David Williams's Blog, page 8
September 8, 2011
Early research, or indulgence?
I haven't blogged in two weeks. I've done no serious writing for quite a bit longer. That's partly because of the summer holidays, but also because I've finished my Stephenson novel (query letters and emails out now) and I'm fishing around for a new major project.
There's no shortage or variety of ideas on the scratchpad I keep for the purpose (which I regularly transcribe onto a typed list) but nothing has yet sparked into something that is likely to keep me engaged and interested for perhaps a year or more, or that I feel I can add fresh illumination to by my treatment or insights on the subject.
What I am doing is reading. A lot of news reading at the moment, but also reading around some of the themes and topics I've earmarked as possibilities, just to see if I can find a way in, a thread that could lead me to further creative exploration. For example, I had half an idea that I could base a human interest story around a workhouse – not one of the Dickensian era, but one of those that hung on into the twentieth century, even surviving in a few cases beyond the Second World War. At the moment I have only the faintest notion of how a story could develop; I'm waiting to see what might emerge from my reading into the subject.
Or so I tell myself. I'm enjoying the reading and the learning, but so far have failed to take a single note. Is this really early research, or am I just indulging myself, and putting off the more difficult task of getting down to write something of my own? Am I hiding from hard work, or in waiting for the Eureka moment?
I do know that once I get a clear fix on what I am going to write about and the general direction it might go in, my research will become more purposeful and the notes will begin to gather; but in this vague maybe-there's-something-maybe-not phase my reading is annoyingly interrupted by increasingly loud whispers emerging, I guess, from the left side of my brain, which tell me I'm merely wasting my own time.
There's no shortage or variety of ideas on the scratchpad I keep for the purpose (which I regularly transcribe onto a typed list) but nothing has yet sparked into something that is likely to keep me engaged and interested for perhaps a year or more, or that I feel I can add fresh illumination to by my treatment or insights on the subject.What I am doing is reading. A lot of news reading at the moment, but also reading around some of the themes and topics I've earmarked as possibilities, just to see if I can find a way in, a thread that could lead me to further creative exploration. For example, I had half an idea that I could base a human interest story around a workhouse – not one of the Dickensian era, but one of those that hung on into the twentieth century, even surviving in a few cases beyond the Second World War. At the moment I have only the faintest notion of how a story could develop; I'm waiting to see what might emerge from my reading into the subject.
Or so I tell myself. I'm enjoying the reading and the learning, but so far have failed to take a single note. Is this really early research, or am I just indulging myself, and putting off the more difficult task of getting down to write something of my own? Am I hiding from hard work, or in waiting for the Eureka moment?
I do know that once I get a clear fix on what I am going to write about and the general direction it might go in, my research will become more purposeful and the notes will begin to gather; but in this vague maybe-there's-something-maybe-not phase my reading is annoyingly interrupted by increasingly loud whispers emerging, I guess, from the left side of my brain, which tell me I'm merely wasting my own time.
August 25, 2011
BBC Radio - the pictures are better
I love radio. Purely from an imaginative point of view, in the highly unlikely event of being forced to choose between keeping the TV or the radio, I'd have to pick the one that lets me form the image in my mind rather than the one that places someone's else's choice in front of my eyes. With radio it's even better with your eyes closed. This love affair started early – lying on the mat in front of the fire as a child listening to the air lock hissing open in Journey into Space; ready to laugh as the Clitheroe Kid bursts through the door with some cheeky comment about his sister Susan; relishing the rattle-tat puns and explosive effects of The Goons; mimicking the familiar 'Ooh, Ron'/'Yes, Eth?' of The Glums; trying to beat the Top of the Formers to the quiz answers; chirping along to Children's Favourites; eating Sunday dinner in company with Cliff Michelmore and Jean Metcalfe on Two-Way Family Favourites; following live boxing in sound only with Eamonn Andrews, and tuning in to his Sports Report.
Here's my rapid montage in sound and pictures of these and others from the 1950s.
Music radio was the soundtrack of my teenage years, first with the pirate stations, then with the coming of Radio One in the summer of 1967 - Tony Blackburn opening up with the Move singing 'Flowers in the Rain' and introducing lively jingles and excitement to the BBC airwaves for the first time.
Tony Blackburn at the opening of Radio One
I loved the zaniness and technical brilliance of Kenny Everett, the great radio voice of Johnny Walker, warm and rich despite the tinniness of those early transistor radios - yet at the same time I was discovering serious speech radio, not just plays and documentaries on Radio Four, but some quite esoteric stuff. Under my blankets I used to tune in to Radio Three (I believe it was well after midnight), to hear discussions with the likes of the critic FR Leavis and the historian AJP Taylor. I think these were the forerunners of what became the first Open University courses.
When I started teaching in the 1970s I used radio in a way that sparked my genesis as a professional writer. I began using BBC Schools Radio in English and Drama classes – programmes such as Listening & Writing, and Speak – and wondered if I could write something like these myself. I tried my hand at a short play for teens – First Date – and sent it off to a producer whose name kept coming up on the end of the programmes I used. To my amazement he replied within a fortnight to say that he would like to use the play, and could I write another one. That led to a freelance career writing radio plays and other programmes, mainly for BBC Schools but also for Radio Four, and as a result a good deal of work with various educational producers. (See the sidebar for a fullish list of broadcasts and books.)
My work in school also led me to create a fun quiz for the whole school at the end of term. It happened that one of my most enthusiastic pupils had a father who worked as a DJ for BBC Radio Newcastle, and the father, Frank Wappat, encouraged me to write a sixth form quiz, Sixth Sense, which I subsequently produced for several years for the station before I moved to Scotland. Frank must have inspired his son too, because Paul also became a well-known radio DJ in the region. My local radio quiz led me to work on other quizzes for BBC radio nationally, and from there to television quizzes and game shows.
It's no coincidence that when I came to write my first novel 11:59 I made my central character Marc Niven a local radio host, and the story unfolds around Marc's late night phone-in show in the North East of England.
I still listen to the radio in bed, and out walking, but these days most of my listening is from downloads onto my iPod. I subscribe to various podcasts, but I also make my own recordings using the Listen Again feature on the BBC website and a great free recording program called Audacity. Here are a few of my favourite listens, with links to the programme web page:
The News Quiz Round Britain Quiz I'm Sorry I Haven't a Clue Just a Minute Afternoon Reading (short stories – sadly, about to be reduced by the BBC) Archive on 4 The Media Show The Report Desert Island Discs Today Play of the Week Quote Unquote Counterpoint Sounds of the 20th Century 6 Music Documentary The Essay
It's a good while since I've written for radio, but it's something I would like to return to, and I'm currently in talks with an independent radio producer in the north about various promising projects. I'll let you know if any of these get off the ground. Meanwhile I'll keep listening to great radio, and would urge you to do the same, wherever you are.
August 4, 2011
My northern lights
I was saddened to hear this week of the death of Stan Barstow, aged 83. Pubertally reading Barstow's first novel A Kind of Loving in the early 1960s turned a light on for me. I think it was my first encounter with northern writing, and my first realisation that authors did not necessarily come from somewhere rarefied and entirely outside of my world. Here was a miner's son, like me, actually writing a book. The film adaptation, starring Alan Bates and with a memorable performance by Thora Hird as the snobbish mother-in-law, reinforced for me the notion that the lives of ordinary working northerners could be turned into art.
I had the privilege of meeting Stan in the early 1980s when we were involved in a Writers on Tour week, and I was able to thank him personally for his influential genius. He was kind and gracious, and an excellent reader of his own work too. I've long remembered watching him read in the snug atmosphere of the Queen's Hall in Morpeth, his trim white beard slightly salted with pipe tobacco, a soft twinkle in his eyes, his warm Yorkshire tones wrapping us into his story.
His death has had me remembering other northern writers who weaved their spell on me in books, in theatre, on radio and television, and who also unwittingly helped me find my own voice and make my first tentative moves to join them in print.
Alan Sillitoe who died last year. Sillitoe was from Nottingham, the far reaches of northern in my purview. He became famous for the amoral sexuality of Saturday Night and Sunday Morning, especially through the muscular portrayal of Arthur Seaton by Albert Finney in the film version.
More influential for me was his long short story about a Borstal boy The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, also made into a film starring Tom Courtenay.
Sillitoe started me writing stories about my own environment. I always enjoy reading his, and remember my experience as an English teacher in the mid-70s, reading A Sillitoe Selection to my fifth formers. The class always clamoured for The Ragman's Daughter, not so much for its quality as its bonking scene.
Keith Waterhouse Another Yorkshireman, like Barstow, and connected with him in that Waterhouse co-wrote the screenplay for A Kind of Loving. I remember him especially for There is a Happy Land (which indirectly influenced my treatment of the 'daft lad' Hughie in my story Fair Fight) and of course the poignant and hilarious Billy Liar, which became another Tom Courtenay vehicle on screen.
I too played Billy, with rather less acclaim than Tom earned, in a staff production at Blyth Ridley High School in 1975. Waterhouse famously left the first 10,000 words of his Billy Liar manuscript in a taxi, which he later said was "the best thing that happened to me" because it was "pretentious twaddle"
Shelagh Delaney The first in my northern writers' list who, at the time of writing, is still alive (72 this year). Shelagh was born in Salford and is still best known for the play she wrote when she was only 18 - A Taste of Honey which, along with Pinter's early comedies of menace and the north east classic Close the Coalhouse Door (see below), inspired me to start writing playscripts. Apparently Shelagh Delaney also inspired Morrisey, songwriter and lead singer of The Smiths, who said in 1986, "I've never made any secret of the fact that at least 50 per cent of my reason for writing can be blamed on Shelagh Delaney."
Murray Melvin transposed his original role as the gay loner Geoffrey from the stage version to the film of A Taste of Honey, while pregnant teenager Jo was played by the other-wordly Rita Tushingham.
Alan Plater; Sid Chaplin I remember as a sixth former from Ashington catching the bus most Friday nights to Newcastle Haymarket, then taking the long walk through Jesmond to the old Flora Robson Playhouse to catch whatever was in rep that week. I saw my first Under Milkwood there, for example, but the production that most enthralled and inspired me was locally-grown – a musical drama by Alan Plater, with songs by Alex Glasgow, from the book Get Lost by Sid Chaplin. It was called Close the Coalhouse Door. In this video clip Alex Glasgow himself sings the title song.
The superb cast included John Woodvine, James Garbutt, Bryan Pringle and Jean Becke. It was the surpise hit of the year and (like Lee Hall's The Pitmen Painters in recent times) later transferred to London and in 1969 was transmitted almost unchanged as a Wednesday Play on BBC TV. I followed Alan Plater's work from then on, whether it be his contributions to TV series like Z Cars or his individual plays, and was dismayed when he died last year.
I'm glad to have known Sid Chaplin personally, along with his wife Rene and his son, Michael who I often bump into at writerly events in Newcastle. I've even played a part in publishing one of Sid's books, The Bachelor Uncle and other stories. Alan Plater and Sid Chaplin also contributed to the successful north east TV drama series When the Boat Comes In. These two, along with other North East stalwarts such as CP Taylor and Tom Hadaway, helped to convince me to become a 'writer in the north'.
Dick Clement & Ian La Frenais Another pair of North Easterners (except that Dick Clement is an Essex boy but his work makes him an adopted Geordie), whose excellent television work includes The Likely Lads, Whatever Happened to the Likely Lads, Porridge and Auf Wiedersehen,Pet. I used to squirm with delight to hear local place names in the scripts; it wasn't just the references, it was the characters' intimacy with these places. Above all though, what I have always admired about the writing of Clement and La Frenais is the sharpness and wit of their dialogue. They bring the northern working-class man to life in full colour and lusty vernacular.
Barry Hines I'm pleased to say that I have worked with Barry a couple of times, in Northumberland and in Edinburgh, on writer events. He is a modest and friendly individual with a soft-spoken Barnsley accent and a quietly enthusiastic manner. He was excellent with the children on school visits, and they were delighted to hear him read from his famous book which, because of the film, was renamed Kes, though I first knew and loved it as A Kestrel for a Knave.
Of course for many people Kes is remembered more than anything for the remarkable performance of Brian Glover as the PE teacher Mr Sugden in the film version directed by Ken Loach.
I've also enjoyed Barry's film and TV dramas, especially Looks and Smiles and Threads, both directed by Ken Loach, which have won many awards. I remember ringing Barry the morning after one award success (I forget which one) to congratulate him, and to ask him if he had a hangover from the awards evening. I was shocked when he told me he hadn't been invited. That's the credit a writer gets sometimes.
Willy Russell; Alan Bleasdale; Phil Redmond Finally I want to mention a trio of Liverpudlians who prove that the city is not just home to great pop music. Willy Russell is best-known for Educating Rita, caught memorably on film by my favourite British actress Julie Walters, playing alongside Michael Caine.
My favourite of Russell's plays, though, is Stags and Hens, set in the gents and ladies loos of a city centre pub as the prospective bride and groom 'enjoy' their last night of freedom with their respective mates.
Alan Bleasdale has written many great TV dramas, of which the best known started out as a single play and became an iconic series Boys From the Black Stuff with a catchphrase 'Giz a job' that reverberated around Thatcher's Britain.
Phil Redmond's influence on me began with his school TV series Grange Hill. I felt I'd 'arrived' in a small way as a writer when two of my short plays were anthologised in the Studio Scripts series along with one of Phil's scripts for Grange Hill.
Phil went on to create memorable soaps; Brookside and Hollyoaks. I went on to create this blog.
July 26, 2011
Reading my newspapers on Kindle - Pros and Cons
I have just completed a 14-day free trial of The Guardian and The Observer in Kindle format, and after consideration I have decided to carry on with the subscription at £9.99 a month. Here's the Pros and Cons of reading my newspapers on Kindle as I see them.
PROS
I've always bought The Observer anyway. At £2.20 a copy, that's £8.80 a month for the printed copy, so for an extra £1.19 a month I'm now also getting The Guardian six days a week.
I no longer have to walk or drive down to the paper shop to buy the paper. There's something quite exciting about downloading the new issue (which takes seconds) first thing every morning.
I'm keeping more up-to-date with the news than I did before. It's especially interesting just now when The Guardian is taking the lead on the phone-hacking story.
It's easier to read than the paper version, even since the broadsheet has been replaced by the Berliner format. Quieter too. No folding and creasing, easier on the arms. Particularly, it's easier to read in bed.
With the hyperlinked contents table, it's easier to skip through and find the pieces you want to read, and to return to them. If you turn off where you have been reading you automatically go back to where you were.
You can look up words at the click of a cursor. For example, reading an article the other day about the phone hacking scandal and, specifically, who had knowledge of the 'Neville email' I read the sentence:'Crone, with all his authority as the tabloid group's most long-serving and senior consigliere, at once publicly contradicted him.' Call me ignorant, but I'd never come across consigliere. I clicked the cursor on the word and discovered it means 'an adviser, especially to a crime boss; Mafia family adviser'. Not only do I now know what a consigliere is, I'm even more appreciative of The Guardian for introducing me to such an apt term in connection with the Murdochs.
The Kindle version of the papers contains words and some pictures (in black and white) but no ads. Big plus for me.
When you have finished reading, you can either keep the issue in archive format, or you can delete it. Less messy, and I suppose environmentally cleaner.
CONS
Although the £9.99 a month is obviously good value (see above) psychologically it seems more when it's coming off your account regularly each month in one go, rather than the change that comes out of your pocket when you buy the paper over the counter.
Because I don't get out to the paper shop, maybe I exercise less, and get out of the house less. I have to remember to compensate.
I didn't normally read a daily paper before, so I'm spending more time reading newspapers, leaving less time for other important things such as reading books, writing, and talking to my wife.
I quite like the smell of newsprint and the feel of the newspaper in my hand, in the same way that I miss the feel of a book when I'm reading the Kindle version.
There is no colour in the pictures, and fewer of them. Biggest loser is The Observer Magazine (though I read little of this section myself).
You can't do a crossword or other puzzles that require pen and paper with a Kindle version of the paper.
There are no TV and radio listings. (I get the Radio Times anyway, but this will be a drawback for some.)
There are even more typos and misprints in the Kindle version of The Guardian than there are in the printed version.
Well, I see I've managed to list almost as many Cons as Pros, but I'm happy with my decision at the moment. And I can cancel any time. Let me know what you think.
PROS
I've always bought The Observer anyway. At £2.20 a copy, that's £8.80 a month for the printed copy, so for an extra £1.19 a month I'm now also getting The Guardian six days a week.
I no longer have to walk or drive down to the paper shop to buy the paper. There's something quite exciting about downloading the new issue (which takes seconds) first thing every morning.
I'm keeping more up-to-date with the news than I did before. It's especially interesting just now when The Guardian is taking the lead on the phone-hacking story.
It's easier to read than the paper version, even since the broadsheet has been replaced by the Berliner format. Quieter too. No folding and creasing, easier on the arms. Particularly, it's easier to read in bed.
With the hyperlinked contents table, it's easier to skip through and find the pieces you want to read, and to return to them. If you turn off where you have been reading you automatically go back to where you were.
You can look up words at the click of a cursor. For example, reading an article the other day about the phone hacking scandal and, specifically, who had knowledge of the 'Neville email' I read the sentence:'Crone, with all his authority as the tabloid group's most long-serving and senior consigliere, at once publicly contradicted him.' Call me ignorant, but I'd never come across consigliere. I clicked the cursor on the word and discovered it means 'an adviser, especially to a crime boss; Mafia family adviser'. Not only do I now know what a consigliere is, I'm even more appreciative of The Guardian for introducing me to such an apt term in connection with the Murdochs.
The Kindle version of the papers contains words and some pictures (in black and white) but no ads. Big plus for me.
When you have finished reading, you can either keep the issue in archive format, or you can delete it. Less messy, and I suppose environmentally cleaner.
CONS
Although the £9.99 a month is obviously good value (see above) psychologically it seems more when it's coming off your account regularly each month in one go, rather than the change that comes out of your pocket when you buy the paper over the counter.
Because I don't get out to the paper shop, maybe I exercise less, and get out of the house less. I have to remember to compensate.
I didn't normally read a daily paper before, so I'm spending more time reading newspapers, leaving less time for other important things such as reading books, writing, and talking to my wife.
I quite like the smell of newsprint and the feel of the newspaper in my hand, in the same way that I miss the feel of a book when I'm reading the Kindle version.
There is no colour in the pictures, and fewer of them. Biggest loser is The Observer Magazine (though I read little of this section myself).
You can't do a crossword or other puzzles that require pen and paper with a Kindle version of the paper.
There are no TV and radio listings. (I get the Radio Times anyway, but this will be a drawback for some.)
There are even more typos and misprints in the Kindle version of The Guardian than there are in the printed version.
Well, I see I've managed to list almost as many Cons as Pros, but I'm happy with my decision at the moment. And I can cancel any time. Let me know what you think.
Reading my newpapers on Kindle - Pros and Cons
I have just completed a 14-day free trial of The Guardian and The Observer in Kindle format, and after consideration I have decided to carry on with the subscription at £9.99 a month. Here's the Pros and Cons of reading my newspapers on Kindle as I see them.
PROS
I've always bought The Observer anyway. At £2.20 a copy, that's £8.80 a month for the printed copy, so for an extra £1.19 a month I'm now also getting The Guardian six days a week.
I no longer have to walk or drive down to the paper shop to buy the paper. There's something quite exciting about downloading the new issue (which takes seconds) first thing every morning.
I'm keeping more up-to-date with the news than I did before. It's especially interesting just now when The Guardian is taking the lead on the phone-hacking story.
It's easier to read than the paper version, even since the broadsheet has been replaced by the Berliner format. Quieter too. No folding and creasing, easier on the arms. Particularly, it's easier to read in bed.
With the hyperlinked contents table, it's easier to skip through and find the pieces you want to read, and to return to them. If you turn off where you have been reading you automatically go back to where you were.
You can look up words at the click of a cursor. For example, reading an article the other day about the phone hacking scandal and, specifically, who had knowledge of the 'Neville email' I read the sentence:'Crone, with all his authority as the tabloid group's most long-serving and senior consigliere, at once publicly contradicted him.' Call me ignorant, but I'd never come across consigliere. I clicked the cursor on the word and discovered it means 'an adviser, especially to a crime boss; Mafia family adviser'. Not only do I now know what a consigliere is, I'm even more appreciative of The Guardian for introducing me to such an apt term in connection with the Murdochs.
The Kindle version of the papers contains words and some pictures (in black and white) but no ads. Big plus for me.
When you have finished reading, you can either keep the issue in archive format, or you can delete it. Less messy, and I suppose environmentally cleaner.
CONS
Although the £9.99 a month is obviously good value (see above) psychologically it seems more when it's coming off your account regularly each month in one go, rather than the change that comes out of your pocket when you buy the paper over the counter.
Because I don't get out to the paper shop, maybe I exercise less, and get out of the house less. I have to remember to compensate.
I didn't normally read a daily paper before, so I'm spending more time reading newspapers, leaving less time for other important things such as reading books, writing, and talking to my wife.
I quite like the smell of newsprint and the feel of the newspaper in my hand, in the same way that I miss the feel of a book when I'm reading the Kindle version.
There is no colour in the pictures, and fewer of them. Biggest loser is The Observer Magazine (though I read little of this section myself).
You can't do a crossword or other puzzles that require pen and paper with a Kindle version of the paper.
There are no TV and radio listings. (I get the Radio Times anyway, but this will be a drawback for some.)
There are even more typos and misprints in the Kindle version of The Guardian than there are in the printed version.
Well, I see I've managed to list almost as many Cons as Pros, but I'm happy with my decision at the moment. And I can cancel any time. Let me know what you think.
PROS
I've always bought The Observer anyway. At £2.20 a copy, that's £8.80 a month for the printed copy, so for an extra £1.19 a month I'm now also getting The Guardian six days a week.
I no longer have to walk or drive down to the paper shop to buy the paper. There's something quite exciting about downloading the new issue (which takes seconds) first thing every morning.
I'm keeping more up-to-date with the news than I did before. It's especially interesting just now when The Guardian is taking the lead on the phone-hacking story.
It's easier to read than the paper version, even since the broadsheet has been replaced by the Berliner format. Quieter too. No folding and creasing, easier on the arms. Particularly, it's easier to read in bed.
With the hyperlinked contents table, it's easier to skip through and find the pieces you want to read, and to return to them. If you turn off where you have been reading you automatically go back to where you were.
You can look up words at the click of a cursor. For example, reading an article the other day about the phone hacking scandal and, specifically, who had knowledge of the 'Neville email' I read the sentence:'Crone, with all his authority as the tabloid group's most long-serving and senior consigliere, at once publicly contradicted him.' Call me ignorant, but I'd never come across consigliere. I clicked the cursor on the word and discovered it means 'an adviser, especially to a crime boss; Mafia family adviser'. Not only do I now know what a consigliere is, I'm even more appreciative of The Guardian for introducing me to such an apt term in connection with the Murdochs.
The Kindle version of the papers contains words and some pictures (in black and white) but no ads. Big plus for me.
When you have finished reading, you can either keep the issue in archive format, or you can delete it. Less messy, and I suppose environmentally cleaner.
CONS
Although the £9.99 a month is obviously good value (see above) psychologically it seems more when it's coming off your account regularly each month in one go, rather than the change that comes out of your pocket when you buy the paper over the counter.
Because I don't get out to the paper shop, maybe I exercise less, and get out of the house less. I have to remember to compensate.
I didn't normally read a daily paper before, so I'm spending more time reading newspapers, leaving less time for other important things such as reading books, writing, and talking to my wife.
I quite like the smell of newsprint and the feel of the newspaper in my hand, in the same way that I miss the feel of a book when I'm reading the Kindle version.
There is no colour in the pictures, and fewer of them. Biggest loser is The Observer Magazine (though I read little of this section myself).
You can't do a crossword or other puzzles that require pen and paper with a Kindle version of the paper.
There are no TV and radio listings. (I get the Radio Times anyway, but this will be a drawback for some.)
There are even more typos and misprints in the Kindle version of The Guardian than there are in the printed version.
Well, I see I've managed to list almost as many Cons as Pros, but I'm happy with my decision at the moment. And I can cancel any time. Let me know what you think.
July 19, 2011
Are we Liking ourselves into La-La Land?
In an earlier post I referred to Eli Pariser's new offering
The Filter Bubble: What the Internet is Hiding From You
. (Look out for my review of the book in the next edition of
The Author
). Last time, I focused on Google's mission to build a theory of identity for each user based on 'you are what you click', and how that tends over time to narrow rather than widen one's choices. Today, following another of Pariser's themes, I want to focus on Facebook and its alternative theory of identity: 'you are what you share', and how that leads to promotion of the trivial but entertaining at the expense of the serious but important.
Unlike Twitter, which has famously been used to rally protest, to aggregate political concerns and to promulgate initiatives - and which often aims to reach out to an audience beyond family, friends or fans – Facebook is almost exclusively social lite. It's typically fluffy and cuddly, or sassy and bantering, engaging in what linguists call phatic interaction, with the emphasis on the social rather than the informational aspects of communication; and the images exchanged on Facebook are generally supportive of that social purpose. As Pariser says rather misanthropically: 'The creators of the Internet envisioned something bigger and more important than a global system for sharing pictures of pets.'
But the fact is many millions of us are using the medium for just that sort of activity, and even more so now that mobile, hand-held and handy devices are becoming common. If we are what we share, then what we are sharing is on the whole pretty frothy stuff.
By making it fun and easy to do, the Facebook providers have encouraged us to entertain each other in this way, and some would argue they have added to the store of human happiness and fellowship as a result. Maybe so. But have they tilted our attention away from some of the harder realities of life? Are we in danger of becoming like the Eloi in H G Wells' TheTime Machine frolicking like children in the sunshine, unwary of the Morlocks waiting in the shadows, or rather in denial of them and the threat they pose?
Pariser points up one neat little device that may be contributing to a skewed, rose-coloured view of the world. Facebook has made it possible to press the Like button on any item on the Web. With one quick click we can let our Facebook friends know what we are enjoying, and by the same action we increase the likelihood of that particular item being seen by others, because our Liking it improves its ranking.
Now, what sort of thing are we likely to be Liking? Or, to put it the other way round, what are the stories that would seem inappropriate to Like? To use Pariser's examples: 'It's easy to push Like and increase the visibility of a friend's post about finishing a marathon or an instructional article about how to make onion soup. It's harder to push the Like button on an article titled, "Darfur sees bloodiest month in two years."'
The Facebook team that developed the Like button originally considered a number of options, including stars and a thumbs-up sign (rejected as a stand-alone because it's an obscene gesture in some countries); they even considered Awesome, but chose Like eventually because it was more universal. That apparently minor design choice may have had major unintended consequences, for it is has almost certainly determined that we push the button on stories that are more friendly, less challenging, more emotional perhaps but less troubling, more likeable. So these are the stories that get more attention on the Web and subtly, steadily alter our world view. Like the Eloi, we prefer to face the sunshine.
Pariser asks us to imagine that next to each Like button on Facebook was an Important button. You could tag an item with either Like or Important or both. This one simple development could be a very useful corrective, could help to restore the balance to a certain degree. Not entirely, for it seems to be part of our nature to look for the things we are likely to enjoy - the entertaining, the humorous, the titillating. We will always want to share gossip and to seek out the stories of celebrity, of scandal and success. But we need to be aware of what else is around us, and to share that too. We cannot ignore those things that are important to sections of humanity who may not be part of our immediate social network (our comfort zone), because we can be sure that one day soon those things we've chosen to ignore will force their importance on us.
Unlike Twitter, which has famously been used to rally protest, to aggregate political concerns and to promulgate initiatives - and which often aims to reach out to an audience beyond family, friends or fans – Facebook is almost exclusively social lite. It's typically fluffy and cuddly, or sassy and bantering, engaging in what linguists call phatic interaction, with the emphasis on the social rather than the informational aspects of communication; and the images exchanged on Facebook are generally supportive of that social purpose. As Pariser says rather misanthropically: 'The creators of the Internet envisioned something bigger and more important than a global system for sharing pictures of pets.'
But the fact is many millions of us are using the medium for just that sort of activity, and even more so now that mobile, hand-held and handy devices are becoming common. If we are what we share, then what we are sharing is on the whole pretty frothy stuff.
By making it fun and easy to do, the Facebook providers have encouraged us to entertain each other in this way, and some would argue they have added to the store of human happiness and fellowship as a result. Maybe so. But have they tilted our attention away from some of the harder realities of life? Are we in danger of becoming like the Eloi in H G Wells' TheTime Machine frolicking like children in the sunshine, unwary of the Morlocks waiting in the shadows, or rather in denial of them and the threat they pose?
Pariser points up one neat little device that may be contributing to a skewed, rose-coloured view of the world. Facebook has made it possible to press the Like button on any item on the Web. With one quick click we can let our Facebook friends know what we are enjoying, and by the same action we increase the likelihood of that particular item being seen by others, because our Liking it improves its ranking.
Now, what sort of thing are we likely to be Liking? Or, to put it the other way round, what are the stories that would seem inappropriate to Like? To use Pariser's examples: 'It's easy to push Like and increase the visibility of a friend's post about finishing a marathon or an instructional article about how to make onion soup. It's harder to push the Like button on an article titled, "Darfur sees bloodiest month in two years."'
The Facebook team that developed the Like button originally considered a number of options, including stars and a thumbs-up sign (rejected as a stand-alone because it's an obscene gesture in some countries); they even considered Awesome, but chose Like eventually because it was more universal. That apparently minor design choice may have had major unintended consequences, for it is has almost certainly determined that we push the button on stories that are more friendly, less challenging, more emotional perhaps but less troubling, more likeable. So these are the stories that get more attention on the Web and subtly, steadily alter our world view. Like the Eloi, we prefer to face the sunshine.
Pariser asks us to imagine that next to each Like button on Facebook was an Important button. You could tag an item with either Like or Important or both. This one simple development could be a very useful corrective, could help to restore the balance to a certain degree. Not entirely, for it seems to be part of our nature to look for the things we are likely to enjoy - the entertaining, the humorous, the titillating. We will always want to share gossip and to seek out the stories of celebrity, of scandal and success. But we need to be aware of what else is around us, and to share that too. We cannot ignore those things that are important to sections of humanity who may not be part of our immediate social network (our comfort zone), because we can be sure that one day soon those things we've chosen to ignore will force their importance on us.
July 8, 2011
Reasons for loving my Kindle
As someone who has always loved the feel and smell of books, and the look of them individually and lined on the shelves, I am the last person I would have thought would take to the e-reader in general and the Kindle in particular. When my wife presented me with one for my birthday last year I was openly delighted and grateful, privately sceptical.
Well, I've had nine months' experience with it now and all I can say is, I love it. Here are some of the reasons why.
1. It's easy to carry. It's light. You can pop it in a pocket or a bag and carry it anywhere without having to worry about covers getting torn, pages bent.
2. It's easy to read. You can even change the font and point size to suit. I have a light I can pull out of the cover I use with mine so I can read in dim conditons. Unlike a computer screen, you can read the Kindle outside in bright sunlight too.
3. Kindle makes it easy to read aloud, which is a particular benefit for me. I do a fair bit of public reading of my books, except that I never actually read from my books because I like to interact with my audience, and you can't do that effectively if you're staring at the relatively small point of the printed book. Before the Kindle I used to type a large print version on A4 of what I wanted to read aloud. Now I invariably read from the Kindle version, held easily in one hand, the text cranked up to large point size so that I can see it from a distance while open-faced to the audience. I don't even have to turn pages as I'm reading; just hit the Next Page button. And I can bookmark everything in advance so I can find the story or extract I'm reading from next with the press of another button.
4. It's easy to buy books (OK, maybe too easy). Not only do I not have to be near a bookshop, I don't even need to fire up my computer to buy from Amazon. Wherever I am (my version has 3G connectivity) I can search the Amazon store and buy direct from my Kindle, and it's delivered to me ready to read in seconds. I can also sample books for free, also within seconds.
5. I can get whole books for free. In fact, I download more free books than I purchase. There's a vast array of out-of-copyright books, including most of the classics, available for free from various sites. The one I generally use is the not-for-profit Project Gutenberg. Another is feedbooks.com.
6. I can carry all of my library with me, organized in collections I have made myself (like making folders for the PC) . Within one book-size package I have all the books I have downloaded, so I can switch from one book to another easily, and I don't have to break my back with a book-sack on holiday.
7. I don't have to dust my books, or suffer Paula's complaints when I don't dust my books for months and she ends up doing it for me. All right, I do love my bookshelves, but the Kindle is space-saving and low maintenance.
8. I don't have to keep my place. The Kindle does it for me, opening to the last place I read of whatever book I open. It's easy to navigate with the Go To option on the menu, and easy to find different sections or chapters provided there are hyperlinks on the Table of Contents. (When I recently published a Kindle version of my book of quotations I made sure that each subject had a hyperlink from the TOC, and thus have a better offering than my book in print. We did the same with the Kindle version of We Never Had It So Good so the reader can click to any individual story.)
9. I can search for individual words and phrases in any book I read. Every instance is listed for me with location and context, and I can go to any of them in a click; return with another click.
10. I don't have to look up definitions. There is a built-in dictionary. All I have to do is place the cursor next to the word I'm not sure of, and the definition pops up for me. If I do need further reference I can go to the reference books I have in my reference collection of the Kindle, without leaving my seat. (Amazon chucks in a couple of good dictionaries as part of the initial purchase.)
11. Using the cursor and/or the little keyboard I can make notes and highlights. As a writer and researcher, I have only very recently appreciated how useful a tool this is, because I have now discovered https://kindle.amazon.com/ which has a printable version of all my notes and highlights for each book I have marked. So I can print out any extracts, quotable quotes or marginal notes I have made for reference when I'm writing - superb. If I want to clear the book of marks later I can do so with a click. (No need now to vandalise your books with marks and scrawls, or pepper them with little Post-Its as I used to do.)
12. If I choose to, I can share notes, highlights and comments on the books with others on one or more of the various social networks.
13. I can search the Internet from my Kindle. Admittedly the small screen and the five point cursor are not ideal for navigating on-line sites, but it's nevertheless a useful function if you are away from your computer.
14. Using some free Kindle software on my PC I can convert my own documents to Kindle format and upload them to my Kindle for reading, working on, or checking in draft if I intend to publish the work in Kindle format.
There are several features that I don't tend to use personally - such as screen rotation, text-to-speech, voice-guided navigation, listening to music or audio files - that others might find beneficial, but there is certainly enough here to keep me happy.
Of course, there are downsides to the Kindle/e-book revolution. Not least there are commercial consequences for bookshops, publishers and writers that are as likely to be negative as positive, and I'll probably devote a future blog posting to considering these; but for the moment I've stuck to reasons to be happy from a reader's/working writer's point of view. The fact is, despite my initial scepticism about the Kindle, these days I would not be without it.
Well, I've had nine months' experience with it now and all I can say is, I love it. Here are some of the reasons why.
1. It's easy to carry. It's light. You can pop it in a pocket or a bag and carry it anywhere without having to worry about covers getting torn, pages bent.
2. It's easy to read. You can even change the font and point size to suit. I have a light I can pull out of the cover I use with mine so I can read in dim conditons. Unlike a computer screen, you can read the Kindle outside in bright sunlight too.
3. Kindle makes it easy to read aloud, which is a particular benefit for me. I do a fair bit of public reading of my books, except that I never actually read from my books because I like to interact with my audience, and you can't do that effectively if you're staring at the relatively small point of the printed book. Before the Kindle I used to type a large print version on A4 of what I wanted to read aloud. Now I invariably read from the Kindle version, held easily in one hand, the text cranked up to large point size so that I can see it from a distance while open-faced to the audience. I don't even have to turn pages as I'm reading; just hit the Next Page button. And I can bookmark everything in advance so I can find the story or extract I'm reading from next with the press of another button.
4. It's easy to buy books (OK, maybe too easy). Not only do I not have to be near a bookshop, I don't even need to fire up my computer to buy from Amazon. Wherever I am (my version has 3G connectivity) I can search the Amazon store and buy direct from my Kindle, and it's delivered to me ready to read in seconds. I can also sample books for free, also within seconds.
5. I can get whole books for free. In fact, I download more free books than I purchase. There's a vast array of out-of-copyright books, including most of the classics, available for free from various sites. The one I generally use is the not-for-profit Project Gutenberg. Another is feedbooks.com.
6. I can carry all of my library with me, organized in collections I have made myself (like making folders for the PC) . Within one book-size package I have all the books I have downloaded, so I can switch from one book to another easily, and I don't have to break my back with a book-sack on holiday.
7. I don't have to dust my books, or suffer Paula's complaints when I don't dust my books for months and she ends up doing it for me. All right, I do love my bookshelves, but the Kindle is space-saving and low maintenance.
8. I don't have to keep my place. The Kindle does it for me, opening to the last place I read of whatever book I open. It's easy to navigate with the Go To option on the menu, and easy to find different sections or chapters provided there are hyperlinks on the Table of Contents. (When I recently published a Kindle version of my book of quotations I made sure that each subject had a hyperlink from the TOC, and thus have a better offering than my book in print. We did the same with the Kindle version of We Never Had It So Good so the reader can click to any individual story.)
9. I can search for individual words and phrases in any book I read. Every instance is listed for me with location and context, and I can go to any of them in a click; return with another click.
10. I don't have to look up definitions. There is a built-in dictionary. All I have to do is place the cursor next to the word I'm not sure of, and the definition pops up for me. If I do need further reference I can go to the reference books I have in my reference collection of the Kindle, without leaving my seat. (Amazon chucks in a couple of good dictionaries as part of the initial purchase.)
11. Using the cursor and/or the little keyboard I can make notes and highlights. As a writer and researcher, I have only very recently appreciated how useful a tool this is, because I have now discovered https://kindle.amazon.com/ which has a printable version of all my notes and highlights for each book I have marked. So I can print out any extracts, quotable quotes or marginal notes I have made for reference when I'm writing - superb. If I want to clear the book of marks later I can do so with a click. (No need now to vandalise your books with marks and scrawls, or pepper them with little Post-Its as I used to do.)
12. If I choose to, I can share notes, highlights and comments on the books with others on one or more of the various social networks.
13. I can search the Internet from my Kindle. Admittedly the small screen and the five point cursor are not ideal for navigating on-line sites, but it's nevertheless a useful function if you are away from your computer.
14. Using some free Kindle software on my PC I can convert my own documents to Kindle format and upload them to my Kindle for reading, working on, or checking in draft if I intend to publish the work in Kindle format.
There are several features that I don't tend to use personally - such as screen rotation, text-to-speech, voice-guided navigation, listening to music or audio files - that others might find beneficial, but there is certainly enough here to keep me happy.
Of course, there are downsides to the Kindle/e-book revolution. Not least there are commercial consequences for bookshops, publishers and writers that are as likely to be negative as positive, and I'll probably devote a future blog posting to considering these; but for the moment I've stuck to reasons to be happy from a reader's/working writer's point of view. The fact is, despite my initial scepticism about the Kindle, these days I would not be without it.
July 4, 2011
A fantastic journey you can take again
Journey to the Centre of the Earth by Jules VerneI remember being entirely engrossed in this book when I read it as an eleven-year-old boy, feeling I was in those subterranean tunnels and passages with the travellers. Recently I downloaded the Malleson translation onto my Kindle (free from Project Gutenberg) to explore whether the story still has the capacity to engage the adult as it had the child.
The simple answer is, yes it does, and in some ways I may have reaped more from the experience this time around, because I appreciated the skill in the characterisation as well as Verne's ability to take us along with them on the adventure. The three main characters - Axel, the young narrator, his eccentric and obsessed uncle Professor Liedenbrock, and their taciturn Icelandic guide Hans - make wonderful travelling companions for the reader. We are sucked along in the whirlwind of the Professor's passion experiencing, like Axel, that heady mix of curiosity and trepidation, relying for our safety on Hans, one of the most steadfast silent heroes in literature.
Of course the scientific arguments that Verne presents through the arguments between Axel and the Professor sometimes border on the absurd, and the sights we come across - including an underground ocean, living dinosaurs and a twelve foot humanoid - are fantastic indeed but there is just enough true science to persuade us to leave our disbelief at the entrance to the volcano.
Jules Verne was a true pioneer of the science fiction genre. Many lesser writers have followed in his footsteps; but literature is a sustainable magic for readers, and it's our delight that we can still make the journey with the original master.
June 30, 2011
When the draft is finished
I've just completed the second revision of Mr Stephenson's Regret, my historical novel about the railway pioneers George and Robert Stephenson. What I need to do now is put it in a drawer (well, not reopen the file) for another six weeks, resisting the temptation to tinker with it in the meantime or to assume it's finished without that final cleared-head re-read. But it's as hard as fighting the temptation to check your new-born baby is still breathing in the quiet of the night.
The sensible thing to do, of course, is to get straight on with something else; stop thinking about the other. But I am unfocused; my mind has no fixed abode. And I'm lazy – no, not quite so much lazy as torpid.
It's not that I don't have plenty to do. Next week I have a meeting with a producer in Manchester to talk over some ideas for a radio play. I really need to get these ideas down in writing, at least in summary if not in pitch form; but I can't impel myself to start it yet (don't you just hate writing pitches? ). Then there's my on-going collection of stories to add to. And of course developing ideas for a new novel. If I could just get myself round to doing any of this…
What is at the root of this procrastination? I suppose it's a combination of lingering on the old project, temporary fatigue, and the tyranny of the blank page. If only I had the discipline of prolific Victorian novelist Anthony Trollope, who famously would dot the last dot on one manuscript and immediately pick up a fresh sheet to start on his next if he had not completed his quota for the day. Trollope combined his work as an author with a senior position at the Post Office. He would write on a specially-made portable desk as he travelled on train journeys for his day job. At home he rose at 5.30 am and wrote for three hours, keeping a watch on his desk to ensure he kept to his target of 250 words every fifteen minutes. He also kept a diary recording the number of pages he'd written each day. This part-timer managed an output of 47 published novels. Mind you, in this contemporary cartoon I came across, he seems to have found time for playing with a doll while sitting on some of those books he wrote.
Anthony TrollopeI don't think I'll ever have the discipline of a Trollope, nor the confidence of Shakespeare, who supposedly never bothered with redrafts. It is said that Shakespeare never blotted out a line, though to be fair Ben Jonson's response to that was, 'Would he had blotted a thousand'.
Oh, I'll get round to filling those six weeks with something or other vaguely productive before I start out blotting out some of the lines of Mr Stephenson's Regret. Come to think of it, I've made a start with these 500 words. I knew there was some reason for keeping a blog.
The sensible thing to do, of course, is to get straight on with something else; stop thinking about the other. But I am unfocused; my mind has no fixed abode. And I'm lazy – no, not quite so much lazy as torpid.
It's not that I don't have plenty to do. Next week I have a meeting with a producer in Manchester to talk over some ideas for a radio play. I really need to get these ideas down in writing, at least in summary if not in pitch form; but I can't impel myself to start it yet (don't you just hate writing pitches? ). Then there's my on-going collection of stories to add to. And of course developing ideas for a new novel. If I could just get myself round to doing any of this…
What is at the root of this procrastination? I suppose it's a combination of lingering on the old project, temporary fatigue, and the tyranny of the blank page. If only I had the discipline of prolific Victorian novelist Anthony Trollope, who famously would dot the last dot on one manuscript and immediately pick up a fresh sheet to start on his next if he had not completed his quota for the day. Trollope combined his work as an author with a senior position at the Post Office. He would write on a specially-made portable desk as he travelled on train journeys for his day job. At home he rose at 5.30 am and wrote for three hours, keeping a watch on his desk to ensure he kept to his target of 250 words every fifteen minutes. He also kept a diary recording the number of pages he'd written each day. This part-timer managed an output of 47 published novels. Mind you, in this contemporary cartoon I came across, he seems to have found time for playing with a doll while sitting on some of those books he wrote.
Anthony TrollopeI don't think I'll ever have the discipline of a Trollope, nor the confidence of Shakespeare, who supposedly never bothered with redrafts. It is said that Shakespeare never blotted out a line, though to be fair Ben Jonson's response to that was, 'Would he had blotted a thousand'. Oh, I'll get round to filling those six weeks with something or other vaguely productive before I start out blotting out some of the lines of Mr Stephenson's Regret. Come to think of it, I've made a start with these 500 words. I knew there was some reason for keeping a blog.
June 23, 2011
Could you sign it for me?
I have an article in the Summer issue of The Author (the quarterly magazine of The Society of Authors) about the strange practice of book signing. The title given by the editor is A sign of what? Here is the original version of the article, which is a tad longer than the version featured in the magazine.
It has always felt strange to me, at talks and readings, to be asked to autograph one of my books. My slight embarrassment as I do the deed and hand back the book is not false modesty, more a conviction that the buyer must surely regret the request when they see how my crabbed signature has besmirched their nice white flyleaf. I really do feel each time that I'm committing a minor act of vandalism, not quite on the scale of Joe Orton's pornographic amendments to library books, more like sticking a finger in somebody's wet cement – it will be there forever, calling attention to its own defacement.
I have stood in line myself to buy books after listening to a favourite author, but don't recall ever presenting one for signature. I guess I'm in a minority; from my experience nine out of ten at such events feel their purchase is incomplete without an inscription (well, four out of five; ten hand-in-pocket customers at one gig is relatively rare for me). I suppose for some it is their way of getting up close and personal with the author, but if it's a conversation they want, don't they realise this is the worst possible time to start one? Can't they feel the impatient breath of the next book-clutcher in the queue as they relate at length the anecdote that my story has stirred from their memory? Can't they see my eyes stray to a place behind their shoulder, how my expression of empathy is weakened by the apology in my smile? Perhaps the subtlety of my body language is lost as I'm simultaneously sending reassuring non-verbal signals to everyone in the room about what an approachable guy I am and how I'd be a pleasure to meet.
Apparently the actor Steve Martin responds to fans asking for an autograph by handing them a card that reads, 'This certifies that you have had a personal encounter with me and that you found me warm, polite, intelligent and funny.'
At a book event, or at least at the larger ones, there seems to be an unspoken assumption that you must buy and be seen to buy the author's latest offering as a kind of admission ticket to the presence. (Perhaps not so unspoken; there's a book-signing scene in Alice Munro's short story Fiction where an assistant is inspecting the line to check that everyone's book has the requisite gold sticker to certify the book was bought in store.) Having made the purchase and joined the line in order to speak to the author, it may seem impolite not to ask for the book to be signed. It validates the encounter and ritualises a shared pretence that the author is somehow special.
Otherwise, what would be the point? I suppose writing a message above the signature helps to memorialise the event for the reader. I will often write something like Well met in Middlesbrough, though I check carefully these days, remembering the awkward incident over the book bought as a present for a cousin in Canada. The spelling of names is another obstacle to be negotiated (I mean theirs, not mine; not that you can tell with my handwriting). A few specify they want no salutation or message, only the signature. Why? What is the value added? Do they seriously view the book as a collector's item? Do they expect to recoup their losses on eBay?
I don't know how long philography (aka autographing-hunting) has been practised, but it's obvious that Shakespeare didn't get many requests, otherwise there wouldn't be all that doubt about who wrote the plays. I can imagine Lord Byron signing a few copies the morning he awoke and found himself famous; he was probably the first literary celebrity of the modern ilk. Certainly the passion to have one's book signed seems to belong to the celebrity not the literary culture.
In his popular 1960s classic on social theory The Image, Daniel Boorstin wrote that, 'A sign of a celebrity is that his name is often worth more than his services.' The commercial truth behind that statement is evident more than forty years on, with publishing a particularly striking example. The bigger the (television) name the longer the queue in the bookshop. It may be the only time Katie Price ever goes into one. (And I hear she's about to make an attempt at the Guinness Book of Records for the most number of books signed.) I wonder if she ever opens any book other than the ones she autographs for fans; or if she explores beyond the flyleaf of those that carry her name.
I wonder too what will happen to book-signing when print finally gives way entirely to the ebook. Will we all have to perfect virtual signatures to append on request to our virtual books? I'm off now to create one for mine. It's my great chance for... not fame: legibility.
It has always felt strange to me, at talks and readings, to be asked to autograph one of my books. My slight embarrassment as I do the deed and hand back the book is not false modesty, more a conviction that the buyer must surely regret the request when they see how my crabbed signature has besmirched their nice white flyleaf. I really do feel each time that I'm committing a minor act of vandalism, not quite on the scale of Joe Orton's pornographic amendments to library books, more like sticking a finger in somebody's wet cement – it will be there forever, calling attention to its own defacement.
I have stood in line myself to buy books after listening to a favourite author, but don't recall ever presenting one for signature. I guess I'm in a minority; from my experience nine out of ten at such events feel their purchase is incomplete without an inscription (well, four out of five; ten hand-in-pocket customers at one gig is relatively rare for me). I suppose for some it is their way of getting up close and personal with the author, but if it's a conversation they want, don't they realise this is the worst possible time to start one? Can't they feel the impatient breath of the next book-clutcher in the queue as they relate at length the anecdote that my story has stirred from their memory? Can't they see my eyes stray to a place behind their shoulder, how my expression of empathy is weakened by the apology in my smile? Perhaps the subtlety of my body language is lost as I'm simultaneously sending reassuring non-verbal signals to everyone in the room about what an approachable guy I am and how I'd be a pleasure to meet.
Apparently the actor Steve Martin responds to fans asking for an autograph by handing them a card that reads, 'This certifies that you have had a personal encounter with me and that you found me warm, polite, intelligent and funny.'
At a book event, or at least at the larger ones, there seems to be an unspoken assumption that you must buy and be seen to buy the author's latest offering as a kind of admission ticket to the presence. (Perhaps not so unspoken; there's a book-signing scene in Alice Munro's short story Fiction where an assistant is inspecting the line to check that everyone's book has the requisite gold sticker to certify the book was bought in store.) Having made the purchase and joined the line in order to speak to the author, it may seem impolite not to ask for the book to be signed. It validates the encounter and ritualises a shared pretence that the author is somehow special.
Otherwise, what would be the point? I suppose writing a message above the signature helps to memorialise the event for the reader. I will often write something like Well met in Middlesbrough, though I check carefully these days, remembering the awkward incident over the book bought as a present for a cousin in Canada. The spelling of names is another obstacle to be negotiated (I mean theirs, not mine; not that you can tell with my handwriting). A few specify they want no salutation or message, only the signature. Why? What is the value added? Do they seriously view the book as a collector's item? Do they expect to recoup their losses on eBay?
I don't know how long philography (aka autographing-hunting) has been practised, but it's obvious that Shakespeare didn't get many requests, otherwise there wouldn't be all that doubt about who wrote the plays. I can imagine Lord Byron signing a few copies the morning he awoke and found himself famous; he was probably the first literary celebrity of the modern ilk. Certainly the passion to have one's book signed seems to belong to the celebrity not the literary culture.
In his popular 1960s classic on social theory The Image, Daniel Boorstin wrote that, 'A sign of a celebrity is that his name is often worth more than his services.' The commercial truth behind that statement is evident more than forty years on, with publishing a particularly striking example. The bigger the (television) name the longer the queue in the bookshop. It may be the only time Katie Price ever goes into one. (And I hear she's about to make an attempt at the Guinness Book of Records for the most number of books signed.) I wonder if she ever opens any book other than the ones she autographs for fans; or if she explores beyond the flyleaf of those that carry her name.
I wonder too what will happen to book-signing when print finally gives way entirely to the ebook. Will we all have to perfect virtual signatures to append on request to our virtual books? I'm off now to create one for mine. It's my great chance for... not fame: legibility.
