Sheenagh Pugh's Blog, page 44
March 24, 2011
Is it really that baffling?
I've been thinking for a while about an email I got last year. I'd judged a poetry competition, the winners of which, with my comments on them, are online here. Soon afterwards, I got an email enquiry from a gentleman who was clearly well-read and highly educated, a retired medical specialist fluent in two languages (English was not his first language, but I don't think that actually made any odds in the context). He was fond of traditional, especially rhymed, poetry but said he had difficulty in understanding contemporary poems, and my comments hadn't helped him. He was hoping I could give him "short conclusions about the context of each poem and the message they wish to send to the public".
This, as I explained, I couldn't do, firstly because having judged them all anonymously I had no idea who had written them, or under what circumstances; nor did the context affect the quality of the poem. As for the message, again that wasn't for me to say, or rather it was for every different reader to decide what they said to him. I tried instead to outline the criteria I had used in judging: which poems seemed to me to be the best constructed, and to use language and the other tools of poetry - rhythm, imagery etc - most effectively to achieve an effect on the reader. But I suspect he'll have found this unhelpful too.
What worries me is that here is an intellectual, erudite person who thinks he needs guidance (from someone no more intelligent than himself and probably rather less highly educated) on how to read contemporary poems, and doesn't trust his own judgment to come to a conclusion even on what they're trying to do, let alone how well they succeed. The poems in question are by no means abstruse either, as you'll see if you read them on the linked site; we're not talking J H Prynne here and we never would be, because I wouldn't have chosen anything I couldn't understand. It looks more like the sort of automatic switch-off my mind performs when faced with mathematical or financial matters, which I simply assume I won't understand. That again would be understandable in a man of science whose mind had no holding place for the imaginative intelligence of poetry, but that's not the case; it is purely contemporary poetry that does this to him. And if that's the reaction of a person who would seem in many ways to be poetry's natural audience, it's hardly surprising most collections sell in dozens.
At a guess, I would wonder if it has to do with there being no obvious rules. I suppose when reading a sonnet, even if you are nervous as a critic, you can count to 14 and figure out if something has gone amiss with the rhyme scheme. In the same way, with a representative painting you can tell if the perspective's wonky or the horse's walk doesn't convince, whereas with a Jackson Pollock you have no such clear means of telling if it's any good or not and will be hesitant to express an opinion. Since that's exactly the position I am in with art, I can understand it in that context, but in poetry, rules or no rules, it still seems to me clear enough when imagery is fresh and surprising as opposed to stale and over-familiar, or when rhythms flow rather than halt, or language takes off and flies instead of plodding across the page. It just isn't as specialised as art; few of us can paint a convincing horse but we all hear and use language all the time. That doesn't mean we can all employ it as poets do, but I'd have thought it did mean we could all form a fairly confident opinion on what they were trying to do and how well they succeeded. Am I being, here, the poetic equivalent of my old maths master, standing baffled at the blackboard saying "But it's so easy! Why can't you all see it?"
This, as I explained, I couldn't do, firstly because having judged them all anonymously I had no idea who had written them, or under what circumstances; nor did the context affect the quality of the poem. As for the message, again that wasn't for me to say, or rather it was for every different reader to decide what they said to him. I tried instead to outline the criteria I had used in judging: which poems seemed to me to be the best constructed, and to use language and the other tools of poetry - rhythm, imagery etc - most effectively to achieve an effect on the reader. But I suspect he'll have found this unhelpful too.
What worries me is that here is an intellectual, erudite person who thinks he needs guidance (from someone no more intelligent than himself and probably rather less highly educated) on how to read contemporary poems, and doesn't trust his own judgment to come to a conclusion even on what they're trying to do, let alone how well they succeed. The poems in question are by no means abstruse either, as you'll see if you read them on the linked site; we're not talking J H Prynne here and we never would be, because I wouldn't have chosen anything I couldn't understand. It looks more like the sort of automatic switch-off my mind performs when faced with mathematical or financial matters, which I simply assume I won't understand. That again would be understandable in a man of science whose mind had no holding place for the imaginative intelligence of poetry, but that's not the case; it is purely contemporary poetry that does this to him. And if that's the reaction of a person who would seem in many ways to be poetry's natural audience, it's hardly surprising most collections sell in dozens.
At a guess, I would wonder if it has to do with there being no obvious rules. I suppose when reading a sonnet, even if you are nervous as a critic, you can count to 14 and figure out if something has gone amiss with the rhyme scheme. In the same way, with a representative painting you can tell if the perspective's wonky or the horse's walk doesn't convince, whereas with a Jackson Pollock you have no such clear means of telling if it's any good or not and will be hesitant to express an opinion. Since that's exactly the position I am in with art, I can understand it in that context, but in poetry, rules or no rules, it still seems to me clear enough when imagery is fresh and surprising as opposed to stale and over-familiar, or when rhythms flow rather than halt, or language takes off and flies instead of plodding across the page. It just isn't as specialised as art; few of us can paint a convincing horse but we all hear and use language all the time. That doesn't mean we can all employ it as poets do, but I'd have thought it did mean we could all form a fairly confident opinion on what they were trying to do and how well they succeeded. Am I being, here, the poetic equivalent of my old maths master, standing baffled at the blackboard saying "But it's so easy! Why can't you all see it?"
March 23, 2011
Sounds like a nice lad...
One can pick all sorts of holes in Earl Gerald's argument, from the exaggeration to the ulterior motive at the end. But when you come down to it, he's a 14th-century poet going right against the grain of his time, refusing to be satisfied with easy targets or ancient, classically-sanctioned clichés. And I like him and his poem.
In Defence of Women
from the Irish Gaelic of Earl Gerald Fitzgerald, 14th century
Woe to him who speaks ill of women! It is not right to abuse them. They have not deserved, that I know, all the blame they have always had.
Sweet are their words, exquisite their voice, that sex for which my love is great; woe to him who does not scruple to revile them, woe to him who speaks ill of women!
They do no murder nor treachery, nor any grim or hateful deed, they do no sacrilege to church nor bell; woe to him who speaks ill of women!
Certain it is, there has never been born bishop nor king nor great prophet without fault, but from a woman; woe to him who speaks ill of women!
They are thrall to their own hearts, they love a man slender and sound - it would be long before they would dislike him. Woe to him who speaks ill of women!
An old fat greybeard, they do not desire a tryst with him - dearer to them is a young lad, though poor. Woe to him who speaks ill of women!
In Defence of Women
from the Irish Gaelic of Earl Gerald Fitzgerald, 14th century
Woe to him who speaks ill of women! It is not right to abuse them. They have not deserved, that I know, all the blame they have always had.
Sweet are their words, exquisite their voice, that sex for which my love is great; woe to him who does not scruple to revile them, woe to him who speaks ill of women!
They do no murder nor treachery, nor any grim or hateful deed, they do no sacrilege to church nor bell; woe to him who speaks ill of women!
Certain it is, there has never been born bishop nor king nor great prophet without fault, but from a woman; woe to him who speaks ill of women!
They are thrall to their own hearts, they love a man slender and sound - it would be long before they would dislike him. Woe to him who speaks ill of women!
An old fat greybeard, they do not desire a tryst with him - dearer to them is a young lad, though poor. Woe to him who speaks ill of women!
March 19, 2011
Just for fun
This ain't no work of genius, but it may well be the only English poem ever to be inspired by a triple German pun. Should maybe explain that "Strauss", apart from being the name of the Waltz King, also means (1) a bouquet of flowers and (2) an ostrich.
Strauss
The ostrich's petals are shaggy,
chrysanthemum-bronze and cream
above their oasis cushion.
The neck is a feathery stem
of maidenhair fern, and it flexes
and dips with a dancer's pace
like a girl being whirled round a ballroom,
some frothy young Viennese miss
who will prove less flighty than flightless,
confined to a vase, to the ground,
to a body, a life that keeps moving
around and around and around.
March 16, 2011
Review of "Hot Kitchen Snow" by Susannah Rickards
This is a collection of short stories (pub. Salt 2010) and ever since Joyce, the one thing we've known about a short story is that it should have an epiphany: ie, at some point something should become clear, either to us or to the protagonist, that wasn't clear before, and that changes everything. One of the most interesting things about these stories is the way Rickards sometimes subverts the epiphany, by subtly implying that though the protagonist has indeed found out something new about himself or the world, this new-found knowledge is not in fact going to change anything; things will go on much as they did before. In the title story, the materialistic Dominic finds himself having fun in a way totally independent of the money and social cachet on which he generally depends for enjoyment, but you could lay bets that he will not, next morning, sell all he has and give the money to the poor. In "Mango", a failing marriage, seen through a child's eyes, gets a sudden boost of happiness and all seems well at the end, but an adult reader can easily deduce that the respite is temporary and does not address the real problems in the relationship. And in "The Last of Her", Jo, having been welcomed at a vulnerable time into the home of what seems a kind couple, has to reassess them in the light of their conduct to someone else, but again you could bet she is not going to walk virtuously out on the comfort she needs.
Sometimes Rickards does use the epiphany in a more traditional way; in "Odissi Dancing" it does feel as if a woman's self-image has been permanently altered, and in "Ultimate Satisfaction Everyday", Greg, who's always thought of himself as a loser, finds out not so much that he is or isn't, more that nobody has the right to make such a judgement about what anybody's life is "worth". In "Life Pirates" there are practically two stories running in tandem, the one most people see, involving a drunken tramp in a park, and the quite different one seen by the narrator, who knows him.
There are a few stories that don't work for me, notably "Moon" which I don't see the point of and "Moleman" in which the tempting metaphor in a real situation has completely taken over the story to the point where it reads like an exercise. But as a collection, this is massively more worth reading than some considerably more hyped ones I've read lately. Where these stories end happily or at least in temporary contentment, it is often because of some apparently trivial thing: the taste of a mango, the gift of some dog biscuits, the budding of an apparently dead tree, can be enough to turn a situation, a mood, even a way of seeing the world.
Sometimes Rickards does use the epiphany in a more traditional way; in "Odissi Dancing" it does feel as if a woman's self-image has been permanently altered, and in "Ultimate Satisfaction Everyday", Greg, who's always thought of himself as a loser, finds out not so much that he is or isn't, more that nobody has the right to make such a judgement about what anybody's life is "worth". In "Life Pirates" there are practically two stories running in tandem, the one most people see, involving a drunken tramp in a park, and the quite different one seen by the narrator, who knows him.
There are a few stories that don't work for me, notably "Moon" which I don't see the point of and "Moleman" in which the tempting metaphor in a real situation has completely taken over the story to the point where it reads like an exercise. But as a collection, this is massively more worth reading than some considerably more hyped ones I've read lately. Where these stories end happily or at least in temporary contentment, it is often because of some apparently trivial thing: the taste of a mango, the gift of some dog biscuits, the budding of an apparently dead tree, can be enough to turn a situation, a mood, even a way of seeing the world.
Review of "Hot Kitchen Snow" by Susannah Rockards
This is a collection of short stories (pub. Salt 2010) and ever since Joyce, the one thing we've known about a short story is that it should have an epiphany: ie, at some point something should become clear, either to us or to the protagonist, that wasn't clear before, and that changes everything. One of the most interesting things about these stories is the way Rickards sometimes subverts the epiphany, by subtly implying that though the protagonist has indeed found out something new about himself or the world, this new-found knowledge is not in fact going to change anything; things will go on much as they did before. In the title story, the materialistic Dominic finds himself having fun in a way totally independent of the money and social cachet on which he generally depends for enjoyment, but you could lay bets that he will not, next morning, sell all he has and give the money to the poor. In "Mango", a failing marriage, seen through a child's eyes, gets a sudden boost of happiness and all seems well at the end, but an adult reader can easily deduce that the respite is temporary and does not address the real problems in the relationship. And in "The Last of Her", Jo, having been welcomed at a vulnerable time into the home of what seems a kind couple, has to reassess them in the light of their conduct to someone else, but again you could bet she is not going to walk virtuously out on the comfort she needs.
Sometimes Rickards does use the epiphany in a more traditional way; in "Odissi Dancing" it does feel as if a woman's self-image has been permanently altered, and in "Ultimate Satisfaction Everyday", Greg, who's always thought of himself as a loser, finds out not so much that he is or isn't, more that nobody has the right to make such a judgement about what anybody's life is "worth". In "Life Pirates" there are practically two stories running in tandem, the one most people see, involving a drunken tramp in a park, and the quite different one seen by the narrator, who knows him.
There are a few stories that don't work for me, notably "Moon" which I don't see the point of and "Moleman" in which the tempting metaphor in a real situation has completely taken over the story to the point where it reads like an exercise. But as a collection, this is massively more worth reading than some considerably more hyped ones I've read lately. Where these stories end happily or at least in temporary contentment, it is often because of some apparently trivial thing: the taste of a mango, the gift of some dog biscuits, the budding of an apparently dead tree, can be enough to turn a situation, a mood, even a way of seeing the world.
Sometimes Rickards does use the epiphany in a more traditional way; in "Odissi Dancing" it does feel as if a woman's self-image has been permanently altered, and in "Ultimate Satisfaction Everyday", Greg, who's always thought of himself as a loser, finds out not so much that he is or isn't, more that nobody has the right to make such a judgement about what anybody's life is "worth". In "Life Pirates" there are practically two stories running in tandem, the one most people see, involving a drunken tramp in a park, and the quite different one seen by the narrator, who knows him.
There are a few stories that don't work for me, notably "Moon" which I don't see the point of and "Moleman" in which the tempting metaphor in a real situation has completely taken over the story to the point where it reads like an exercise. But as a collection, this is massively more worth reading than some considerably more hyped ones I've read lately. Where these stories end happily or at least in temporary contentment, it is often because of some apparently trivial thing: the taste of a mango, the gift of some dog biscuits, the budding of an apparently dead tree, can be enough to turn a situation, a mood, even a way of seeing the world.
March 11, 2011
I is a lie (well it is round here, anyhow)
Exam time is icumen in, and many poor souls in schools up and down the country are wondering what to say to the examiners about poems, some of which are mine. This post is aimed at making sure they don't say some of the things I've recently heard people saying online.
I've blogged before about the perils of assuming that "the narrator" of a poem, especially one in the "I" voice, is the same person as "the poet", or that everything recorded in a work of art Actually Happened. A discussion I've lately been involved in on Facebook, though, makes it clear that some readers, even if they know it ain't necessarily so, think it should be; furthermore that they make a difference between novels and poems, at least lyric poems, in this regard. It's fine by these folk for novelists to make up a world; it may even be ok for writers of long narrative poems to do so, but there's a feeling that a lyric poem should come "from experience" (I have actually seen the phrase "from the heart" but am trying to forget it) and that if it's in the "I" voice the "I" should be the poet telling (heaven forbid) the truth about himself - whatever that is, and assuming he even knows it.
I don't know where this notion came from - the earliest real school of lyric poetry in Europe would surely have to be courtly love, which existed to celebrate purely imaginary love affairs - but it horrifies me quite a lot. For the record, when poets are minded to write about their personal experiences, they are very likely to distance the poem by putting it in the third person and making it happen to someone else, for the excellent reason that it avoids the danger of sentimentality. The most autobiographical poem Kipling ever wrote was the third-person "Merrow Down", which purports to be about a bereaved Neolithic father. By contrast The Changelings" (courtesy of Tim Kendall's blog "War Poets") is first-person and deals with experiences that weren't the poet's own at all; it's very much in persona.
I used to write poems in persona if I thought they might otherwise look too personal. These days I tend to third-person. But even if they do spring partly from my own experience, that is no reason to assume they won't also be adulterated with my reading, or other people's experiences, or, shocking as it may be to some, imagination... The fact is, poets are licensed liars; it's what we're good at and we can no more leave the facts of our own lives unembroidered and unimproved on than we can anything else. Nature is often a lousy writer; she gets details and endings wrong and frankly we can do better.
In a recent interview on this blog, my friend the poet Paul Henry described how he had excluded some of his best work from his Selected Poems because he was tired of seeing them read as autobiography. In the FB discussion I referred to earlier, someone said he felt "betrayed" on finding that a poem of Robin Robertson's in the "I" voice was not necessarily All True. Well, attend, O Best Beloveds in the AS-Level exam class, for I am about to utter a profundity: if you want The Truth, you go to the shelf in Waterstones marked Biography. (You still won't get it, but you will get something that aspires to it.) But if you're reading poems, and commenting on them in exams, remember that the "I" voice is correctly referred to as "the narrator". He/she is not, to your knowledge, "the poet", and there's no rule that says they should be.
I've blogged before about the perils of assuming that "the narrator" of a poem, especially one in the "I" voice, is the same person as "the poet", or that everything recorded in a work of art Actually Happened. A discussion I've lately been involved in on Facebook, though, makes it clear that some readers, even if they know it ain't necessarily so, think it should be; furthermore that they make a difference between novels and poems, at least lyric poems, in this regard. It's fine by these folk for novelists to make up a world; it may even be ok for writers of long narrative poems to do so, but there's a feeling that a lyric poem should come "from experience" (I have actually seen the phrase "from the heart" but am trying to forget it) and that if it's in the "I" voice the "I" should be the poet telling (heaven forbid) the truth about himself - whatever that is, and assuming he even knows it.
I don't know where this notion came from - the earliest real school of lyric poetry in Europe would surely have to be courtly love, which existed to celebrate purely imaginary love affairs - but it horrifies me quite a lot. For the record, when poets are minded to write about their personal experiences, they are very likely to distance the poem by putting it in the third person and making it happen to someone else, for the excellent reason that it avoids the danger of sentimentality. The most autobiographical poem Kipling ever wrote was the third-person "Merrow Down", which purports to be about a bereaved Neolithic father. By contrast The Changelings" (courtesy of Tim Kendall's blog "War Poets") is first-person and deals with experiences that weren't the poet's own at all; it's very much in persona.
I used to write poems in persona if I thought they might otherwise look too personal. These days I tend to third-person. But even if they do spring partly from my own experience, that is no reason to assume they won't also be adulterated with my reading, or other people's experiences, or, shocking as it may be to some, imagination... The fact is, poets are licensed liars; it's what we're good at and we can no more leave the facts of our own lives unembroidered and unimproved on than we can anything else. Nature is often a lousy writer; she gets details and endings wrong and frankly we can do better.
In a recent interview on this blog, my friend the poet Paul Henry described how he had excluded some of his best work from his Selected Poems because he was tired of seeing them read as autobiography. In the FB discussion I referred to earlier, someone said he felt "betrayed" on finding that a poem of Robin Robertson's in the "I" voice was not necessarily All True. Well, attend, O Best Beloveds in the AS-Level exam class, for I am about to utter a profundity: if you want The Truth, you go to the shelf in Waterstones marked Biography. (You still won't get it, but you will get something that aspires to it.) But if you're reading poems, and commenting on them in exams, remember that the "I" voice is correctly referred to as "the narrator". He/she is not, to your knowledge, "the poet", and there's no rule that says they should be.
March 8, 2011
Well that was surprisingly conclusive...
- ie the views folk were kind enough to express on book titles. Both here and on FB, there was a definite vote for Using Glass Like Air, with several people saying it would be oddball and intriguing enough to make them buy a book. I might hold you to that... seriously, that was a very helpful exercise, because I'm too close to all contenders to have a clue what resonates or doesn't with others. Using Glass Like Air it'll be, then.
March 7, 2011
Time for other folk to make my mind up...
I'm working on another collection; it's nowhere near finished yet but I'm trying to decide on a title. It does make some odds to the way you write, and what you might decide to put in or leave out, because it'll say something, hopefully, about the collection's intended focus. I've currently got several possiblities, all with pluses and minuses, and thought I'd try them out on folks. Unfortunately it isn't as easy as just listing them, because all come with baggage like the poem they're from and the cover pic they might generate.
Travelling with Ashes
Travelling with Ashes is a poem title - this poem It was a competition prizewinner, which is good; but it's a poem about death and therefore automatically downbeat as a title. Also I have no cover pic in mind for it. But this collection is going to be fairly haunted by mortality.
Using Glass Like Air
Using Glass Like Air is a phrase from a poem recently published in the magazine Roundyhouse. I like it because it relates to a theme emerging in the collection, of people and things doing what isn't normally in their nature, or in unusual relationships. There could easily be a cover pic for it; it relates to this mural
Wedding Night at the Snow Hotel
Wedding Night at the Snow Hotel is the title of a poem soon to be published in the magazine Horizon. I like it because it's upbeat, but that probably makes it a bit unrepresentative of the collection, though it does fit with the theme of incongruity. Possibles cover pics here or here
Short Days, Long Shadows
Short Days, Long Shadows - title of poem published in Poetry Scotland - closest of all to the tone of the collection but maybe too downbeat for a title, and no pic, though there soon could be.
Dresden Shepherdesses of 1908
Dresden Shepherdesses of 1908 is the title of a poem published in The New Shetlander. Bit peripheral to the theme, though it does touch on incongruity. Also it references the past, which can be a turn-off for some. But it'd be such a cracking title and this'd be the cover pic...What do folk think?
Travelling with Ashes
Travelling with Ashes is a poem title - this poem It was a competition prizewinner, which is good; but it's a poem about death and therefore automatically downbeat as a title. Also I have no cover pic in mind for it. But this collection is going to be fairly haunted by mortality.
Using Glass Like Air
Using Glass Like Air is a phrase from a poem recently published in the magazine Roundyhouse. I like it because it relates to a theme emerging in the collection, of people and things doing what isn't normally in their nature, or in unusual relationships. There could easily be a cover pic for it; it relates to this mural
Wedding Night at the Snow Hotel
Wedding Night at the Snow Hotel is the title of a poem soon to be published in the magazine Horizon. I like it because it's upbeat, but that probably makes it a bit unrepresentative of the collection, though it does fit with the theme of incongruity. Possibles cover pics here or here
Short Days, Long Shadows
Short Days, Long Shadows - title of poem published in Poetry Scotland - closest of all to the tone of the collection but maybe too downbeat for a title, and no pic, though there soon could be.
Dresden Shepherdesses of 1908
Dresden Shepherdesses of 1908 is the title of a poem published in The New Shetlander. Bit peripheral to the theme, though it does touch on incongruity. Also it references the past, which can be a turn-off for some. But it'd be such a cracking title and this'd be the cover pic...What do folk think?
March 4, 2011
The book meme
Aye, why not...
The book I am reading: Elizabeth's Spy Master : Francis Walsingham and the secret war that saved England by Robert Hutchinson
The book I am writing: Next poetry collection. Doesn't have a title yet - well actually it has about 6 but I haven't made my mind up.
The book I love most: This changes, but probably Konstantin Paustovksy's 6-vol autobiography, Story of a Life
The last book I received as a gift: A biography of William Garrow (yes, a pattern does seem to be emerging)
The last book I gave as a gift: A biography of the actor Ira Aldridge
The nearest book on my desk: Don't keep books on the desk. Most are currently on floor, due to Workmen, and the nearest is a guide to Vindolanda.
The book I am reading: Elizabeth's Spy Master : Francis Walsingham and the secret war that saved England by Robert Hutchinson
The book I am writing: Next poetry collection. Doesn't have a title yet - well actually it has about 6 but I haven't made my mind up.
The book I love most: This changes, but probably Konstantin Paustovksy's 6-vol autobiography, Story of a Life
The last book I received as a gift: A biography of William Garrow (yes, a pattern does seem to be emerging)
The last book I gave as a gift: A biography of the actor Ira Aldridge
The nearest book on my desk: Don't keep books on the desk. Most are currently on floor, due to Workmen, and the nearest is a guide to Vindolanda.
February 25, 2011
Interview with Mike Thomas
Mike Thomas is a serving police officer in Cardiff. His debut novel, Pocket Notebook, was published by Heinemann in 2010. It tells the dark but often comic story of Jacob Smith, a troubled and unorthodox policeman who uses his police notebook for the unauthorised purpose of chronicling his spiralling breakdown. Pocket Notebook was named one of the nine 'Hot Books' to watch out for at the 2009 London Book Fair and was on the 2010 Wales Book of the Year Long List.
In this excerpt, Jake has been suspended, and has no business being on patrol. But he goes anyway, into streets which he no longer sees in quite the same way as anyone else...
SHEENAGH: You're a policeman and a writer. Are those two lives completely separate?
MIKE: There was a period last Spring when I didn't know what I was supposed to be! Following the release of Pocket Notebook it became quite a schizophrenic existence; I had to swap hats with such frequency that in the end things became rather blurred. It took some time to learn how to compartmentalise those two aspects of my life. Of course, it didn't help that for a short while I made the mistake of thinking: this is it! I'm published! I can quit the police and grow my hair long and... maybe get some tattoos and stuff! The harsh reality swiftly sank in – debut novelist, no track record, not a celeb, releasing a book in the midst of the worst financial crisis since the Depression... I realised rather quickly that, as Chuck Palahniuk wrote in Fight Club, 'You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.' It's tough out there. Extremely difficult to get yourself noticed, even with the might of a large publisher behind you. So once some of the fuss had died down I had to recalibrate, and remind myself of what I am: a police officer who writes in his spare time. It's easier to think and work that way. I like to keep things simple. I'm a simple guy!
SHEENAGH: Have any of your police colleagues read Pocket Notebook - if so, how did they feel about it?
MIKE: Until the book was released nobody in 'The Job' knew I was a writer. One reason, and this is unfortunate, is when people look at me they don't think: 'he could probably string together a sentence or two'. I'm six feet six with very short hair, and wrong as it may be people tend to pigeonhole. I can see it in their eyes when they meet me for the first time: they're thinking 'thug' or even 'football hooligan'! Human nature, I suppose, but it grates. Another reason, and I'll try to be kind here, is that there is a culture of machismo within the police service where trying to explain to hard-nosed colleagues the esoteric nature of 'writing make-believe stories' would be met with incredulous looks. Swiftly followed by muted sniggers and obscene hand gestures as you left the room. I'm not saying all police officers are like that, but, coupled with my appearance, for me it was far simpler not to say anything. And the longer it went on it became something of a dirty little secret. Most colleagues were incredibly surprised when they learned I'd gone back to University and written a novel. Some even thought I was joking – as in: "What? You?!". Everybody I know has read it now, though, and they've been very complimentary. It's been amusing to listen to them argue about which character is based on what colleague. Even though none are, of course – just in case any of my force's legal team are reading...
SHEENAGH: You were in a writing group, I know, and then did a Masters in Writing. Sometimes I see people deriding this "groups and courses" culture (mainly, it must be said, those who know nothing about it). It seemed to work pretty well for you during your first novel; what's your take on it??
MIKE: The MPhil was a fantastic experience. I'd urge anybody who is given the chance to enrol on the course: grab the opportunity with both hands. I miss it – the structure, the rolling ten- or twelve-week deadlines, the workshops, the support. Pocket Notebook was forged on the Glamorgan campus. Workshopping it was invaluable, especially in the early stages when I was searching for the right direction to take it in. Once I'd found that direction, and found the main character's voice, I couldn't stop writing it. I'd lose whole days and find myself tapping away on the keyboard at 5 a.m. Then at the next residency I'd plead for the criticism to be brutal, to be completely honest, and they always obliged. I came away from those residency weekends on a high, armed with notes and edits and suggestions for maintaining the level of intensity in the work.
SHEENAGH: Did you notice any difference when writing your second, without that interaction going on?
MIKE? If the University would let me, I'd pay to turn up for this year's residencies just to knock the new novel into some semblance of shape. I've really had to write my way into it, if that makes sense, whereas with Pocket Notebook it was fully-formed within a week. And I'd forgotten what a lonely experience writing can be. It's pretty easy to get distracted. The only deadline I have is one I've set myself, but it's simple to keep pushing the date back because nobody is really beating down my door for the next 20,000 words or a first-draft MS. I definitely need to be more disciplined. I'm quite adept at procrastination, and it seems life is ever busier in my house: a dangerous combination for any writer. I never had that option while on the MPhil.
And I don't understand people dismissing or denigrating the "groups and courses" culture – it clearly works. Glamorgan seems to be spewing out published writers lately. As for writing groups, what's wrong with spending an afternoon or evening with like-minded people, getting your work critiqued for free and, perhaps, actually learning something? Maybe discovering a new turn of phrase, or a cult author, or the kernel of an idea for a novel? I remember sitting around a kitchen table one sunny August evening, mooting the idea to my friends in my writing circle for a new novel; we discussed it for twenty minutes while I made notes and the following day I began writing. And that was Pocket Notebook.
SHEENAGH: I know you'd written a couple of novels before Pocket Notebook - the ones we all have in the drawer! PN was different; almost from when you started writing, it had this terrific momentum that made it clear beyond doubt that it would be both finished and published. I have a theory on why that was; I think the character of Jake came so alive in your head that you always knew pretty much what he'd say and do in any situation, and his aliveness drove the writing.
MIKE: I'd been living with the idea of this tragic, doomed individual for years but didn't start writing until he was fully formed. I wanted to do him justice, and through him shine a light on the frequently ridiculous nature of police work: the targets, bureaucracy, political correctness and climate of fear that pervades the modern service... I could go on. I also felt, in a way, that the opportunity to write this novel while on the MPhil was a one-shot deal and I simply had to do it, and do it to the best of my ability. I was quite desperate, to be honest; my career in the police was stagnating and I was very unhappy in work. My writing had reached a plateau and seemed to be going nowhere. So I believe that desperation fed into the writing, and thus the drive of the narrative.
SHEENAGH: I also know, though, that Jake is most unlike you. How do you think he happened in your head?
MIKE: He's the antithesis of me, a fact which I constantly had to remind interviewers of. It amazed me how many supposedly switched-on people confused character with author
Jake personifies all that I hate about the modern police service and certain types of police officer. When I was prepping the story – and I had reams of notes, index cards, plot points, character arcs, more than for anything I'd done beforehand – I'd ask myself: "What is the polar opposite of what I would do in this situation?". Because that was what Jake would do. Once I began it was relatively straightforward to portray his downfall. I would never say 'easy' as writing a novel is anything but: it's a hard slog, and sometimes it seems like it will never end. But straightforward in that – bang – Jake was there, and I knew him better than any character I'd ever created simply because he's the yin to my yang. I also knew exactly where the story was going; it was mapped out to the nth degree, but I left myself wriggle room if a minor character decided to go off on a tangent. Coupled with the fact that I had nigh on twenty years in 'The Job' and could portray situations with a certain level of authenticity it was just a case of: this is his predicament – how can he try and make everything better, but in fact make it far, far worse?
SHEENAGH: Of course he's disgraceful but he's a lot of fun to read too, and there's a certain guilty pleasure in hearing him say things we might think but would never allow to pass our lips!
MIKE: I suppose he's the ugly side of policing, but he was so much fun to write so that helped, too. I think bad guys usually are, because they allow you to depict inappropriate or iconoclastic behaviour, or even feed in what you as an author think about an organisation, without risking your mortgage payments... It was quite cathartic writing the MS – spilling out fifteen years of frustration as I typed. I don't think Jake is the easiest character to live with but – given what he personifies – it was incredibly good fun torturing him as the novel progressed. I did worry I was being a little too sadistic towards the climax but by that point I was so addicted to roughing him up on the page that I couldn't stop!
SHEENAGH: Because I'd seen all the drafts, I'm conscious of things that were left out or toned down in the published version. When I saw the changes to topography, street names etc, I at once supected the anti-Welsh prejudice of London publishers at work, knowing other writers who'd been told Wales wasn't commmercial and couldn't they relocate their novel to Poland? But I gather it might have been because of the police background that it was felt unwise to locate it too definitely - is that so?
MIKE: Fantastic as it is to be published, the police are my primary source of income. It was a conscious decision on my part, and my part only, after much thought and subsequent consultation with the publishers. I would have loved to have kept Cardiff in there because I love the city. I would have been proud to see Wales and the capital in my book. When it became clear Heinemann were going to publish I was struck with how upset my employers could be. The novel doesn't portray the police in the best of lights, and I feared they would see it as 'guilt by association' given that I work in Cardiff and the novel is set predominantly in the capital. For once in my life I was right – I was summoned to headquarters on the day Heinemann were ready to go to print and it was 'explained' to me how I would behave during any media coverage, and that it was fortuitous the locales in the story are not 'South Wales specific' as it could have caused 'difficulties'.
That said, as far as 'toning down' certain elements is concerned, I would say it was an editorial decision. There was a desire to make Jake a tad more sympathetic; certainly my agent thought he was a little too 'out there'. It's been odd to find readers being shocked by his behaviour because I found the things he says and does rather tame, if not vaguely humorous like he's a walking bad joke. I'm not sure what that says about me as a person! But after two decades in the police I've pretty much seen it all, and watched the crazy things real human beings get up to; in comparison Jake's antics are nowhere near as extreme. In fact if I'd used real life situations in the book it would have been labelled totally outlandish and unbelievable.
SHEENAGH: What's it been like dealing with agents and publishers?
MIKE: My agent and the people at Heinemann have been wonderful from the outset. I do put it into perspective though – I spend my 'other' working days being shouted at and abused, and repeatedly told – quite rightly most of the time – that the police are crap, so the London crowd could have made the bare minimum of effort and it would have been an improvement! But seriously, I have no complaints. None whatsoever. It's been an eye-opener too, that's for sure. How the other half live! And I have come away with some rude yet amusing anecdotes about certain 'big-hitter' authors, those ubiquitous names you see on the bestsellers and awards shortlists.
SHEENAGH: And actually trying to market the book? It's a side of things many writers never get to find out about on any large scale! Dan Rhodes, I know, adores it; some hate it, how was it for you?
MIKE: As well as being an exceptional writer Dan is very, very good at the promotion side of it. You can see he enjoys it. I, on the other hand, am not and do not, but I try my best. I'm sure I'll improve over time and with experience. After so long in the police where I can pretty much do the job with my eyes closed, it's as if I've embarked on a new career and been taken completely out of my comfort zone. I was particularly terrible doing the first few radio interviews – I droned on and on in one, then got the presenter's name wrong in the other. And a promo video we filmed in a council estate in London: I just froze. I cringe thinking about it now, and feel so guilty for letting down my pal Harvey at Heinemann. It was just lucky that the video crew got enough coverage to cut together and make me look reasonably lucid. I have a new-found respect for anybody who goes into TV presenting, put it that way. There was also the issue of being very careful about what I said. As I mentioned, I was 'reminded' by headquarters about inappropriate behaviour during PR for the novel. That played heavily on my mind. Constantly, in fact. I think it stifled me, to be honest. I was extremely careful about coming out with anything remotely contentious. I was forever thinking up witty, near-the-knuckle answers then quickly batting them aside to come out with bland corporate-speak whenever I was asked about the job.
I'm just not very good at selling myself; the thought of standing about essentially saying "look at me, aren't I brilliant!" makes me feel quite unwell. I'd rather wade alone into a ten-man pub fight than have to do another book signing where just my mother turns up, which has happened. I see it as a necessary evil – it seems to be part and parcel of the writer's life nowadays, and I'm not necessarily sure that's a good thing but publishers simply aren't going to plough tens of thousands of pounds into a debut or mid-list author's novel any more. It's just the way it is now, and I understand that completely. Publishing is a business, after all. But I certainly don't adore 'pimping myself out'. It was a huge surprise just how much networking goes on, particularly using social sites. The effect can be huge and it's taken me until recently to grasp the concept, probably to the annoyance of the publishers. You're talking about somebody who was quite happily using a dial-up internet connection a mere ten months ago!
SHEENAGH: I know there's a new book in preparation; I'm not asking for spoilers but can you tease us with some info?
MIKE: It's called Ugly Bus. Whereas Pocket Notebook portrayed one slightly unpleasant policeman suffering a mental breakdown and spiralling out of control, Ugly Bus follows a group of essentially good plods on a so-called 'riot van' who end up doing a Very Bad Thing. A Very, Very Bad Thing Indeed, actually. I'm interested in why people behave in particular ways when surrounded by others, almost burying their personalities just to fit in with the group. The new novel explores this, and the effect it has on several characters. It's taken an ungodly amount of research, too - group dynamics, pack mentality and so on. The Milgram experiments, too – just how far would you go in following orders, even if they conflicted with your conscience? It's pretty dark. Darker than the first. If Pocket Notebook didn't get me sacked, I think this one will...
Links to other information
The publisher's page for Pocket Notebook
Promo video for Pocket Notebook
The Independent's review of Pocket Notebook
In this excerpt, Jake has been suspended, and has no business being on patrol. But he goes anyway, into streets which he no longer sees in quite the same way as anyone else...
"What you've done here is just the start," I say, moving closer. "It's just a few small steps to a life of crime, boy. Possibly worse. You could end up as a threat to the security of the country. It's lucky I got to you so quickly. To nip it in the bud."
       "It's just spraying a wall..." one of them mutters, eyeing me with an odd expression.
       "Right", I say. "You've asked for it." I whip out the old Fixed Penalties, ask their names, addresses, dates of birth. The boxes of the pro forma aren't big enough for all the details but I write them down anyway. Fill in three of them as best I can, flip the top copy off each, hand one to each of the artistes.
       "What's this for?" Carrier Bag asks, looking at the chitty with a mystified expression.
       "A fine," I tell them. "For criminal damage."
       "But it's a parking ticket," he says, wrinkling his nose.
       "Don't be clever with me!" I yell, then clench my jaw as they look at each other; look at me. Start giggling. Cheeky little bastards.
       "Come on," Carrier Bag says to his chums. "Let's chip. This dude's a freak."
       My fingers toy with the mouse gun through the fabric of my cargos. I feel the muzzle, the trigger guard. The handle with its magazine of nine-millie bullets. "Laugh all you want, boys," I tell them as they shuffle towards the main drag. "You won't be laughing when you've got to find eighty quid each for those fines, yeah? Ha! Yeah? Are you listening to me?"
       They disappear around the corner. I hear screams of laughter. [...] Another small incident taken care of for the greater good. I pull out my cigar tin, select the half-smoked reefer, light it and take a long drag. I hold my breath, lean against the wall. Exhale. Nice. Very, very nice. Just chill and smoke and work out what you need to do next, Jake. I finish the spliff, stumble out of the alleyway.
       My face hurts and it takes a minute for me to realise I'm grinning uncontrollably. I really can't relax my cheeks or lips. Not to worry. Adds to the agreeable air. The smiling, helpful policeman. I nod at a couple more pensioners. Wave back at a bus full of primary school children, forget to stop waving even after the bus has driven off and it's just me shuffling down the street with my arm in the air.
SHEENAGH: You're a policeman and a writer. Are those two lives completely separate?
MIKE: There was a period last Spring when I didn't know what I was supposed to be! Following the release of Pocket Notebook it became quite a schizophrenic existence; I had to swap hats with such frequency that in the end things became rather blurred. It took some time to learn how to compartmentalise those two aspects of my life. Of course, it didn't help that for a short while I made the mistake of thinking: this is it! I'm published! I can quit the police and grow my hair long and... maybe get some tattoos and stuff! The harsh reality swiftly sank in – debut novelist, no track record, not a celeb, releasing a book in the midst of the worst financial crisis since the Depression... I realised rather quickly that, as Chuck Palahniuk wrote in Fight Club, 'You are not a beautiful and unique snowflake.' It's tough out there. Extremely difficult to get yourself noticed, even with the might of a large publisher behind you. So once some of the fuss had died down I had to recalibrate, and remind myself of what I am: a police officer who writes in his spare time. It's easier to think and work that way. I like to keep things simple. I'm a simple guy!
SHEENAGH: Have any of your police colleagues read Pocket Notebook - if so, how did they feel about it?
MIKE: Until the book was released nobody in 'The Job' knew I was a writer. One reason, and this is unfortunate, is when people look at me they don't think: 'he could probably string together a sentence or two'. I'm six feet six with very short hair, and wrong as it may be people tend to pigeonhole. I can see it in their eyes when they meet me for the first time: they're thinking 'thug' or even 'football hooligan'! Human nature, I suppose, but it grates. Another reason, and I'll try to be kind here, is that there is a culture of machismo within the police service where trying to explain to hard-nosed colleagues the esoteric nature of 'writing make-believe stories' would be met with incredulous looks. Swiftly followed by muted sniggers and obscene hand gestures as you left the room. I'm not saying all police officers are like that, but, coupled with my appearance, for me it was far simpler not to say anything. And the longer it went on it became something of a dirty little secret. Most colleagues were incredibly surprised when they learned I'd gone back to University and written a novel. Some even thought I was joking – as in: "What? You?!". Everybody I know has read it now, though, and they've been very complimentary. It's been amusing to listen to them argue about which character is based on what colleague. Even though none are, of course – just in case any of my force's legal team are reading...
SHEENAGH: You were in a writing group, I know, and then did a Masters in Writing. Sometimes I see people deriding this "groups and courses" culture (mainly, it must be said, those who know nothing about it). It seemed to work pretty well for you during your first novel; what's your take on it??
MIKE: The MPhil was a fantastic experience. I'd urge anybody who is given the chance to enrol on the course: grab the opportunity with both hands. I miss it – the structure, the rolling ten- or twelve-week deadlines, the workshops, the support. Pocket Notebook was forged on the Glamorgan campus. Workshopping it was invaluable, especially in the early stages when I was searching for the right direction to take it in. Once I'd found that direction, and found the main character's voice, I couldn't stop writing it. I'd lose whole days and find myself tapping away on the keyboard at 5 a.m. Then at the next residency I'd plead for the criticism to be brutal, to be completely honest, and they always obliged. I came away from those residency weekends on a high, armed with notes and edits and suggestions for maintaining the level of intensity in the work.
SHEENAGH: Did you notice any difference when writing your second, without that interaction going on?
MIKE? If the University would let me, I'd pay to turn up for this year's residencies just to knock the new novel into some semblance of shape. I've really had to write my way into it, if that makes sense, whereas with Pocket Notebook it was fully-formed within a week. And I'd forgotten what a lonely experience writing can be. It's pretty easy to get distracted. The only deadline I have is one I've set myself, but it's simple to keep pushing the date back because nobody is really beating down my door for the next 20,000 words or a first-draft MS. I definitely need to be more disciplined. I'm quite adept at procrastination, and it seems life is ever busier in my house: a dangerous combination for any writer. I never had that option while on the MPhil.
And I don't understand people dismissing or denigrating the "groups and courses" culture – it clearly works. Glamorgan seems to be spewing out published writers lately. As for writing groups, what's wrong with spending an afternoon or evening with like-minded people, getting your work critiqued for free and, perhaps, actually learning something? Maybe discovering a new turn of phrase, or a cult author, or the kernel of an idea for a novel? I remember sitting around a kitchen table one sunny August evening, mooting the idea to my friends in my writing circle for a new novel; we discussed it for twenty minutes while I made notes and the following day I began writing. And that was Pocket Notebook.
SHEENAGH: I know you'd written a couple of novels before Pocket Notebook - the ones we all have in the drawer! PN was different; almost from when you started writing, it had this terrific momentum that made it clear beyond doubt that it would be both finished and published. I have a theory on why that was; I think the character of Jake came so alive in your head that you always knew pretty much what he'd say and do in any situation, and his aliveness drove the writing.
MIKE: I'd been living with the idea of this tragic, doomed individual for years but didn't start writing until he was fully formed. I wanted to do him justice, and through him shine a light on the frequently ridiculous nature of police work: the targets, bureaucracy, political correctness and climate of fear that pervades the modern service... I could go on. I also felt, in a way, that the opportunity to write this novel while on the MPhil was a one-shot deal and I simply had to do it, and do it to the best of my ability. I was quite desperate, to be honest; my career in the police was stagnating and I was very unhappy in work. My writing had reached a plateau and seemed to be going nowhere. So I believe that desperation fed into the writing, and thus the drive of the narrative.
SHEENAGH: I also know, though, that Jake is most unlike you. How do you think he happened in your head?
MIKE: He's the antithesis of me, a fact which I constantly had to remind interviewers of. It amazed me how many supposedly switched-on people confused character with author
Jake personifies all that I hate about the modern police service and certain types of police officer. When I was prepping the story – and I had reams of notes, index cards, plot points, character arcs, more than for anything I'd done beforehand – I'd ask myself: "What is the polar opposite of what I would do in this situation?". Because that was what Jake would do. Once I began it was relatively straightforward to portray his downfall. I would never say 'easy' as writing a novel is anything but: it's a hard slog, and sometimes it seems like it will never end. But straightforward in that – bang – Jake was there, and I knew him better than any character I'd ever created simply because he's the yin to my yang. I also knew exactly where the story was going; it was mapped out to the nth degree, but I left myself wriggle room if a minor character decided to go off on a tangent. Coupled with the fact that I had nigh on twenty years in 'The Job' and could portray situations with a certain level of authenticity it was just a case of: this is his predicament – how can he try and make everything better, but in fact make it far, far worse?
SHEENAGH: Of course he's disgraceful but he's a lot of fun to read too, and there's a certain guilty pleasure in hearing him say things we might think but would never allow to pass our lips!
MIKE: I suppose he's the ugly side of policing, but he was so much fun to write so that helped, too. I think bad guys usually are, because they allow you to depict inappropriate or iconoclastic behaviour, or even feed in what you as an author think about an organisation, without risking your mortgage payments... It was quite cathartic writing the MS – spilling out fifteen years of frustration as I typed. I don't think Jake is the easiest character to live with but – given what he personifies – it was incredibly good fun torturing him as the novel progressed. I did worry I was being a little too sadistic towards the climax but by that point I was so addicted to roughing him up on the page that I couldn't stop!
SHEENAGH: Because I'd seen all the drafts, I'm conscious of things that were left out or toned down in the published version. When I saw the changes to topography, street names etc, I at once supected the anti-Welsh prejudice of London publishers at work, knowing other writers who'd been told Wales wasn't commmercial and couldn't they relocate their novel to Poland? But I gather it might have been because of the police background that it was felt unwise to locate it too definitely - is that so?
MIKE: Fantastic as it is to be published, the police are my primary source of income. It was a conscious decision on my part, and my part only, after much thought and subsequent consultation with the publishers. I would have loved to have kept Cardiff in there because I love the city. I would have been proud to see Wales and the capital in my book. When it became clear Heinemann were going to publish I was struck with how upset my employers could be. The novel doesn't portray the police in the best of lights, and I feared they would see it as 'guilt by association' given that I work in Cardiff and the novel is set predominantly in the capital. For once in my life I was right – I was summoned to headquarters on the day Heinemann were ready to go to print and it was 'explained' to me how I would behave during any media coverage, and that it was fortuitous the locales in the story are not 'South Wales specific' as it could have caused 'difficulties'.
That said, as far as 'toning down' certain elements is concerned, I would say it was an editorial decision. There was a desire to make Jake a tad more sympathetic; certainly my agent thought he was a little too 'out there'. It's been odd to find readers being shocked by his behaviour because I found the things he says and does rather tame, if not vaguely humorous like he's a walking bad joke. I'm not sure what that says about me as a person! But after two decades in the police I've pretty much seen it all, and watched the crazy things real human beings get up to; in comparison Jake's antics are nowhere near as extreme. In fact if I'd used real life situations in the book it would have been labelled totally outlandish and unbelievable.
SHEENAGH: What's it been like dealing with agents and publishers?
MIKE: My agent and the people at Heinemann have been wonderful from the outset. I do put it into perspective though – I spend my 'other' working days being shouted at and abused, and repeatedly told – quite rightly most of the time – that the police are crap, so the London crowd could have made the bare minimum of effort and it would have been an improvement! But seriously, I have no complaints. None whatsoever. It's been an eye-opener too, that's for sure. How the other half live! And I have come away with some rude yet amusing anecdotes about certain 'big-hitter' authors, those ubiquitous names you see on the bestsellers and awards shortlists.
SHEENAGH: And actually trying to market the book? It's a side of things many writers never get to find out about on any large scale! Dan Rhodes, I know, adores it; some hate it, how was it for you?
MIKE: As well as being an exceptional writer Dan is very, very good at the promotion side of it. You can see he enjoys it. I, on the other hand, am not and do not, but I try my best. I'm sure I'll improve over time and with experience. After so long in the police where I can pretty much do the job with my eyes closed, it's as if I've embarked on a new career and been taken completely out of my comfort zone. I was particularly terrible doing the first few radio interviews – I droned on and on in one, then got the presenter's name wrong in the other. And a promo video we filmed in a council estate in London: I just froze. I cringe thinking about it now, and feel so guilty for letting down my pal Harvey at Heinemann. It was just lucky that the video crew got enough coverage to cut together and make me look reasonably lucid. I have a new-found respect for anybody who goes into TV presenting, put it that way. There was also the issue of being very careful about what I said. As I mentioned, I was 'reminded' by headquarters about inappropriate behaviour during PR for the novel. That played heavily on my mind. Constantly, in fact. I think it stifled me, to be honest. I was extremely careful about coming out with anything remotely contentious. I was forever thinking up witty, near-the-knuckle answers then quickly batting them aside to come out with bland corporate-speak whenever I was asked about the job.
I'm just not very good at selling myself; the thought of standing about essentially saying "look at me, aren't I brilliant!" makes me feel quite unwell. I'd rather wade alone into a ten-man pub fight than have to do another book signing where just my mother turns up, which has happened. I see it as a necessary evil – it seems to be part and parcel of the writer's life nowadays, and I'm not necessarily sure that's a good thing but publishers simply aren't going to plough tens of thousands of pounds into a debut or mid-list author's novel any more. It's just the way it is now, and I understand that completely. Publishing is a business, after all. But I certainly don't adore 'pimping myself out'. It was a huge surprise just how much networking goes on, particularly using social sites. The effect can be huge and it's taken me until recently to grasp the concept, probably to the annoyance of the publishers. You're talking about somebody who was quite happily using a dial-up internet connection a mere ten months ago!
SHEENAGH: I know there's a new book in preparation; I'm not asking for spoilers but can you tease us with some info?
MIKE: It's called Ugly Bus. Whereas Pocket Notebook portrayed one slightly unpleasant policeman suffering a mental breakdown and spiralling out of control, Ugly Bus follows a group of essentially good plods on a so-called 'riot van' who end up doing a Very Bad Thing. A Very, Very Bad Thing Indeed, actually. I'm interested in why people behave in particular ways when surrounded by others, almost burying their personalities just to fit in with the group. The new novel explores this, and the effect it has on several characters. It's taken an ungodly amount of research, too - group dynamics, pack mentality and so on. The Milgram experiments, too – just how far would you go in following orders, even if they conflicted with your conscience? It's pretty dark. Darker than the first. If Pocket Notebook didn't get me sacked, I think this one will...
Links to other information
The publisher's page for Pocket Notebook
Promo video for Pocket Notebook
The Independent's review of Pocket Notebook
