Andrew Smith's Blog
April 17, 2017
All the best writers are 'touched'
It would be folly to suggest that all fiction writers are mentally unstable, but the preponderance of authors with 'problems' does appear to be endless. Sylvia Plath: bipolar. Jonathan Swift, Emily Bronte, and John Milton: all thought to suffer from Asperger's. Herman Melville, Virginia Woolf: chronic depressives. Ezra Pound: formally diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder. Ernest Hemingway: depression, bipolar disorder and, later, psychosis. Scratch the psyche of most fiction authors and you'll reveal emotional flaws and mood disorders, often diagnosable mental illness.
You will also most likely find childhoods rife with loss and loneliness. Many writers lost one and sometimes two parents early in childhood — Swift, Defoe, Byron, Keats, Coleridge, Hawthorne, Melville, Thackeray, the Brontës, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Poe, Tolstoy, and Conrad. 'Wolf Hall' writer, Hilary Mantel, had a father who left the family home when she was a young girl, never to be seen again. Other authors experience childhood loss of a different kind. Byron, Melville, Dickens, Joyce, Yeats, and Shakespeare were all thrust into poverty at an early age through the misfortunes of their fathers. Shelley and Orwell were both banished to bleak and brutal boarding schools for most of their childhoods.
The point of all this being that literary genius is much more likely to spring from unhappiness and hardship than from joy and comfort. Stress and unhappiness in youth seem to help in development of the fantasy and imagination necessary for effective fiction. Ian Mcewan is quoted as having said about the 'edgy' short stories that propelled him to fame, "A lot of my terror of things was in those stories—my terror of not making full or rich emotional relationships."
I've always considered myself to be a fairly happy, well-adjusted person, but, knowing what I know now about the mental health of successful authors, I almost wish I were less sunny, darker. I troll my memory to come up with some skeleton in the cupboard that might have made me an effective author. I did grow up with a quite severely depressive mother, who was often extremely distant. My father, a pharmacist, worked twelve hours a day, six days a week in a chemist shop and was rarely at home. My only brother, who I now believe to have suffered from depression from an early age, went through long periods of being 'difficult' when we were growing up. My fondest childhood memories are of escapes from the family home. I often took long bicycle rides on my own. Solitude was something I treasured.
I think I'll stop now. That might be enough unhappy memories. And I try telling myself there must be loads of well-adjusted, perfectly 'normal' writers who are highly accomplished. But despite the inconclusiveness of the theory, it is undeniable that many prominent writers and poets have suffered from mental instability. In the words of Lord Byron, “We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.
Comments, and personal accounts of writers' 'touched' personalities, are welcome.
Further reading:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1...
.
You will also most likely find childhoods rife with loss and loneliness. Many writers lost one and sometimes two parents early in childhood — Swift, Defoe, Byron, Keats, Coleridge, Hawthorne, Melville, Thackeray, the Brontës, Virginia Woolf, Sylvia Plath, Poe, Tolstoy, and Conrad. 'Wolf Hall' writer, Hilary Mantel, had a father who left the family home when she was a young girl, never to be seen again. Other authors experience childhood loss of a different kind. Byron, Melville, Dickens, Joyce, Yeats, and Shakespeare were all thrust into poverty at an early age through the misfortunes of their fathers. Shelley and Orwell were both banished to bleak and brutal boarding schools for most of their childhoods.
The point of all this being that literary genius is much more likely to spring from unhappiness and hardship than from joy and comfort. Stress and unhappiness in youth seem to help in development of the fantasy and imagination necessary for effective fiction. Ian Mcewan is quoted as having said about the 'edgy' short stories that propelled him to fame, "A lot of my terror of things was in those stories—my terror of not making full or rich emotional relationships."
I've always considered myself to be a fairly happy, well-adjusted person, but, knowing what I know now about the mental health of successful authors, I almost wish I were less sunny, darker. I troll my memory to come up with some skeleton in the cupboard that might have made me an effective author. I did grow up with a quite severely depressive mother, who was often extremely distant. My father, a pharmacist, worked twelve hours a day, six days a week in a chemist shop and was rarely at home. My only brother, who I now believe to have suffered from depression from an early age, went through long periods of being 'difficult' when we were growing up. My fondest childhood memories are of escapes from the family home. I often took long bicycle rides on my own. Solitude was something I treasured.
I think I'll stop now. That might be enough unhappy memories. And I try telling myself there must be loads of well-adjusted, perfectly 'normal' writers who are highly accomplished. But despite the inconclusiveness of the theory, it is undeniable that many prominent writers and poets have suffered from mental instability. In the words of Lord Byron, “We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.
Comments, and personal accounts of writers' 'touched' personalities, are welcome.
Further reading:
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/1...
.
April 1, 2017
A Perfect Storm
The tempest raging around 'cultural appropriation' in fiction.
Last autumn, just before my novel, The Speech, was published, Lionel Shriver — British resident, and American author of 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' — scared the hell out of me. She gave a speech at the Brisbane Writers' Festival that transformed a fairly minor storm of disagreement into a raging tempest of vitriolic backbiting. Her address was titled Fiction and Identity Politics — in plainspeak: issues surrounding the creating of characters in novels that aren't of the author's colour, race, sexuality, religion, or ... you name it.
From the moment I decided to put two black Jamican immigrant characters into The Speech, I'd anguished about whether, as a white Anglo, I a) had the right to do so, and b) could accurately and sensitively portray them. The reason Shriver's address scared the bejesus out of me was the extreme acrimony of reaction, which made it clear there were legions who would believe I had no right to write about anybody other than white males like myself, and who would be gagging to find even a hint of misrepresentation in the portrayal of anybody 'different.' Publishing a book can be an incredibly nervous-making act of self exposure in the first place (more about this in a future blog), and I suffered fairly crippling moments of misgiving in the days leading up to publication, imagining being pilloried for my inept — maybe even racist — attempts to 'write' Jamaican.
But a calmer frame of mind prevailed after I realized part of the problem with the brouhaha in Brisbane had been the manner in which Shriver put her case. She started out in a measured enough fashion talking about authors 'stepping into other people’s shoes, and trying on their hats.' Nice metaphor. But then things went downill. She talked about well-considered books — some being classics — that feature characters of different race, sexuality, etc. from their author. Trouble is, she listed so many examples that it began to feel she was wielding a baseball bat at the heads of what she later described as 'cultural police.' She went on to use negative and incendiary terms to describe anyone who dared suggest that authors moderate their portrayal of 'others.' I obviously wasn't there to hear the derogatory tone of voice she doubtless used, but I can imagine it when I read an account of reaction to the speech from a woman who walked out mid-way. Yassmin Abdel-Magied, a mechanical engineer, social advocate, and writer, described Shriver's speech as "a poisoned package wrapped up in arrogance and delivered with condescension."
Both Shriver's speech and Abdel-Magied's account hold interesting, intelligent, and legitimate points about a fascinating subject. Unfortunately they're eclipsed by the rancour of the emotional minefield surrounding so-called 'cultural appropriation.'
For my part I decided if I included black characters in The Speech — how could I not in a novel with racism as one of its themes — I'd do everything possible to portray my Jamaican characters as honestly as I possibly could. As a student I'd been befriended by a Jamaican, a fellow labourer on the building site where I worked during college holidays. Throughout that summer he and I worked together and drank together. I spent weekends with his family in Handsworth, which at the time was a West Indian enclave of Birmingham. Before that, I'd worked Saturdays on a market stall in Wolverhampton, where at least half the customers were West Indian. I felt I already knew something of Jamaicans in Britain. I supplemented this with copious research into Jamaican music, history, geography, and general culture. My biggest worry was reproducing the Jamaican patois I'd heard as a young man. I researched the hell out if it on YouTube and other media. I sent my first draft to Jamaican author, Colin Channer, to read. He was generous and complimentary, but recommended I send a final draft to Jamaican poet, editor, and patois expert, Velma Pollard. On the whole she approved, but made several suggestions of language and phrasing, which I, of course, incorporated.
My point being this: I agree with Shriver that writers should have — and need — the freedom to portray any character, no matter that person's colour, nationality, sexuality, physicality, etc. in order to produce effective fiction. BUT to do so respectfully, as Abdel-Magied begs of authors in the privileged position of being able to choose about whom they write.
Comments very welcome!
Here is a transcript of Lionel Shriver's speech:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentis...
Here is Yassmin Abdel-Magied's account of walking out of Shrivers' address:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentis...
This is Colin Channer's web site:
http://www.colinchanner.com
This is Velma Pollard reading wonderfully one of her poems::
http://www.poetryarchive.org/poet/vel...
Last autumn, just before my novel, The Speech, was published, Lionel Shriver — British resident, and American author of 'We Need to Talk About Kevin' — scared the hell out of me. She gave a speech at the Brisbane Writers' Festival that transformed a fairly minor storm of disagreement into a raging tempest of vitriolic backbiting. Her address was titled Fiction and Identity Politics — in plainspeak: issues surrounding the creating of characters in novels that aren't of the author's colour, race, sexuality, religion, or ... you name it.
From the moment I decided to put two black Jamican immigrant characters into The Speech, I'd anguished about whether, as a white Anglo, I a) had the right to do so, and b) could accurately and sensitively portray them. The reason Shriver's address scared the bejesus out of me was the extreme acrimony of reaction, which made it clear there were legions who would believe I had no right to write about anybody other than white males like myself, and who would be gagging to find even a hint of misrepresentation in the portrayal of anybody 'different.' Publishing a book can be an incredibly nervous-making act of self exposure in the first place (more about this in a future blog), and I suffered fairly crippling moments of misgiving in the days leading up to publication, imagining being pilloried for my inept — maybe even racist — attempts to 'write' Jamaican.
But a calmer frame of mind prevailed after I realized part of the problem with the brouhaha in Brisbane had been the manner in which Shriver put her case. She started out in a measured enough fashion talking about authors 'stepping into other people’s shoes, and trying on their hats.' Nice metaphor. But then things went downill. She talked about well-considered books — some being classics — that feature characters of different race, sexuality, etc. from their author. Trouble is, she listed so many examples that it began to feel she was wielding a baseball bat at the heads of what she later described as 'cultural police.' She went on to use negative and incendiary terms to describe anyone who dared suggest that authors moderate their portrayal of 'others.' I obviously wasn't there to hear the derogatory tone of voice she doubtless used, but I can imagine it when I read an account of reaction to the speech from a woman who walked out mid-way. Yassmin Abdel-Magied, a mechanical engineer, social advocate, and writer, described Shriver's speech as "a poisoned package wrapped up in arrogance and delivered with condescension."
Both Shriver's speech and Abdel-Magied's account hold interesting, intelligent, and legitimate points about a fascinating subject. Unfortunately they're eclipsed by the rancour of the emotional minefield surrounding so-called 'cultural appropriation.'
For my part I decided if I included black characters in The Speech — how could I not in a novel with racism as one of its themes — I'd do everything possible to portray my Jamaican characters as honestly as I possibly could. As a student I'd been befriended by a Jamaican, a fellow labourer on the building site where I worked during college holidays. Throughout that summer he and I worked together and drank together. I spent weekends with his family in Handsworth, which at the time was a West Indian enclave of Birmingham. Before that, I'd worked Saturdays on a market stall in Wolverhampton, where at least half the customers were West Indian. I felt I already knew something of Jamaicans in Britain. I supplemented this with copious research into Jamaican music, history, geography, and general culture. My biggest worry was reproducing the Jamaican patois I'd heard as a young man. I researched the hell out if it on YouTube and other media. I sent my first draft to Jamaican author, Colin Channer, to read. He was generous and complimentary, but recommended I send a final draft to Jamaican poet, editor, and patois expert, Velma Pollard. On the whole she approved, but made several suggestions of language and phrasing, which I, of course, incorporated.
My point being this: I agree with Shriver that writers should have — and need — the freedom to portray any character, no matter that person's colour, nationality, sexuality, physicality, etc. in order to produce effective fiction. BUT to do so respectfully, as Abdel-Magied begs of authors in the privileged position of being able to choose about whom they write.
Comments very welcome!
Here is a transcript of Lionel Shriver's speech:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentis...
Here is Yassmin Abdel-Magied's account of walking out of Shrivers' address:
https://www.theguardian.com/commentis...
This is Colin Channer's web site:
http://www.colinchanner.com
This is Velma Pollard reading wonderfully one of her poems::
http://www.poetryarchive.org/poet/vel...
March 24, 2017
Place as a character in fiction
Often a place is as strong a character in a novel as any human. For example, it's impossible to imagine Bronte novels set outside of the West Yorkshire Pennines, an area now referred to as 'Bronte country.' The town of Rye in E. F. Benson's books is easily as vivid as his irrepressible characters Mapp and Lucia, although he called the place Tilling in a thin disguise. Locations can inspire writers like nothing else. Dickens, who used London over and again as a character in his work, described the city as a Magic Lantern, a popular entertainment of the Victorian era, which projected images from slides. London scenes fired his imagination. He once said, 'a day in London sets me up and starts me', but outside of the city, 'the toil and labour of writing, day after day, without that magic lantern is IMMENSE!!'
These writers, and many others, used first-hand experience of a place. The Bronte sisters spent their whole lives surrounded by the moors featured in their books. Benson lived in Rye, where he also served as mayor. Dickens lived in London until he died, apart from early years in Kent and short periods spent in Europe. They all wrote what they saw. Not to say that simply being in a place is enough for a competent novelist. The Brontes, Benson, and Dickens brought writerly skills to bear when choosing the exact appropriate location — a forbidding valley, a claustrophobic living room, or a dark alley — to enhance a scene or a character's mood. They also used the way in which seasons, weather, and time of day affect a place by attributing atmosphere and thereby emphasize meaning of the narrative. But they did all have the advantage of writing what they saw. Which is not the case for the writer of historical fiction.
Historical fiction authors use place as much as writers of contemporary fiction, if not more. Locations in historical fiction are often the foundations on which narrative is built. How a place looks, smells, feels is as important as how characters are dressed, speak, or as the food they eat. Locations are likely to appear very differently to today — described effectively they can skewer a period to the page for the reader. The hours of necessary research, sometimes onerous, are always worthwhile. Hilary Mantel, author of Booker Prize winner, Wolf Hall, has said, 'If you don’t like research and don’t consider it important then it’s better, in my view, to leave the historical novel alone.' In the recently published The Spanish Knight's Secret by Peter Christopher, 16th century Malta — in particular Fort St. Elmo during the Great Siege of Malta — is so skillfully portrayed that the reader is transported there, almost against her will. Although familiar with present-day Malta, Christopher dug deep to find the details that bring Fort St. Elmo of 1565 so alive.
Many authors of more recent historical fiction — of which I count myself — also use location in a novel as strongly as any living characters. But memory, rather than research, is often the key for recent historical fiction. Laurie Lee's 1959 novel Cider With Rosie, was based on Lee's youth in the village of Slad, Gloucestershire, in the period soon after the First World War. The village and surroundings are lovingly portrayed, obviously from his recollections of childhood. The West Midlands town of Wolverhampton is as much a character as any person in my novel, The Speech. But it's the Wolverhampton of 1968 that's described, during a period when I was a student there. I was able to draw on strong memories of the town — pubs, streets, shops, the college I attended, statuary, municipal buildings, houses and flats — to evoke the Wolverhampton that would have been familiar to Enoch Powell and the other, imaginary, characters in the novel. I was even able to describe the smell of the local brewery, which pervaded the town from time to time. All of which were building blocks to a vivid representation of place. And, as we know, evocative portrayal of place is essential in historical fiction, whether set in the 1960s, medieval era, or earlier.
These writers, and many others, used first-hand experience of a place. The Bronte sisters spent their whole lives surrounded by the moors featured in their books. Benson lived in Rye, where he also served as mayor. Dickens lived in London until he died, apart from early years in Kent and short periods spent in Europe. They all wrote what they saw. Not to say that simply being in a place is enough for a competent novelist. The Brontes, Benson, and Dickens brought writerly skills to bear when choosing the exact appropriate location — a forbidding valley, a claustrophobic living room, or a dark alley — to enhance a scene or a character's mood. They also used the way in which seasons, weather, and time of day affect a place by attributing atmosphere and thereby emphasize meaning of the narrative. But they did all have the advantage of writing what they saw. Which is not the case for the writer of historical fiction.
Historical fiction authors use place as much as writers of contemporary fiction, if not more. Locations in historical fiction are often the foundations on which narrative is built. How a place looks, smells, feels is as important as how characters are dressed, speak, or as the food they eat. Locations are likely to appear very differently to today — described effectively they can skewer a period to the page for the reader. The hours of necessary research, sometimes onerous, are always worthwhile. Hilary Mantel, author of Booker Prize winner, Wolf Hall, has said, 'If you don’t like research and don’t consider it important then it’s better, in my view, to leave the historical novel alone.' In the recently published The Spanish Knight's Secret by Peter Christopher, 16th century Malta — in particular Fort St. Elmo during the Great Siege of Malta — is so skillfully portrayed that the reader is transported there, almost against her will. Although familiar with present-day Malta, Christopher dug deep to find the details that bring Fort St. Elmo of 1565 so alive.
Many authors of more recent historical fiction — of which I count myself — also use location in a novel as strongly as any living characters. But memory, rather than research, is often the key for recent historical fiction. Laurie Lee's 1959 novel Cider With Rosie, was based on Lee's youth in the village of Slad, Gloucestershire, in the period soon after the First World War. The village and surroundings are lovingly portrayed, obviously from his recollections of childhood. The West Midlands town of Wolverhampton is as much a character as any person in my novel, The Speech. But it's the Wolverhampton of 1968 that's described, during a period when I was a student there. I was able to draw on strong memories of the town — pubs, streets, shops, the college I attended, statuary, municipal buildings, houses and flats — to evoke the Wolverhampton that would have been familiar to Enoch Powell and the other, imaginary, characters in the novel. I was even able to describe the smell of the local brewery, which pervaded the town from time to time. All of which were building blocks to a vivid representation of place. And, as we know, evocative portrayal of place is essential in historical fiction, whether set in the 1960s, medieval era, or earlier.
February 12, 2017
REALITY TV AND THE WORLD BEFORE POST-TRUTH
post-truth
Relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief
Added 2016 to the OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY
I never watched The Apprentice, with or without Donald Trump. Nor did I watch any other so-called 'reality TV show.' Actually, that's not entirely true — I watched Candid Camera when I was a child on our family 12-inch black-and-white television. I just didn't know it was a reality TV show, the term having not yet been invented. But I hadn't seen any until recently, apart from the odd peep at Britain's Got Talent or The X Factor when friends sent links to YouTube segments of Susan Boyle or other eye-popping performances I couldn't stop myself from watching. With so little experience of the phenomenon why do I now feel I'm living in a reality TV show? And with little prospect of ever escaping.
The 'reality' format burgeoned in the 1980s when the Writers Guild of America went on strike and producers were desperate for material that required no writers. Shows were developed that used situations rather then scripts — for example, random strangers were made to live together and filmed relentlessly no matter what happened. Any developments in this scenario and others like it were left almost totally to chance — just like life. Throw in 'real' people instead of actors saying whatever came into their heads and Bingo! producers had cheap shows that ordinary people could relate to and were, most importantly, thrillingly unpredictable. Newly developed digital cameras and personal computer software allowed for no-fuss instant editing, which ensured that cheaply produced 'reality' programmes soon enjoyed worldwide proliferation.
I decided to check out some past and present shows. I wasn't surprised to find that they depended on the age-old dramatic devices of tragedy and comedy. But so has TV drama since the early days of soaps, like Coronation Street, Crossroads, and Emmerdale. So what makes reality TV different — and hypnotically addictive? Perhaps the greatest attraction of reality TV is its no-holds-barred style. It seems that the more outrageous, the more profane, and the more shocking the show, the more popular it is. It's all about triggering strong reactions — shock, horror, or mindless empathy. Rarely do the shows concern themselves with whether the reasons are correct, legitimate, or true. Does anybody take time to analyse Simon Cowell's callous criticism of a contestant? Is any problem of the privileged in Made In Chelsea ever debated rationally? Not likely. All we want are tears and jeers, tantrums and break ups. Whether any of it is right or justified is almost irrelevant. It's the drug of heightened emotion in reaction to extreme expressions of tension and anxiety that we've become addicted to.
Here's the thing, and why I feel as if I'm living in a reality TV show: the ethos of reality television seems to have seeped into public political discourse and completely taken over. I'm not sure how quickly this happened. All I know is that when I researched the politics of fifty years ago for my recent novel — specifically Enoch Powell and his Rivers of Blood speech — it was patently obvious that Powell's no-holds-barred oratory style designed to engender extreme reaction would have been run of the mill today. But in 1968, when he gave the speech, he was castigated and shunned by friends and colleagues as well as opponents and enemies for fomenting hatred and, more importantly, for misrepresenting the facts. His speech meant the end of any hope Powell held for a meaningful position of power in politics. He was sidelined and branded as an unprincipled liar. Powell tried to justify his speech by saying, "... if there was something the majority of the population wanted to hear said, and if their representatives would not say it for them, they’d find a different and much less pleasant person to say it instead." The implication being it was better he speak than someone less responsible. Which was disingenuous of him since he didn't merely say in his speech what he believed the majority wanted to hear but did it in a style specifically designed to evoke an extreme reaction and which implicitly gave permission to those so inclined for expressions of hatred and xenophobia. As a result there were thousands who reacted to his words with the heightened emotions of resentment and prejudice — as he knew there would be. What he didn't count on was the morality of the political machine in Britain at the time, which immediately saw the dangers of his irresponsible diatribe and shut him down.
Powell's rhetorical style of extreme language peppered with dubious or distorted 'facts' would have been right at home on The Apprentice or in today's political milieu. After all, there's little difference between the two. Political discourse — and not just by Donald Trump, but numerous so-called politicians such as Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson — seems to have taken on all the unpleasant attributes of the reality TV format. Here's what Barack Obama said recently in a New Yorker article: "Trump understands the new ecosystem, in which facts and truth don’t matter. You attract attention, rouse emotions, and then move on."
Sounds to me like a terrific pitch for a new reality TV show.
The Speech
Relating to or denoting circumstances in which objective facts are less influential in shaping public opinion than appeals to emotion and personal belief
Added 2016 to the OXFORD ENGLISH DICTIONARY
I never watched The Apprentice, with or without Donald Trump. Nor did I watch any other so-called 'reality TV show.' Actually, that's not entirely true — I watched Candid Camera when I was a child on our family 12-inch black-and-white television. I just didn't know it was a reality TV show, the term having not yet been invented. But I hadn't seen any until recently, apart from the odd peep at Britain's Got Talent or The X Factor when friends sent links to YouTube segments of Susan Boyle or other eye-popping performances I couldn't stop myself from watching. With so little experience of the phenomenon why do I now feel I'm living in a reality TV show? And with little prospect of ever escaping.
The 'reality' format burgeoned in the 1980s when the Writers Guild of America went on strike and producers were desperate for material that required no writers. Shows were developed that used situations rather then scripts — for example, random strangers were made to live together and filmed relentlessly no matter what happened. Any developments in this scenario and others like it were left almost totally to chance — just like life. Throw in 'real' people instead of actors saying whatever came into their heads and Bingo! producers had cheap shows that ordinary people could relate to and were, most importantly, thrillingly unpredictable. Newly developed digital cameras and personal computer software allowed for no-fuss instant editing, which ensured that cheaply produced 'reality' programmes soon enjoyed worldwide proliferation.
I decided to check out some past and present shows. I wasn't surprised to find that they depended on the age-old dramatic devices of tragedy and comedy. But so has TV drama since the early days of soaps, like Coronation Street, Crossroads, and Emmerdale. So what makes reality TV different — and hypnotically addictive? Perhaps the greatest attraction of reality TV is its no-holds-barred style. It seems that the more outrageous, the more profane, and the more shocking the show, the more popular it is. It's all about triggering strong reactions — shock, horror, or mindless empathy. Rarely do the shows concern themselves with whether the reasons are correct, legitimate, or true. Does anybody take time to analyse Simon Cowell's callous criticism of a contestant? Is any problem of the privileged in Made In Chelsea ever debated rationally? Not likely. All we want are tears and jeers, tantrums and break ups. Whether any of it is right or justified is almost irrelevant. It's the drug of heightened emotion in reaction to extreme expressions of tension and anxiety that we've become addicted to.
Here's the thing, and why I feel as if I'm living in a reality TV show: the ethos of reality television seems to have seeped into public political discourse and completely taken over. I'm not sure how quickly this happened. All I know is that when I researched the politics of fifty years ago for my recent novel — specifically Enoch Powell and his Rivers of Blood speech — it was patently obvious that Powell's no-holds-barred oratory style designed to engender extreme reaction would have been run of the mill today. But in 1968, when he gave the speech, he was castigated and shunned by friends and colleagues as well as opponents and enemies for fomenting hatred and, more importantly, for misrepresenting the facts. His speech meant the end of any hope Powell held for a meaningful position of power in politics. He was sidelined and branded as an unprincipled liar. Powell tried to justify his speech by saying, "... if there was something the majority of the population wanted to hear said, and if their representatives would not say it for them, they’d find a different and much less pleasant person to say it instead." The implication being it was better he speak than someone less responsible. Which was disingenuous of him since he didn't merely say in his speech what he believed the majority wanted to hear but did it in a style specifically designed to evoke an extreme reaction and which implicitly gave permission to those so inclined for expressions of hatred and xenophobia. As a result there were thousands who reacted to his words with the heightened emotions of resentment and prejudice — as he knew there would be. What he didn't count on was the morality of the political machine in Britain at the time, which immediately saw the dangers of his irresponsible diatribe and shut him down.
Powell's rhetorical style of extreme language peppered with dubious or distorted 'facts' would have been right at home on The Apprentice or in today's political milieu. After all, there's little difference between the two. Political discourse — and not just by Donald Trump, but numerous so-called politicians such as Nigel Farage and Boris Johnson — seems to have taken on all the unpleasant attributes of the reality TV format. Here's what Barack Obama said recently in a New Yorker article: "Trump understands the new ecosystem, in which facts and truth don’t matter. You attract attention, rouse emotions, and then move on."
Sounds to me like a terrific pitch for a new reality TV show.
The Speech
July 5, 2016
Echoes of Enoch
In April 1968 Wade Crooks, a Jamaican immigrant living in Wolverhampton, was enjoying a christening party for his grandson, born in Britain. Wade was thankful for his job as a window cleaner that gave him the means to provide for his growing family, and to contribute to the society that had welcomed him. Suddenly, without warning or provocation, the Crooks christening was invaded by fourteen white youths. They demanded to know why Wade wasn't making plans to return to his 'own country.' Astonished and perplexed, Wade had no answer. At which, one of the youths slashed Wade's face with a knife cut that required eight stitches.
Two days before this horrific event, Enoch Powell, Member of Parliament for Wolverhampton, had made a speech in Birmingham, putting forward, amongst other anti-immigrant rhetoric, the idea that immigrants should be made to return to their country of origin.
Since Brexit, when certain politicians connected to the Leave campaign, bandied around similar ideas in public speeches, there has been a fivefold increase in reports of hate crime. After having her pay cut an EU immigrant was told if she didn't like it she should go home. Other immigrants have been told by complete strangers they "should leave." Others have been denied entry to clubs, openly threatened for speaking in their own language, and had their children express fears of being deported.
The two events — the assault on Wade Crooks in 1968 and the abuse of EU immigrants in 2016 — are only a short step away from the pogrom of Kristallnacht in the Nazi Germany of 1938, obviously a result of Hitler's hysterical oratory.
Politicians and leaders have a responsibility to consider the consequences of any speech, and to temper their words accordingly. History proves that not to do so can embolden the prejudiced, and foment racism and hatred.
Two days before this horrific event, Enoch Powell, Member of Parliament for Wolverhampton, had made a speech in Birmingham, putting forward, amongst other anti-immigrant rhetoric, the idea that immigrants should be made to return to their country of origin.
Since Brexit, when certain politicians connected to the Leave campaign, bandied around similar ideas in public speeches, there has been a fivefold increase in reports of hate crime. After having her pay cut an EU immigrant was told if she didn't like it she should go home. Other immigrants have been told by complete strangers they "should leave." Others have been denied entry to clubs, openly threatened for speaking in their own language, and had their children express fears of being deported.
The two events — the assault on Wade Crooks in 1968 and the abuse of EU immigrants in 2016 — are only a short step away from the pogrom of Kristallnacht in the Nazi Germany of 1938, obviously a result of Hitler's hysterical oratory.
Politicians and leaders have a responsibility to consider the consequences of any speech, and to temper their words accordingly. History proves that not to do so can embolden the prejudiced, and foment racism and hatred.
February 15, 2012
'Edith's War' at the 19th Writer's Digest Book Awards
'Edith's War' has been recognized by the 19th Writer's Digest Self-Published Book Awards as an Excellent Entry. The historic novel, set for the most part during World War II in England, was given top marks (5 out of 5) in all categories of judging: Plot; Grammar; Character Development; and Production Quality and Cover Design. Among other positive comments, the judges said, "You have an interesting and touching story to tell, exploring a chapter of history that many readers will be unfamiliar with. You do a great job of bringing the story alive for the reader with your attention to historical details and description." Thank you to the Writer's Digest for their impeccable judging and fulsome praise for 'Edith's War.'
October 13, 2011
Care-Giving for the Mature Novel
I promised myself when I started this blog that I wouldn’t write anything unless I had something useful to impart about self-publishing. So, it having been summer and me having been gallivanting around Eastern Canada and/or working at home on a new novel, I’ve had nothing to add here for almost four months. But I recently received an e-mail from one of the many ‘Self-publishing Self Help’ sites I desperately subscribed to when I was naïve and innocent and first worked on self-publishing Edith’s War. The e-mail touted a tutorial entitled “Old Age: How to stave off the inevitable decline in your book’s sales.” I wasn’t about to cough up the hundred bucks it cost to learn what pearls of wisdom the site might impart about ensuring the health of a book’s golden years (there must be a multi-million-dollar business out there in self-publishing advice to wide-eyed wannabe authors). Besides, my latest statement from the Edith’s War distributor included a $400 cheque, plus I’d made a couple of hundred dollars worth of private sales through the summer. But the touted “Old Age” tutorial prompted me to accept that I needed a rejuvenation strategy to extend my novel’s life beyond the eighteen months that have passed since it first hit the shelves. Some may be interested to know what plans are to reinvigorate my ‘mature’ book:
•More bookstore ‘appearances’ around Toronto and environs. I’ve done three since late September and have four more lined up before the holiday season. Fortunately I quite enjoy hanging out and introducing Edith’s War to likely readers. There’s alway a customer with a war story, always a young aspiring writer to encourage, always one or two who buy a copy just to support the author. And there also seem to be more and more e-reader customers on each successive visit who are in the store to choose books which they then go home and download.
•Inspired by self-publishing author Amanda Hocking, whose multi-million sales of her paranormal young adult romance novels she attributes mainly to book bloggers, I searched for book bloggers with the intention of doing guest blogs for them or to have them review the book. Trouble is, it takes hours to try and find appropriate book bloggers. After considerable effort I only managed to snag one guest blog. So I was pleased when a fellow author told me about TLC Book Tours, who specialize in setting up ‘virtual’ book tours with bloggers they’ve researched and who supposedly ‘match’ an author’s book. I’m in the process of negotiating a virtual book tour through them. See: http://tlcbooktours.com/ Report to come.
•I’m trying to fix up at least one reading in a local library on or near Remembrance Day. One fell in my lap today: an opportunity to go to Burlington library and talk about my experiences to a class who are taking a course on publishing.
•The Canadian private member’s bill calling for an apology to Italians is now at the committee stage (see blog entry http://www.edithswarselfpublish.com/S...). I’m tracking it to be ready to piggy-back on any publicity that will ensue once it’s finalized and an apology is forthcoming.
•I’m exhibiting at Self-Publishing Book Expo in New York later this month http://www.selfpubbookexpo.com/ No idea what to expect, but will report back on my return.
I could go on, but I think I’ve probably illustrated that — although many writers think their work is done once they hand in a manuscript — the fact is most authors, even those who publish with a conventional publisher, never stop work on a book until it dies and goes out of print.
Unless of course the author dies first. At one of my bookstore appearances my eye happened to fall on a novel titled A Confederacy of Dunces. To make a long story short: young author, John Kennedy Toole, wrote this book in the 1960s; tragically, he committed suicide after he was unable to find a publisher; eleven years later the novel was published due to the persistence of Toole’s mother; it immediately became a best seller and was critically acclaimed; Toole was awarded a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. A Confederacy of Dunces is now considered a canonical work of the Southern United States and promises to be in print for years to come. Now there’s no way my 96-year-old mother, feisty as she can be, would be as persistent as Toole’s. So, even if I could fake my own suicide, I think I’m better off sticking with a few bookstore appearances and a virtual tour.
•More bookstore ‘appearances’ around Toronto and environs. I’ve done three since late September and have four more lined up before the holiday season. Fortunately I quite enjoy hanging out and introducing Edith’s War to likely readers. There’s alway a customer with a war story, always a young aspiring writer to encourage, always one or two who buy a copy just to support the author. And there also seem to be more and more e-reader customers on each successive visit who are in the store to choose books which they then go home and download.
•Inspired by self-publishing author Amanda Hocking, whose multi-million sales of her paranormal young adult romance novels she attributes mainly to book bloggers, I searched for book bloggers with the intention of doing guest blogs for them or to have them review the book. Trouble is, it takes hours to try and find appropriate book bloggers. After considerable effort I only managed to snag one guest blog. So I was pleased when a fellow author told me about TLC Book Tours, who specialize in setting up ‘virtual’ book tours with bloggers they’ve researched and who supposedly ‘match’ an author’s book. I’m in the process of negotiating a virtual book tour through them. See: http://tlcbooktours.com/ Report to come.
•I’m trying to fix up at least one reading in a local library on or near Remembrance Day. One fell in my lap today: an opportunity to go to Burlington library and talk about my experiences to a class who are taking a course on publishing.
•The Canadian private member’s bill calling for an apology to Italians is now at the committee stage (see blog entry http://www.edithswarselfpublish.com/S...). I’m tracking it to be ready to piggy-back on any publicity that will ensue once it’s finalized and an apology is forthcoming.
•I’m exhibiting at Self-Publishing Book Expo in New York later this month http://www.selfpubbookexpo.com/ No idea what to expect, but will report back on my return.
I could go on, but I think I’ve probably illustrated that — although many writers think their work is done once they hand in a manuscript — the fact is most authors, even those who publish with a conventional publisher, never stop work on a book until it dies and goes out of print.
Unless of course the author dies first. At one of my bookstore appearances my eye happened to fall on a novel titled A Confederacy of Dunces. To make a long story short: young author, John Kennedy Toole, wrote this book in the 1960s; tragically, he committed suicide after he was unable to find a publisher; eleven years later the novel was published due to the persistence of Toole’s mother; it immediately became a best seller and was critically acclaimed; Toole was awarded a posthumous Pulitzer Prize for Fiction. A Confederacy of Dunces is now considered a canonical work of the Southern United States and promises to be in print for years to come. Now there’s no way my 96-year-old mother, feisty as she can be, would be as persistent as Toole’s. So, even if I could fake my own suicide, I think I’m better off sticking with a few bookstore appearances and a virtual tour.
June 16, 2011
'EDITH’S WAR' WINS GOLD AT 2011 INDEPENDENT PUBLISHER BOOK AWARDS
On winning Gold at Independent Publisher Book Awards, but not being in NYC to pick up the bling
You’ve got to hand it to our American cousins, if anything is worth doing in the U.S. of A. it’s worth doing HUGE. On my return last Thursday from seven weeks in the United Kingdom, an oversized and heavy envelope was waiting outside my door from the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards, held in New York during my absence. Risking a hernia, I hefted the envelope into my apartment where it landed with a thud on my kitchen counter. Inside was a giant piece of bling — a gold metal disc the size of a hockey puck — that even rapper Lil Wayne might judge to be overindulgent. I couldn’t resist unravelling the blue satin ribbon, at least the width of a 4G phone, and placing it around my neck. The behemoth of a medal dangled weightily, threatening to crush my sternum. I raised my arms in triumphant Olympic-podium style, and then I faked a bite of the glittering metal disc for the imaginary host of flashing cameras in front of my fireplace — emulating my idol, champion tennis player Rafael Nadal.
I have to say that the excess of my medal was refreshing after the restraint of the United Kingdom, where any hint of ostentatious display is anathema (the Royal Family excepted, of course) and where achievement tends to be so understated one might believe it was a subject of shame. I know of what I speak, as a Brit I realize I’m capable of perverse modesty. But I love my winner’s bling and, were it not for my innate English reserve, would wear it out in public every single day for the next year. Maybe I’ll pluck up the courage to wear it at the next book signing. I regret not being in New York to pick up my medal in true American, unabashed style, and be recorded, like Nadal, by actual flashing cameras, but duty called. My brother and I were in Liverpool helping our 95-year-old mother move from her apartment to an assisted-living home.
It occurred to me, while we were lugging my mother’s unwanted clothes to charity shops and her discarded possessions to the dump, that she and the handful of elderly women in her new home were the last of the Ediths. It won’t be long before her generation — who eked out World War II on the home front — will be gone. The thought made me glad I’d written Edith’s War, because it adds to the record and memory of a soon-to-be-lost group who lived through remarkable times ... and, of course, I’m delirious about the bling.
This year’s awards attracted 3,907 entries, and the medalists represent books published in 45 U.S. states plus the District of Columbia, seven Canadian provinces, and seven countries overseas. Launched in 1996, it is the first unaffiliated awards program open exclusively to independent, university, and self-published titles.
F.Y.I. The winner of the Gold Award for Fiction, Western Canada was Rudy Wiebe: Collected Stories, 1955-2010, by Rudy Wiebe (University of Alberta Press).
You’ve got to hand it to our American cousins, if anything is worth doing in the U.S. of A. it’s worth doing HUGE. On my return last Thursday from seven weeks in the United Kingdom, an oversized and heavy envelope was waiting outside my door from the 2011 Independent Publisher Book Awards, held in New York during my absence. Risking a hernia, I hefted the envelope into my apartment where it landed with a thud on my kitchen counter. Inside was a giant piece of bling — a gold metal disc the size of a hockey puck — that even rapper Lil Wayne might judge to be overindulgent. I couldn’t resist unravelling the blue satin ribbon, at least the width of a 4G phone, and placing it around my neck. The behemoth of a medal dangled weightily, threatening to crush my sternum. I raised my arms in triumphant Olympic-podium style, and then I faked a bite of the glittering metal disc for the imaginary host of flashing cameras in front of my fireplace — emulating my idol, champion tennis player Rafael Nadal.
I have to say that the excess of my medal was refreshing after the restraint of the United Kingdom, where any hint of ostentatious display is anathema (the Royal Family excepted, of course) and where achievement tends to be so understated one might believe it was a subject of shame. I know of what I speak, as a Brit I realize I’m capable of perverse modesty. But I love my winner’s bling and, were it not for my innate English reserve, would wear it out in public every single day for the next year. Maybe I’ll pluck up the courage to wear it at the next book signing. I regret not being in New York to pick up my medal in true American, unabashed style, and be recorded, like Nadal, by actual flashing cameras, but duty called. My brother and I were in Liverpool helping our 95-year-old mother move from her apartment to an assisted-living home.
It occurred to me, while we were lugging my mother’s unwanted clothes to charity shops and her discarded possessions to the dump, that she and the handful of elderly women in her new home were the last of the Ediths. It won’t be long before her generation — who eked out World War II on the home front — will be gone. The thought made me glad I’d written Edith’s War, because it adds to the record and memory of a soon-to-be-lost group who lived through remarkable times ... and, of course, I’m delirious about the bling.
This year’s awards attracted 3,907 entries, and the medalists represent books published in 45 U.S. states plus the District of Columbia, seven Canadian provinces, and seven countries overseas. Launched in 1996, it is the first unaffiliated awards program open exclusively to independent, university, and self-published titles.
F.Y.I. The winner of the Gold Award for Fiction, Western Canada was Rudy Wiebe: Collected Stories, 1955-2010, by Rudy Wiebe (University of Alberta Press).
March 5, 2011
The value of libraries
Last week I spent a delightful hour or so at Deer Park Library in Toronto talking about and reading from Edith’s War. I was extremely gratified when more than thirty people showed up on a particularly frigid and windy afternoon to hear me. I had not expected to see more than a handful of readers, two being pals. (Thanks to Joan and Andrea for being there, front and centre.) The numbers doubtless had more to do with how well the library publicized the event rather than my author-as-star status. Many thanks to librarian Anna Tharyan who arranged the event. An Italian guardian angel was obviously looking out for me when librarian Tiziano Vanola was chosen to introduce me. Tiziano had read the book and had liked it particularly because of the novel’s Italian content. He, like most people, had not been aware of the internment of Italian civilians during WWII.
On the way home it occurred to me how libraries tend to be taken for granted by some of us who have easy everyday access to them and to the services they provide. With internet ordering it takes only a matter of seconds for me to locate a book in the library system and have it delivered to my local branch for me to pick up. It’s like magic! One has only to look at the furore in United Kingdom, where libraries are under threat from slashed budgets, to appreciate how bereft a populace can become at the prospect of losing their easy access to books. At Friday night’s massive London event, World Book Night, in Trafalgar Square, author Alan Bennett denounced the cuts by declaring, “Closing libraries is child abuse,”recalling childhood memories of visiting them. Margaret Atwood was also on hand to read and to lend her support. See: http://bit.ly/hhPMiJ
When one hears of the way banned books swiftly became available in Tunisia after the departure of ousted President Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali (and which will, presumably, soon be available in that country’s 379 public libraries) it’s easier to appreciate the thirst for uncensored information that libraries can satisfy in a free and democratic setting. See: http://bit.ly/eycPEI
So a big Thank You to Toronto Public Library, and Long Live Libraries Everywhere!
On the way home it occurred to me how libraries tend to be taken for granted by some of us who have easy everyday access to them and to the services they provide. With internet ordering it takes only a matter of seconds for me to locate a book in the library system and have it delivered to my local branch for me to pick up. It’s like magic! One has only to look at the furore in United Kingdom, where libraries are under threat from slashed budgets, to appreciate how bereft a populace can become at the prospect of losing their easy access to books. At Friday night’s massive London event, World Book Night, in Trafalgar Square, author Alan Bennett denounced the cuts by declaring, “Closing libraries is child abuse,”recalling childhood memories of visiting them. Margaret Atwood was also on hand to read and to lend her support. See: http://bit.ly/hhPMiJ
When one hears of the way banned books swiftly became available in Tunisia after the departure of ousted President Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali (and which will, presumably, soon be available in that country’s 379 public libraries) it’s easier to appreciate the thirst for uncensored information that libraries can satisfy in a free and democratic setting. See: http://bit.ly/eycPEI
So a big Thank You to Toronto Public Library, and Long Live Libraries Everywhere!
July 5, 2010
Edith's War Giveaway
Firstly, a thousand-plus thanks to the thousand-plus people (1,146 to be exact) who requested a giveaway copy of Edith's War. I honestly mean this when I say if it was up to me I'd send everyone a copy. But publisher, Axiom Publishing, wouldn't be too happy about that. My heartfelt wishes that you thoroughly enjoy Edith's War to the five winners: Maureen in NY; Angela in PA; Valerie in DE; Shelby in NC; and Della in GA.
It seems appropriate that there's been so much interest in Edith's War in the last few days, since July 2 marked the 70th anniversary of the tragic sinking of the Arandora Star, which is a major event in the book. Find out more at: http://bit.ly/dk6918
Edith's War is available from www.amazon.com (http://amzn.to/9PgeIH), www.chapters.indigo.ca (http://ow.ly/1Kn32) and @indiepride (http://ow.ly/26SOu). If you prefer the eBook, try Smashwords: (http://ow.ly/21S76).
It seems appropriate that there's been so much interest in Edith's War in the last few days, since July 2 marked the 70th anniversary of the tragic sinking of the Arandora Star, which is a major event in the book. Find out more at: http://bit.ly/dk6918
Edith's War is available from www.amazon.com (http://amzn.to/9PgeIH), www.chapters.indigo.ca (http://ow.ly/1Kn32) and @indiepride (http://ow.ly/26SOu). If you prefer the eBook, try Smashwords: (http://ow.ly/21S76).
