Gordon Ferris's Blog
July 10, 2014
Synagogues & Twin Towers
I was in New York last week, giving a talk to an adult literature class in a downtown synagogue, and staring into the wet depths of the square holes where the Twin Towers once stood. It's hard to know which affected me more.
The invite to talk to the Jewish class came out of the blue. Professor Jane Paznik-Bondarin of BMCC/CUNY was teaching them about the role of Jewish detectives in fiction. Who knew? A friend had mentioned my Brodie books set in post War Glasgow in which I'd touched on a number of big themes of the period e.g political and police corruption, attitudes to homosexuality and sinner priests. But in Pilgrim Soul [Brodie 3] I'd constructed a plot round the (fictional) attack on the Glasgow Jewish community by Nazi war criminals fleeing retribution, using escape routes - ratlines - that ran through Europe at the time.
Though my hero, Douglas Brodie was neither Jewish nor a detective, Jane enjoyed the book so much and what it revealed about the 12,000 strong Jewish community in the Gorbals back in the 40's, that she put it on the reading list for her the class. The positive feedback provoked her to have the 'chutzpah' - as she put it - to invite me to do a Skype interview with the class. As luck had it, I could do better than that; I would be in New York visiting old friends and was prepared to join the class in person.
On a night of thunderstorms and flood warnings across Manhattan, I talked to her group in their synagogue and responded to their probes into my background; how did a nice Goyim boy like me come to know so much about Jewish attitudes and customs? Who in my family was Jewish? Clearly I had to have some blood connection to write so sensitively and warmly about them.
As a Celt of Irish/Scottish Presbyterian extraction, I was incredibly touched by this - validation, I guess - of my writing. I explained I had a number of reasons for working this awkward theme into Pilgrim Soul, chief among them being the issue's prominence in 1947. Part of my research involves visiting the Mitchell Library in Glasgow flicking through microfiche screens of the newspapers of the period. It's hard to ignore the front pages reporting the Nuremberg trials and the Jewish refugee ships trying to break the British blockade of Palestine ports to get to the Promised Land. Brodie too had to face the demons eating him: as a British Major in post War Germany he was tasked with interrogating Nazi officers and sending them for trial. Much of his (undiagnosed) post traumatic stress was down to these nightmare revelations.
I also had a personal trigger: in 1946 my father was a paratrooper stationed with his regiment in Haifa as part of the UN mandated force occupying Palestine and being shot for their trouble by Arabs and Jews alike.
Finally, I explained, I was conscious of a generational shift in which the Holocaust is moving beyond the memory of anyone living. Deniers are taking the field and anti-Semitism is on the rise across Europe. I have never been able to understand why the Jews have been persecuted for so long, by so many, and through my writing, I wanted to explore the issues in search of some understanding. I still don't. But without being too grandiose about it, I wanted to play some small part in keeping the memory alive. Looking round the table at the lined and intent faces and the nodding heads, I guess I had.
Gordon
The invite to talk to the Jewish class came out of the blue. Professor Jane Paznik-Bondarin of BMCC/CUNY was teaching them about the role of Jewish detectives in fiction. Who knew? A friend had mentioned my Brodie books set in post War Glasgow in which I'd touched on a number of big themes of the period e.g political and police corruption, attitudes to homosexuality and sinner priests. But in Pilgrim Soul [Brodie 3] I'd constructed a plot round the (fictional) attack on the Glasgow Jewish community by Nazi war criminals fleeing retribution, using escape routes - ratlines - that ran through Europe at the time.
Though my hero, Douglas Brodie was neither Jewish nor a detective, Jane enjoyed the book so much and what it revealed about the 12,000 strong Jewish community in the Gorbals back in the 40's, that she put it on the reading list for her the class. The positive feedback provoked her to have the 'chutzpah' - as she put it - to invite me to do a Skype interview with the class. As luck had it, I could do better than that; I would be in New York visiting old friends and was prepared to join the class in person.
On a night of thunderstorms and flood warnings across Manhattan, I talked to her group in their synagogue and responded to their probes into my background; how did a nice Goyim boy like me come to know so much about Jewish attitudes and customs? Who in my family was Jewish? Clearly I had to have some blood connection to write so sensitively and warmly about them.
As a Celt of Irish/Scottish Presbyterian extraction, I was incredibly touched by this - validation, I guess - of my writing. I explained I had a number of reasons for working this awkward theme into Pilgrim Soul, chief among them being the issue's prominence in 1947. Part of my research involves visiting the Mitchell Library in Glasgow flicking through microfiche screens of the newspapers of the period. It's hard to ignore the front pages reporting the Nuremberg trials and the Jewish refugee ships trying to break the British blockade of Palestine ports to get to the Promised Land. Brodie too had to face the demons eating him: as a British Major in post War Germany he was tasked with interrogating Nazi officers and sending them for trial. Much of his (undiagnosed) post traumatic stress was down to these nightmare revelations.
I also had a personal trigger: in 1946 my father was a paratrooper stationed with his regiment in Haifa as part of the UN mandated force occupying Palestine and being shot for their trouble by Arabs and Jews alike.
Finally, I explained, I was conscious of a generational shift in which the Holocaust is moving beyond the memory of anyone living. Deniers are taking the field and anti-Semitism is on the rise across Europe. I have never been able to understand why the Jews have been persecuted for so long, by so many, and through my writing, I wanted to explore the issues in search of some understanding. I still don't. But without being too grandiose about it, I wanted to play some small part in keeping the memory alive. Looking round the table at the lined and intent faces and the nodding heads, I guess I had.
Gordon
June 26, 2014
Interview with Douglas Brodie, an everyday hero*
William McAllister, reporter from the Glasgow Gazette interviewing Douglas Brodie for his crime column:
WM: Who are you?
Brodie: The simple answer? Douglas Brodie; most folk just call me Brodie.
WM: And the complicated?
Brodie: I used to be several things. A scholar of sorts. Then a policeman. And lately a soldier. Now? I’m not sure who I am and where I’m going.
Wm: Let’s go back to being simple. Tell us about your early life.
Brodie: Born on Rabbie Burns’ day, 1912, which makes me 34. Grew up in Kilmarnock, a small town in Ayrshire. My Dad was a coal miner.
WM: Was?
Brodie: … pause… Died in 1930. He was only 49. A mix of Black Lung from the pits and Mustard Gas from the Great War. The nice coal company blamed the war and cut my mother’s compensation. My Mum’s still living in her wee tenement in Bonnyton, part of Kilmarnock.
WM: But you didn’t follow him down the pit?
Brodie: He wanted something better for me. I’d dutifully stayed on at school – the local academy – by winning bursaries. We could never have afforded it otherwise. But by the time I reached 17 I decided I’d had enough schooling. That I wouldn’t go onto university. Then he died, and I was stuck with his dying wish. So I went up to Glasgow to read English and modern languages. The German came in handy, I suppose, at war’s end.
WM: the right result then?
Brodie: Academically, maybe. Socially? It was torture. Oh, the rich kids at Uni were nice enough in their way, but patronising. I’d left all my old pals behind at Kilmarnock. While they were all out learning a trade, earning money, I was discussing Voltaire in French with a bunch of posers.
WM: So why join the Glasgow police?
Brodie: Everyone expected me to be a teacher. I wanted to do something - more active, shall we say.
WM: A strange rebellion. How did that go?
Brodie: Fine, for a while. I got the action I craved and made detective sergeant within three years.
WM: But. . .?
Brodie: It stank, Wullie. Corruption. Laziness. Sheer incompetence. I couldn’t stand it.
WM: So the war was a blessing?
Brodie: That’s a stupid thing to say. War’s never a blessing.
WM: But you shot up through the ranks. You won the Military Cross and left as a Major in the Seaforth Highlanders. That sounds like you’d found your niche.
Brodie: [Laughs] That’s why I found your first question complicated. Who am I? Damned if I know any more. You know what scares me, Wullie? I miss it. For six years they trained me to be the best killer I could be, and I was. I was one of the best. A natural. And now I want out. I want to be an English teacher. I want to write sonnets and study Eliot again. But no-one gave me a compass back to civvy street when I handed back my crowns.
WM: How do you mean?
Brodie: People keep trying to kill me.
WM: Do you run or fight?
Brodie: Is running ever the right choice?
Wm: Is there a woman in your life?
Brodie: You would need to ask Samantha Campbell that. . .
* Douglas Brodie stars in the Glasgow Quartet comprising:
1. The Hanging Shed
2. Bitter Water
3. Pilgrim Soul
4. Gallowglass
WM: Who are you?
Brodie: The simple answer? Douglas Brodie; most folk just call me Brodie.
WM: And the complicated?
Brodie: I used to be several things. A scholar of sorts. Then a policeman. And lately a soldier. Now? I’m not sure who I am and where I’m going.
Wm: Let’s go back to being simple. Tell us about your early life.
Brodie: Born on Rabbie Burns’ day, 1912, which makes me 34. Grew up in Kilmarnock, a small town in Ayrshire. My Dad was a coal miner.
WM: Was?
Brodie: … pause… Died in 1930. He was only 49. A mix of Black Lung from the pits and Mustard Gas from the Great War. The nice coal company blamed the war and cut my mother’s compensation. My Mum’s still living in her wee tenement in Bonnyton, part of Kilmarnock.
WM: But you didn’t follow him down the pit?
Brodie: He wanted something better for me. I’d dutifully stayed on at school – the local academy – by winning bursaries. We could never have afforded it otherwise. But by the time I reached 17 I decided I’d had enough schooling. That I wouldn’t go onto university. Then he died, and I was stuck with his dying wish. So I went up to Glasgow to read English and modern languages. The German came in handy, I suppose, at war’s end.
WM: the right result then?
Brodie: Academically, maybe. Socially? It was torture. Oh, the rich kids at Uni were nice enough in their way, but patronising. I’d left all my old pals behind at Kilmarnock. While they were all out learning a trade, earning money, I was discussing Voltaire in French with a bunch of posers.
WM: So why join the Glasgow police?
Brodie: Everyone expected me to be a teacher. I wanted to do something - more active, shall we say.
WM: A strange rebellion. How did that go?
Brodie: Fine, for a while. I got the action I craved and made detective sergeant within three years.
WM: But. . .?
Brodie: It stank, Wullie. Corruption. Laziness. Sheer incompetence. I couldn’t stand it.
WM: So the war was a blessing?
Brodie: That’s a stupid thing to say. War’s never a blessing.
WM: But you shot up through the ranks. You won the Military Cross and left as a Major in the Seaforth Highlanders. That sounds like you’d found your niche.
Brodie: [Laughs] That’s why I found your first question complicated. Who am I? Damned if I know any more. You know what scares me, Wullie? I miss it. For six years they trained me to be the best killer I could be, and I was. I was one of the best. A natural. And now I want out. I want to be an English teacher. I want to write sonnets and study Eliot again. But no-one gave me a compass back to civvy street when I handed back my crowns.
WM: How do you mean?
Brodie: People keep trying to kill me.
WM: Do you run or fight?
Brodie: Is running ever the right choice?
Wm: Is there a woman in your life?
Brodie: You would need to ask Samantha Campbell that. . .
* Douglas Brodie stars in the Glasgow Quartet comprising:
1. The Hanging Shed
2. Bitter Water
3. Pilgrim Soul
4. Gallowglass
June 17, 2014
Why kill a popular series?
There’s nothing like standing among the dreich, rain-swept tombstones of the Glasgow Necropolis to stimulate ideas for a new book. How about starting with a death? But whose? What would be most dramatic? The hero’s of course. The result was Gallowglass, the fourth and final instalment in the Douglas Brodie series, now collated as The Glasgow Quartet.
Gallowglass [singular and plural] were elite Scottish mercenaries, fighting alongside Robert the Bruce and Irish chieftains. They also got a mention in Macbeth. A fitting nom de guerre for a man like Brodie. In this final chapter, set in the summer of 1947, Brodie’s impetuosity leads him into the murky depths of blackmail, kidnapping, murder and revenge. Not all his fault.
But why kill off a critically acclaimed series starring a character feted as Glasgow’s answer to Rebus? Once my protagonists find their feet, I’m compelled to write scenes true to their personality and hinterland. Brodie, his lover Sam and their pals, respond to situations in a way peculiar to them. From his first appearance in The Hanging Shed – a Kindle #1 for 3 months - through Bitter Water and Pilgrim Soul, Brodie’s story flows naturally and inexorably to a fitting end in Gallowglass, On the surface, these four books were separate ‘investigations’ by a journalist who seemed more adept at causing the news than reporting it. But at a deeper level, the quartet became an over-arching battle for sanity and peace for a man badly damaged by the war.
The second reason for terminating the Douglas Brodie series was just that: it was a series. I’ve devoured Patrick O’Brian’s 20 volumes of Aubrey and Maturin. Twice. I’ve ploughed through Dorothy Dunnett’s Lymond and Niccolo chronicles more than once. Bring on The West Wing and The Wire any time you like. As a reader and spectator I’m not averse to a thumping good series. But as a writer, I wanted a different tangent, needed to stretch out. I hugely admire JK Rowling for having the guts and drive to tackle new themes. Whereas I worry for Ian Rankin and his struggle to break free from the golden chains of a hugely successful series.
I also hate being pigeonholed. I never set out to be known as a crime writer; I don’t read much crime, and avoid whodunnits like the plague. In one sense I write love stories with a few murders thrown in for effect. I aspire to write broader based thrillers using the craft skills I’ve honed in my last six books: constructing 3-dimensional characters and dropping them into a crucible of conflict and tension to see how they react. The quality of the prose is also crucial; it’s not just about the story or the people. I’ve set the mark high; my target readers are fans of McEwen, Greene, Boyd, Le Carre, Atkinson.
Will I miss Brodie and his wee gang? Yes. He’s as real to me as anyone I’ve known and liked in my life. Will I be tempted to resurrect him? All I’d say is that Gallowglass marks the end of the Glasgow Quartet. I’m saying nothing about Paris, London or…
Gallowglass [singular and plural] were elite Scottish mercenaries, fighting alongside Robert the Bruce and Irish chieftains. They also got a mention in Macbeth. A fitting nom de guerre for a man like Brodie. In this final chapter, set in the summer of 1947, Brodie’s impetuosity leads him into the murky depths of blackmail, kidnapping, murder and revenge. Not all his fault.
But why kill off a critically acclaimed series starring a character feted as Glasgow’s answer to Rebus? Once my protagonists find their feet, I’m compelled to write scenes true to their personality and hinterland. Brodie, his lover Sam and their pals, respond to situations in a way peculiar to them. From his first appearance in The Hanging Shed – a Kindle #1 for 3 months - through Bitter Water and Pilgrim Soul, Brodie’s story flows naturally and inexorably to a fitting end in Gallowglass, On the surface, these four books were separate ‘investigations’ by a journalist who seemed more adept at causing the news than reporting it. But at a deeper level, the quartet became an over-arching battle for sanity and peace for a man badly damaged by the war.
The second reason for terminating the Douglas Brodie series was just that: it was a series. I’ve devoured Patrick O’Brian’s 20 volumes of Aubrey and Maturin. Twice. I’ve ploughed through Dorothy Dunnett’s Lymond and Niccolo chronicles more than once. Bring on The West Wing and The Wire any time you like. As a reader and spectator I’m not averse to a thumping good series. But as a writer, I wanted a different tangent, needed to stretch out. I hugely admire JK Rowling for having the guts and drive to tackle new themes. Whereas I worry for Ian Rankin and his struggle to break free from the golden chains of a hugely successful series.
I also hate being pigeonholed. I never set out to be known as a crime writer; I don’t read much crime, and avoid whodunnits like the plague. In one sense I write love stories with a few murders thrown in for effect. I aspire to write broader based thrillers using the craft skills I’ve honed in my last six books: constructing 3-dimensional characters and dropping them into a crucible of conflict and tension to see how they react. The quality of the prose is also crucial; it’s not just about the story or the people. I’ve set the mark high; my target readers are fans of McEwen, Greene, Boyd, Le Carre, Atkinson.
Will I miss Brodie and his wee gang? Yes. He’s as real to me as anyone I’ve known and liked in my life. Will I be tempted to resurrect him? All I’d say is that Gallowglass marks the end of the Glasgow Quartet. I’m saying nothing about Paris, London or…
June 13, 2014
trouble at t'mill
Gordon FerrisI hadn't expected my very first blog on Goodreads to be about troubles in the publishing world. But as an Atlantic Books' author, I was shaken to learn yesterday that the CEO and founder, Toby Mundy, was out of a job while the company itself has been taken over by Allen & Unwin, the Aussie publishers. When we're told that Atlantic's results for 2012 showed losses of £5.1m on turnover of £6m, you have to ask is this the end of publishing houses as we know them? Atlantic's troubles come hot on the heels of Quercus - publisher of Stieg Larsson - being gobbled up by Hodder.
What's going on? Are we all glued to our ipad apps or the telly instead of good books? Or is it all down to Amazon and the rise and rise of self-publishing? It's a mixture. The book business never recovered from the collapse of the net book agreement in '97. The NBA was a cosy cartel of publishers and retailers fixing high prices. Its demise opened the door to competition and lower prices for book lovers. The internet and self-publishing technology is driving the stake into publishers' hearts. But as with vampires, it's not all bad news. The number of books being published is up, reader numbers are up and writers are unchained!
Meantime, at a purely personal level, I wonder what's going to happen to all the good writers at Quercus and now Atlantic? Do I hear the sound of stakes being sharpened?
What's going on? Are we all glued to our ipad apps or the telly instead of good books? Or is it all down to Amazon and the rise and rise of self-publishing? It's a mixture. The book business never recovered from the collapse of the net book agreement in '97. The NBA was a cosy cartel of publishers and retailers fixing high prices. Its demise opened the door to competition and lower prices for book lovers. The internet and self-publishing technology is driving the stake into publishers' hearts. But as with vampires, it's not all bad news. The number of books being published is up, reader numbers are up and writers are unchained!
Meantime, at a purely personal level, I wonder what's going to happen to all the good writers at Quercus and now Atlantic? Do I hear the sound of stakes being sharpened?
