based on what or who I know. They're from an overly vivid imagination, and from a childhood spent inhabiting fairytales, which is where my own curiosity comes from.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2238" style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>What is your most pressing concern right this minute?</b></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2245" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">That I've just lied to someone so I can keep writing today, instead of going out to meet them. I'm wondering if lies are always wrong... if lies are more wrong when they're spoken aloud, or if texted lies don't count. I'm also wondering what would have happened if I'd just told the truth.</span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2250" style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>How is being a woman who writes different from being a man who writes?</b></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2257" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I'm aware from recent tweets, eavesdropping on conversations, and asking questions, that not many men seem to read women's writing. That said, quite a few men who have read my 'very female' book, Snake Ropes, have really enjoyed it, and taken the time to tell me so. Which makes me think that more men should read women's writing in general. Often if I tell a stranger I'm a writer, one, if not the first thing they ask is: 'do you have any children?' I'm not sure if male writers get these kinds of question, or in truth, what this question really has to do with writing.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire?</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">I admire pirates for their boldness and fashion-sense, spiders for the engineering within their webs, anyone who has survived a personal tragedy and stayed alive, and in particular, people who find their own dream and follow it relentlessly. Which includes many writers (who aren't necessarily pirates or spiders but are often survivors).</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Why do we need a Women's Prize for Literature?</b></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2260" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Why wouldn't we? Women's voices still aren't heard as much or as loudly as men's and there is still inequality in many cultures, including the UK. There's a real tendency to think that with political correctness and an awareness of diversity, we can disregard any kind of difference within our society. But disregarding anything means we don't listen to it. I'm more interested in people's personal stories and genuine experiences. Equality is an ideal, based on how we think we should behave towards one another, but ideals never exist in reality. That said, I'd be interested to see a men's prize for literature as well. And also a transsexual prize for literature. The great thing about prizes is that they make people aware of writers they'd not necessarily have heard of, or wouldn't usually read. Men read more male writers, perhaps women read more female writers, I would like to read more transsexual writers. Either way, a prize to draw attention to good books is never a bad thing, surely.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>Would you eat a mucky fat sandwich?</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">No, never. That's foul.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>What is the next book about?</b></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2267" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">My second book is about to be published - by Sceptre, on April the 25th, 2013. It's called Cooking with Bones and is an adult fairytale. It's about two sisters, Maya and Amber, who leave an oppressive futuristic city. Maya is a formwanderer, which means that people see what they want, when they look at her. They arrive in a deserted cottage where a recipe book and list of instructions await them. Kip is the only child in the nearby village who goes to and from the cottage, collecting the honey cakes Amber bakes, and bringing ingredients to them. Staying hidden, Amber feels she has finally found the home and life she wants. Maya has no identity she can cling to. When a brutal act of violence is committed in the kitchen of their cottage, they have more than themselves to hide.</span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;"><b>If you could be anywhere right now, it would be....?</b></span></div>
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<span id="yui_3_7_2_1_1364456910594_2271" style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt;">Up a mountain with a panoramic view, nowhere to shelter, and a storm coming in.</span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-size: 14pt;"><b><span style="font-family: inherit;">Tell me something I don't know...</span></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #1f497d; font-family: Garamond, serif; font-size: 14pt;">In a diagram of a flame, the main part of the flame is called the 'luminous zone'. Oh, and crows have cleverer eyes than humans, because they can see an additional primary colour that we can't.</span></div>
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<i>Snake Ropes and Cooking With Bones are published by Sceptre and available in all the usual places. You know what to do.</i><br />
<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-37113185358105497632013-03-26T11:50:00.001-07:002013-03-26T11:53:51.126-07:00Do I like writing? Of course I bloody don't....<br />
So, do you like writing?’ he says. I don’t have to think about this.<br />
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‘No. No I don’t.’ I say.<br />
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Of course it's a little bit more complicated than this. I like the feeling of having written. And I quite like editing. The slash and burn of it. The cut and chop and happy vandalism of it. Restoring white space to the page. It's like reconstructing a lost virginity and somehow I do like that. I even like the feeling of being up at 5.30am when the rest of the world is still dreaming, still pretending that the working day isn’t going to happen.<br />
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But no, the actual labour of trying to wrestle wisps of dreams into hard shapes that make sense. The typing, the pacing, the staring at the page while your head bleeds and your shoulders go rigid with the pressure of it all. No, I don’t enjoy that. That just feels like a weird compulsion. An extension of restless legs syndrome, something that keeps me awake and annoys my life partner. Restless brain syndrome maybe.<br />
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And there’s also the knowledge that there might not be that much time to write too many more books. After all my father died suddenly at 62, my paternal grandfather died suddenly at 52, his father died at 48, and he outlived his father… My maternal grandfather died at 39. And I’m 48, so I’m deep into the danger zone…<br />
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Writing is something I can’t really prevent any more. Like it was something lurking and latent that has risen to the surface. It’s an urge I used to be able to ignore, but the virus – if that’s what it is – is now full blown and so I’m compelled to sit down every morning or I find I’m all unbalanced for the rest of the day.<br />
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But I tell you what I do like – meeting readers. And if writing is painful it does have the compensation that, in the end, I quite often end up in libraries talking to thoughtful, intelligent, honest and forthright people who love books. Even if – as sometimes happens – they don’t love mine.<br />
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I’m on this splendid Read Regional http://www.readregional.com/ scheme where writers based in the North are matched up with libraries who unleash their writing groups upon us. Sometimes we face these groups on our own, and at other times we have the solidarity of a fellow worker in words to get our backs. And it’s always fun, always enlightening.<br />
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So far I’ve been to Hull Central Library (the Saturday before Christmas with Alison Gangel – 5 people there. One of them my father-in-law). I’ve been to Shipley library in February (50 people). I’ve been to Riverside library, Rotherham in a blizzard (25 – very hardy – people). I’ve been to Consett Library where my car blew up on the A1 (M). I was like a Messerschmidt pilot in the film Battle of Britain. Panicking and swearing and wreathed in the most acrid of smoke. I still made the gig though (my father-in-law again, driving from Hull to Wetherby services and whisking me up to County Durham where I stumbled in blackened of face and 20 mins late to the great hilarity of the assembled book club)<br />
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It was in Consett that an audience member said ‘My only worry about your book was that you are a middle aged man writing in the voice of a teenager… But having met you it now makes total sense.’ Cheeky, or what.<br />
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I’ve also been to York Explore Library where Fiona Shaw and I had a lovely chat with six readers and two librarians. Felt like the most civilised thing that I’ve ever done. It was in York where I was asked if I actually enjoyed writing. I should say that when I gave my answer, the bloke that asked it came back with ‘I don’t believe you.’<br />
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At King Cross library in Halifax (15 people) I tested out the plots of my next two novels and they seemed to go down okay. Which is a relief.<br />
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I have two more library gigs at Embsay community library and the fabulously named Sherburn-in-Elmet in North Yorks and come snow, come rain, come hail, come tiny audiences, come exploding cars I will be there. Smart people who have read your book and who generally like it and sometimes point out things that you haven’t noticed yourself - that’s worth all the pacing and the groaning and the fighting with phantom thoughts who won’t stay still properly. Worth all the slow drip-drip of brain blood onto paper.<br />
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And I learn so much too. Because my favourite part of these events is when the audience start to tell you their own stories. Which are always fascinating. And which some reader’s group members at least will see in print if they carry on reading books of mine. Be very careful what you tell a writer. But don’t be careful what you ask. Ask anything you like. I’ll answer honestly. Promise<br />
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<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-68571393149194203172013-02-24T04:19:00.001-08:002013-02-24T04:24:48.655-08:00AWOPBOPALOOBOP AWOPBAMBOOM<br />
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Awopbopaloobop awopbamboom. It should be written in the wildest most ridiculous font imaginable. One much more bonkers than any I have access to here. In that phrase is encapsulated the whole joyous movement from polite cocktail pop to the raucous freedom of rock and roll. The phrase - exciting enough even when just written down - expresses all the vigour, all the abandon and all the the sex of a whole new way of being. It means spare us your lectures daddio - the kids are moving in. Taking over. It's as subversive as Fight The Power, Relax and Anarchy In The Uk. As blatantly sexual as Je'Taime and with a better tune than any of them.<br />
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Awapbopaloobop awapbamboom - I can't stop typing it -These are the first words, the first noises of Little Richard's fantastic album <i>Rockin with Little Richard.</i> The opening lines of the war cry which is <i>Tutti Frutti</i>. With this track began the whole process of liberating an entire generation from the careful restraints of their parents. After <i>Tutti Frutti</i> (Covered by others of course, including Elvis in a version that's good but colourless when compared to the original) the kids had a whole new way of scaring their parents shitless.</div>
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Little Richard was vivid, sexually ambiguous and black. He also wasn't a kid. He was 29 when <i>Tutti Frutti</i> was released. He'd been around the juke joint block a few times and learned the ways of the carny. How to whip up a crowd.</div>
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<i>Tutti Frutti</i> is more than just a wild refrain. Awopbopaloop alopbamboom is the sound of a man responding to a sexual emergency. A man coming (!) to provide urgent relief to a nation just waking up to its hormones. In this song Little Richard seems to be in the grip of an unstoppable musical Tourettes. His whoops and whistles and yelps are all the sound of a man compelled to try an escape his band in just the same way that the new post-war generation is trying to get out from under the stifling feet of the squares.</div>
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Little Richard is way, way out there a standard bearer for the generation that didn't fight in any wars, the first generation of American youth with pockets full of spending loot and access to cars, clothes and records. A generation that had TV. That could take a date to the movies and make-out in the back seat of a ragged Ford.</div>
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This was a generation that had no need of the gentle courtship notions of Mom and Pops. And no patience with their hypocrisies either.</div>
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And that impatience is the core of this album. <i>Tutti Frutti</i> is an impatient song, a song propelled by a pounding secular, sexual evangelism. Awopbopaloopbop alopbamboom is like a pentecostal speaking in tongues, only at a teenage orgy after the drive-in rather than in the wooden shack of a rural church. It has the same kind of ecstatic revelation contained within it. No wonder adults hated and feared Little Richard Penniman. No wonder the teenagers loved him. No wonder they literally ripped up the cinemas during showings of his first film <i>The Girl Can't Help It</i> (Both the title track and Otis Blackwell's <i>Rip It Up</i> are contained here too).</div>
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I got R<i>ockin with Little Richard</i> out of Hebden Library four weeks ago and I've just been renewing it ever since. It's been a constant companion on the car stereo. <i>Tutti Frutti</i> is followed by <i>Long Tall Sally, Lucille, Good Golly Miss Molly, Slippin and Slidin </i>and other early rock and roll classics that take you over and out of yourself like an orgiastic mugging. The sexy, saxy, thump and jump of the tight little band just about keep up with their manic, sexually hyper active vocalist.</div>
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Little Richard's songs are all about celebrating the moment and they - along with the more considered and witty storytelling of Chuck Berry - did more than anything to create the iconography of rock and roll. Little Richard, Berry, the young Presley, Carl Perkins, Jerry Lee Lewis these are the guys who created the mythology of their own genre, but no-one did it with more outrageous panache than Little Richard.</div>
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How surprising it is then - upsetting even - to find that <i>Rocking with Little Richard</i> is catogorised by Calderdale libraries as Easy Listening. This music, the sound of authentic sexual revolution, was partly responsible for tearing down the bedroom walls between the white kids and the black kids. The parents, rightly feared that this music with its explicit calls to 'ball', would lead to miscegenation in the dancehalls. Easy Listening? White middle America didn't think so. And neither do I.</div>
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Within a year of the 1956 release of this album, Little Richard had become the Reverend Richard Penniman and put his voice and personality at the service of the Lord. For a few years after that Little Richard only made gospel records before rock and roll proved more powerful even than the voice of God and dragged him back to the dark side.<br />
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Sometimes Tutti Frutti comes on the stereo when I'm whacking the boxing bag at the gym. And I always hit a little harder for it's two minutes and 11 seconds. Actually I smack that goddamn bag a lot harder...</div>
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Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-6246559498899585992013-01-21T13:26:00.000-08:002013-03-24T12:57:18.356-07:00Essex Boy<br />
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IT would, I guess, be easy to hate Luke Wright. In fact I once heard someone describe him as having 'the most punchable face at the Edinburgh Fringe.' And when you think just how fierce the competition is for that particular title... it's a bold claim.<br />
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Thing is he's young, he's tall, he's good-looking, he's funny. He has his own slot on Radio Four's Saturday Live. He packs theatres and arts centres up and and down the land. And he gets to programme Latitude. And he's generous and energetic and conscientious and - let's not shy away from the N-word - he's Nice. Really properly, trust him with your wife, your sister and your wallet nice. And now he has a lovely family too... </div>
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He's so great that he's even had an unauthorised tribute act. He was plagiarised so mercilessly and so frequently by some shameless cunt, that Luke had people accuse him of plagiarising the plagiarist. people accused Luke of pretending to be the real Luke... (and I've seen the Youtube clips of the Pretend Luke performing - he clearly has no idea what the work he's passing off as his own even means. But that's how good Luke's stuff is - it can withstand a mangling by an illiterate thieving psycho and still sound amazing...)</div>
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So o<i>f course</i> the Right Luke arouses a lot of negative emotions. He could hardly fail to. Anyway, punchable face or not - I find him inspiring. He's always writing, always pushing himself, never settling for the routines and tropes his audiences expect. And now he's had a proper book published. He's intent on conquering page as well as stage. And I applaud him. As long as he doesn't start writing novels. That would make me nervous...</div>
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Luke's first book is <b>Mondeo Man</b> (Penned In The Margins) and features the political satire and the wit we expect, but it also has its moments of pathos and heartbreak too. Anyone who unthinkingly disparages Essex should read it. And shameless plagiarising cunts should have someone read it to them and explain the big words.</div>
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He's a great bloke. It's a great book. Read it. </div>
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And in the meantime read this - I asked Luke some questions and he answered them with wit and honesty and verve. Not to mention generalised all round niceness. The bastard.</div>
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<span style="font-family: MS SANS-SERIF, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><b>Hello Luke, give us your autobiography in exactly 50 words (not 49, not 51...)</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12px;"> I'm London born and Essex bred. I've been hawking my poetic wares around arts centres, theatres, pubs, school halls, comedy clubs, music festivals and car parks since 1999. I founded Aisle16. I've made six solo stage shows and one proper book. I also programme the wonderful poetry tent at Latitude. </span></div>
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<span style="color: #454545; font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12px;"><b>Which writers and performers do you admire?</b></span></span></div>
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Larkin, Betjeman, John Cooper Clarke, Martin Newell, Tim Turnbull, Evelyn Waugh, PG Wodehouse. </div>
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As a performer I have been influenced by comedians such as Russel Brand, Stewart Lee and Eddie Izzard.</div>
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<b>Should all poets be able to perform their work?</b><br />
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Not literally perform - a poet should be allowed to toil in peace and solitude. But poems are performative, even if they stay on the page they are little performances, they should dazzle, no matter how subtly. </div>
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<b>In what ways are you an Essex Man?</b><br />
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As Martin Newell said - "Man of Essex, thoroughbred / lead in pencil, gear in shed / always kept his ferrets fed / found him dead in the barmaid's bed / good ole boy they quietly said / found him dead in the barmaid's bed." </div>
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That's the eulogy I want. </div>
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<b>One of the things I admire about your work is how you write a whole new show every year... will you ever do a Greatest Hits tour?</b><br />
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I make sure I write a new hour every year. But these days when I tour I'm starting to do 90 mins a night so a few old ones ( and even brand new ones) get an airing too. I much prefer doing a set than a show, keeping looser and reacting to an audience. That said I will always keep writing new stuff. It's what I love most. </div>
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<b>This is your first 'real' book? What on earth took you so long?</b><br />
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I've been biding my time. I wanted it to be really good. Most of the poems have been written in the last three years. I don't think I was up to it before then. </div>
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<b>In what ways as fatherhood changed your writing?</b><br />
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I'm generally more emotive and empathetic. It's made me grow up, that's reflected in my writing. I also value my time more which had meant I write more. </div>
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<b>What's next?</b><br />
<br />
New show - Essex Lion - all new stuff, the loose theme is "seeing what we wanted to see." My parents have moved in the last year, cutting my links with Essex so I'm focusing on Essex a bit too. </div>
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Then more of the same - touring, radio, and putting together a new book. </div>
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<b>What would the 30 year old Luke tell the 18 year old Luke?</b><br />
<br />
The stuff you hate is good, the stuff you like is shit. Read more books, do more writing. Make the most of the pills, it'll stop being fun soon. </div>
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<b>Tell me something I don't know?</b><br />
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I'm having a Pot Noodle for my lunch, as a treat. </div>
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Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-43694517673298073352012-11-19T22:48:00.000-08:002013-06-21T06:31:38.299-07:00The Golden Age<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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'AGE is an issue of mind over matter. if you don't mind, it doesn't matter.' Mark Twain said that and he knew a thing or two.<br />
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So, I'm talking to this reporter and her killer question? It's this: How old are you? Apparently it's what the readers like to know.<br />
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Is it? Really? </div>
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It's about the least important thing about anyone isn't it? And in the context of my books the reporter is probably really wondering how I - a man of middle years - can hope to write convincingly about a nineteen year old boy.</div>
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And the answer is because I stayed nnnnnnnineteen longer than anyone I know. Far longer than the solitary year that most people get. Up to about the age of 12/13 I progressed through the days much like everyone else. But I got stuck in early adolescence for several years until suddenly a girl happened and I rejoined my peers at 19. And I stayed 19 through college, through my many years of answering the phone and photo-copying and all the various other deadening facets of assistanting. I stayed 19 through the birth of my first child, through my journalism training, through my first teaching gigs and my first book. I was 19 pretty much up until I'd finished writing Life! Death! Prizes! And by that time I was into the period you humans call your forties. </div>
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Finishing that book seemed to push me on a little, and I was able to move forward to my current age. Which is 29.</div>
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Yes, I'm 29 and I think I may very well stay here for quite a while. I like it here. It seems okay. I can run, jump, skip. I can take risks. I can still leap into things - but I just might look at how far the drop is first. </div>
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See - as someone must have said - the tragedy of getting old is not that we age, it's that we stay so young. Many - most - older people are trapped in a body becoming unfamiliar to them. A body that is becoming the wrong body. Fuck Wallace and his pitiful Wrong Trousers, most of us have the Wrong Legs, the Wrong Head and the Wrong Bits are getting Wronger. </div>
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We had to do Thomas Hardy at A level and I remember these lines resonated with me 'I look into my glass/And view my wasting skin/And say 'would God it had come to pass/My heart had shrunk as thin...'</div>
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Something like that anyway (I'm not being so middle-aged as to check). Now my old English teacher, the inspirational Mr Jones, is not around to ask - but I think Tom Hardy is saying that we don't get old. Our skin gets lined and muscles begin to sag, we begin to ache in the places where we used to play - but still we are surprised when we catch ourselves in the mirror. Shocked even. 'Who is that old fucker staring at me?' we wonder. 'That strange looking geezer. The bloke who, now I come to look a little closer, looks scarily like my dad. What does he want with me?'</div>
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But one of the great things about writing is that you can be whoever you want to be. You can still fall in love with any guitar, any bass drum, any girl. The space-time continuum has all the meaning it was meant to have, ie no meaning at all. It is a piece of fiction itself. A scary fairy story to frighten us into buying pensions and insurance. A scam.</div>
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Don't ask me how old I am. Because the honest answer is I don't know. Just at the minute 29 seems to suit me fine, and I think I'll rest up here for a while. And in my head the guys at the top of this blog page are still guys I know, not ghosts. I could still go hang out with them at any time.<br />
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Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-60957644200047092362012-10-30T00:01:00.000-07:002013-03-30T01:07:13.449-07:00Adrian Barnes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlUI8neXuEBDMMgC9t1ocImBt5T71Qf4g6d3MxyMcvx60kBZMZxYQznqpOp4-8vY0QAsEharkGiJfgNw6hUmrKGn2t6lzRNO0Hyf53A5ujrd_3pEYU0prSvn1MczFR_wbnjw239EBZNPk/s1600/insomnia-woman.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxlUI8neXuEBDMMgC9t1ocImBt5T71Qf4g6d3MxyMcvx60kBZMZxYQznqpOp4-8vY0QAsEharkGiJfgNw6hUmrKGn2t6lzRNO0Hyf53A5ujrd_3pEYU0prSvn1MczFR_wbnjw239EBZNPk/s320/insomnia-woman.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
THE world has had a rough night. No one has slept. From China to Chelsea, India to Indiana, Austria to Australia, from sea to restless, insomniac sea - the whole world has been laying awake counting the hours till morning. And that's just day one of a global phenomenon that moves very quickly from a 'well, that was weird.' to full-blown psychosis. Imagine it: a sleepless world, a world without rest. That's going to be a world all fucked up big style in short order. And, actually, you don't have to imagine it, because Canadian writer Adrian Barnes already has in his terrific debut novel <i>Nod.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
This is a book with explosive narrative propulsion. <i>Nod </i>is not for the squeamish - not being able to sleep turns the mildest people into monsters (ask any parent of tiny sleepless babies)- but it is also a book with huge heart as well as linguistic daring. The hero, Paul, is a one of the few Sleepers in this new world (a fact he very quickly learns to keep quiet) and is also a professional lover of words and everything from the title on resonates at a variety of levels (Nod - for instance, is the land where Cain fled after he was expelled for killing his brother). Of course Nod is a metaphor for the way the frenzied activity of mankind is mostly pointless, and often dangerous - but it's also a damn fine terrifying helter-skelter of a modern horror story. The sort of thing John Wyndham might appreciate, or HG Wells. And Adrian is coming over from British Columbia to promote Nod (a book I fully expect to cause stonking hard-ons in Hollywood film studios - it has 'potential blockbuster movie' written all over it) - and I asked him a few questions... And he is, I think you'll agree, a thoughtful, intelligent bloke. Now go and buy his book.<br />
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<b>Can we have your autobiography in EXACTLY 50 words, please? (not 49, not 51...)</b></blockquote>
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First poem, in grade one: "A mother's a mother/Skinny or fat/She shouts loud and long/All through the day/But I like her that way". Got a reaction and thought 'hmm'. From there it was Dr. Seuss then comic books then sci fi then punk rock then Dante then Dickens then NOD.</div>
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<b>Where did the story for NOD come from? (are you an insomniac for example?)</b></blockquote>
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Yes, I'm something of an amateur insomniac, which has given me time to reflect and consider how insomnia may well be the defining metaphor of our era and not just my own life. </div>
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<b>In what senses is Nod a Canadian book do you think?</b></blockquote>
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I think Nod contains a trust in nature that's very Canadian. The problems in the book are all 'First World' as the kids say, and fairly universal, but the solutions are all out there waiting in the woods. Canadians love nature and even rely on it as a corrective to civilization. That confidence in nature stops Nod from going completely over the edge in terms of despair. I have a thousand kilometres of unbroken forest right behind my house. It's got my back. </div>
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<b>Nod possesses huge narrative propulsion, and it's also graphically violent at times. Did you surprise yourself in writing these scenes?</b></blockquote>
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No. I pretty much just inhabit what I write and don't think about it too much, if that makes sense. I didn't realize Nod was so intense until others read the ms and said so. Odd because I've never written violently before and have no plans to do so again...but it is about an apocalypse, so no one can say it's gratuitous!</div>
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<b>The hero of Nod loves words - indeed, he is a professional explorer of forgotten and ancient words. How far do you share his fascination?</b></blockquote>
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On an amateur level. I teach English and will often stop a class for fifteen minutes and talk about the etymology of 'okay' or 'cool'. In the same way that metaphor adds depth to words, so too--I think--does knowing their histories.</div>
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<b>What's the next project?</b></blockquote>
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I've recently begun working on a comic novel titled "Dickensian" which is about a sort of post-modern uber-hipster who finds his life slowly transformed into a Dickensian orgy of the emotions. </div>
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<b>Who - in life or writing - do you most admire and why?</b></blockquote>
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I admire people with the guts to tell the truth and not gussy life up too much. Most of my heroes were musicians when I was younger: John Lennon, Morrissey, Bob Dylan, Joe Strummer, even Paul Weller. Those who dug right through the bullshit around fame, which is a form of mental illness for most famous people--and for society as a whole. In a literary sense that translates into George Orwell, GB Shaw, Noam Chomsky, and Socrates. In a personal sense, my father's mother and my mother's father as well as both my parents, who've always striven to be honest people.</div>
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<b>Anyone you despise? (and why?)</b></blockquote>
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No one. I can't despise because I'm too despicable to be qualified. Ask Jesus or Buddha, maybe!</div>
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<b>World getting better or worse?</b></blockquote>
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Both. On the one hand, I judge society by how it treats the marginalized--and on that front we're way ahead of the Middle Ages: gay people can now often live freely and in some places openly; people with mental and physical challenges are increasingly welcomed into society; women are now, at least in our part of the world, mostly masters of their own fates. That's progress. On the other hand, our governments and corporations are nightmares and we're headed for a big fall unless--and I can't in good conscience put it another way--there's a revolution.</div>
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<b>Tell me something I don't know...</b></blockquote>
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Two things. 1. For every year a coke dealer gets sentenced to in the US a crack dealer gets 100 years. Yes, 100. 2. Barack Obama defines as 'enemy combatant' anyone within drone strike range of the 'terrorists' he unilaterally sentences to death each morning over coffee. That includes many, many women and children.<br />
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<i>Nod is published by Bluemoose tomorrow (october 31)</i></div>
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Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-89184630771645987922012-10-17T23:56:00.000-07:002012-10-18T01:05:26.639-07:00Taxi for EmmerdaleI NEARLY laid down my life for Emmerdale. It's unlikely, absurd even - and entirely true. just a few weeks into my - very short - stint as a storyliner for the show (which is celebrating it's ruby anniversary with a live show even as I type!). I was mugged on my way to Leeds station. Two lads after my laptop, on which were copies of all the new storylines. If I lost them to these hooded weasels we would have to do them all again and the prospect was a horrific one. Clearly I wasn't going to go through all that again, so I shouted, I roared, I kicked out and most of all I kept a stubborn grip on the strap of my lap top bag.<br />
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I'm no hero. I'm not tough. But a middle-aged man needs very little excuse to go nuclear these days. Over 40, it needs almost nothing to send us off into a scary, volcanic murderous rage. Losing your glasses can do it, a dodgy mobile signal can do it, never mind a kid laying his ferrety fingers on your Lenovo. And in any case I think these boys were probably junkies and, as we well know, heroin is not a performing enhancing drug. Not for street fighting anyway - if you are recording A Kind of Blue or Exile On Main Street, it seem to work rather better.<br />
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So, the fight was a short one. And they ran off to ring their probation officers or whatever, to complain that the nasty shouty man wouldn't do the decent thing. And left me to have palpitations about how it could have turned out. A stanley knife in the guts, the family turning off the life support with me locked in by own body, and unable to tell them that I was still alive... and then the grave-stone. <i>Here lies the grave of Stephen May... Died So The Sugdens and The Dingles might live.</i><br />
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Except that you don't know who the Sugdens and the Dingles are do you? Or, if you do, it's a distant folk memory like the way people who have no conscious knowledge of George Formby still somehow know the words to 'Leaning On a Lamp Post' or 'When I'm Cleaning Windows'.<br />
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During my time on Emmerdale I rarely met actual fans of the show (and I include the cast and crew here). In fact I rarely met anyone who admitted to watching it. I used to hear 'My mum watches it.' or, most hurtfully of all, I once got 'My Nan <i>used </i>to watch it.'<br />
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Which, to be fair, was more than I did. I can admit it now. But don't tell anyone. The whole time I worked on Emmerdale I didn't watch a single episode. Not all the way through. I couldn't actually bear to. So it wasn't much wonder that my storylines weren't much cop. Amusing things for the old people to do with chutney, that was what I found myself tasked with. This is the TV soap equivalent of being made to clean the toilets with a toothbrush. Punishment detail.<br />
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But there was one storyline I - sort of - came up with. A big one. Now, it's possible that other people will claim this didn't happen. That I am suffering from false memory syndrome. That they came up with this story. They have their truth, and this is mine (to coin a phrase) and bear in mind the adage about success having many fathers while failure is an orphan. And it's true that in soap storyline writing you are often working in groups so the contribution of one individual is hard to measure. Except in this case. Because in the case of the Paddy\Chas story the authorship is - to my mind anyway - completely clear. It came from a Hebden Bridge taxi driver.<br />
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Now because you don't know who the fuck Paddy and Chas are (you're now singing When I'm cleaning windows and playing air ukulele) I'll tell you. Paddy Kirk (brilliantly played by Dominic Brunt. It is a strange fact that some of the actors on Emmerdale are amazing. Dom, Mark Charnock -the guy who plays Marlon and - especially - the guy who played Eli Dingle, whose name I forget. And Jane Cox who plays Ma Dingle. All superb actors.) Paddy Kirk is the village vet. An amiable, good-hearted, permanently flustered oaf. Unlucky in love and a bit of a buffoon. Chas is the village vamp. A tart with a heart (Chas is short for Chastity. Ho and, indeed, ho.) Chas has chequered sexual history. The streets of Emmerdale are littered with the hearts she's broken... Nevertheless she walks in hope that one day her dark prince will come along. Someone who can tame her...<br />
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Anyway, one night on my way home from a hard day on chutney duty, I took a cab. I mentioned what I did and the taxi driver went into paroxysms of joy. She WAS a fan. She LOVED the show. In fact she loved it so much she knew what should happen... And what should happen was that Paddy - amiable idiot that he is should get entangled with Chas.<br />
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'Really?' I said<br />
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'Yes, really.' She said. And went on. She told how Chas, fragile after her the wreckage of her latest doomed romance, will - one desperately lonely night - bestow on her favours on Paddy. And the scales will fall from her eyes and she'll see the honest virtues of Paddy are far better than the dubious charms of the self-absorbed shits she's been falling for up to now... Plain, good-hearted, sturdy yeoman Paddy he's the man. Paddy - sure his heart will be broken if he falls for Chas - resists. But she is determined. She woos and wins him and finally convinces Paddy that she's serious. That she loves him Goddamit. That the self-absorbed shits are a thing of the past, that it's only good-hearted vets for her from now on. Paddy has never been so happy. Except that... Chas can't help herself and, having reeled Paddy in, finds she still has a thing for Carl - the bad boy haulage company owner and her former partner. She has a for old times sake fling with Carl. And breaks Paddy's heart.<br />
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And which point she realises that it really IS Paddy she loves and has to work to win him back a second time and of course he's doubly watchful, doubly resistant... It's like one of those 19th century French novels. Like something out of Zola or Flaubert. And genius... And she succeeds 'And then they're an item for a long time' concludes the tax driver.<br />
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So the next morning I'm in to those offices on the Kirkstall Road and I'm saying 'You know what should happen? Paddy and.... Chas should happen.'<br />
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And they're all scoffing 'Really? Paddy and Chas... '<br />
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And I'm all 'Yes really...' And I begin to explain, just as the Hebden taxi driver explained it all to me. I was the girl with the golden straw, she was Rumpelstiltskin - and she didn't even want my first born daughter in return.<br />
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And that my friends is the story of how Paddy and Chas came to be. Other people will claim the credit, other people will tell you that it wasn't like that... but we - you and I - we know the truth...<br />
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Like we all know the rot set in when they stopped calling it Emmerdale Farm...<br />
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<i>The First episode of Emmerdale Farm was broadcast Oct 16 1972. The same year Ziggy Stardust came out... </i><br />
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<i> .</i><br />
<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-9408900087243448992012-10-01T21:46:00.000-07:002013-06-21T06:22:58.912-07:00Some sympathy please for Jeremy Forrest<em>So Jeremy Forrest is guilty of child abduction. He's got five and a half years. Juries are generally sensible and I haven't been following the court reports that closely - but here's something I wrote about it when the story first broke back in October...</em><br />
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A TEACHER I know asked her Year Ten class 'So what do you think of this Jeremy Forrest thing? You know the maths teacher guy who ran off to France with a student?' The response was instant and predictable.<br />
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'He's a paedo, miss!'<br />
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'He should be castrated, miss!'<br />
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And then she asked them if any of them had ever had crushes on teachers. After a pause, about eight raised their hands. My friend the teacher twitched an eye-brow. There was laughter, and another eight hands went up. Sixteen out of a class of 25 fifteen year olds. Makes you think.<br />
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And of course, this Jeremy Forrest, this man, this maths teacher, has stepped over a line. He has - whether consciously or not - abused the power relationship between student and faculty.More specifically, he has, in the words of another friend of mine, 'been a complete twit.'<br />
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But desire, love, makes twits of us all. Makes complete fucking arses of us all. Who hasn't made a dick of themselves because of desire? Who doesn't, even now, suddenly feel a hot rush of shame at the thought of something we did or said to the wrong person because love - or what we thought was love - had seized the driving wheel of our psyche.<br />
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Here's a sum - the average maths teacher teaches twenty classes a week. Most groups he will see three or four times in that week, so he's working with 100 different kids each year. In a ten year teaching career that is a thousand different pupils. In that time it would be staggering if a young, handsome, personable, clever teacher didn't collect a fair few admirers. Some of them passionate, some of them wily, several of them very beautiful and very smart themselves. No surprise that maybe with some of them he makes a real live adult connection. No surprise that feelings grow, especially if he's hired by the parents to give extra maths tuition. Especially if the school apparently turns a blind eye when he sits holding hands with the girl on the way back from a school trip to the States.<br />
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And of course, he shouldn't act on these feelings. Of course he should be responsible. And if he can't control himself, he should be sacked, no question. But should he be in jail? Should he be branded a paedo? Should he be on the sex offenders register for life?<br />
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Interesting that he ran away to France, where the age of consent is fifteen. Where, in fact, he has committed no crime and where he and the student could, if they chose, live together openly and have children and lead an entirely respectable life. In five years time Monsieur and Madame Forrest could be on the PTA committee of their own kids' ecole. <br />
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I guess that won't happen though. I guess that he'll be destroyed and the relationship will fall apart pretty quickly - it almost certainly would have done anyway, but what relationship could withstand the pressure this one is getting now?<br />
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And I'm willing to bet that in ten years time Jeremy Forrest will still be avoiding the eyes of strangers, fearful that he'll be attacked as a nonce, while in another part of the world, over a few bottles of chilled Pinot Grigio, the girl might well be telling this amazing story of how she once ran off with her maths teacher. And after she's told it, most of her audience will chime in with stories of how they themselves once kissed their teacher, or almost did, or wanted to.<br />
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And, just in case, you were wondering, I was a teacher for ten years. And, no, nothing like this happened to me. Not really. But then I was already 30 when I became a teacher. And teenagers - with their rubbish music and their dodgy fashions and unformed opinions never really did it for me - but it is an occupational hazard and silly not to acknowledge that every now and again in a long career you might meet a sixth former for whom - if you weren't their teacher - you might have made an idiot of yourself over.<br />
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Women as well as men by the way. Just this week I had a conversation with another ex-colleague who told of a kid who had a crush on her, who was, in the end, expelled for various idiocies. 'And thank God he was.' she said. 'Because everyone in the staff room knew he had a crush on me - and they all joked about it - but what they didn't know, was that I had one on him. He was 14.'<br />
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And my former colleague is the best teacher I've ever met.<br />
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Anyway, if you want to read more you should look at my novel TAG -- because one of the slightly annoying things about this whole Jeremy Forrest thing is that the two of them seem to have lifted chunks of my book to inform their escape plan...<br />
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Bastards.<br />
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<a href="http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tag-Stephen-May/dp/1905614373/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1349153096&sr=8-1">http://www.amazon.co.uk/Tag-Stephen-May/dp/1905614373/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1349153096&sr=8-1</a>Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com22tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7247258392881362991.post-10702162500205242292012-09-27T00:51:00.002-07:002016-03-28T00:53:29.390-07:00Why I will never self-publishA time-slip story. It is 1962 and in a studios in London a band are auditioning for Decca records. It is The Beatles, a combo popular in Liverpool and in Hamburg but unknown nearly everywhere else (though bizarrely, they have just done a one off gig in Stroud). This audition does not go well. The band are disconsolate until somebody (probably Paul - it would be Paul) says 'Never mind, guys. Let's put it out ourselves.'<br />
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And so they do. Because this is my story and not a true story, my version of the 1962 Beatles are able to convene around a lap-top in Paul's bedroom and record their first album. No George Martin producing and with Pete Best on drums. It's a more or less faithful rendition of their live set, only not as good because they don't yet know much about capturing sound in the studio. Also Pete Best is very, ah,<i> limited </i>as a drummer so the time-keeping is erratic.<br />
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But the album comes out, their friends and family all love it. Fans buy it at gigs and it sits there in this strange 1960s internet I've just invented, available to everyone to download at will. Which is a shame, because all four members of the Beatles will have cause to regret rushing out their first album. A producer called George Martin hears it and decides he'll pass on what sounds to him like just another rough and ready beat group. Eventually Paul gets a day job in PR, George goes back to the electricians apprenticeship. Pete gets that civil service post working in a Liverpool job centre, where he regularly sees John. Because John is actually unemployable and so is always in the Job Centre.<br />
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And now back in the real world... the thing is, the Beatles needed rejection in order to get good. It was as vital to their development as the hours spent playing to drunken sailors as the warm up acts for the strippers in Hamburg. And even when they were ready for greatness they needed the special midwifery of a producer, plus the distribution of EMI, the PR guy, Brian Epstein.They needed a team of people that loved them, would fight for them and would also challenge them. They needed talent yes, but they also needed resilience.<br />
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Knock-backs are part of the process. Who was it said 'if you don't get rejections, it just means you're not trying hard enough'. Someone smart anyway.<br />
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We, of course are unluckier than the Beatles. We are unlucky because we live in a place where it is possible to have a rejection free artistic life. Because it's emphatically not a good thing. Musicians, writers, we can - if the knockbacks get too bruising - just stick our stuff out there. We can skip the whole tedious business of rewriting, reworking, redrafting, reshaping, arguing about plot decisions and character. We don't need agents or editors. we don't even need copy-editors - who wants to argue about commas, when they could be having fun, fun, fun. We can do it all ourselves and put it up on the internet and sell our work for 10p. Because anyway what is the point of trying to get published the old-fashioned way, everyone knows the traditional publishers only want nubile women or their mates from Oxbridge don't they?<br />
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Well, no. The rest of us, can with talent, luck and perseverance can still get proper deals. And I say that as a balding, greying middle-aged man living in the North who only ever went to Cambridge to see my dad, who was a porter in one of the colleges there.<br />
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Publishers often get it wrong. Maybe they even usually get it wrong, but at least you know the gateway was tough to get through. For a book to arrive in a bookshop it has been pretty thoroughly road-tested and interrogated. As a reader I find that comforting, even if it's annoying as a writer.<br />
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And if your book is too edgy for the mainstream? Well, there are dozens of eager indies putting out good stuff. And making a success of it. Sandstone, And Other Stories, Cargo, Bluemoose, Peepal Tree, Tindal Street, Cinnamon... and those just the ones I've thought of off the top of my head this second. And they accept unagented manuscripts too.<br />
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And the other thing that puts me off self-publishing? It's the zealots who advocate it. They are so angry. It's like publishing is a girl who inexplicably rejects their advances while blatantly flirting with some less worthy bloke from down the road. She likes someone else. Get over it. Maybe she'll see your worth another day after the pointless affair with the lesser writer burns itself out.<br />
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And it's not like the self publishing ebook authors are at the vanguard of some youthful revolution, because you know who really values the printed artefact? Young people that's who. In a world where anything can be 'published' on the net, then it has no real value. But if someone has invested time and money in making a real Thing, and then that Thing is transported from printers, to warehouse, to shop. Where people have browsed and chosen your Thing over all the other shiny Things they could buy. Well, that is really worth something...<br />
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So if you're considering self-publishing on the internet or anywhere else I would say wait. Ask yourself if you are really a skilled enough editor, copy-editor, publicist, designer and marketeer to do it all yourself. And even if the answer to those questions is yes. Then still wait, because maybe you are The Beatles in early 1962. Maybe you are just not quite ready. You need to get rid of the inner Pete Best that is holding you back. And you need to find your George Martin. Of course you can BUY the services of editors, designers, marketeers etc but actually that's my other big beef with the self-publishing industry...<br />
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Self-publishing, indie publishing whatever you call it, is one of those things that sounds democratic but is actually anything but. Is the opposite of that. It sounds like it is one of those games anyone can play but actually the indie authors who are most visible are generally the ones with the deepest pockets. If you're skint how will you afford all the help you need to publish properly? If indie publishing were ever to become the norm (and it won't) then how will the marginalised voices ever find a way to be heard?<br />
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<br />Bookspyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17200791981877448618noreply@blogger.com27