In 1974, the Belier Press published a book called The Adventures of Sweet Gwendoline, by John Willie, whose real name was John Alexander Scott Coutts.
John Willie was an artist and photographer, and he might best be described as a bondage freak, though he was in my opinion harmless rather than sinister. True, John Willie's heroine, sweet Gwendoline -- she of the spectacular bosom-- does get in some fearful scrapes, and is frequently tied up in the most awkward positions; but one really doesn't feel that she suffers any lasting damage.
Anyway, the point is that The Adventures of Sweet Gwendoline came with an introduction by the artist Allen Jones. In that introduction, Jones tells us that there is a form of drawing which he calls Popular Illustration. This, he says, exists outside the accepted area of Fine Art, and can be divided into six categories (at least).
These six categories are, briefly: satirical cartoons; book illustrations; the picture story; commercial advertising; the animated cartoon; and the pin-up.
Lost Girls, by Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie, falls firmly into the picture story category (as, of course, does Sweet Gwendoline). In other words, it is a long story told in comic-strip form, with several frames on each page. Comics, by the way, have a long history, and are sometimes known as sequential art or graphic storytelling. The point of comics/sequential art/graphic novels is simple. By comparison with other forms of fiction, you get a lot of pictures and not so many words.
First published by Top Shelf in August 2006, Lost Girls comes in three volumes, all enclosed in a slip case, and carrying a fairly high price tag: current Amazon price $75. Officially, the book is not yet on sale in the UK (copyright problems, of which more in a moment), but some copies have been imported.
So, what is this graphic novel cum book-length comic, or whatever, all about?
The answer, I suppose, is that it's mostly about sex, which is vividly illustrated. If you are offended and upset by representations of human sexuality -- erect penises, exposed vaginas, and the like -- then this is not for you. Neither is it for you if you feel that any persons under the legal age of consent can ever willingly engage in sexual activities. (For a discussion of these controversial aspects of the work, see Wikipedia.)
And who are the Lost Girls, you may be wondering. The answer here is that they are characters drawn from fictional media. To be precise, they are Alice (now Lady Fairchild) from Alice in Wonderland, Dorothy (Gale) from The Wizard of Oz, and Wendy (nee Darling, now Potter) from Peter Pan. In Lost Girls these three fictional characters are shown in later life, as it were; and if you object, on principle, to the lifting of such characters from much-loved classics, let alone their involvement in sexual activities, then this again is not the book for you. Alan Moore, however, has made a habit of the practice: his graphic novel The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was something of a success, not least in the film version.
In book 1 of the Lost Girls trilogy we are gradually introduced to the three principal characters in the story. The time, we realise, is immediately prior to the outbreak of World War I. The three girls -- actually women -- find themselves attending the 1913 premiere of Stravinsky's ballet Le Sacre du Printemps. And already we find the girls' traditional experience (in their original book/movie/play) being reinterpreted in sexual terms. Book I, my notes say, is rather fine: imaginative, erotic, original, interesting; the artwork distinctive.
In book 2 there are instances of lesbian sex, involving the three girls, and gay sex, featuring other characters. A number of additional characters from the source works also make their appearance: Captain Hook, for instance, becomes Captain Huxley, a paedophile.
It is also in book 2 that the reader begins to absorb the sense of doom which is perhaps the overall impression of this book -- at least it is once you have got over the shock/horror of the graphic sex and the liberties taken with famous characters. We are reminded, over and over again, of the coming tragedy of World War I, a tragedy which the characters are mercifully unaware of, but which somehow is in the atmosphere. It's certainly in the book. There is a great deal of red in these pictures, and I don't think that's an accident: I think it symbolises the terrible bloodshed which is shortly to come about.
Not only are the pictures remarkable, by the way, but the prose is also noteworthy. I am not going to quote examples, because when taken out of context they will inevitably seem banal.
As the story progresses, we are treated to pastiches of works by artists and authors of the period: these include such luminaries as Colette, Aubrey Beardsley, Wilde, Mucha, and so forth.
At the end of book 2, the women cavort while the Archduke dies at Sarajevo. And instinctively, Alice tells us that 'something quite glorious was finished with for good'. Thus she provides an epitaph for the age which was about to close.
Book 3 features a number of Beardsleyesque illustrations which in my view are the best in the book. And it contains a very English joke about not having sex while the train is standing in the station. In fact book 3 contains a very large amount of sexual activity, enough to make me feel that it was rather repetitious. However, one has to remember the context, which, I repeat, is immediately prior to World War I.
The book ends on the morning after the assassination of the Archduke, a crime which acted as the final precipitator of war. All the girls' most intimate secrets have been revealed to each other and it is time for them to leave the hotel where they have been staying.
German soldiers arrive and smash everything. The war begins.
The dialogue on the last few pages is entirely in German. But should you wish to know what the German soldiers are saying to each other, you can find a translation online.
A few final notes. Lost Girls reportedly took 16 years to complete. The authors found themselves in disagreement with Great Ormond Street Hospital, which owns the copyright in J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan, but the Hospital has now reached an amicable agreement with the publisher (Top Shelf Books), to the effect that there will be no recourse to legalities so long as the publisher does not attempt to publish Lost Girls in the UK until after 1 January 2008: at which time the copyright allegedly expires. However, as always with copyright, the position is hideously complicated. I think that both parties would be well advised to avoid the courts, as the only people to benefit from such nonsense would be the lawyers.
This is a book which will repay study. And, should you wish to explore some of its complexities and subtleties before buying a copy, the Wikipedia article is a good place to start. The same article also provides links to some of the extensive internet comment on this book.
The publisher, by the way, naturally has its own web site.
I have stated what might put you off this book. But, if you are to enjoy it fully, you need not only a tolerance to those aspects that I have highlighted, you also need a sound working knowledge of European history and culture; otherwise, I suspect, many of the references will pass you by. And I do not claim that I understood all of them myself.
It is, in fact, rather hard to identify the natural audience for this book. It will appeal most, I think, to those with an odd combination of eccentric tastes -- tastes in art, literature, popular culture, and erotica (if we must use that shop-soiled term). Despite its exclusivity, however, I believe that this book will still be read in many years' time.
Some of the illustrations may not fall within the definition of Fine Art, as Allen Jones would have it, but they are definitely fine with a small f. The book will certainly tell future generations something about the present generation of writers, artists, and readers: though what that is, I cannot say.
If you have academic ambitions, you may care to note that there is material here for any number of PhD theses. To give but one example: all the participants in the sexual activity have an impossible number of orgasms; but the point is made in the text that pornography is not real. The girls tell stories of people doing things which the girls acknowledge are awful and dreadful, but which will excite the teller and the listeners. This seems to me to be a morally complex idea.
Overall this is, in my view, a much more subtle and complicated book than it might appear. It deals with imagination and fantasy as compared with real life, and guilt about our fantasies.
P.S. 16 May. Alan Moore and Melinda Gebbie just got married. How romantic. Neil Gaiman was there and took some photos.
Monday, May 14, 2007
Sunday, May 13, 2007
The Rocky Horror Show
On Friday evening to the Theatre Royal, Bath, to see a late-night performance of The Rocky Horror Show. And a good time was had by all.
Rocky was premiered in June 1973, at the Royal Court. It subsequently became a big smash hit almost everywhere, including odd places like Tokyo, though Broadway didn't take to it. Never mind. All right-thinking persons elsewhere loved it. In particular, US college kids loved the movie version. It didn't make any serious money, but it became a cult. And periodically the stage show gets revived. The current UK tour still has some weeks to run: itinerary and much else on the production's own web site.
For those who remain blissfully unaware of what joys await them, perhaps we should say that Rocky is a rock and roll musical. It tells the story of the innocent young Brad and Janet, whose car breaks down and who subsequently find themselves in the castle of Dr Frank N Furter, a man with strange tastes in clothing, and who swings, shall we say, both ways.
Somewhere along the line, the tradition grew up that audiences should dress the part when they go to see Rocky. This is a very rare, if not unique, circumstance. And on Friday last I would guess that some 80% of the audience had made an effort.
Dressing for the part means, if you are full-blooded about it, that the men should dress in drag and the girls go for basques, exposing lots of creamy bosom, and of course, fishnet stockings, suspenders, and stilettos.
Mrs GOB and I went part way. I settled for formal evening wear, and Mrs GOB had fishnet tights and lots of dramatic makeup. I was shown up as a coward by a 60-year-old man to Mrs GOB's right. He had given it the full works, including painted nails.
Lest you think that extreme, let me tell you that, the previous evening, a young gentleman had turned up in the restaurant, and subsequently the theatre, wearing stilettos, a black G-string, and naught else. No one complained (the barman told me), though I think he was improperly dressed myself: surely such an outfit calls for a pair of black evening gloves?
This being a musical, and a much amplified one at that, I had bought seats in one of the upper galleries. Here, I discovered, one meets a much more interesting class of person than in the stalls. There were several groups of cheerful young ladies, wearing not a lot, and all extremely beautiful. Single gentlemen of a certain age, please note: this is a good place to be, if you get the chance, as it struck me that quite a few of the young ladies might have been susceptible to an approach. Yes, even without a formal introduction. Times change, you know. One young lady even smiled at me, which denotes a certain keenness, if not actual desperation.
The second tradition which has grown up around Rocky (it began in the US) is that the audience participates in the show. There are numerous well established routines, which can be mastered by those who take the trouble. Those who have not seen the show before are known in Rocky terminology as virgins, and there is a useful virgin's guide on the official UK fan-club web site.
Rocky is clearly one of those strange phenomena which appeal both to the young and to those who were around when the show was young. Long may it continue to entertain.
Rocky was premiered in June 1973, at the Royal Court. It subsequently became a big smash hit almost everywhere, including odd places like Tokyo, though Broadway didn't take to it. Never mind. All right-thinking persons elsewhere loved it. In particular, US college kids loved the movie version. It didn't make any serious money, but it became a cult. And periodically the stage show gets revived. The current UK tour still has some weeks to run: itinerary and much else on the production's own web site.
For those who remain blissfully unaware of what joys await them, perhaps we should say that Rocky is a rock and roll musical. It tells the story of the innocent young Brad and Janet, whose car breaks down and who subsequently find themselves in the castle of Dr Frank N Furter, a man with strange tastes in clothing, and who swings, shall we say, both ways.
Somewhere along the line, the tradition grew up that audiences should dress the part when they go to see Rocky. This is a very rare, if not unique, circumstance. And on Friday last I would guess that some 80% of the audience had made an effort.
Dressing for the part means, if you are full-blooded about it, that the men should dress in drag and the girls go for basques, exposing lots of creamy bosom, and of course, fishnet stockings, suspenders, and stilettos.
Mrs GOB and I went part way. I settled for formal evening wear, and Mrs GOB had fishnet tights and lots of dramatic makeup. I was shown up as a coward by a 60-year-old man to Mrs GOB's right. He had given it the full works, including painted nails.
Lest you think that extreme, let me tell you that, the previous evening, a young gentleman had turned up in the restaurant, and subsequently the theatre, wearing stilettos, a black G-string, and naught else. No one complained (the barman told me), though I think he was improperly dressed myself: surely such an outfit calls for a pair of black evening gloves?
This being a musical, and a much amplified one at that, I had bought seats in one of the upper galleries. Here, I discovered, one meets a much more interesting class of person than in the stalls. There were several groups of cheerful young ladies, wearing not a lot, and all extremely beautiful. Single gentlemen of a certain age, please note: this is a good place to be, if you get the chance, as it struck me that quite a few of the young ladies might have been susceptible to an approach. Yes, even without a formal introduction. Times change, you know. One young lady even smiled at me, which denotes a certain keenness, if not actual desperation.
The second tradition which has grown up around Rocky (it began in the US) is that the audience participates in the show. There are numerous well established routines, which can be mastered by those who take the trouble. Those who have not seen the show before are known in Rocky terminology as virgins, and there is a useful virgin's guide on the official UK fan-club web site.
Rocky is clearly one of those strange phenomena which appeal both to the young and to those who were around when the show was young. Long may it continue to entertain.
Friday, May 11, 2007
News of a sort
The book inscriptions project reproduces some strange things written in books. Says Shaun, who runs the show: 'These inscriptions -- not to be confused with author dedications or autographs -- are personal messages written in ink (or lead or marker) and were given as gifts from one person to another. Some of them are so private that it seems almost impossible that they ended up in a library or a garage sale.' Intriguing. Possibly a site of value to secondhand bookshops, because an entry can have a link to your store.
Kitty Myers, by the way, who reminded me about Abandoned, is herself the author a book of short stories called Briefs and Other Unmentionables. Trust me -- it's a lot of fun.
Lulu.com is setting up partnerships with big players, one of the first being Universal Press Syndicate. It is not at all clear to me yet how this partnership will work (to my mind, the press release could be a lot clearer). Nevertheless, I agree with Publishers Lunch's comment on this deal:
If you are one of those who hopes/believes that your self-published book will immediately be taken up by a big-time publisher, and thus make you rich, famous, and beloved by Oprah, take heart from Maryann McFadden. Publishers Lunch reports that Maryann's The Richest Season (about a corporate wife who runs away and settles on Pawleys Island, SC, working as a caregiver for an elderly woman) has been sold to Ellen Archer at Hyperion, with Leslie Wells editing, at auction, in a two-book deal, for publication in summer 2008. Agent: Victoria Sanders at Victoria Sanders & Associates.
Crumbs. Read Lynne Scanlon's beat-up on book reviewers and you will never dare to write a review again. Not till next week, anyway. (Hands off -- Saturday night? What kind of book is that?)
For reasons best known to himself, Mr Joe Blogs wanted to interview me.
Interested in graphic art? Interested in lesbians? No, no, I didn't think you were really, but I just thought I'd ask, in case some weirdo pervert had wandered in here by mistake, in which case I'd despatch him, or even her, over to Dykes to Watch Out For. Probably permanently. (Link from Bookslut.) Note the thousands of comments, by the way. There are lots of them out there. So watch it. You just can't be too careful.
There's a very amusing piece on Gather.com called Confessions of a Recovering Writing Contest Judge. If you enter contests, it's well worth reading. And besides being fun, it's seriously good advice.
Emil Michelle has a novel in progress: Saints and Sinners, a religious thriller. Constructive comments welcome.
Everybody says that newspapers in America are cutting down book reviews, or eliminating them entirely. But in the UK the Financial Times's Saturday magazine has for the last two weeks advertised an increase in book coverage.
Dekel Publishing House is based in Israel, but it has an extraordinarily cosmopolitan list of books. The web site does not entirely do the list justice in my opinion, as you have to dig deep into it to find the good stuff. But it is there. Where else can you find a book about 'the only female Pope', or a book about Turkish food written by an American trial lawyer?
Morris Hill Pictures can tell you how to write the great American novel. Turns out it's quite simple really.
The paperback of Emily Giffin's Baby Proof is published in both the UK and the US on 15 May. A romantic comedy, it also deals with some of the serious issues facing young, or not so young, women who are still wondering about having that baby. Or not. An issue de nos jours.
Well, I should have known, shouldn't I? I wondered why a novel called Sunday at the Cross Bones was getting lots of publicity and reviews. So much of it that even I noticed, and I don't actually pay a lot of attention to fiction reviews. And it turns out, of course, that the author, John Walsh, is a columnist at the Independent, and therefore the usual Fleet Street rules apply. You scratch my back...
This info comes to me courtesy of Madame Arcati, who was at the launch party. Which was, it seems, attended by every literary journalist and reviewer in London. Bar one. You must not believe, of course, the terrible lies that Madame tells about everyone. And later on Madame reported a little spat which occurred; but I'm sure that wasn't true either.
We have commented here before on the endless greed of the big corporations, and their willingness to trade mark even the most common everyday phrases, thereafter claiming them as their own property. (See my discussion of Kembrew McLeod's Freedom of Expression.)
For a new example, read today's account in the Times of how Kentucky Fried Chicken and their overpaid lawyers tried to bully a remote English pub out of using the phrase 'family feast'. Result of this fatuous endeavour: acres of bad publicity for KFC and their representatives, Freshfields. Aren't lawyers supposed to give sensible advice?
Kitty Myers, by the way, who reminded me about Abandoned, is herself the author a book of short stories called Briefs and Other Unmentionables. Trust me -- it's a lot of fun.
Lulu.com is setting up partnerships with big players, one of the first being Universal Press Syndicate. It is not at all clear to me yet how this partnership will work (to my mind, the press release could be a lot clearer). Nevertheless, I agree with Publishers Lunch's comment on this deal:
Publishing traditionalists often lament the explosion of self-publishing and the ironic implication that people today are more interested in being authors than readers. The next logical step is to see how publishers can make money serving this audience rather than fighting with it, and these initiatives are steps in that direction.June Austin is a UK-based writer and speaker whose new book has been described as the antithesis to Richard Dawkins's The God Delusion. June has written extensively about the self-publishing process (in a UK context), and there is a great deal of background information on her web site. On the general principle that you can learn from other people's experience (and mistakes), it's well worth a look.
If you are one of those who hopes/believes that your self-published book will immediately be taken up by a big-time publisher, and thus make you rich, famous, and beloved by Oprah, take heart from Maryann McFadden. Publishers Lunch reports that Maryann's The Richest Season (about a corporate wife who runs away and settles on Pawleys Island, SC, working as a caregiver for an elderly woman) has been sold to Ellen Archer at Hyperion, with Leslie Wells editing, at auction, in a two-book deal, for publication in summer 2008. Agent: Victoria Sanders at Victoria Sanders & Associates.
Crumbs. Read Lynne Scanlon's beat-up on book reviewers and you will never dare to write a review again. Not till next week, anyway. (Hands off -- Saturday night? What kind of book is that?)
For reasons best known to himself, Mr Joe Blogs wanted to interview me.
Interested in graphic art? Interested in lesbians? No, no, I didn't think you were really, but I just thought I'd ask, in case some weirdo pervert had wandered in here by mistake, in which case I'd despatch him, or even her, over to Dykes to Watch Out For. Probably permanently. (Link from Bookslut.) Note the thousands of comments, by the way. There are lots of them out there. So watch it. You just can't be too careful.
There's a very amusing piece on Gather.com called Confessions of a Recovering Writing Contest Judge. If you enter contests, it's well worth reading. And besides being fun, it's seriously good advice.
Emil Michelle has a novel in progress: Saints and Sinners, a religious thriller. Constructive comments welcome.
Everybody says that newspapers in America are cutting down book reviews, or eliminating them entirely. But in the UK the Financial Times's Saturday magazine has for the last two weeks advertised an increase in book coverage.
Dekel Publishing House is based in Israel, but it has an extraordinarily cosmopolitan list of books. The web site does not entirely do the list justice in my opinion, as you have to dig deep into it to find the good stuff. But it is there. Where else can you find a book about 'the only female Pope', or a book about Turkish food written by an American trial lawyer?
Morris Hill Pictures can tell you how to write the great American novel. Turns out it's quite simple really.
The paperback of Emily Giffin's Baby Proof is published in both the UK and the US on 15 May. A romantic comedy, it also deals with some of the serious issues facing young, or not so young, women who are still wondering about having that baby. Or not. An issue de nos jours.
Well, I should have known, shouldn't I? I wondered why a novel called Sunday at the Cross Bones was getting lots of publicity and reviews. So much of it that even I noticed, and I don't actually pay a lot of attention to fiction reviews. And it turns out, of course, that the author, John Walsh, is a columnist at the Independent, and therefore the usual Fleet Street rules apply. You scratch my back...
This info comes to me courtesy of Madame Arcati, who was at the launch party. Which was, it seems, attended by every literary journalist and reviewer in London. Bar one. You must not believe, of course, the terrible lies that Madame tells about everyone. And later on Madame reported a little spat which occurred; but I'm sure that wasn't true either.
We have commented here before on the endless greed of the big corporations, and their willingness to trade mark even the most common everyday phrases, thereafter claiming them as their own property. (See my discussion of Kembrew McLeod's Freedom of Expression.)
For a new example, read today's account in the Times of how Kentucky Fried Chicken and their overpaid lawyers tried to bully a remote English pub out of using the phrase 'family feast'. Result of this fatuous endeavour: acres of bad publicity for KFC and their representatives, Freshfields. Aren't lawyers supposed to give sensible advice?
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Macmillan New Writing -- an update
Macmillan New Writing (MNW) is a UK imprint designed to give a platform to first-time novelists, writing in any genre. It is now just over a year since the first published books appeared, and therefore it is time perhaps to consider how the imprint is doing.
When first announced, the MNW initiative was warmly welcomed here, though not everywhere. Some book-trade people thought it was just plain silly, or worse, and some writers feared they would be ripped off.
Well, in the event nothing untoward has happened, and on the whole I think Macmillan, booksellers, and writers, have all done rather better from the initiative than might have been expected. MNW themselves have naturally chosen to look on the bright side, and here are a few of the highlights of the past year, as they see them.
You may recall that the standard MNW contract gave the imprint an option on their published authors' next book, and deals have been done to publish follow-up novels by Michael Stephen Fuchs, Edward Charles, and Brian McGilloway. In fact, Pan have bought world rights to three more books by McGilloway, and it is pretty clear that Pan Macmillan are hoping that he will be the natural successor to Colin Dexter (the onlie begetter of Inspector Morse.)
At least one author, to my knowledge, has had her second book turned down, but that, I fear, was always going to be the inevitable outcome for the majority of those whose first book appeared under the MNW banner. It was always the case that MNW saw this venture as a way of sorting out the top commercial talent. If you don't make the cut it is doubtless bitterly disappointing. But that, I fear, is what happens if you venture into the cutthroat world of trade publishing. You can scarcely say you weren't warned, both here and in a thousand other places.
As for year two of MNW, the firm have issued (to the trade) a paperback containing extracts from the next 12 months' output. This includes some intriguing stuff. Fuchs's second book has a good start; the opening chapter from MNW's first American signing, David Isaak, is also interesting; but the best bet, to me, looks like L.C. Tyler's The Herring Seller's Apprentice.
This features Elsie Thirkettle, the world's rudest literary agent (a title for which there is considerable competition). The book begins with a postscript, which is something of a novelty, and I am much looking forward to the rest of it. So are others, it seems. If you wish, you can pre-order a signed copy from Goldsboro Books.
All in all then, MNW looks increasingly like a very good idea indeed. But then I always said it was.
When first announced, the MNW initiative was warmly welcomed here, though not everywhere. Some book-trade people thought it was just plain silly, or worse, and some writers feared they would be ripped off.
Well, in the event nothing untoward has happened, and on the whole I think Macmillan, booksellers, and writers, have all done rather better from the initiative than might have been expected. MNW themselves have naturally chosen to look on the bright side, and here are a few of the highlights of the past year, as they see them.
- The German rights to M.F.W. Curran’s The Secret War have just been sold for an advance which would have many established authors breaking out the champagne. It will be published by Lueba later this year.
- Jonathan Drapes’s Never Admit to Beige was one of the first books to be selected as Book of the Month by the Simon Mayo programme on Radio Five.
- German rights of Brian McGilloway’s Borderlands and his second novel have already been sold to Dumont.
- A film option has been sold in Michael Stephen Fuchs’s The Manuscript.
You may recall that the standard MNW contract gave the imprint an option on their published authors' next book, and deals have been done to publish follow-up novels by Michael Stephen Fuchs, Edward Charles, and Brian McGilloway. In fact, Pan have bought world rights to three more books by McGilloway, and it is pretty clear that Pan Macmillan are hoping that he will be the natural successor to Colin Dexter (the onlie begetter of Inspector Morse.)
At least one author, to my knowledge, has had her second book turned down, but that, I fear, was always going to be the inevitable outcome for the majority of those whose first book appeared under the MNW banner. It was always the case that MNW saw this venture as a way of sorting out the top commercial talent. If you don't make the cut it is doubtless bitterly disappointing. But that, I fear, is what happens if you venture into the cutthroat world of trade publishing. You can scarcely say you weren't warned, both here and in a thousand other places.
As for year two of MNW, the firm have issued (to the trade) a paperback containing extracts from the next 12 months' output. This includes some intriguing stuff. Fuchs's second book has a good start; the opening chapter from MNW's first American signing, David Isaak, is also interesting; but the best bet, to me, looks like L.C. Tyler's The Herring Seller's Apprentice.
This features Elsie Thirkettle, the world's rudest literary agent (a title for which there is considerable competition). The book begins with a postscript, which is something of a novelty, and I am much looking forward to the rest of it. So are others, it seems. If you wish, you can pre-order a signed copy from Goldsboro Books.
All in all then, MNW looks increasingly like a very good idea indeed. But then I always said it was.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
The power of negative thinking
A few last words before we leave the subject of romantic fiction for a while.
It is in the nature of things that romantic novels appeal mainly to women readers. And for that reason, romantic fiction (a pretty woolly term if ever there was one) is largely despised by the literati.
This arrogant, unpleasant attitude has a long history, at least in English intellectual life. The origins of this contempt for women, and for popular culture generally, have been more than ably chronicled by John Carey, in his book The Intellectuals and the Masses. Carey also presented some of his material in the form of a recent TV documentary.
You and I, however, know better than to sneer at a book simply because it appeals to a group of readers to which we do not belong. Well I do, anyway. If we have any sense at all we know that there are lots of books which have fairly narrow and specialised audiences. Poetry, for instance. Much science fiction. Gay books. And so forth.
One would like to think that most writers would hold the same view. However, what we absorb from the general atmosphere in early life tends to linger in the mind; and I have noticed that, whenever I meet any romantic writers, I am forcibly struck by the fact that they have been brainwashed. For years and years they have been belittled and sneered at, and generally led to believe that romantic fiction is trash, and is (allegedly) infinitely inferior to the real stuff -- i.e. literary fiction.
So often, and so intensely, has this idea been beaten into the heads of romantic novelists that many of them unconsciously believe it to be true. For instance, when I remarked to one writer recently that her latest book could just as easily have been marketed as a literary novel as a romantic one, she took this as such a compliment that tears began to form in her eyes.
Well now, I am always ready, I hope, to compliment a lady, but in this case my remark was not so much a compliment as a comment on the publishing business.
Let us banish this idea of genre inferiority once and for all. (If you need supporting arguments, see chapter 5 of The Truth about Writing, available free online.) And let us remember too that science-fiction writers have been treated in much the same way. But the sf guys (and gals), as far as I can see, have never believed a word of it. Faced with the idea that literary fiction is the real thing, they just snigger back.
Evidence? Try the Ansible newsletter, wherein Dave Langford always quotes some ridiculous, pompous statement which compares sf with lit, unfavourably, and then he proceeds to skewer it for the crap that it is. In the latest Ansible, he quotes Joyce Carol Oates, who is clearly a thinker to be avoided; and Langford also includes several other 'As others see us' paragraphs.
Perhaps some research chemist should develop a monthly antidote of the Ansible kind, and administer it to those who write romantic.
It is in the nature of things that romantic novels appeal mainly to women readers. And for that reason, romantic fiction (a pretty woolly term if ever there was one) is largely despised by the literati.
This arrogant, unpleasant attitude has a long history, at least in English intellectual life. The origins of this contempt for women, and for popular culture generally, have been more than ably chronicled by John Carey, in his book The Intellectuals and the Masses. Carey also presented some of his material in the form of a recent TV documentary.
You and I, however, know better than to sneer at a book simply because it appeals to a group of readers to which we do not belong. Well I do, anyway. If we have any sense at all we know that there are lots of books which have fairly narrow and specialised audiences. Poetry, for instance. Much science fiction. Gay books. And so forth.
One would like to think that most writers would hold the same view. However, what we absorb from the general atmosphere in early life tends to linger in the mind; and I have noticed that, whenever I meet any romantic writers, I am forcibly struck by the fact that they have been brainwashed. For years and years they have been belittled and sneered at, and generally led to believe that romantic fiction is trash, and is (allegedly) infinitely inferior to the real stuff -- i.e. literary fiction.
So often, and so intensely, has this idea been beaten into the heads of romantic novelists that many of them unconsciously believe it to be true. For instance, when I remarked to one writer recently that her latest book could just as easily have been marketed as a literary novel as a romantic one, she took this as such a compliment that tears began to form in her eyes.
Well now, I am always ready, I hope, to compliment a lady, but in this case my remark was not so much a compliment as a comment on the publishing business.
Let us banish this idea of genre inferiority once and for all. (If you need supporting arguments, see chapter 5 of The Truth about Writing, available free online.) And let us remember too that science-fiction writers have been treated in much the same way. But the sf guys (and gals), as far as I can see, have never believed a word of it. Faced with the idea that literary fiction is the real thing, they just snigger back.
Evidence? Try the Ansible newsletter, wherein Dave Langford always quotes some ridiculous, pompous statement which compares sf with lit, unfavourably, and then he proceeds to skewer it for the crap that it is. In the latest Ansible, he quotes Joyce Carol Oates, who is clearly a thinker to be avoided; and Langford also includes several other 'As others see us' paragraphs.
Perhaps some research chemist should develop a monthly antidote of the Ansible kind, and administer it to those who write romantic.
Tuesday, May 08, 2007
The best of the rest
Last week I posted a review of Rosie Thomas's Iris and Ruby, which won the UK's Romantic Novel of the Year Award. And I mentioned that I would also post some notes on the other five books which were shortlisted for the award (out of 200 submitted, remember). So here they are, in alphabetical order by author's surname. But first, a brief overall comment.
You and I know that there are lots of books which have fairly narrow and specialised audiences. Poetry, for instance. Much science fiction. Gay books. And so forth. Thus it will come as no surprise if I tell you that most of the five books described below will appeal mainly to women readers. Romantic fiction is, however, a very broad label indeed, and some of these books are aimed principally at small sections of that general readership.
For obvious reaons, I don't fall within the target readership of most of these books, but even so I found them all interesting and mostly enjoyable. For anyone interested in narrative technique, it is always intriguing to see how a skilled author goes about achieving the desired effects.
Matt Dunn: The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook
It is interesting to try to identify the precise audience for this one. The readers who will enjoy it most will be young, I think. But blokes might get as much out of it as young women.
The basic story is that young man gets dumped by his girlfriend, after about ten years of cohabiting. 'You've let yourself go,' she tells him, 'so I'm letting you go too.'
Our hero feels mighty hurt about this, so having taken a hard look at himself he decides to effect a major makeover, with assistance from his super-slick TV presenter best friend. The book tells how he goes about it, and what happens at the end.
This is essentially a comic novel, and it will make you laugh. It's lighthearted, entertaining, and would be excellent for a plane journey. It is also, by the way, very well designed: 31 well spaced lines per page, and a decent font size.
More on Matt Dunn here.
Katie Flynn: Beyond the Blue Hills
Katie Flynn, my friends, is a complete professional. And I know no higher compliment.
She began writing yonks ago, at first under the name Judith Saxton, and has produced maybe fifty books. These books appeal mainly to working-class women who are, shall we say, advanced in years: people who remember, as someone put it, what it was like to go downstairs and borrow a couple of candles.
Such books are not, of course, going to get reviewed in the Times Lit Supp. Let us not forget, however, that there are enormous numbers of heavy readers out there of whom the TLS wots not. Last year, Katie was the 18th most frequently borrowed author from the UK public-library system, and I recently met a Woolworths manager who told me that, in the north-west of England, he can sell a big pile of her hardbacks as soon as they appear.
Beyond the Blue Hills is a family saga, telling the interweaving stories of two families in the 1930s and '40s. It is exactly what Katie Flynn's fans want, and if you're old enough to remember life in the north of England in those days, then this is for you. But if you're wearing Jimmy Choo shoes, don't bother.
Judith Lennox: A Step in the Dark
Judith Lennox, I would guess, was asked by her publisher to produce a big fat family saga, covering several decades and several countries. And she has done so, very skilfully.
Of course, years ago, a story like this would have been told in several volumes; and it would, in my opinion, have been the better for it. One thinks of Mazo de la Roche's famous Jalna series (11 million copies sold, if you please), or Cynthia Harrod Eagles's Morland Dynasty. But that's not the modern way, it seems.
Here the story begins in India in 1914, when the principal character, Bess, is 18, and carries on until she is in her 60s. Along the way she encounters a vast number of complications, setbacks, admirers, enemies, and so forth. As I say, skilfuly done, by an experienced hand, and will be enjoyed by those who like a long perspective on events.
Judith Lennox has been shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year Award with an earlier novel, so I would expect her to turn up on the list again.
Carole Matthews: Welcome to the Real World
Carole Matthews is an experienced producer of romantic comedy, aimed mainly, but not exclusively, at a younger readership; she has enjoyed considerable success in terms of sales.
The heroine of Welcome to the Real World is Fern, who has ambitions as a singer. She enters a TV talent show, takes a job as PA to a world-famous opera singer, and guess what.
This is lighthearted, lots of fun, told at a fast, crisp pace by an experienced professional. There is no gloom and doom here, particularly as, despite the title, it doesn't take place in the real world at all.
Elizabeth McGregor: Learning by Heart
Learning by Heart is a book which, like Iris and Ruby, moves backwards and forwards in time. It also moves in space, between England and Sicily. Set partly in the present, partly some forty years earlier, Learning by Heart reveals its secrets almost grudgingly.
At the centre of the book is one of those insane love affairs in which both man and woman know perfectly well that they should not be doing what they are doing, but somehow cannot help themselves. I must confess to a certain liking for this kind of book, because I wrote one myself, under a pseudonym.
Earlier in her career, Elizabeth McGregor wrote psychological thrillers, but here she shows herself to be in complete command of a love story, writing in a way which generates very powerful emotions with material which is at times of painful intensity.
The book is marketed in such a way that it is clearly labelled 'women's fiction', and it is probably the mostly wildly romantic of all the shortlisted books. But in fact any reasonably civilised man could read it with a great deal of interest and enjoyment.
Once again, it's worth noting that the author has been well served by the book designer. The font is 11 pt Sabon.
You and I know that there are lots of books which have fairly narrow and specialised audiences. Poetry, for instance. Much science fiction. Gay books. And so forth. Thus it will come as no surprise if I tell you that most of the five books described below will appeal mainly to women readers. Romantic fiction is, however, a very broad label indeed, and some of these books are aimed principally at small sections of that general readership.
For obvious reaons, I don't fall within the target readership of most of these books, but even so I found them all interesting and mostly enjoyable. For anyone interested in narrative technique, it is always intriguing to see how a skilled author goes about achieving the desired effects.
Matt Dunn: The Ex-Boyfriend's Handbook
It is interesting to try to identify the precise audience for this one. The readers who will enjoy it most will be young, I think. But blokes might get as much out of it as young women.
The basic story is that young man gets dumped by his girlfriend, after about ten years of cohabiting. 'You've let yourself go,' she tells him, 'so I'm letting you go too.'
Our hero feels mighty hurt about this, so having taken a hard look at himself he decides to effect a major makeover, with assistance from his super-slick TV presenter best friend. The book tells how he goes about it, and what happens at the end.
This is essentially a comic novel, and it will make you laugh. It's lighthearted, entertaining, and would be excellent for a plane journey. It is also, by the way, very well designed: 31 well spaced lines per page, and a decent font size.
More on Matt Dunn here.
Katie Flynn: Beyond the Blue Hills
Katie Flynn, my friends, is a complete professional. And I know no higher compliment.
She began writing yonks ago, at first under the name Judith Saxton, and has produced maybe fifty books. These books appeal mainly to working-class women who are, shall we say, advanced in years: people who remember, as someone put it, what it was like to go downstairs and borrow a couple of candles.
Such books are not, of course, going to get reviewed in the Times Lit Supp. Let us not forget, however, that there are enormous numbers of heavy readers out there of whom the TLS wots not. Last year, Katie was the 18th most frequently borrowed author from the UK public-library system, and I recently met a Woolworths manager who told me that, in the north-west of England, he can sell a big pile of her hardbacks as soon as they appear.
Beyond the Blue Hills is a family saga, telling the interweaving stories of two families in the 1930s and '40s. It is exactly what Katie Flynn's fans want, and if you're old enough to remember life in the north of England in those days, then this is for you. But if you're wearing Jimmy Choo shoes, don't bother.
Judith Lennox: A Step in the Dark
Judith Lennox, I would guess, was asked by her publisher to produce a big fat family saga, covering several decades and several countries. And she has done so, very skilfully.
Of course, years ago, a story like this would have been told in several volumes; and it would, in my opinion, have been the better for it. One thinks of Mazo de la Roche's famous Jalna series (11 million copies sold, if you please), or Cynthia Harrod Eagles's Morland Dynasty. But that's not the modern way, it seems.
Here the story begins in India in 1914, when the principal character, Bess, is 18, and carries on until she is in her 60s. Along the way she encounters a vast number of complications, setbacks, admirers, enemies, and so forth. As I say, skilfuly done, by an experienced hand, and will be enjoyed by those who like a long perspective on events.
Judith Lennox has been shortlisted for the Romantic Novel of the Year Award with an earlier novel, so I would expect her to turn up on the list again.
Carole Matthews: Welcome to the Real World
Carole Matthews is an experienced producer of romantic comedy, aimed mainly, but not exclusively, at a younger readership; she has enjoyed considerable success in terms of sales.
The heroine of Welcome to the Real World is Fern, who has ambitions as a singer. She enters a TV talent show, takes a job as PA to a world-famous opera singer, and guess what.
This is lighthearted, lots of fun, told at a fast, crisp pace by an experienced professional. There is no gloom and doom here, particularly as, despite the title, it doesn't take place in the real world at all.
Elizabeth McGregor: Learning by Heart
Learning by Heart is a book which, like Iris and Ruby, moves backwards and forwards in time. It also moves in space, between England and Sicily. Set partly in the present, partly some forty years earlier, Learning by Heart reveals its secrets almost grudgingly.
At the centre of the book is one of those insane love affairs in which both man and woman know perfectly well that they should not be doing what they are doing, but somehow cannot help themselves. I must confess to a certain liking for this kind of book, because I wrote one myself, under a pseudonym.
Earlier in her career, Elizabeth McGregor wrote psychological thrillers, but here she shows herself to be in complete command of a love story, writing in a way which generates very powerful emotions with material which is at times of painful intensity.
The book is marketed in such a way that it is clearly labelled 'women's fiction', and it is probably the mostly wildly romantic of all the shortlisted books. But in fact any reasonably civilised man could read it with a great deal of interest and enjoyment.
Once again, it's worth noting that the author has been well served by the book designer. The font is 11 pt Sabon.
Friday, May 04, 2007
Successes and failures -- possibly
Paul Torday has won the 2007 Bollinger Everyman Wodehouse Prize for Comic Fiction. This prize is sometimes the springboard for enormous success, e.g. Marina Lewycka in 2005. Title of this year's winner: Salmon Fishing in the Yemen.
William Horwood did a month's blogging, and in one of his posts (now unavailable) he took issue with my assessment of Patrick White. In addition to his own defence of said (distinguished) writer, William offered several other authorities: e.g. a collection of data on Australia's ABC. Sadly, however, William has ceased blogging, for the time being, because it got in the way of the new novel. Ah yes....
Tao Lin has a book of short stories out (Melville House), and he has been interviewed (51 minutes' worth) by Bat Segundo. It turns out that, in the book, a dolphin gets to murder Elijah Wood; and George Bush, not surprisingly, is a target of violence. There are also some notes about the book on the Largehearted Boy. Now, make what you will of Mr Lin, you gotta admit that he sticks at it and he does his own thing and er... all like that. The book has a web site.
Carolyn Howard-Johnson is a successful writer who has published extensively on how to promote books. Details and much more on her web site.
Would you like to have lunch with Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter Carol, and help a worthwhile charity at the same time? If so, go here for details.
Kitty Myers reminds me that Anya Peters's book Abandoned was published on 1 May. Ms Peters was the author of the Wanderingscribe blog, which met with a certain amount of, erm, well, disbelief is the only word, I think. I have no inside information one way or the other. But my guess is that, like most of these things, Abandoned is a mixture of truth and embroidery. Only the other day, Tony Bennett was cheerfully admitting in an interview that the story in his (ghosted) autobiography about being tempted to kill himself because of drugs was a nonsense, invented to sell the book. Who would have guessed?
You've probably seen the story about the braindead lawyers who thought that they could keep digital-rights-management codes secret by writing a few 'cease and desist' letters. The story appeared, I imagine, in every newspaper in the known universe. I saw it in the London Times, and Maria Anna saw it in the New York Times. Book publishing is, of course, small beer by comparison with movies and the music industry, but this uproar simply reinforces a point that has been made here more than once. If any publishers are dumb enough to believe that they are helping themselves, or anyone else, by loading up ebooks with so-called DRM, they deserve all the trouble they get. It makes no sense to alienate the very groups that constitute your keenest customers.
While we're on the subject of digital doings, there is an eminently sensible article in the Times by the musician, Peter Gabriel. He at least has the good sense to realise that things cannot and will not stay the same, and that the smart thing to do is for musicians (and, by implication, other creative artists as well) to adapt and make the most of the new situation.
Meanwhile, booktrade.info reports that Headline is to publish a new novel online, for free. Clutches heart and staggers backwards. Is it possible that trade publishers are actually learning something?
Open Letters monthly deals with some serious literary stuff.
Jamie Morris issues a monthly electronic newsletter on The Biographer's Craft. Essential viewing if you're in the biog business as reader or writer.
Twitterlit is gonna be a big smash hit, in my opinion. I've mentioned it before, I know, but it continues to fascinate. Take, for instance, the first line offered on 05/04/07 AM. You want to know where it came from and you click on the Amazon link and you find a book which has 304 customer reviews. 304! How come I wasn't clever enough to think of this idea? I am really, really smart, of course, but perhaps that's the problem. Perhaps you have to think simple. Anyway, I have a feeling that the lovely Debra has a winner here.
Following Madame Arcati's interviews with Molly Parkin, Molly's daughter Sophie has a very funny piece in the Daily Mail about how embarrassing it is to have one's mother talking about her sex life in public. Especially at the age of 75. By the way, if you click on the 'more by this author' link you find that Sophie has had 44 articles in the Mail.
William Horwood did a month's blogging, and in one of his posts (now unavailable) he took issue with my assessment of Patrick White. In addition to his own defence of said (distinguished) writer, William offered several other authorities: e.g. a collection of data on Australia's ABC. Sadly, however, William has ceased blogging, for the time being, because it got in the way of the new novel. Ah yes....
Tao Lin has a book of short stories out (Melville House), and he has been interviewed (51 minutes' worth) by Bat Segundo. It turns out that, in the book, a dolphin gets to murder Elijah Wood; and George Bush, not surprisingly, is a target of violence. There are also some notes about the book on the Largehearted Boy. Now, make what you will of Mr Lin, you gotta admit that he sticks at it and he does his own thing and er... all like that. The book has a web site.
Carolyn Howard-Johnson is a successful writer who has published extensively on how to promote books. Details and much more on her web site.
Would you like to have lunch with Mary Higgins Clark and her daughter Carol, and help a worthwhile charity at the same time? If so, go here for details.
Kitty Myers reminds me that Anya Peters's book Abandoned was published on 1 May. Ms Peters was the author of the Wanderingscribe blog, which met with a certain amount of, erm, well, disbelief is the only word, I think. I have no inside information one way or the other. But my guess is that, like most of these things, Abandoned is a mixture of truth and embroidery. Only the other day, Tony Bennett was cheerfully admitting in an interview that the story in his (ghosted) autobiography about being tempted to kill himself because of drugs was a nonsense, invented to sell the book. Who would have guessed?
You've probably seen the story about the braindead lawyers who thought that they could keep digital-rights-management codes secret by writing a few 'cease and desist' letters. The story appeared, I imagine, in every newspaper in the known universe. I saw it in the London Times, and Maria Anna saw it in the New York Times. Book publishing is, of course, small beer by comparison with movies and the music industry, but this uproar simply reinforces a point that has been made here more than once. If any publishers are dumb enough to believe that they are helping themselves, or anyone else, by loading up ebooks with so-called DRM, they deserve all the trouble they get. It makes no sense to alienate the very groups that constitute your keenest customers.
While we're on the subject of digital doings, there is an eminently sensible article in the Times by the musician, Peter Gabriel. He at least has the good sense to realise that things cannot and will not stay the same, and that the smart thing to do is for musicians (and, by implication, other creative artists as well) to adapt and make the most of the new situation.
Meanwhile, booktrade.info reports that Headline is to publish a new novel online, for free. Clutches heart and staggers backwards. Is it possible that trade publishers are actually learning something?
Open Letters monthly deals with some serious literary stuff.
Jamie Morris issues a monthly electronic newsletter on The Biographer's Craft. Essential viewing if you're in the biog business as reader or writer.
Twitterlit is gonna be a big smash hit, in my opinion. I've mentioned it before, I know, but it continues to fascinate. Take, for instance, the first line offered on 05/04/07 AM. You want to know where it came from and you click on the Amazon link and you find a book which has 304 customer reviews. 304! How come I wasn't clever enough to think of this idea? I am really, really smart, of course, but perhaps that's the problem. Perhaps you have to think simple. Anyway, I have a feeling that the lovely Debra has a winner here.
Following Madame Arcati's interviews with Molly Parkin, Molly's daughter Sophie has a very funny piece in the Daily Mail about how embarrassing it is to have one's mother talking about her sex life in public. Especially at the age of 75. By the way, if you click on the 'more by this author' link you find that Sophie has had 44 articles in the Mail.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Taylor Mac
Taylor Mac is the most talented solo performer that I've seen in a long time. He often sells out the venues he appears in -- e.g., recently, the Public Theater and the Sydney Opera House (presumably one of the smaller rooms). But in Bath last night he drew only 23 adults, and a well-behaved baby, to the Rondo Theatre.
Taylor tells us that his performance is actually a play, which he has written himself. Very clever people, he added, refer to it as performance art, and other complicated things, but really it's just a one-man play. And so it is. But a very unusual play.
He came onstage via the auditorium, and we are at once faced with a kind of deranged Carmen Miranda; or possibly an unusually colourful and mad bag lady. Anyway, there he is. You could say that he appears in drag, except that his initial 'dress' last night was made from surgical rubber gloves and his wig was more Rastafarian than Elizabeth Taylor. So at first no one knew quite what to make of him.
However, before long you realise that Mr Mac is harmless, and that, in his curious, larger than life way, he is really rather beautiful.
And what does he do, you will want to know. Well, he talks a bit, and he sings songs, accompanying himself on the ukulele. And he changes his clothes once in a while. How then does he make any impact?
The answer is that he makes an impact by being human. And sensitive. As are we all.
The main purpose of this post is to alert UK readers that Taylor is touring, and, if you're close enough, and interested in theatre, I recommend that you go and see him. During the rest of May he is appearing at various places in London and the provinces: a full list is at the bottom of the front page of his web site.
In case you're worried whether you might or might not like him, the web site provides plenty of pictures and some videos. Again on the front page of his web site, I recommend the song about Fear Itself. But none of these, please note, compares with a live performance.
Well, Mr Mac is very definitely an acquired taste, but in any case, you may be wondering, what does he have to do with books and publishing?
The answer is that there are, to my mind, significant parallels between Mr Mac's writing and performance, and the activities of self-published writers.
Taylor Mac appears to be a young man who does pretty much whatever he wants to do in the theatre. Of course he pays some attention to general conventions. He produces a show which runs about 75 to 90 minutes. He uses lighting, sound, costume, music, movement, and so forth. But within those broad boundaries he does whatever comes into his head.
A similar freedom is now available to writers. Just as Taylor can put his videos on his web site, and use them to advertise his public appearances, so, nowadays, just about any writer can publish their work, or tasters of it, on the web, and make it available for a modest charge in book form. Within that framework you can do whatever you like.
If you want examples, try The Greatest Show on Earth, or Bed, or Blazing Embers. Just to mention a few that pop into my head.
Now it may be, of course, that Taylor Mac dreams of becoming a Broadway star. And he might. But he probably realises full well that it is more likely that he will remain something of a cult figure, known mainly to the gay community, but also admired, from a safe distance, by elderly Englishmen with very odd tastes. And so it will be with self-publishers. The best -- the very best -- that they can reasonably expect is that they may become known to a small coterie of readers (with exquisite sensibilities, naturally). But they will, with luck, find an audience.
However, there is one other point that I am morally obliged to mention. And it is one which is frequently overlooked in enthusiastic paeans to the new publishing paradigm. It is that, to succeed even in the most modest manner that I have described, a performer or writer does need to be very, very talented. In fact very to the power of ten or so. The talent may not be immediately obvious. Indeed the wise performer/artist will not flash it around and thrust it down people's throats. But it's gotta be there. Otherwise it ain't gonna work.
Taylor tells us that his performance is actually a play, which he has written himself. Very clever people, he added, refer to it as performance art, and other complicated things, but really it's just a one-man play. And so it is. But a very unusual play.
He came onstage via the auditorium, and we are at once faced with a kind of deranged Carmen Miranda; or possibly an unusually colourful and mad bag lady. Anyway, there he is. You could say that he appears in drag, except that his initial 'dress' last night was made from surgical rubber gloves and his wig was more Rastafarian than Elizabeth Taylor. So at first no one knew quite what to make of him.
However, before long you realise that Mr Mac is harmless, and that, in his curious, larger than life way, he is really rather beautiful.
And what does he do, you will want to know. Well, he talks a bit, and he sings songs, accompanying himself on the ukulele. And he changes his clothes once in a while. How then does he make any impact?
The answer is that he makes an impact by being human. And sensitive. As are we all.
The main purpose of this post is to alert UK readers that Taylor is touring, and, if you're close enough, and interested in theatre, I recommend that you go and see him. During the rest of May he is appearing at various places in London and the provinces: a full list is at the bottom of the front page of his web site.
In case you're worried whether you might or might not like him, the web site provides plenty of pictures and some videos. Again on the front page of his web site, I recommend the song about Fear Itself. But none of these, please note, compares with a live performance.
Well, Mr Mac is very definitely an acquired taste, but in any case, you may be wondering, what does he have to do with books and publishing?
The answer is that there are, to my mind, significant parallels between Mr Mac's writing and performance, and the activities of self-published writers.
Taylor Mac appears to be a young man who does pretty much whatever he wants to do in the theatre. Of course he pays some attention to general conventions. He produces a show which runs about 75 to 90 minutes. He uses lighting, sound, costume, music, movement, and so forth. But within those broad boundaries he does whatever comes into his head.
A similar freedom is now available to writers. Just as Taylor can put his videos on his web site, and use them to advertise his public appearances, so, nowadays, just about any writer can publish their work, or tasters of it, on the web, and make it available for a modest charge in book form. Within that framework you can do whatever you like.
If you want examples, try The Greatest Show on Earth, or Bed, or Blazing Embers. Just to mention a few that pop into my head.
Now it may be, of course, that Taylor Mac dreams of becoming a Broadway star. And he might. But he probably realises full well that it is more likely that he will remain something of a cult figure, known mainly to the gay community, but also admired, from a safe distance, by elderly Englishmen with very odd tastes. And so it will be with self-publishers. The best -- the very best -- that they can reasonably expect is that they may become known to a small coterie of readers (with exquisite sensibilities, naturally). But they will, with luck, find an audience.
However, there is one other point that I am morally obliged to mention. And it is one which is frequently overlooked in enthusiastic paeans to the new publishing paradigm. It is that, to succeed even in the most modest manner that I have described, a performer or writer does need to be very, very talented. In fact very to the power of ten or so. The talent may not be immediately obvious. Indeed the wise performer/artist will not flash it around and thrust it down people's throats. But it's gotta be there. Otherwise it ain't gonna work.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Rosie Thomas: Iris and Ruby
As mentioned last Sunday, Rosie Thomas's Iris and Ruby was recently announced as the winner of the 2007 Romantic Novel of the Year Award. And, in case that 'romantic' label causes you to lost interest, let me say at once that this is a mainstream novel which can be read with enjoyment by almost anyone who reads fiction, even if the idea of reading a romantic novel is anathema to them.
If you visit the web site of the UK Romantic Novelists' Association, you will find that, in the RNA's eyes, romantic fiction covers a wide range of genres and sub-genres. However, while the bodywork, as the RNA puts it, may be infinitely variable, 'the engine of romantic fiction is love and relationships.'
Relationships are, in fact, what Iris and Ruby is all about. Iris is an elderly Englishwoman, living in Cairo, and Ruby is her granddaughter. In between the two is Iris's daughter and Ruby's mother.
Now Mrs GOB will tell you that, by and large, I am not much interested in books, plays, and movies about 'relationships'. And she's right; generally speaking. However, as with much else, it all depends on how the thing is done, and in this case I had no problems at all.
Right from the very first page, I got the feeling that I was in safe hands. And so, of course, we are. Rosie Thomas has written 21 books, several of which have been major sellers, and she was a previous winner of the Romantic Novel of the Year Award in 1985, with Sunrise. So this is a writer who knows what she is about.
Iris and Ruby moves in time between 1942 and the present day. In 1942 Iris finds herself in Cairo. The war is raging in the desert, and Iris falls hopelessly in love with Captain Alexander Molyneux -- known as Xan. By page 16 my notes say 'this is pretty wildly romantic'. But don't let that disturb you, if you think that the book will be soppy. It isn't like that at all.
By page 62 my notes say that 'this seems to me to have a magical, dreamlike quality about it which you rarely come across.' Ah, dear reader, if only we could bottle that quality, you and I, and dab on a bit of it here and there, on special occasions. How rich and famous we would be. But not even the best writers can achieve it all the time.
This novel captures, better than any other that I can think of, the anguish of women in time of war. The men go off and fight, and sometimes they come back, and sometimes they don't. (And if you want a real-life account of the same thing, don't miss the Countess of Ranfurly's wonderful To War with Whitaker.)
If you are interested in narrative technique, Iris and Ruby offers plenty of material for study. Rosie Thomas's use of viewpoint departs, at times, from what I could consider to be sound principles. But again, I never had any flicker of doubt: this is a writer who knows exactly what she is doing. Similarly the movements backwards and forwards in time are beautifully handled, as is the portrayal of an elderly woman who fears the onset of senility.
The book is not, of course, perfect. Nothing ever is. In particular, the portrait of the young Egyptian boy, Ash, is somewhat unrealistic. In my opinion, any young woman in the west who has an affair with a man from the Middle East is in for some unwelcome surprises. However, this is a minor problem; and in any case, all novels should be regarded as taking place in a parallel universe where things are not quite the same as they are here.
Rosie Thomas, by the way, is a formidable traveller. In addition to gaining first-hand knowledge of the desert, she has also worked on a research station in Antarctica, and has followed the Silk Route to Samarkand.
The cover of Iris and Ruby is also worth a note. The female figure on the front of the book (presumably Ruby) lacks a face. Modern thinking in the book trade, apparently, is that it is best to let the reader imagine what your leading characters look like.
Strongly recommended.
If you visit the web site of the UK Romantic Novelists' Association, you will find that, in the RNA's eyes, romantic fiction covers a wide range of genres and sub-genres. However, while the bodywork, as the RNA puts it, may be infinitely variable, 'the engine of romantic fiction is love and relationships.'
Relationships are, in fact, what Iris and Ruby is all about. Iris is an elderly Englishwoman, living in Cairo, and Ruby is her granddaughter. In between the two is Iris's daughter and Ruby's mother.
Now Mrs GOB will tell you that, by and large, I am not much interested in books, plays, and movies about 'relationships'. And she's right; generally speaking. However, as with much else, it all depends on how the thing is done, and in this case I had no problems at all.
Right from the very first page, I got the feeling that I was in safe hands. And so, of course, we are. Rosie Thomas has written 21 books, several of which have been major sellers, and she was a previous winner of the Romantic Novel of the Year Award in 1985, with Sunrise. So this is a writer who knows what she is about.
Iris and Ruby moves in time between 1942 and the present day. In 1942 Iris finds herself in Cairo. The war is raging in the desert, and Iris falls hopelessly in love with Captain Alexander Molyneux -- known as Xan. By page 16 my notes say 'this is pretty wildly romantic'. But don't let that disturb you, if you think that the book will be soppy. It isn't like that at all.
By page 62 my notes say that 'this seems to me to have a magical, dreamlike quality about it which you rarely come across.' Ah, dear reader, if only we could bottle that quality, you and I, and dab on a bit of it here and there, on special occasions. How rich and famous we would be. But not even the best writers can achieve it all the time.
This novel captures, better than any other that I can think of, the anguish of women in time of war. The men go off and fight, and sometimes they come back, and sometimes they don't. (And if you want a real-life account of the same thing, don't miss the Countess of Ranfurly's wonderful To War with Whitaker.)
If you are interested in narrative technique, Iris and Ruby offers plenty of material for study. Rosie Thomas's use of viewpoint departs, at times, from what I could consider to be sound principles. But again, I never had any flicker of doubt: this is a writer who knows exactly what she is doing. Similarly the movements backwards and forwards in time are beautifully handled, as is the portrayal of an elderly woman who fears the onset of senility.
The book is not, of course, perfect. Nothing ever is. In particular, the portrait of the young Egyptian boy, Ash, is somewhat unrealistic. In my opinion, any young woman in the west who has an affair with a man from the Middle East is in for some unwelcome surprises. However, this is a minor problem; and in any case, all novels should be regarded as taking place in a parallel universe where things are not quite the same as they are here.
Rosie Thomas, by the way, is a formidable traveller. In addition to gaining first-hand knowledge of the desert, she has also worked on a research station in Antarctica, and has followed the Silk Route to Samarkand.
The cover of Iris and Ruby is also worth a note. The female figure on the front of the book (presumably Ruby) lacks a face. Modern thinking in the book trade, apparently, is that it is best to let the reader imagine what your leading characters look like.
Strongly recommended.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Snippets
Interested in crossover? E.g. science-fiction romance, erotic crime, or a fantasy family saga? If so, read Chap O'Keeffe on Detectives in Cowboy boots.
Graham Swift was interviewed in the Scotsman (link from Bookslut), and says at least one sensible thing: 'I don't want my words to be admired. I want them to transmit an experience where the reader says: I was provoked, moved, enthralled. The words themselves are not a substitute for feeling.' Unfortunately, I have never taken to Graham Swift's work. And he went to my old college, too.
The Times says that Granta is the UK's 'literary bible', so it must be true. But how come I've never even seen a copy, much less read it. At least, not since I was at Cambridge, 1958-61. There was an undergraduate magazine called Granta then. Is this the same thing, grown up?
Authors Den is a huge resource with what seem to be vast lists of books and authors on everything conceivable. You might find the site useful to plug yourself and your latest. Thanks to Nadine Laman for the link.
First lines of novels, like endings, are really quite important. And, to prove the point, Debra Hamel has set up a new web site called Twitterlit. Here, twice a day, she posts the first lines of various books, sans any other details. If intrigued, you can click on a link for further details. Good grief, Debra, I just don't know where some people get the time and energy.
Queertexts.com is a site for gay and lesbian readers and writers. It provides an online directory of literature, plus an opportunity for G&L writers to post their stuff. Founded by a group of university people, I understand. Crumbs -- does this mean there are gays and lesbians in universities?
On Booksprice.com you can enter details of a book and find out how much it is selling for in various online locations. If nothing else, this is interesting, though in my experience cheapest is not always synonymous with best service. I entered the ISBN of one of my books -- 1903988144 -- and found that you can buy it for anywhere between $9.44 and $44.49. (Prices include shipping in USA.) No, I don't understand it either. If it's any comfort, I get £1.99, roughly $4, wherever you buy it. The Booksprice stars rating, by the way, applies to the store, not the book.
The poet Vincent Spada has an idealistic message for you.
Hikikomori, by Ellen Kennedy and Tao Lin has been published online. It's a stylish piece, and it made me laugh, at the beginning. The end is sad.
Boston's Beacon Press has just published Without a Map, Meredith Hall's memoir of what it was like to become pregnant at sixteen (in 1965), and be shunned by your family, school, and a small New Hampshire community. Not a lot of fun, one imagines, but the book is attracting some enthusiastic reviews.
There's another grumpy man who's running a flash fiction contest.
Alan Moore (no, not the Extraordinary Gentlemen guy, this is another one) is dead keen on Dracula and has set up a homage page to the great man. And there's lots and lots of other stuff there too, about Whitby and Yorkshire, and all sorts. I went to Whitby once, but didn't make it to the Abbey. I know, I know....
Graham Swift was interviewed in the Scotsman (link from Bookslut), and says at least one sensible thing: 'I don't want my words to be admired. I want them to transmit an experience where the reader says: I was provoked, moved, enthralled. The words themselves are not a substitute for feeling.' Unfortunately, I have never taken to Graham Swift's work. And he went to my old college, too.
The Times says that Granta is the UK's 'literary bible', so it must be true. But how come I've never even seen a copy, much less read it. At least, not since I was at Cambridge, 1958-61. There was an undergraduate magazine called Granta then. Is this the same thing, grown up?
Authors Den is a huge resource with what seem to be vast lists of books and authors on everything conceivable. You might find the site useful to plug yourself and your latest. Thanks to Nadine Laman for the link.
First lines of novels, like endings, are really quite important. And, to prove the point, Debra Hamel has set up a new web site called Twitterlit. Here, twice a day, she posts the first lines of various books, sans any other details. If intrigued, you can click on a link for further details. Good grief, Debra, I just don't know where some people get the time and energy.
Queertexts.com is a site for gay and lesbian readers and writers. It provides an online directory of literature, plus an opportunity for G&L writers to post their stuff. Founded by a group of university people, I understand. Crumbs -- does this mean there are gays and lesbians in universities?
On Booksprice.com you can enter details of a book and find out how much it is selling for in various online locations. If nothing else, this is interesting, though in my experience cheapest is not always synonymous with best service. I entered the ISBN of one of my books -- 1903988144 -- and found that you can buy it for anywhere between $9.44 and $44.49. (Prices include shipping in USA.) No, I don't understand it either. If it's any comfort, I get £1.99, roughly $4, wherever you buy it. The Booksprice stars rating, by the way, applies to the store, not the book.
The poet Vincent Spada has an idealistic message for you.
Hikikomori, by Ellen Kennedy and Tao Lin has been published online. It's a stylish piece, and it made me laugh, at the beginning. The end is sad.
Boston's Beacon Press has just published Without a Map, Meredith Hall's memoir of what it was like to become pregnant at sixteen (in 1965), and be shunned by your family, school, and a small New Hampshire community. Not a lot of fun, one imagines, but the book is attracting some enthusiastic reviews.
There's another grumpy man who's running a flash fiction contest.
Alan Moore (no, not the Extraordinary Gentlemen guy, this is another one) is dead keen on Dracula and has set up a homage page to the great man. And there's lots and lots of other stuff there too, about Whitby and Yorkshire, and all sorts. I went to Whitby once, but didn't make it to the Abbey. I know, I know....
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