tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656468.post112323174438756726..comments2024-03-18T09:14:44.500+00:00Comments on Grumpy Old Bookman: Francis Ellen: The SamplistMichael Allenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/11338398159818400930noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656468.post-67847416859465989952023-12-15T10:10:40.755+00:002023-12-15T10:10:40.755+00:00off white
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(Come to think of it, there just might be: I mean</I> you're <I>reading this, aren't you?)<BR/><BR/>But, after weeks of trying to get my review of</I> The Samplist <I>onto <A HREF="http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0954803108/qid%3D1127739510/026-7461884-0411646" REL="nofollow"> Amazon</A> (they claim that reviews appear within two working days) I thought I might as well just put it here.</I><BR/><BR/>This is a terrific novel. Set in a Glasgow music academy, it tells the tale of Alex Stone, a mediocre pianist whose computer skills enable him to forge the world’s greatest performing musician. Yang Li is a virtuoso pianist . . . and violinist, and guitarist and tubaist. And just to prove it, Ronak Publishing have made his performances available as a free download from their website.<BR/><BR/><I>The Samplist</I> is the sort of novel which makes you take your head out of the gas oven and have another bash at living. It’s a comic novel, a novel of ideas, and it hasn’t got a dull sentence. In trying to place Francis Ellen, critics have invoked Dickens, Malcolm Bradbury, Joseph Heller, Tom Sharpe (though in truth Sharpe resembles Ellen much as Forest Green Rovers resemble Real Madrid). My own point of reference for <I>The Samplist</I>, for what it’s worth, would be <I>Lucky Jim</I>. Ellen does dreadful things to pretentious snobbery.<BR/><BR/>Like all the best comic writers, he can’t help being serious. At one level, <I>The Samplist</I> is a warning from computers to professional musicians (and, by implication, to Homo sapiens in general): anything you can do, we can do it better (or if we’re not there yet, we soon will be). All right, there’s nothing new in this, but Ellen makes it feel new; he makes you think.<BR/><BR/>But don’t look for seriousness in <I>The Samplist</I>: if you’re not hopelessly thick and ignorant, that’ll filter through regardless. Just read it for fun. Because in a literary world which, when it’s not grovelling at the feet of celebrity, so often gazes obsessively at its own cavernous navel, <I>The Samplist</I> is a gas. Promise.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656468.post-1123686054780999662005-08-10T16:00:00.000+01:002005-08-10T16:00:00.000+01:00It's interesting how often struggling writers embi...It's interesting how often struggling writers embittered by rejections from countless agents and editors hurl their derision on the idea of a Big Brother contestant having his or her autobiography published as an example of taste subordinated to commercial viability. As far as I know, no Big Brother contestant has ever had their autobiography published by a trade publisher, and no agent or editor worth his or her salt would even think of commissioning such a book.<BR/><BR/>As an agent, the first thing I look for in a fiction submission is precision; the precise elucidation of ideas. It's a prerequisite for reading beyond the first page or two (though it's not enough on its own; it has to be accompanied by narrative flare). I'm not surprised Paul hasn't found a publisher, if his scattergun rant is any evidence. <BR/><BR/>Incidentally, I don't give a damn whether a novelist attended a particular school, or who they know. I'm only interested in the quality of the writing, and I speak for a very large majority of my fellow agents in saying so. <BR/><BR/>That said, in the case of certain high-profile novelists, I do think a deeply conservative and depressing prize-giving / reviewing culture has developed. Positive reviews and reputations do indeed gather their own momentum regardless of the quality of the author's most recent novel, and today's booker longlist is evidence of the fact. Ian McEwan, Rushdie, and Zadie Smith - presumably the favourites to win - are trading on reputation alone; all three new offerings are embarassingly bad.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656468.post-1123259670243167842005-08-05T17:34:00.000+01:002005-08-05T17:34:00.000+01:00As a struggling 'writer' I can tell you that this ...As a struggling 'writer' I can tell you that this man has a point... Publishers and indeed Agents do tend to treat writers as sources of in-bound amusement and/or rabid lunatics who obviously can't write because they a) didn't attend the right schools or b) don't know the right people... <BR/><BR/>The truth is, they need writers so they can continue to make down payments on their lives, without writers, they are stuffed. But being arrogant sods with lots of stories about writers who can’t write plaguing them night and day they will not see this. Perhaps they don’t like the idea of being in fact the fiddle rather than the fiddler…. And of course many have already realised that the short cut to money is to get a celebrity to write something, anything really, in order to sell the name rather than any kind of literary worth...<BR/><BR/>I've sent my latest greatest novel out to various publishers and agents most of whom have rejected it. I await rejection letters from the rest. In an order to keep track of my submissions I enclose a postcard which I ask the recipient to date stamp and return to me... Easy enough, I put a stamp on it, I put my address on it, I even put 'this post card acknowledges receipt of your submissions package’ followed by a place to put the date... Of the 15 I sent out, only 5 could be bothered to return the card at all and of this thunderous response one couldn't even be bothered to scribble the date on the card. I suppose I should count myself lucky to get the card at all.<BR/><BR/>Publishers and agents (at least in the UK) are, in my opinion, the dearth of writing and writers, and now they are owned by money men I think we can expect to see the actual content of books slide gracefully down the shitter. Hear the splash as each Big Brother biography hits the shelves...<BR/><BR/>But still I write even though I know that getting published will probably never happen. Why? Because being a writer is what I am, not what I do. The next book is already nagging at me to get written… Soon I will answer that call, write the damned thing, be proud of the effort, then wonder at the rejection letters flooding in… The barman at my local asked me last night “How’s the writing coming along’ to which I replied ‘I’m still a genius in waiting’ and as he gave me my first pint of the evening he answered, ‘I know the feeling.’….<BR/><BR/>PaulAnonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6656468.post-1123253271853220412005-08-05T15:47:00.000+01:002005-08-05T15:47:00.000+01:00Well, perhaps Mr. Star gets his publishing comment...Well, perhaps Mr. Star gets his publishing comments a bit lost between American Fatwa's, mass hypnosis and censorship. Self-published authors don't generally get their books reviewed "up the wazoo," if at all, so I'm left to wonder if Mr. Star may have fallen prey to his own promotional tactics. Salability is a distasteful part of how publisher pick a book (if they even notice it), but it's real life. Heck, I'm self published, too, but if I had people comparing ME to Dickens I'd be pretty happy and ignore a few irritating Fatwas.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com