The Independent has a modest article about the complications surrounding copyright in J.M. Barrie's famous children's book, Peter Pan. (Link from booktrade.info.)
Complications arise from the fact that, in his will, Barrie left the copyright of Peter Pan to the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Sick Children, in London, intending that the Hospital should benefit from the considerable income generated by that famous (if bizarre) work. And the complications which ensue from that simple gesture of goodwill have been touched upon here several times before, for instance on 12 April 2005.
The situation today is that a book was published in the US, in 2004 according to Amazon.com, which was a prequel to Peter Pan and has sold more than 500,000 copies. Its title is Peter and the Starcatchers. This book, please note, was published by the mighty and ruthless Disney, who in my view are just about the only people who can afford the massive lawyers' fees needed to deal with this issue. Disney have taken the view, based on their interpretation of US copyright law, that they didn't need Ormond Street's permission for their book and that the Hospital isn't entitled to any royalty; so they ain't paying any.
Meanwhile, dear old Ormond Street is planning its own exploitation of the rich Peter Pan seam. A while back they commissioned the award-winning children's author Geraldine McCaughrean, after a worldwide competition, to write a sequel to the Barrie book. The sequel, whose title will be unveiled this week, will be published this year to raise fresh funds for the Hospital. But it will come into competition from the Disney opus. And the Hospital is not pleased.
The result of all this confusion is that the two authors of Peter and the Starcatchers, Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, evidently feel themselves caught in a moral dilemma, and are talking about giving a concert in London to raise funds for the Hospital.
What a mess. But a lovely, lovely earner for the lawyers. They must go down on their knees and bless the worldwide legislators who have created this hodge-podge of jurisdictions which seldom seem to agree on who owns what and for how long.
I must confess to having a personal interest in this matter. About ten years ago, with Ormond Street's knowledge and permission (we struck a deal on royalties), I too wrote a prequel to Peter Pan. It took the form of a stage play entitled Hook in Bath, and it told the story of how James Hook first became a pirate. The only Pan characters used in it were Hook and his mate, Smee. Sadly, however, I have never been able to persuade a producer to put the play on, and therefore income, for both me and the Hospital, stands at zero. However, if there are any producers out there who are looking for a damn good play...
If you want to read an article by someone who has done far more work on this issue than I have, try reading section 8 of the Wikipedia entry on Peter Pan.
If you want to read the Hospital's perspective on the matter, they have a page on their web site.
The moral of all this, imho, is that you shouldn't waste your time trying to write sequels and prequels. If you want to know my reasons in detail, I went on a good deal about the problems which can arise from recycling other people's characters in my piece of 8 July 2005.
Friday, January 20, 2006
Tim Hall confesses
You have probably noticed, if you read any blogs besides this one, that for the last two or three weeks there has been enormous discussion of one James Frey. Frey, it seems, published a successful memoir, but was subsequently found to have... well, you know... invented bits of it.
I haven't attempted to cover this story, for a variety of reasons. First, it was an American success story and not a book I'd ever heard of. Second, it seemed that other bloggers were doing it more than justice. Third, I have never yet heard of a successful memoir which didn't embroider the facts somewhat. And a lot more like that. However, if you want to know what the book's editor, the famous Nan Talese (now I've definitely heard of her), thinks about it all, she gives her views in the New York Observer. (Link from Publishers Lunch.)
There is also what appears to be a separate but similar debate about who, or what, a writer called J.T. Leroy is, but I'm not up to speed on that one either.
Meanwhile, Tim Hall writes to point out that, over at Blogcritics.org, he has decided to come clean, now that a gun has been pressed to his head, and admit that his new novel is 'mostly fiction'. Which is quite a neat way, I must admit, of giving your first novel a bit of publicity. Shades of Sylvie Nickels.
'I became a novelist because I am interested in exploring the truth,' Hall says. 'If I wanted to lie to readers, I'd write a memoir.'
Absolutely.
I haven't attempted to cover this story, for a variety of reasons. First, it was an American success story and not a book I'd ever heard of. Second, it seemed that other bloggers were doing it more than justice. Third, I have never yet heard of a successful memoir which didn't embroider the facts somewhat. And a lot more like that. However, if you want to know what the book's editor, the famous Nan Talese (now I've definitely heard of her), thinks about it all, she gives her views in the New York Observer. (Link from Publishers Lunch.)
There is also what appears to be a separate but similar debate about who, or what, a writer called J.T. Leroy is, but I'm not up to speed on that one either.
Meanwhile, Tim Hall writes to point out that, over at Blogcritics.org, he has decided to come clean, now that a gun has been pressed to his head, and admit that his new novel is 'mostly fiction'. Which is quite a neat way, I must admit, of giving your first novel a bit of publicity. Shades of Sylvie Nickels.
'I became a novelist because I am interested in exploring the truth,' Hall says. 'If I wanted to lie to readers, I'd write a memoir.'
Absolutely.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
H.F. Ellis: A.J. Wentworth, B.A.
Every so often one comes across what one supposes is a long-forgotten gem, only to find that it is not forgotten at all; it is still in print. And so it is with the work of H.F. Ellis.
A while ago, I was poking through a shelf of secondhand paperbacks when I came across one by H.F. Ellis, entitled A.J. Wentworth, B.A. The publishing history of Ellis's books about his hero Wentworth is a little complicated, so bear with me.
The paperback that I have been reading was published by Arrow Books (UK) in 1981, and seems to be still in print. It incorporates two earlier books by the same author: The Papers of A.J. Wentworth, B.A., first published by Evans Brothers in 1949, and A.J. Wentworth, B.A. (RET'D), published by Geoffrey Bles in 1962. There appears to be a third book in the series, The Swan Song of A.J. Wentworth, published by Arrow in 1982. And there is a recent reissue of the first in the series, The Papers of A.J. Wentworth, B.A., published by Prion Books in 2000.
Older readers, who live in the UK, may remember that the first Wentworth book was serialised by ITV, with Arthur Lowe in the lead (1982).
Now the first and most important thing to be said about Ellis (who died in 2000) is that he was an English humorist. His character Wentworth reminds me very much of Mr Pooter in The Diary of a Nobody; in fact, both characters first appeared in the weekly magazine Punch. In other words, what we have here is very quiet, dry, English humour about a man who is self-important, more or less completely incompetent, and who, if one wishes to be kind, might generously be described as accident prone. If you like that kind of humour, H.F. Ellis is not to be missed. But if you live in California and are a big fan of the Farrelly brothers' movies, it may not be quite the thing for you.
When we first meet him, Wentworth is working as a mathematics teacher in a prep. school for boys, somewhere in England. Prep. schools in those days (and today) took boys from the age of about 7 to 13, and 'prepared' them for entrance to one of the so-called public schools, which in England means a private, fee-paying school for the sons (and daughters) of those who can afford the substantial fees.
If you were educated in such a prep. school, or taught in one (I confess to that crime), then the atmosphere will be instantly familiar. But I dare say that those without personal experience will soon get the hang of it.
Wentworth is one of those schoolmasters who believe that they effortlessly control the boys, but who frequently fall headlong into the cunning little bastards' traps. Here, for example, is a passage quoted by Miles Kington in his obituary of H.F. Ellis.
Later in life, Wentworth serves in the army (WWII is won despite that). And in retirement he occupies himself with amateur dramatics (providing an unintentionally comic turn which is the hit of the show), and escorting two schoolboys on a trip to Switzerland (their excursion into Italy unaccountably goes wrong).
At the very end of the book, there are signs that Mr Wentworth might, just conceivably, enter into matrimony with a friendly widow. I think I really must get hold of The Swan Song of A.J. Wentworth and find out.
Warmly recommended. If you like that kind of thing.
A while ago, I was poking through a shelf of secondhand paperbacks when I came across one by H.F. Ellis, entitled A.J. Wentworth, B.A. The publishing history of Ellis's books about his hero Wentworth is a little complicated, so bear with me.
The paperback that I have been reading was published by Arrow Books (UK) in 1981, and seems to be still in print. It incorporates two earlier books by the same author: The Papers of A.J. Wentworth, B.A., first published by Evans Brothers in 1949, and A.J. Wentworth, B.A. (RET'D), published by Geoffrey Bles in 1962. There appears to be a third book in the series, The Swan Song of A.J. Wentworth, published by Arrow in 1982. And there is a recent reissue of the first in the series, The Papers of A.J. Wentworth, B.A., published by Prion Books in 2000.
Older readers, who live in the UK, may remember that the first Wentworth book was serialised by ITV, with Arthur Lowe in the lead (1982).
Now the first and most important thing to be said about Ellis (who died in 2000) is that he was an English humorist. His character Wentworth reminds me very much of Mr Pooter in The Diary of a Nobody; in fact, both characters first appeared in the weekly magazine Punch. In other words, what we have here is very quiet, dry, English humour about a man who is self-important, more or less completely incompetent, and who, if one wishes to be kind, might generously be described as accident prone. If you like that kind of humour, H.F. Ellis is not to be missed. But if you live in California and are a big fan of the Farrelly brothers' movies, it may not be quite the thing for you.
When we first meet him, Wentworth is working as a mathematics teacher in a prep. school for boys, somewhere in England. Prep. schools in those days (and today) took boys from the age of about 7 to 13, and 'prepared' them for entrance to one of the so-called public schools, which in England means a private, fee-paying school for the sons (and daughters) of those who can afford the substantial fees.
If you were educated in such a prep. school, or taught in one (I confess to that crime), then the atmosphere will be instantly familiar. But I dare say that those without personal experience will soon get the hang of it.
Wentworth is one of those schoolmasters who believe that they effortlessly control the boys, but who frequently fall headlong into the cunning little bastards' traps. Here, for example, is a passage quoted by Miles Kington in his obituary of H.F. Ellis.
The pigeon, when captured, turns out to have a message attached to its leg. It says 'Fly at once. All is discovered.'This morning IIIa were unusually quiet when I went in and I at once glanced at the front legs of my desk. Once or twice since I first came to Burgrove I have hurt myself rather badly through my desk falling off its dais the moment I have leant my elbows on it. I shall always believe, though I have never been able to prove it, that this must have been the work of the boys. . . However, the desk looked all right today, but I was still uneasy.
Every schoolmaster knows how unnerving it is when the boys sit quietly in their places and watch you in that silly expressionless way they have, and I do not mind admitting that I stood quite still in the middle of the floor for a full minute waiting for something to happen. Nothing happened at all, except that I distinctly heard Mason whispering, "Rigor mortis has set in".
I at once strode to the desk to get my punishment-book, but when I opened the lid a pigeon flew out, nearly knocking my spectacles off and giving me a very nasty shock. . .
Later in life, Wentworth serves in the army (WWII is won despite that). And in retirement he occupies himself with amateur dramatics (providing an unintentionally comic turn which is the hit of the show), and escorting two schoolboys on a trip to Switzerland (their excursion into Italy unaccountably goes wrong).
At the very end of the book, there are signs that Mr Wentworth might, just conceivably, enter into matrimony with a friendly widow. I think I really must get hold of The Swan Song of A.J. Wentworth and find out.
Warmly recommended. If you like that kind of thing.
Joseph Nassise podcasts for free
The horror genre is not one which has ever appealed to me -- unless you count ghost stories -- so I am not up to speed on the stars of that variety of fiction. However, Joseph Nassise is a former President of the Horror Writers Association, and a nominee for the International Horror Guild Award, so he clearly has some standing in the field. And now, it seems, he and his publisher are making podcasts of his new novel available free of charge.
According to the press release which has come my way, this is the first time that a novel currently available on bookstore shelves, and released by a major New York publisher, will be podcast in its entirety -- beginning on 31 January. The book in question is Heretic.
This podcast enterprise is the result of a collaboration between the publisher (Pocket Books), The Horror Channel, and The Podcast Network. In the future, The Podcast Network hopes to work with authors to find suitable sponsors for the podcast versions of their work, so that they will still get a commercial return on their efforts even if listeners don't eventually purchase the book. Well, we shall see. Nassise, by the way, is acting as his own narrator (as have Gerard Jones and Ian Hocking).
Heretic is the first volume in a new dark fantasy series called The Templar Chronicles, a series which has its own web site. This is the place to sign up if you want to listen to the podcasts on your iPod (or whatever). There is also an interview with Joe Nassise on The Horror Channel web site.
I presume that this Horror Channel is the same one that I can get on Sky satellite here in the UK. I don't usually find much there for me, but I did see an intriguing interview with the actress Ingrid Pitt a while back. Doubtless it will be on again.
According to the press release which has come my way, this is the first time that a novel currently available on bookstore shelves, and released by a major New York publisher, will be podcast in its entirety -- beginning on 31 January. The book in question is Heretic.
This podcast enterprise is the result of a collaboration between the publisher (Pocket Books), The Horror Channel, and The Podcast Network. In the future, The Podcast Network hopes to work with authors to find suitable sponsors for the podcast versions of their work, so that they will still get a commercial return on their efforts even if listeners don't eventually purchase the book. Well, we shall see. Nassise, by the way, is acting as his own narrator (as have Gerard Jones and Ian Hocking).
Heretic is the first volume in a new dark fantasy series called The Templar Chronicles, a series which has its own web site. This is the place to sign up if you want to listen to the podcasts on your iPod (or whatever). There is also an interview with Joe Nassise on The Horror Channel web site.
I presume that this Horror Channel is the same one that I can get on Sky satellite here in the UK. I don't usually find much there for me, but I did see an intriguing interview with the actress Ingrid Pitt a while back. Doubtless it will be on again.
Le Prince Maurice prize for love stories
Following close on the announcement of the longlist for the UK Romantic Novelists' Association book of the year award, the Guardian now brings news of another prize for love stories. (Link from booktrade.info.)
This one is named Le Prince Maurice prize, and it is intended to be awarded to a 'literary love story'. This seems to be a wonderfully flexible term which will allow for all kinds of 'controversy'. And the media, as we all know, just orgasmate over controversy.
The Grauniad says that the prize offers 'no large cash sums to the winner', and that's true. But Le Prince Maurice turns out to be a five-star resort on the island of Mauritius, and the winner receives an all-expenses-paid two-week retreat at the hotel, while all the judges and shortlisted authors are flown out to the island for the ceremony. Which sounds quite a nice little prize to me. The whole thing, it appears, is designed to generate publicity for Mauritius in general and the resort in particular.
This one is named Le Prince Maurice prize, and it is intended to be awarded to a 'literary love story'. This seems to be a wonderfully flexible term which will allow for all kinds of 'controversy'. And the media, as we all know, just orgasmate over controversy.
The Grauniad says that the prize offers 'no large cash sums to the winner', and that's true. But Le Prince Maurice turns out to be a five-star resort on the island of Mauritius, and the winner receives an all-expenses-paid two-week retreat at the hotel, while all the judges and shortlisted authors are flown out to the island for the ceremony. Which sounds quite a nice little prize to me. The whole thing, it appears, is designed to generate publicity for Mauritius in general and the resort in particular.
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Thomas's demolition job on The Historian
Wow. Crumbs. And more of the same.
I knew there were readers out there who read books carefully. For example, I once took a novel by Ken Follett out of my local library. It seemed OK to me, but some previous reader had been through it and marked up all the mistakes and inconsistencies in stated times, colour of characters' eyes, and all like that. I had noticed none of these things, because I whizz through books pretty quickly, but this reader had been concentrating. And had remembered.
And now the blogger Thomas (Anatomy of Melancholy) has provided a link to his piece of 12 October last about Elizabeth Kostova's novel The Historian. In what is quite a lengthy essay, Thomas analyses the quality of the writing in just the first six pages of The Historian, and finds it severely wanting. Not exactly a good advert for MFA degrees, he decides.
As a master-class in close reading and clear thinking, Thomas's essay is pretty damn impressive. But it's also worrying for those of us who fear that perhaps our own work might be just as sloppy.
I knew there were readers out there who read books carefully. For example, I once took a novel by Ken Follett out of my local library. It seemed OK to me, but some previous reader had been through it and marked up all the mistakes and inconsistencies in stated times, colour of characters' eyes, and all like that. I had noticed none of these things, because I whizz through books pretty quickly, but this reader had been concentrating. And had remembered.
And now the blogger Thomas (Anatomy of Melancholy) has provided a link to his piece of 12 October last about Elizabeth Kostova's novel The Historian. In what is quite a lengthy essay, Thomas analyses the quality of the writing in just the first six pages of The Historian, and finds it severely wanting. Not exactly a good advert for MFA degrees, he decides.
As a master-class in close reading and clear thinking, Thomas's essay is pretty damn impressive. But it's also worrying for those of us who fear that perhaps our own work might be just as sloppy.
Gregory Alexander's perspective on the future of the book
Following Monday's piece about the future of the book, Michael Antman kindly writes to say that another view of the same topic is offered by Gregory Alexander at the ENC Press web site.
This turns out to be a thoughtful and exceptionally well written essay, full of good sense. It offers considerable hope, I feel, to those who are just beginning to think about writing books, if only they will take on board the simple statistical facts and make wise decisions accordingly.
I don't agree with everything that Gregory Alexander has to say. In terms of fact, I think his suggested figure for books in print (1.2 million in English) is much too low. As for opinions, I don't agree with his view that the only really good book is a book which has been heavily edited.
First of all, it isn't necessarily the case that a heavily edited book is improved as a result. And second, I for one believe that a writer should take responsibility for his own work. No one edits my own current fiction (or non-fiction either), which doubtless means that a number of foolish errors creep in. But, there it is. I take full responsibility for it: good bad, or indifferent. And frankly, I would much rather do that than have someone else muck around with it.
That said, I recommend Gregory Alexander's piece as a model of clear thinking and writing.
There are, by the way, other excellent essays on the ENC site, including one by the publisher of ENC. This is highly recommended to those who are newbies in the writing/publishing world.
There is also an essay by Michael Antman, who gave me the link to this site. Michael, it seems, is interested in poetry (something of an eccentricity these days), and he makes the point that the stuff which currently passes for 'good' poetry, and is printed in such 'eminent' journals as the Paris Review, is pretty pathetic, pallid stuff.
He is dead right, of course. (The Paris Review fiction, by the way, is on a par with the Paris Review poetry -- i.e. it's only of interest to those who want to know what the magazine is publishing so that they can get published too. I had more to say about this on 20 September 2004.)
Michael says that the average free-form 'poem' is merely chopped up prose. Furthermore, when the chopped-up stuff is reassembled, 'it isn’t even well-written, not as sparkling or memorable as the work of the average big-city newspaper sports columnist.' Judging by the examples offered, that is not only true but a kind and generous way of putting the matter.
Still, no doubt there are three- and four-year MFA degree courses on offer which will tech you how to write poetry of this kind. And then you too can get it published in the Paris Review, and then you too can get a job teaching on an MFA degree, and as a result the world will be a much better place.
Er... won't it?
This turns out to be a thoughtful and exceptionally well written essay, full of good sense. It offers considerable hope, I feel, to those who are just beginning to think about writing books, if only they will take on board the simple statistical facts and make wise decisions accordingly.
I don't agree with everything that Gregory Alexander has to say. In terms of fact, I think his suggested figure for books in print (1.2 million in English) is much too low. As for opinions, I don't agree with his view that the only really good book is a book which has been heavily edited.
First of all, it isn't necessarily the case that a heavily edited book is improved as a result. And second, I for one believe that a writer should take responsibility for his own work. No one edits my own current fiction (or non-fiction either), which doubtless means that a number of foolish errors creep in. But, there it is. I take full responsibility for it: good bad, or indifferent. And frankly, I would much rather do that than have someone else muck around with it.
That said, I recommend Gregory Alexander's piece as a model of clear thinking and writing.
There are, by the way, other excellent essays on the ENC site, including one by the publisher of ENC. This is highly recommended to those who are newbies in the writing/publishing world.
There is also an essay by Michael Antman, who gave me the link to this site. Michael, it seems, is interested in poetry (something of an eccentricity these days), and he makes the point that the stuff which currently passes for 'good' poetry, and is printed in such 'eminent' journals as the Paris Review, is pretty pathetic, pallid stuff.
He is dead right, of course. (The Paris Review fiction, by the way, is on a par with the Paris Review poetry -- i.e. it's only of interest to those who want to know what the magazine is publishing so that they can get published too. I had more to say about this on 20 September 2004.)
Michael says that the average free-form 'poem' is merely chopped up prose. Furthermore, when the chopped-up stuff is reassembled, 'it isn’t even well-written, not as sparkling or memorable as the work of the average big-city newspaper sports columnist.' Judging by the examples offered, that is not only true but a kind and generous way of putting the matter.
Still, no doubt there are three- and four-year MFA degree courses on offer which will tech you how to write poetry of this kind. And then you too can get it published in the Paris Review, and then you too can get a job teaching on an MFA degree, and as a result the world will be a much better place.
Er... won't it?
Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Paul Pearsall: The Last Self-Help Book You'll Ever Need
The terms 'science' and self-help' do not often occur in the same sentence, and so when the science correspondent of the UK Times wrote a short piece about Paul Pearsall's latest book, The Last Self-Help Book You'll Ever Need, I decided that it might be worth looking at. So it is; and bits of it are particularly relevant to writers.
Paul Pearsall is the author of at least fifteen other books, most of which, judging by their titles, fall into the 'self-help' category. Unlike many self-help gurus, however, Dr Pearsall is well qualified as an authority in this area: he is an adjunct clinical professor at the University of Hawaii and is an internationally recognised neuropsychologist.
Pearsall's main message is that we really should not accept as the gospel truth the currently fashionable ideas about self-help which are preached by some powerful personalities who have mastered the art of flim-flam. I couldn't agree more.
The acknowledgements section, at the start of this book, makes interesting reading. In it, Pearsall points out that The Last Self-Help Book You'll Ever Need 'takes exactly the opposite view of the ideas that sell millions of books', and he is therefore grateful to his publishers, Basic Books of New York, for taking a risk with him.
His interest in self-help was developed, he tells us, by his experience of severe illness in the late 1980s. He developed Stage IV lymphoma, and was expected to die. Many friends and family, seeking to be helpful, showered him with books about helping yourself to get well: the power of positive thought, and so forth. There were so many books, in fact, that they became a nuisance in his hospital ward. But all these books failed to give him what he wanted; in particular, he decided that they were virtually all thoroughly unscientific.
When Pearsall got well -- against all expectations, including his own -- he decided to try to connect science and self-help once again. And in this, his latest book, he attempts to demonstrate how the self-help movement has seriously lost touch with science, and proposes some means of re-connecting the two. Insofar as the self-help movement seeks to provide people with the means to lead happy, healthy, and successful lives, this seems an admirable aim.
Pearsall regularly addresses audiences of people who are voracious consumers of self-help manuals, and for several years now he has been asking these audiences to complete a questionnaire. He presents them with a list of twenty statements, and invites the respondents to indicate which statements they agree with. I am not going to quote all 20 of the statements here, but set out below are about one third of them; they have been selected because of (what I consider to be) their relevance to writers. I suggest that you read through the list and make a note of how many of them you agree with.
However, Pearsall goes on to argue that the scientific research evidence which is presented in his book suggests that none of the statements is correct. The 'best' score should in fact be 0. He also tells us that a zero score was registered by 20 researchers from the fields of psychology, psychiatry, and medicine, when they took the test. In other words, since these statements all embody beliefs which are constantly emphasised by the self-help gurus, self-help has seriously lost its way.
So, what does all this imply for writers?
Well, what struck me about Pearsall's questionnaire is that many of what he regards as unrealistic, unjustified, and unhealthy beliefs are precisely the kind of thing that many writers do believe, and which are embodied in many how-to books for writers.
For example, statement 6. This is one of the more obviously nonsensical statements, as a moment's thought will demonstrate. A person who is four feet tall and weighs 150 lb may well harbour a desire to be an Olympic high jumper. But they are never going to achieve that ambition, no matter how hard they 'put their mind to it'. The same, I fear, is true of many of those who passionately desire to get on to the bestseller lists. But try telling 'em. Rather than believe you, they will continue to devote years of effort, and not a little money, to trying to write that breakthrough book. Result, as Mr Dickens might say: misery.
It is not, in my view, the hard work and the expenditure of time which do the damage: it is the illusions about the purpose of the work, and the likely results of it. As Pearsall puts it, 'There is no evidence that hard, long, vigorous, fully involved and enjoyable work is dangerous to the health, but there's plenty of research to show that constant striving to be who we're not can kill us.... We must find a way to work that doesn't just enhance our sense of self but causes it to disappear completely.' That is to say, as far as writers are concerned, forget about becoming a celebrity, and concentrate on the needs of the poor bloody reader; because she's so grateful when somebody does.
The Epilogue of Pearsall's book summarises some research from the 1970s, which identified the 'big five' personality traits that are most likely to lead to a sense of well-being. The first of these is Extroversion, on which Pearsall comments that 'reaching out to others is healthier than focusing on yourself.'
I think I might argue with the idea that extroversion always involves reaching out to others, but let us set that aside. The message for writers is, I think, very simple. It is that those with a desire to 'express themselves' through writing fiction should abandon the idea immediately. At least if they want to get into print and stay sane in the process.
As I have argued here more than once -- so often in fact that I could type it in my sleep -- no one in this world is going to be interested if you 'express yourself'. Even your own mother won't care, and your milkman and your dentist certainly won't. On the other hand, if you forget all about yourself, and concentrate on entertaining the reader, there is at least a remote chance that you might actually produce something which might interest an agent, publisher, or reviewer. Which might, in turn, get you into print and in front of a few readers, even if it doesn't make you rich and famous.
Earlier in the book, Pearsall touches upon the issue of narcissism, a characteristic which, he believes, the self-help movement encourages. To be precise, he is concerned about the prevalence of what he calls 'secondary narcissism', the kind of egotistical self-regard which involves self-absorption and a lack of concern for others.
Well, you wouldn't have to go far, I think, to find writers who believe that their own work is streets ahead of that of anyone else, and find it extraordinarily difficult to understand why that view is not shared by others. And the message for writers, at least in my opinion, is that it is only by abandoning the 'look at me, aren't I wonderful' attitude that most writers are ever going to get anywhere. Once again, consistent success will be achieved only by those who concentrate on satisfying the emotional needs of others through the medium of fiction (or drama, for that matter), and ignore the desire for self-expression.
Real self-help, Pearsall suggests, requires a constant questioning of the 'facts'. And here again this is a line which I have preached so often that regular readers are probably weary of it. Basically, what I have said is that the current widespread belief that literary fiction, as admired and taught in the various departments of Eng. Lit., is somehow superior to popular, genre, or commercial literature, is a fallacy. It is an 'accepted truth', or fact, which isn't true at all. (See my piece of 26 May 2005 if you want to take this further.)
And there are many other points on which I find myself in agreement with Pearsall -- points which sometimes relate to writing and which sometimes have nothing at all to do with that art.
As for shortcomings: well, I am not keen, on the whole, on Pearsall's occasionally rather gushy and sentimental way of expressing himself -- for instance when describing the virtues of the family. Neither do I agree with his ideas about reincarnation. And although he provides us with a great many pages of references to research papers, he sometimes leaves me feeling that his opinions are not always based on research-supported fact.
That said, of course, this book is a huge improvement over the average hot-air 'rebuild your life' tomes which occupy so much shelf space. If nothing else, it encourages the reader to question the basis of the bald assertions which are often offered by the gurus in this field.
You can, incidentally, complete a questionnaire on Paul Pearsall's web site which is different from the one mentioned above but which will assist you to decide whether it's worth reading the book.
Paul Pearsall is the author of at least fifteen other books, most of which, judging by their titles, fall into the 'self-help' category. Unlike many self-help gurus, however, Dr Pearsall is well qualified as an authority in this area: he is an adjunct clinical professor at the University of Hawaii and is an internationally recognised neuropsychologist.
Pearsall's main message is that we really should not accept as the gospel truth the currently fashionable ideas about self-help which are preached by some powerful personalities who have mastered the art of flim-flam. I couldn't agree more.
The acknowledgements section, at the start of this book, makes interesting reading. In it, Pearsall points out that The Last Self-Help Book You'll Ever Need 'takes exactly the opposite view of the ideas that sell millions of books', and he is therefore grateful to his publishers, Basic Books of New York, for taking a risk with him.
His interest in self-help was developed, he tells us, by his experience of severe illness in the late 1980s. He developed Stage IV lymphoma, and was expected to die. Many friends and family, seeking to be helpful, showered him with books about helping yourself to get well: the power of positive thought, and so forth. There were so many books, in fact, that they became a nuisance in his hospital ward. But all these books failed to give him what he wanted; in particular, he decided that they were virtually all thoroughly unscientific.
When Pearsall got well -- against all expectations, including his own -- he decided to try to connect science and self-help once again. And in this, his latest book, he attempts to demonstrate how the self-help movement has seriously lost touch with science, and proposes some means of re-connecting the two. Insofar as the self-help movement seeks to provide people with the means to lead happy, healthy, and successful lives, this seems an admirable aim.
Pearsall regularly addresses audiences of people who are voracious consumers of self-help manuals, and for several years now he has been asking these audiences to complete a questionnaire. He presents them with a list of twenty statements, and invites the respondents to indicate which statements they agree with. I am not going to quote all 20 of the statements here, but set out below are about one third of them; they have been selected because of (what I consider to be) their relevance to writers. I suggest that you read through the list and make a note of how many of them you agree with.
- We must never lose hope.
- Childhood experiences determine adult feelings and behaviour.
- Winners never quit and quitters never win.
- High self-esteem is essential to mental health.
- Most people are addicted to something.
- If you want something badly enough and put your mind to it, you can achieve it.
- We must get in touch with our feelings and act on them.
However, Pearsall goes on to argue that the scientific research evidence which is presented in his book suggests that none of the statements is correct. The 'best' score should in fact be 0. He also tells us that a zero score was registered by 20 researchers from the fields of psychology, psychiatry, and medicine, when they took the test. In other words, since these statements all embody beliefs which are constantly emphasised by the self-help gurus, self-help has seriously lost its way.
So, what does all this imply for writers?
Well, what struck me about Pearsall's questionnaire is that many of what he regards as unrealistic, unjustified, and unhealthy beliefs are precisely the kind of thing that many writers do believe, and which are embodied in many how-to books for writers.
For example, statement 6. This is one of the more obviously nonsensical statements, as a moment's thought will demonstrate. A person who is four feet tall and weighs 150 lb may well harbour a desire to be an Olympic high jumper. But they are never going to achieve that ambition, no matter how hard they 'put their mind to it'. The same, I fear, is true of many of those who passionately desire to get on to the bestseller lists. But try telling 'em. Rather than believe you, they will continue to devote years of effort, and not a little money, to trying to write that breakthrough book. Result, as Mr Dickens might say: misery.
It is not, in my view, the hard work and the expenditure of time which do the damage: it is the illusions about the purpose of the work, and the likely results of it. As Pearsall puts it, 'There is no evidence that hard, long, vigorous, fully involved and enjoyable work is dangerous to the health, but there's plenty of research to show that constant striving to be who we're not can kill us.... We must find a way to work that doesn't just enhance our sense of self but causes it to disappear completely.' That is to say, as far as writers are concerned, forget about becoming a celebrity, and concentrate on the needs of the poor bloody reader; because she's so grateful when somebody does.
The Epilogue of Pearsall's book summarises some research from the 1970s, which identified the 'big five' personality traits that are most likely to lead to a sense of well-being. The first of these is Extroversion, on which Pearsall comments that 'reaching out to others is healthier than focusing on yourself.'
I think I might argue with the idea that extroversion always involves reaching out to others, but let us set that aside. The message for writers is, I think, very simple. It is that those with a desire to 'express themselves' through writing fiction should abandon the idea immediately. At least if they want to get into print and stay sane in the process.
As I have argued here more than once -- so often in fact that I could type it in my sleep -- no one in this world is going to be interested if you 'express yourself'. Even your own mother won't care, and your milkman and your dentist certainly won't. On the other hand, if you forget all about yourself, and concentrate on entertaining the reader, there is at least a remote chance that you might actually produce something which might interest an agent, publisher, or reviewer. Which might, in turn, get you into print and in front of a few readers, even if it doesn't make you rich and famous.
Earlier in the book, Pearsall touches upon the issue of narcissism, a characteristic which, he believes, the self-help movement encourages. To be precise, he is concerned about the prevalence of what he calls 'secondary narcissism', the kind of egotistical self-regard which involves self-absorption and a lack of concern for others.
Well, you wouldn't have to go far, I think, to find writers who believe that their own work is streets ahead of that of anyone else, and find it extraordinarily difficult to understand why that view is not shared by others. And the message for writers, at least in my opinion, is that it is only by abandoning the 'look at me, aren't I wonderful' attitude that most writers are ever going to get anywhere. Once again, consistent success will be achieved only by those who concentrate on satisfying the emotional needs of others through the medium of fiction (or drama, for that matter), and ignore the desire for self-expression.
Real self-help, Pearsall suggests, requires a constant questioning of the 'facts'. And here again this is a line which I have preached so often that regular readers are probably weary of it. Basically, what I have said is that the current widespread belief that literary fiction, as admired and taught in the various departments of Eng. Lit., is somehow superior to popular, genre, or commercial literature, is a fallacy. It is an 'accepted truth', or fact, which isn't true at all. (See my piece of 26 May 2005 if you want to take this further.)
And there are many other points on which I find myself in agreement with Pearsall -- points which sometimes relate to writing and which sometimes have nothing at all to do with that art.
As for shortcomings: well, I am not keen, on the whole, on Pearsall's occasionally rather gushy and sentimental way of expressing himself -- for instance when describing the virtues of the family. Neither do I agree with his ideas about reincarnation. And although he provides us with a great many pages of references to research papers, he sometimes leaves me feeling that his opinions are not always based on research-supported fact.
That said, of course, this book is a huge improvement over the average hot-air 'rebuild your life' tomes which occupy so much shelf space. If nothing else, it encourages the reader to question the basis of the bald assertions which are often offered by the gurus in this field.
You can, incidentally, complete a questionnaire on Paul Pearsall's web site which is different from the one mentioned above but which will assist you to decide whether it's worth reading the book.
Romantic Novelists' Assocation longlist
The UK Romantic Novelists' Association awards an annual prize for the romantic novel of the year, and the longlist for this year's prize has just been announced.
The prize is currently sponsored by FosterGrant Reading Glasses, which is entirely appropriate, as I'm sure you will agree. And -- wait for it - this year's longlist includes two men. Douglas Kennedy gets in with State of the Union, and Nicholas Sparks with True Believer. Both of these chaps appear to be old hands at the writing game.
The prize is currently sponsored by FosterGrant Reading Glasses, which is entirely appropriate, as I'm sure you will agree. And -- wait for it - this year's longlist includes two men. Douglas Kennedy gets in with State of the Union, and Nicholas Sparks with True Believer. Both of these chaps appear to be old hands at the writing game.
Small, but perfectly formed
James Morrison is a regular contributor to Bookslut, which takes the form both of magazine and blog. One of James's particular interests is the short novel, about which he has written a number of essays; and the archive of those essays can be found here.
Gathered together under the overall title Small, but Perfectly Formed, the essays range widely over the field of shorter fiction. I for one found quite a few books to add to my list. Since James is an Australian I am tempted to say Good on ya, cobber. Except that I am probably light-years out of date. Nowadays the appropriate Australian commendation is probably I say, jolly well done, that chap. Or something similar. Anyway, James Morrison's archive is a very useful and interesting series of essays by a man who clearly knows his way around some obscure parts of the literary scene.
Gathered together under the overall title Small, but Perfectly Formed, the essays range widely over the field of shorter fiction. I for one found quite a few books to add to my list. Since James is an Australian I am tempted to say Good on ya, cobber. Except that I am probably light-years out of date. Nowadays the appropriate Australian commendation is probably I say, jolly well done, that chap. Or something similar. Anyway, James Morrison's archive is a very useful and interesting series of essays by a man who clearly knows his way around some obscure parts of the literary scene.
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