November 26, 2006
$71.71 for Mr Beckett
Mr Beckett has in my adulthood often administered the same lifting tonics, that the spontaneous receipt of a twenty pound note from a relative of otherwise few words once did in childhood. If you were a poor child, you’ll fathom that last bit..
Last week I invested from my very modest means the most I have ever spent on a book in his honour. $71.71. There was something very Beckettish about the price of it. Kind of check-mate ish.
I genuinely admire the work of the Beckett foundation (http://www.library.rdg.ac.uk/colls/bif/index.html#pubs who offer several unique publications) and it’s founder James Knowlson and Elizabeth Knowlson, his partner, who have written extensively and with extraordinary dedication for much of their lives about Beckett.
For anyone who missed these radio pieces during the centenary … Je dis (to borrow from Monsieur Jelloun) .. Merci Monsieur Beckett.
http://www.rte.ie/beckett100/radioarchives.html
Such is my commitment to the French language I attempted to read Mal Vu Mal Dit en Francais and felt myself to be getting along very well with it. I was gathering a certain degree of minimalism and the moon and I thought talk of curtains. Few chapters in checked against the English to see if there really was a woman having the conversation I thought she was with the moon.
I had not grasped a single word of it accurately. Not even a hint. Except the title and the page numbers.
There’s an interesting literary experience for readers waiting inbetween translation. A whole new book arrives.
November 26, 2006
The temptation of a spat
I know it’s trivial to draw attention to it, but who can resist a spat. As spats go this one is pretty minor since it does not involve a set of dentures. One of my favourite spats was the Martin Amis’ teeth spat since I had the same dental issues as Monsieur Amis. (bi-max osteotomy http://www.eastman.ucl.ac.uk/~omfs/chopper.html is the genius who fixed my jaws with the hacksaw etc) and longed to weigh in only on the dental front, never mind the book deal for God’s sake, consider the trauma to those poor overcrowded, on the road to recession gums. Did Mr Amis realize he could them fixed on the NHS? Getting your two jaws broken is great training for writing a novel, I discovered. Unfortunately it offers no advantage for finishing one.
I link to this article because I think it’s a well written and classy piece:
http://observer.guardian.co.uk/review/story/0,,1956873,00.html
I’m not taking a position on the actual spat, since there are no teeth involved. But did wonder why no one took the opportunity to point out how poorly paid literary journalism is or freelancing full stop. I had to get a job as a security guard in order to subsidize my own journalistic efforts, but that could also be because it actually took me 40 hours to write that Booker Prize article. (“10-6 Roger, copy, over and out” Mr Sutherland perhaps)
I realized afterwards I either formulate my thoughts very slowly or I was doing something wrong, very wrong.
November 10, 2006
O’Yawn moment: Literary partnerships…
In a week of noting how celebrity divorces can now seemingly usurp elections, it’s time for this blog’s first o’yawn moment.
Lust and literature is a heady mixture, and the women writers of the 20th century who married poets and novelists often came unstuck in both life and art.
http://enjoyment.independent.co.uk/books/features/article1956989.ece
Clearly it makes far more sense to make your hay romantically in the strict marital sense with someone who actually has a job with paycheck, or cheap airline tickets, or discount on groceries, or expertise in laying pipes. The sensible thing would be to then procure the affections on the side of your literary love-a-duck, ensuring you are sufficiently absent when they are moaning about their latest tome and removing their toenails procrastinating etc. Turn up just as they have that revved, fresh, got a few good hours work done today, would you like a boiled egg glow.
When selecting partners of any extraction bottom line: make absolute sure they can cook a good egg. A good egg can cure the most irksome traits and inconveniences.
Possibly the best partner for a writer is actually the leg of a table.
November 8, 2006
Radio again… radio 4 this time.
Clearly I’m a radio gal.
Been listening to this very interesting series on BBC Radio 4 called:
Living With Aids: Twenty five years since the first recorded cases of AIDS, Radio 4 looks at the AIDS crisis with the Living With Aids series of programmes.
There are two programmes I listened to one where Paul Gambaccini goes back over the history of the emergence of HIV in England, specifically London. And the other was about the science of the virus:
Allan Little tells the story of the race to identify the cause of a new and devastating disease.
http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/aidsthesearchforthevirus/pip/d2t70/
Both programmes are well worth a listen. Post your comments on them below if you wish.
November 3, 2006
The peril of Aunts: Mrs Desai gettin’ it in the ear
Well Kiran Desai is going to need that humility I mentioned: God help writers when the ever noble medja phones up your Aunt.
Residents of the Himalayan town featured in Kiran Desai’s Booker Prize-winning novel The Inheritance of Loss are upset over her portrayal of them.
http://www.cbc.ca/arts/books/story/2006/11/02/desai-booker-nepalese.html
Desai’s aunt recently told a magazine in India that she has not told people in the town of Kalimpong about her niece because “the book contains many insensitive things.”
Now the curious thing is where exactly can a writer write about without the inhabitants taking umbrage? Will we have to invent ungeographically placeable (forgive appalling grammar) cities, towns, humps in the road. A generic lego-town where no beggar (meaning general person, not person clutching a bowl) can get offended. To say nothing of the peril of having to write only inoffensive characters who do nothing wrong or perhaps do nothing at all. Is it the onset of the blank page in publishing…
In the meantime be careful what you say to your Aunt when she’s beside you at next years Christmas dinner, birthday, family get together, if you run into her when collecting your contraceptive prescription, buying a shoelace. They’re powerful creatures … they don’t mince words.
I once had a conversation with my Aunt while watching telly (I had a broken jaw at the time so perhaps conversation is an exaggeration) in which I professed an interest in watching a video nation piece about this mad looking Morris dancer who worked for the Council that was three minutes long. Rubbish, she said, it’s Saturday night, I want to watch a quiz show. I’m will be glad I had a broken jaw if the papers ever phone her for a quote.
November 2, 2006
Ah humility…as reassuring as a good cuppa tea
Here’s Kiran Desai on her Booker winning novel: The Inheritance of Loss:
“I don’t think it’s a perfect book,” she says of her second novel, The Inheritance of Loss. “There are bits that seem too slow or too fast. And in some places, I don’t think it works at all.”
http://www.cbc.ca/arts/books/desai.html
Frankly, I think the woman deserved to win on her humility alone and patience sitting at the kitchen table for eight years. It’s uplifting to see writers win who have that dazed, “behind closed curtains for many years” look about them, rather than the chumped up, “I’m pleased with myself on a Monday afternoon whether I win a book prize or not” alternative. There’s no science to a book prize, if there were, books could come with literary steriods such as: yellow ribbons, fifty dollars slipped in the back, nude snaps of authors head on a better body, petrol coupons, green shield stamps for those hoping a 1970’s vibe might swing it for them, or low income tax returns with long overdue bills attached — the mercy inducing steroid. It’s got to be as random as choosing a hamster in a cage of thirty.
November 1, 2006
In the meantime
The promised and much appreciated Pamuk essay is still missing in action, but have come upon some other nuggets to get your eyes around in the meantime. First http://www.nybooks.com/articles/18991 is Pamuk’s “Pen Arthur Miller Freedom to Write lecture” which amongst other things mentions Pinter and Istanbul traffic.
<p> Also, http://www.iht.com/articles/2006/07/28/opinion/edpamuk.php this piece has a wonderful part:
In the 1970s, when my mother asked, “Who are you writing for?” her mournful and compassionate tone told me she was really asking, “How are you planning to support yourself?”
okay so, this part about the mother I fathom, (“roger Mrs Pamuk”) I’m a mother and mother’s often say unhelpful things to their offspring. Today my first born reminded me “it’s not fair you get to chose pillows.” He has a point. It’s taken thirty-five years and numerous disappointments, but the height of my privilege includes choosing a pillow.
The next bit however…
When friends asked me who I wrote for, they were mockingly suggesting that no one would ever want to read a book by someone like me
Jaysus, well not sure if he’s still running with that gang but they may not be getting the invite to come over for the Nobel prize tea-party. Most incredibly, how did the man manage to persist in writing his books. Bad and all as it is, one expects one’s family to take a dim view on most pursuits sauf say gardening or jobs with pensions but your friends, amigos. Lordacious indeed. Given most writers spend life indoors one can only hope the mockingly suggestive encounters were minimized by the 10 hours a day at the desk which you’ll be able to read about once I locate the link to that blessed article I rambled about earlier.
October 31, 2006
Has anyone ever said it better? Orhan Pamuk
Orhan Pamuk had an essay in this weekends Guardian (www.guardian.co.uk) describing why he writes .. called something like the Implied Author. This isn’t a great kick off for a blog since er.. I cannot find the blessed thing to link to it.
Anyhow if indeed you do find it consider the words “Glory be.. has anyone ever said it better.” I did wonder if one needed to be living in Istanbul to find it quite that lyrical. It’s certainly not that poetic at the uncomfortable, but classy blue kitchen table here in these parts.