Michael White's Blog, page 2

Lost in Translation

One of the great thrills of being a writer is receiving finished copies of your latest book. The buzz I get from this never diminishes, even after writing thirty-six books. Aligned with this is the pleasure of receiving translated editions. My record for having one of my books published in foreign languages stands at thirty-three, for my first novel, Equinox, and on my shelves I have some three hundred editions of my books in such unlikely languages as Mongolian and Hebrew.

A running joke I had with a foreign rights agent who used to represent me was that I had checked the translation of the Icelandic edition or the Ukrainian edition and found an error on page 45, paragraph 2. My foreign rights agent knew very well that my linguistic skills are limited to…well, English.

The nicest part about receiving foreign copies is that every country treats the book differently and you never know what to expect. Each has an idiosyncratic cover - some wonderful, some truly hideous. My favourites are editions from Germany, Italy and Scandinavia. But, the idea that: ‘you never know what to expect’ does have its charm limits. The other day, I received a Turkish edition of one of my non-fiction books called The Fruits of War. On the back, the publishers had thoughtfully included an author photo, but it wasn’t a picture of me. Instead, it was a random member of the public, a man much older than me, with a beard, and worst of all by far, he was wearing a really horrible tie.  

Lost In Translation

One of the great thrills of being a writer is receiving finished copies of your latest book. The buzz I get from this never diminishes, even after writing thirty-six books. Aligned with this is the pleasure of receiving translated editions. My record for having one of my books published in foreign languages stands at thirty-three, for my first novel, Equinox, and on my shelves I have some three hundred editions of my books in such unlikely languages as Mongolian and Hebrew.

A running joke I had with a foreign rights agent who used to represent me was that I had checked the translation of the Icelandic edition or the Ukrainian edition and found an error on page 45, paragraph 2. My foreign rights agent knew very well that my linguistic skills are limited to…well, English.

The nicest part about receiving foreign copies is that every country treats the book differently and you never know what to expect. Each has an idiosyncratic cover - some wonderful, some truly hideous. My favourites are editions from Germany, Italy and Scandinavia. But, the idea that: ‘you never know what to expect’ does have its charm limits. The other day, I received a Turkish edition of one of my non-fiction books called The Fruits of War. On the back, the publishers had thoughtfully included an author photo, but it wasn’t a picture of me. Instead, it was a random member of the public, a man much older than me, with a beard, and worst of all by far, he was wearing a really horrible tie.  

Not so Secret History

Like many people, I’ve been thinking back to the events of September 11, 2001, and I began to wonder how future historians would view it.

That dreadful day was a significant milestone, not just in our lives, but in the history of civilisation. It’s up there with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand as a pivotal moment in history. Could it be that historians a thousand years from now will point to September 11, 2001 and say that was the moment America began to decline? Might they even confuse the date with the start of the GFC? After all, today, historians argue over the details of what happened in say Tudor times – who did what, where and when; and often there is no consensus.

But actually, unless we destroy ourselves (in which case there won’t be any historians, just exoanthopologists from another planet perhaps) future students of our era should have no excuse for getting the slightest thing wrong. The reason is that humans have never before documented their own existence so thoroughly, widely and frequently as they do now.

Now, we are all archivists. You don’t have to be an academic or a writer, a film-maker or a recording artist to leave some sort of mark for the future. Every tweet is stored somewhere, every blog, every Facebook remark or You Tube comment is there in cyberspace. And okay, most of this will one day vanish into the ether, some will survive on the billions of hard drives, USBs and in the files of Internet Providers.

The question is of course: Will anyone in a thousand years time care that nine thousand people a second tweeted the ‘news’ that Beyonce was pregnant?

Not So Secret History.

Like many people, I’ve been thinking back to the events of September 11, 2001, and I began to wonder how future historians would view it.

That dreadful day was a significant milestone, not just in our lives, but in the history of civilisation. It’s up there with the assassination of Archduke Ferdinand as a pivotal moment in history. Could it be that historians a thousand years from now will point to September 11, 2001 and say that was the moment America began to decline? Might they even confuse the date with the start of the GFC? After all, today, historians argue over the details of what happened in say Tudor times – who did what, where and when; and often there is no consensus.

But actually, unless we destroy ourselves (in which case there won’t be any historians, just exoanthopologists from another planet perhaps) future students of our era should have no excuse for getting the slightest thing wrong. The reason is that humans have never before documented their own existence so thoroughly, widely and frequently as they do now.

Now, we are all archivists. You don’t have to be an academic or a writer, a film-maker or a recording artist to leave some sort of mark for the future. Every tweet is stored somewhere, every blog, every Facebook remark or You Tube comment is there in cyberspace. And okay, most of this will one day vanish into the ether, some will survive on the billions of hard drives, USBs and in the files of Internet Providers.

The question is of course: Will anyone in a thousand years time care that nine thousand people a second tweeted the ‘news’ that Beyonce was pregnant?

 

 

The Loneliness of a Long Distance Writer

My brother once told me that he sometimes imagines me working on a book and pictures me putting on a smoking jacket and cravat before spilling a few finely-tuned words onto the page each day. Sounds like fun. Machiavelli used to dress up in his finery to write, but that was after he had been exiled from the Medici court and was writing about the days when, as an ambassador, he really did dress up in his finery. I've never worn a smoking jacket.

People often wonder how my day goes and they're usually surprised when I tell them I try to be as disciplined as any other person at work. At the moment, I'm writing two books, a co-write with James Patterson called PRIVATE SYDNEY and a novel of my owm: THE RETURNING. I'm working flat out at a rate of fifteen-hundred words a day, everyday, which I have to admit is a bit much. But it's all about markers, targets, deadlines. I know I have to meet a certain daily word count or else I won't make my deadlines some way off in the future, a date arrived at by mutual agreement between my publisher and me.

Another FAQ is: Do you find it lonely work? And again, most people are surprised by my reply. The lonely times, I always say, are when I'm having breaks between stretches of writing, because, when I'm in full-flow and the story is coming together I'm with my characters in their world and they keep me company. And, although some of those characters are despicable and the situations in which they find themselves might be horrible, for me, there's never a dull moment when they're around.

The Lonliness of a Long Distance Writer

My brother once told me that he sometimes imagines me working on a book and pictures me putting on a smoking jacket and cravat before spilling a few finely-tuned words onto the page each day. Sounds like fun. Machiavelli used to dress up in his finery to write, but that was after he had been exiled from the Medici court and was writing about the days when, as an ambassador, he really did dress up in his finery. I've never worn a smoking jacket.

People often wonder how my day goes and they're usually surprised when I tell them I try to be as disciplined as any other person at work. At the moment, I'm writing two books, a co-write with James Patterson called PRIVATE SYDNEY and a novel of my owm: THE RETURNING. I'm working flat out at a rate of fifteen-hundred words a day, everyday, which I have to admit is a bit much. But it's all about markers, targets, deadlines. I know I have to meet a certain daily word count or else I won't make my deadlines some way off in the future, a date arrived at by mutual agreement between my publisher and me.

Another FAQ is: Do you find it lonely work? And again, most people are surprised by my reply. The lonely times, I always say, are when I'm having breaks between stretches of writing, because, when I'm in full-flow and the story is coming together I'm with my characters in their world and they keep me company. And, although some of those characters are despicable and the situations in which they find themselves might be horrible, for me, there's never a dull moment when they're around.

Sacred Cows

It’s not only Hindus who have sacred cows - we all do. But, as I get older (and I hope, wiser) I’m beginning to question the value of some of today’s icons, the cows that are so sacred their contribution to culture cannot be reasonably questioned…apparently.

 In my mind this has manifested itself most clearly in my increasingly cynical, indeed, hostile view of some of the great figures of pop and rock.

Now, let me warn you in advance… these conclusions (nay - these wildly opinionated proclamations) may offend many readers, but I have to get them out there, or I’ll burst. Here, for me, are the six worst offenders, so please, those of a nervous disposition…Stop Reading Now!

1.    The Rolling Stones. Once great song writers and performers. Now just a very profitable freak show. Their musicianship has become so sloppy I can’t allow my ears to be punished by it.

2.    A lot of John Lennon’s solo stuff. Yes, he was a Beatle, yes, some of his solo material is  ahem…fab, but Life with the Lions or Two Virgins anyone?

3.    The xx. Okay, they won the Mercury Prize this year - a major accolade in the UK, but to me they sound like a very lame Joy Division, thirty-years too late. Can anyone tell me the point?

4.    Any New York band of the past five years. Boy, am I tired of all the Talking Heads wannabes, especially as TH are my favourite band in the entire history of the Universe. And, yes… you know who I mean…stand up Vampire Weekend, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, to name but three.

5.    Bob Dylan’s last album Together Through Life. Love His Bobness to death, but not this one.

6.    Anything by U2 after Achtung Baby (one of my all-time favourite albums). How could a band go so wrong? Today, they are the supreme self-parodists. Aggghh! No…worse, they’re the new Rolling Stones. Lord help us!

Sacred Cows

It’s not only Hindus who have sacred cows - we all do. But, as I get older (and I hope, wiser) I’m beginning to question the value of some of today’s icons, the cows that are so sacred their contribution to culture cannot be reasonably questioned…apparently.

 In my mind this has manifested itself most clearly in my increasingly cynical, indeed, hostile view of some of the great figures of pop and rock.

Now, let me warn you in advance… these conclusions (nay - these wildly opinionated proclamations) may offend many readers, but I have to get them out there, or I’ll burst. Here, for me, are the six worst offenders, so please, those of a nervous disposition…Stop Reading Now!

1.    The Rolling Stones. Once great song writers and performers. Now just a very profitable freak show. Their musicianship has become so sloppy I can’t allow my ears to be punished by it.

2.    A lot of John Lennon’s solo stuff. Yes, he was a Beatle, yes, some of his solo material is  ahem…fab, but Life with the Lions or Two Virgins anyone?

3.    The xx. Okay, they won the Mercury Prize this year - a major accolade in the UK, but to me they sound like a very lame Joy Division, thirty-years too late. Can anyone tell me the point?

4.    Any New York band of the past five years. Boy, am I tired of all the Talking Heads wannabes, especially as TH are my favourite band in the entire history of the Universe. And, yes… you know who I mean…stand up Vampire Weekend, Clap Your Hands Say Yeah and The Yeah Yeah Yeahs, to name but three.

5.    Bob Dylan’s last album Together Through Life. Love His Bobness to death, but not this one.

6.    Anything by U2 after Achtung Baby (one of my all-time favourite albums). How could a band go so wrong? Today, they are the supreme self-parodists. Aggghh! No…worse, they’re the new Rolling Stones. Lord help us!