Rachael Eyre's Blog, page 14
July 26, 2014
Kids, this is the story of a framing device ...
Last Thursday British fans of How I Met Your Mother finally learned how the long running rom com ends. In case you're unfamiliar with the show, it's the story of how Ted Mosby meets the love of his life, told to his teenaged kids in the year 2030. The hook is, Ted is the sort of guy whose memory goes off on bizarre tangents, particularly the exploits of his wacky friends.
Since I refuse to give away spoilers, I won't say what happens, only that it caused a ruckus Stateside when it was first shown. I can't help but feel this anger is misplaced. Yes, we're emotionally invested in Ted's quest for love, but it's as much about the framing device and making use of the opportunities such a unique structure brings.
I'll come clean now: I've always had a yen for framing devices. If used well, they can lend a work real depth and poignancy. We know, for example, that Humbert Humbert has died from a heart attack, but what first time readers may miss, hidden amongst the 'Where are they now?' notes at the beginning, is that Lolita has recently died in childbirth. And few things make a reader as angry as the Appendix of The Handmaid's Tale, where the smug and unlikable history professor doubts the veracity of the account.
It's probably for this reason that I love the early books in Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series. Thursday is able to jump in and out of books and meet the characters in between chapters. While it's great to meet Bronte characters off duty, I've personally always wanted to know about framing device characters. What are they doing when the main action's being related? What happens to Hooper, the young soldier described in such detail in Brideshead Revisited? How does Wormwood reply to his uncle Screwtape's letters? I itch to write about these unsung heroes who prop a story up, but won't leap on the 'zany take on a well loved classic' bandwagon.
Here are a few works with fabulous framing devices, showing how effective they are at their very best.
One Thousand and One Nights
Although the ancient Persian collection has given us many gems, not least Aladdin, the most interesting thing is arguably the premise itself.
Sultan Shahryar is a man with a grudge. His wife was unfaithful, so he embarks upon a terrible vendetta: he keeps taking a new bride, only to have her executed the next morning. When the supply of eligible virgins dries up, Scheherazade, his vizier's daughter, puts herself forward as the next bride. Scheherazade is as brainy as she is beautiful, and a masterly storyteller. She gets into a cycle of telling the most wonderful yarns, cutting them short at the exciting parts. Naturally Shahryar keeps her alive to hear the next instalment. A thousand and one nights and several children later, the Sultan is deeply in love and sees the error of his ways.
If you ask me, this is more suspenseful and intriguing than any magic lamp. It's also palpably unfair: why should clever, lovely Scheherazade be shackled to this monster? She deserves better!
The Canterbury Tales
Although it can't rival One Thousand and One Nights for length and scope, The Canterbury Tales is still a marvellous set up. A band of pilgrims, drawn from every tier of society, are riding to Thomas Becket's shrine. To help pass the time, they agree to tell stories, with pub landlord Harry Bailey acting as judge. While not all of them are good - Chaucer, in a self deprecating cameo, tells the decidedly silly story of Sir Topaz, and the Prioress's Tale is a revolting piece of anti Semitic propaganda - others are superb. Watch out for the bawdy Miller's Tale, the unforgettable Wife of Bath, and Chanticleer the rooster, one of the earliest examples of an engaging anthropomorphic animal.
Citizen Kane
What drove billionaire industrialist Charles Foster Kane, who died an eccentric, unmourned recluse on his estate Xanadu? And what was the meaning of his last word, "Rosebud"? Taking these questions as his remit, the reporter Thompson (we never see his face) travels far and wide to speak to Kane's associates, whether his erstwhile friend Jed or his drunken ex Susan Alexander. It's a fantastic bit of storytelling, and even though the ending has passed into common knowledge, still a cracking film.
The Princess Bride
The Princess Bride is unusual in that both book and film rely heavily on the framing device - and it pulls it off brilliantly. The novel purports to be the "less boring" version of a book by S Morgenstern, with fictional equivalents of the author and his family popping up. Since this would be impossible to adapt, the film takes a different approach. A mouthy kid is sick in bed, having The Princess Bride read to him by his granddad. Initially snarky about the story and reluctant to spend time with his grandpa, he gradually warms up to both. It's lovely to watch, and the gently bickering Peter Falk and Fred Savage turn in terrific performances.
Amadeus
Amadeus takes a popular legend - that court composer Antonio Salieri secretly loathed Mozart, and plotted his destruction - and runs with it. The set up is based on actual events: a crazed Salieri did indeed cut his throat, and claim he'd murdered Mozart. What happens next - an epic tale of passion, jealousy and vengeance, with the best soundtrack in film history - is pure fantasy, but spellbinding. The elderly Salieri (F Murray Abraham) spills all in confession to a naive young priest. He acts as audience surrogate as we learn of Salieri's grudge match against God - and how, decades later, the infuriating, giggling genius has had the last laugh.
Since I refuse to give away spoilers, I won't say what happens, only that it caused a ruckus Stateside when it was first shown. I can't help but feel this anger is misplaced. Yes, we're emotionally invested in Ted's quest for love, but it's as much about the framing device and making use of the opportunities such a unique structure brings.
I'll come clean now: I've always had a yen for framing devices. If used well, they can lend a work real depth and poignancy. We know, for example, that Humbert Humbert has died from a heart attack, but what first time readers may miss, hidden amongst the 'Where are they now?' notes at the beginning, is that Lolita has recently died in childbirth. And few things make a reader as angry as the Appendix of The Handmaid's Tale, where the smug and unlikable history professor doubts the veracity of the account.
It's probably for this reason that I love the early books in Jasper Fforde's Thursday Next series. Thursday is able to jump in and out of books and meet the characters in between chapters. While it's great to meet Bronte characters off duty, I've personally always wanted to know about framing device characters. What are they doing when the main action's being related? What happens to Hooper, the young soldier described in such detail in Brideshead Revisited? How does Wormwood reply to his uncle Screwtape's letters? I itch to write about these unsung heroes who prop a story up, but won't leap on the 'zany take on a well loved classic' bandwagon.
Here are a few works with fabulous framing devices, showing how effective they are at their very best.
One Thousand and One Nights
Although the ancient Persian collection has given us many gems, not least Aladdin, the most interesting thing is arguably the premise itself.
Sultan Shahryar is a man with a grudge. His wife was unfaithful, so he embarks upon a terrible vendetta: he keeps taking a new bride, only to have her executed the next morning. When the supply of eligible virgins dries up, Scheherazade, his vizier's daughter, puts herself forward as the next bride. Scheherazade is as brainy as she is beautiful, and a masterly storyteller. She gets into a cycle of telling the most wonderful yarns, cutting them short at the exciting parts. Naturally Shahryar keeps her alive to hear the next instalment. A thousand and one nights and several children later, the Sultan is deeply in love and sees the error of his ways.
If you ask me, this is more suspenseful and intriguing than any magic lamp. It's also palpably unfair: why should clever, lovely Scheherazade be shackled to this monster? She deserves better!
The Canterbury Tales
Although it can't rival One Thousand and One Nights for length and scope, The Canterbury Tales is still a marvellous set up. A band of pilgrims, drawn from every tier of society, are riding to Thomas Becket's shrine. To help pass the time, they agree to tell stories, with pub landlord Harry Bailey acting as judge. While not all of them are good - Chaucer, in a self deprecating cameo, tells the decidedly silly story of Sir Topaz, and the Prioress's Tale is a revolting piece of anti Semitic propaganda - others are superb. Watch out for the bawdy Miller's Tale, the unforgettable Wife of Bath, and Chanticleer the rooster, one of the earliest examples of an engaging anthropomorphic animal.
Citizen Kane
What drove billionaire industrialist Charles Foster Kane, who died an eccentric, unmourned recluse on his estate Xanadu? And what was the meaning of his last word, "Rosebud"? Taking these questions as his remit, the reporter Thompson (we never see his face) travels far and wide to speak to Kane's associates, whether his erstwhile friend Jed or his drunken ex Susan Alexander. It's a fantastic bit of storytelling, and even though the ending has passed into common knowledge, still a cracking film.
The Princess Bride
The Princess Bride is unusual in that both book and film rely heavily on the framing device - and it pulls it off brilliantly. The novel purports to be the "less boring" version of a book by S Morgenstern, with fictional equivalents of the author and his family popping up. Since this would be impossible to adapt, the film takes a different approach. A mouthy kid is sick in bed, having The Princess Bride read to him by his granddad. Initially snarky about the story and reluctant to spend time with his grandpa, he gradually warms up to both. It's lovely to watch, and the gently bickering Peter Falk and Fred Savage turn in terrific performances.
Amadeus
Amadeus takes a popular legend - that court composer Antonio Salieri secretly loathed Mozart, and plotted his destruction - and runs with it. The set up is based on actual events: a crazed Salieri did indeed cut his throat, and claim he'd murdered Mozart. What happens next - an epic tale of passion, jealousy and vengeance, with the best soundtrack in film history - is pure fantasy, but spellbinding. The elderly Salieri (F Murray Abraham) spills all in confession to a naive young priest. He acts as audience surrogate as we learn of Salieri's grudge match against God - and how, decades later, the infuriating, giggling genius has had the last laugh.
July 19, 2014
Rereading
The literary establishment has traditionally had a sniffy attitude towards rereading books - rather like the old boot of a librarian who snipes, "You're borrowing that again?" They trot out a list of stale arguments: it's lazy, unimaginative, means you're missing out on a life changing experience, intellectually dishonest etc.
When you think about it, none of these sweeping statements hold water. Can you imagine making them about any other art form? "No, you can't listen to Hey, Jude more than once?" "Don't look at Daffodils, it'll ruin you for other paintings?" Surely the mark of something decent is you want to return to it time and time again, like your favourite film. It'd be awful if you could only see one performance of a Shakespeare play, for example.
Okay, these stubborn blighters might persist, but what about stories with twists? Eh?
At first this sounds like a checkmate - but on further consideration, it doesn't need to be. If you allow yourself sufficient time to forget, say ten years or so, you're experiencing that shock revelation all over again. If you're like me, and cursed with a near photographic memory for every book you've read, it can be fun to follow the clues. A twist shouldn't be the equivalent of a lion bursting out of a lift; the smart writer leaves hints in plain sight, only clicking once we have all the facts.
Why does Mr Wickham say love for Darcy Sr means he'll never slander the son, but the instant Fitzwilliam leaves the county, slags him off to all and sundry? If Miss Havisham is Pip's mystery benefactor, why does she act like she can't stand him? Not knowing any better, we take this puzzling behaviour at face value.
Anybody who's gone through the educational system knows you have to read a set text whether you like it or not. Although there are books I heartily detested at school, and do to this day (Lord of the Flies springs to mind), others have grown on me. I have quite a friendly relationship with Nineteen Eighty Four nowadays, for example, and The Crucible. In the former instance I was too young to appreciate it; in the latter, any enjoyment was sucked up after studying it two years in a row.
In some cases, you might not have strong feelings for or against but feel you ought to give it a second chance. Perhaps it'll read differently now you're older; perhaps somebody's spotted something you'd never have noticed in a million years. Returning to books I read as a kid, I'm frequently amazed by how well they hold up to adult scrutiny. Sophisticated intertextual references, jokes that are still funny, compelling characters and relevant themes. The Winnie the Pooh books don't sound as though they'd be repositories for wit but believe me, they're hysterical, particularly the deliciously deadpan Eeyore. (Though watch out for Rabbit. That's one bunny who deserves to be boiled).
Snobbery aside, the best rereads are the books we've turned to when we're bored, lonely or sick, and never found wanting. I call these hot water bottle books. Looking over my favourites, they're too edgy and weird to offer much comfort, but there are two I like to snuggle up with: I Capture the Castle and The Wind in the Willows. In some twenty four years as a voracious reader, I've yet to find anything as funny as Rose being mistaken for a bear, or Toad's conceited odes to himself. Possibly I've missed out something earth shattering the twenty or so times I've read either - but frankly I don't give a damn.
When you think about it, none of these sweeping statements hold water. Can you imagine making them about any other art form? "No, you can't listen to Hey, Jude more than once?" "Don't look at Daffodils, it'll ruin you for other paintings?" Surely the mark of something decent is you want to return to it time and time again, like your favourite film. It'd be awful if you could only see one performance of a Shakespeare play, for example.
Okay, these stubborn blighters might persist, but what about stories with twists? Eh?
At first this sounds like a checkmate - but on further consideration, it doesn't need to be. If you allow yourself sufficient time to forget, say ten years or so, you're experiencing that shock revelation all over again. If you're like me, and cursed with a near photographic memory for every book you've read, it can be fun to follow the clues. A twist shouldn't be the equivalent of a lion bursting out of a lift; the smart writer leaves hints in plain sight, only clicking once we have all the facts.
Why does Mr Wickham say love for Darcy Sr means he'll never slander the son, but the instant Fitzwilliam leaves the county, slags him off to all and sundry? If Miss Havisham is Pip's mystery benefactor, why does she act like she can't stand him? Not knowing any better, we take this puzzling behaviour at face value.
Anybody who's gone through the educational system knows you have to read a set text whether you like it or not. Although there are books I heartily detested at school, and do to this day (Lord of the Flies springs to mind), others have grown on me. I have quite a friendly relationship with Nineteen Eighty Four nowadays, for example, and The Crucible. In the former instance I was too young to appreciate it; in the latter, any enjoyment was sucked up after studying it two years in a row.
In some cases, you might not have strong feelings for or against but feel you ought to give it a second chance. Perhaps it'll read differently now you're older; perhaps somebody's spotted something you'd never have noticed in a million years. Returning to books I read as a kid, I'm frequently amazed by how well they hold up to adult scrutiny. Sophisticated intertextual references, jokes that are still funny, compelling characters and relevant themes. The Winnie the Pooh books don't sound as though they'd be repositories for wit but believe me, they're hysterical, particularly the deliciously deadpan Eeyore. (Though watch out for Rabbit. That's one bunny who deserves to be boiled).
Snobbery aside, the best rereads are the books we've turned to when we're bored, lonely or sick, and never found wanting. I call these hot water bottle books. Looking over my favourites, they're too edgy and weird to offer much comfort, but there are two I like to snuggle up with: I Capture the Castle and The Wind in the Willows. In some twenty four years as a voracious reader, I've yet to find anything as funny as Rose being mistaken for a bear, or Toad's conceited odes to himself. Possibly I've missed out something earth shattering the twenty or so times I've read either - but frankly I don't give a damn.
July 13, 2014
Why coming out matters
It's always revealing when a public figure comes out. Not what it says about them, which is self explanatory, but the wider reaction. In amongst the messages of support and the odd tirade by bigots, there are two comments to be wary of. Firstly, the "Why is this news?" school of thought; secondly, the "We'd already guessed, sticks out a mile" party.
Both attitudes are harmful in their own way. Although "Why is this news?" may have good intentions - in a perfect world, somebody's sexuality wouldn't need to be the subject of a press conference - it carries the subtext that they wish that the celebrity hadn't said it, that they and other LGBT people should shut up and go away. It's the sort of invisibility that's been forced on gay people for years, whether it's being abused for holding hands in public, gay interest magazines being hidden in the shops or doctors awkwardly referring to your "friend" when you've already introduced them as your partner.
Speaking from a position of heterosexual privilege, how can these naysayers possibly know what it's like feeling as though you're the only one in the world? There were no Ellen Pages and Tom Daleys when I was growing up - not some bygone era but the Noughties. Questioning teenagers had to turn to books or TV for their role models. While there were gay men aplenty in classic literature, lesbians were thin on the ground. Switching to TV, I saw my future career paths were either rural vet or embattled convict.
Not only do these celebrities assure LGBT people of all ages that they're not alone, the support they receive lets them know that they won't be automatically ostracised; that the people who matter will still regard them with love and respect. These gifted men and women show them they can aim for the very top and there is no need for them to feel guilty or ashamed.
The other type of sneering, the "We already knew", is equally damaging. Not only are they denying that person agency and the right to privacy - nobody "knows" anything until they actually confirm it - it smacks of negative stereotyping. Nobody's gaydar (vile phrase) is one hundred percent accurate; I defy most straight people to pick a lesbian or gay man out of a line up. If it's tricky enough for us to decide whether someone's a potential love interest or friendly and open minded, what makes these straight critics such experts? The double takes many of us receive when coming out proves there is no such thing as a gay "look" or behaviour.
So please stop undermining these brave men and women for choosing what is right over what is easy, and acknowledging to the world who they are.
Both attitudes are harmful in their own way. Although "Why is this news?" may have good intentions - in a perfect world, somebody's sexuality wouldn't need to be the subject of a press conference - it carries the subtext that they wish that the celebrity hadn't said it, that they and other LGBT people should shut up and go away. It's the sort of invisibility that's been forced on gay people for years, whether it's being abused for holding hands in public, gay interest magazines being hidden in the shops or doctors awkwardly referring to your "friend" when you've already introduced them as your partner.
Speaking from a position of heterosexual privilege, how can these naysayers possibly know what it's like feeling as though you're the only one in the world? There were no Ellen Pages and Tom Daleys when I was growing up - not some bygone era but the Noughties. Questioning teenagers had to turn to books or TV for their role models. While there were gay men aplenty in classic literature, lesbians were thin on the ground. Switching to TV, I saw my future career paths were either rural vet or embattled convict.
Not only do these celebrities assure LGBT people of all ages that they're not alone, the support they receive lets them know that they won't be automatically ostracised; that the people who matter will still regard them with love and respect. These gifted men and women show them they can aim for the very top and there is no need for them to feel guilty or ashamed.
The other type of sneering, the "We already knew", is equally damaging. Not only are they denying that person agency and the right to privacy - nobody "knows" anything until they actually confirm it - it smacks of negative stereotyping. Nobody's gaydar (vile phrase) is one hundred percent accurate; I defy most straight people to pick a lesbian or gay man out of a line up. If it's tricky enough for us to decide whether someone's a potential love interest or friendly and open minded, what makes these straight critics such experts? The double takes many of us receive when coming out proves there is no such thing as a gay "look" or behaviour.
So please stop undermining these brave men and women for choosing what is right over what is easy, and acknowledging to the world who they are.
July 12, 2014
Taking risks with your writing
There's been an interesting discussion over the past few weeks on the Author's Forum. Does taking risks with your work pay off, or does it only alienate would be readers?
Naturally, "risk" is in the eye of the beholder. What may be an acceptable level of profanity to one reader may outrage somebody else; one generation's hardcore pornography might be another's sweet romantic fluff. The sexiest thing that happens in The Well of Loneliness is Stephen kissing her first girlfriend "full on the lips as a lover" - hardly enough to warrant an obscenity trial! And values shift dramatically from one nation to the next: while Americans protest at sixteen year olds having sex, Brits blanch at gun ownership.
If you didn't set out to break taboos, it can be frustrating defending your writing against accusations of lawlessness. Though possibly some authors thrive on the notoriety; I wouldn't know.
Here's a quick rundown of dicy areas that may affect the reception of your novel. It's worth researching your chosen genre to clarify your position.
Homosexuality
As an out and proud writer, I wish this wasn't the case. You'd think that now we had equal rights in many parts of the world, we'd be almost respectable. Unfortunately the reception of some of my work has forcibly reminded me this isn't so. Nothing seems to offend certain readers more than discovering that a book they assumed was straight has lashings of gay.
You can't win. Despite The Governess being clearly encoded as a pink book, with 'Lesbian' as its primary tag on Amazon, some readers have managed to miss it, and they're very vocal in their displeasure. To avoid vitriolic homophobic reviews, make sure your blurbs spell it out. It'll save a lot of heartache and teeth gnashing.
Violence
Violence in books is divisive, and quite rightly. While there's an age rating on a film, letting you know what level of gore to expect, there's no corresponding warning on novels. If anything, it can be worse than the equivalent scene in a movie: while you're fully aware these characters are played by actors and their wounds are achieved by special effects, you haven't that sop when characters in a book are maimed or killed.
Being of a squeamish disposition, I avoid genres where there's likely to be strong violence, particularly against women and children. I hate the way violence against women has become fetishised. It's agreed that rape and sexual abuse are monstrous evils, so why do we have to see them graphically represented?
Cruelty to animals
Somehow, somewhere, the idea that violence against animals "doesn't count" or can even be funny has taken shape. 'Want to show your budding sociopath's depravity?' an unknown writer's tool kit seems to have asked. 'Show him chucking puppies in the river!'
It's rare for me to discard books, but I couldn't finish Iain Banks' The Wasp Factory. Eighty pages of the narrator torturing and blowing up animals was more than enough. I love animals and can't stand to see even imaginary ones suffer. Before anyone accuses me of being soppy, my partner's dad had the exact same reaction.
Taboo relationships
Sexual attraction, we can all agree, is a many coloured kaleidoscope, but there are certain areas that should be left well alone. Unless you wish to grossly offend your readers, don't attempt to show a sexual relationship between an adult and a child in a positive light, or one between close relations. These taboos are in place for a reason. The notion propagated by old romances that women invariably fall in love with their rapists is unacceptable in a modern piece.
Other types of relationship are down to personal preference. There is nothing wrong with a twenty year old man in love with a forty year old woman, or vice versa, but society has plenty to say about such matches, especially the latter. Think about Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester - few fathers in law would see a forty-something with a previous marriage and an illegitimate daughter as an appropriate husband for their nineteen year old!
The societal prejudices and pressures against these relationships are likely to pose a major plot point. If this is the central love story in your novel, make it clear that the connection between your couple is so strong, other concerns are secondary.
Racism, sexism and the rest
There are some views that should have gone out with the Ark, but, sadly, look like they'll be with us for a good while yet. Even unintentional blunders risk alienating readers: think of James Bond's attitudes towards women, prevalent then but atrocious now, or mindless racist stereotypes. I was horrified by a recent book, a prize winner no less, that uses the phrase "yellow devil" in all seriousness.
Read your book as though you're a complete stranger. Is there any reason why most of the ethnic minorities in the story are criminals? Don't assume that because a woman looks a particular way, she's "easy" (and surely what other people do with their bodies is their business?) Don't make sweeping generalisations about other faiths because that's all you remember from tabloid news and TV shows.
Black comedy
When you're writing humour, the best advice is to keep it reasonably clean. You may have the world's greatest collection of sex jokes, but the reader doesn't know you; blurting out a filthy joke after only a short acquaintance is like swearing at the vicar. You may be applauded in your inner circle for risqué wit, but you can guarantee that many more will find gags about bestiality, necrophilia and paedophilia distasteful in the extreme. If you have any doubts, leave it out.
Naturally, "risk" is in the eye of the beholder. What may be an acceptable level of profanity to one reader may outrage somebody else; one generation's hardcore pornography might be another's sweet romantic fluff. The sexiest thing that happens in The Well of Loneliness is Stephen kissing her first girlfriend "full on the lips as a lover" - hardly enough to warrant an obscenity trial! And values shift dramatically from one nation to the next: while Americans protest at sixteen year olds having sex, Brits blanch at gun ownership.
If you didn't set out to break taboos, it can be frustrating defending your writing against accusations of lawlessness. Though possibly some authors thrive on the notoriety; I wouldn't know.
Here's a quick rundown of dicy areas that may affect the reception of your novel. It's worth researching your chosen genre to clarify your position.
Homosexuality
As an out and proud writer, I wish this wasn't the case. You'd think that now we had equal rights in many parts of the world, we'd be almost respectable. Unfortunately the reception of some of my work has forcibly reminded me this isn't so. Nothing seems to offend certain readers more than discovering that a book they assumed was straight has lashings of gay.
You can't win. Despite The Governess being clearly encoded as a pink book, with 'Lesbian' as its primary tag on Amazon, some readers have managed to miss it, and they're very vocal in their displeasure. To avoid vitriolic homophobic reviews, make sure your blurbs spell it out. It'll save a lot of heartache and teeth gnashing.
Violence
Violence in books is divisive, and quite rightly. While there's an age rating on a film, letting you know what level of gore to expect, there's no corresponding warning on novels. If anything, it can be worse than the equivalent scene in a movie: while you're fully aware these characters are played by actors and their wounds are achieved by special effects, you haven't that sop when characters in a book are maimed or killed.
Being of a squeamish disposition, I avoid genres where there's likely to be strong violence, particularly against women and children. I hate the way violence against women has become fetishised. It's agreed that rape and sexual abuse are monstrous evils, so why do we have to see them graphically represented?
Cruelty to animals
Somehow, somewhere, the idea that violence against animals "doesn't count" or can even be funny has taken shape. 'Want to show your budding sociopath's depravity?' an unknown writer's tool kit seems to have asked. 'Show him chucking puppies in the river!'
It's rare for me to discard books, but I couldn't finish Iain Banks' The Wasp Factory. Eighty pages of the narrator torturing and blowing up animals was more than enough. I love animals and can't stand to see even imaginary ones suffer. Before anyone accuses me of being soppy, my partner's dad had the exact same reaction.
Taboo relationships
Sexual attraction, we can all agree, is a many coloured kaleidoscope, but there are certain areas that should be left well alone. Unless you wish to grossly offend your readers, don't attempt to show a sexual relationship between an adult and a child in a positive light, or one between close relations. These taboos are in place for a reason. The notion propagated by old romances that women invariably fall in love with their rapists is unacceptable in a modern piece.
Other types of relationship are down to personal preference. There is nothing wrong with a twenty year old man in love with a forty year old woman, or vice versa, but society has plenty to say about such matches, especially the latter. Think about Jane Eyre and Mr Rochester - few fathers in law would see a forty-something with a previous marriage and an illegitimate daughter as an appropriate husband for their nineteen year old!
The societal prejudices and pressures against these relationships are likely to pose a major plot point. If this is the central love story in your novel, make it clear that the connection between your couple is so strong, other concerns are secondary.
Racism, sexism and the rest
There are some views that should have gone out with the Ark, but, sadly, look like they'll be with us for a good while yet. Even unintentional blunders risk alienating readers: think of James Bond's attitudes towards women, prevalent then but atrocious now, or mindless racist stereotypes. I was horrified by a recent book, a prize winner no less, that uses the phrase "yellow devil" in all seriousness.
Read your book as though you're a complete stranger. Is there any reason why most of the ethnic minorities in the story are criminals? Don't assume that because a woman looks a particular way, she's "easy" (and surely what other people do with their bodies is their business?) Don't make sweeping generalisations about other faiths because that's all you remember from tabloid news and TV shows.
Black comedy
When you're writing humour, the best advice is to keep it reasonably clean. You may have the world's greatest collection of sex jokes, but the reader doesn't know you; blurting out a filthy joke after only a short acquaintance is like swearing at the vicar. You may be applauded in your inner circle for risqué wit, but you can guarantee that many more will find gags about bestiality, necrophilia and paedophilia distasteful in the extreme. If you have any doubts, leave it out.
July 5, 2014
Looking back at The Revenge of Rose Grubb, Part Two
If The Governess is about unhealthy love, Grubb is the story of an all consuming hate. It was very nearly called The Poison Tree, in homage to the Blake poem, and to this day I can't think of a better metaphor for the book's central conflict.
The young Rose is that stock figure, a bright working class girl who finds herself catapulted into the glamorous world of private school. In a different narrative she would have won over her critics, scooped all the prizes and eventually become Head Girl.
But she's in another story altogether; this promising, naive girl is transformed by her ordeal into a profoundly difficult, disturbed woman who can't form healthy relationships and always feels as though there's something missing. She is permanently on the outside looking in, full of self loathing and self doubt. Although we have numerous experiences in common, I'm relieved to say she isn't me. Add to an already explosive mix the fact she has magical powers, and anything can happen.
Frances is her dark mirror image. A child genius who is used to having her own way, she develops into a ruthless, duplicitous sociopath who believes that if she doesn't like something, she can make it disappear. She fixates on Rose because she's the one person who refuses to be impressed by her. Although she doesn't have Rose's powers, she does have the gift of making people believe her lies; despite being a despicable human being and multiple murderer, she has recreated herself as a household name and philanthropist.
Of course there are other characters in this turbulent landscape. Gail, Rose's firm but fair northern mum, whose memory keeps her going; Evan, Rose's one true love, a sweet, geeky dreamer who just happens to be Frances's stepbrother and the object of her quasi incestuous passion; Persephone or "Seph", Rose's false friend, who defects to Frances early on. She's been described as 'anaemic' and indeed that's the point - the idea of her is so much more enticing and touching than the reality. I wanted to illustrate a certain kind of adolescent bond that shades into love, where you worship someone for quite fictitious qualities.
These are the leads but I enjoyed writing the sideshow of oddballs, not least mysterious rake Avi, who comes and goes but won't answer any questions about himself.
Aware The Governess's structure had caused confusion, I deliberately simplified Grubb's. Rose's narration may move from present and past and back again, but these shifts are clearly signposted. You're only allowed to see events from her perspective and information is parcelled out so you don't get the full picture till she does.
As well as the inevitable themes of revenge, hate, love and loss, I've tried to examine two others: the devastating effects of bullying and our culture's obsession with celebrities.
It's only now, in this era of greater medical understanding, that bullying is recognised as an evil comparative with abuse or a traumatic event. Many schools fail to deal with the issue - the bully receives a mild slap on the wrist while the victim is transferred, making it seem as though they're the one being punished. The continuous blasts to their confidence cause a victim to become defensive and paranoid and, rather than "toughen them up", leave them vulnerable to the exact same treatment over again. The bully doesn't learn their lesson either; if left unchecked, they'll remain a bully, taking their aggressive and damaging behaviour out into the wider world.
Thankfully the tide is turning, but when I started writing Grubb in 2009, celebrity culture was at its peak - or nadir. Racks bulged with gossip magazines, the best seller lists were clogged with ghost written autobiographies, spurious 'celebrities' (read: reality TV rejects) flooded the airwaves with obnoxious opinions about class, parenting and the rest.
The worrying thing was, people were swallowing this junk. Frances may be an exaggeration, but there were scores of deeply unsavoury characters who could get away with murder because they were famous. At the time of writing, a celebrity covering evil acts with charity work was seen as far fetched; nowadays, not so much. A Brazilian TV star was actually arranging assassinations to boost his show's ratings - a trick I wouldn't put past Frances, if Sewell's Spotlight started to flag.
Writing Grubb was the most cathartic experience of my life. Like Rose, I no longer have bad dreams. Though it might've been a monumental climb, I hope readers enjoy the view.
The young Rose is that stock figure, a bright working class girl who finds herself catapulted into the glamorous world of private school. In a different narrative she would have won over her critics, scooped all the prizes and eventually become Head Girl.
But she's in another story altogether; this promising, naive girl is transformed by her ordeal into a profoundly difficult, disturbed woman who can't form healthy relationships and always feels as though there's something missing. She is permanently on the outside looking in, full of self loathing and self doubt. Although we have numerous experiences in common, I'm relieved to say she isn't me. Add to an already explosive mix the fact she has magical powers, and anything can happen.
Frances is her dark mirror image. A child genius who is used to having her own way, she develops into a ruthless, duplicitous sociopath who believes that if she doesn't like something, she can make it disappear. She fixates on Rose because she's the one person who refuses to be impressed by her. Although she doesn't have Rose's powers, she does have the gift of making people believe her lies; despite being a despicable human being and multiple murderer, she has recreated herself as a household name and philanthropist.
Of course there are other characters in this turbulent landscape. Gail, Rose's firm but fair northern mum, whose memory keeps her going; Evan, Rose's one true love, a sweet, geeky dreamer who just happens to be Frances's stepbrother and the object of her quasi incestuous passion; Persephone or "Seph", Rose's false friend, who defects to Frances early on. She's been described as 'anaemic' and indeed that's the point - the idea of her is so much more enticing and touching than the reality. I wanted to illustrate a certain kind of adolescent bond that shades into love, where you worship someone for quite fictitious qualities.
These are the leads but I enjoyed writing the sideshow of oddballs, not least mysterious rake Avi, who comes and goes but won't answer any questions about himself.
Aware The Governess's structure had caused confusion, I deliberately simplified Grubb's. Rose's narration may move from present and past and back again, but these shifts are clearly signposted. You're only allowed to see events from her perspective and information is parcelled out so you don't get the full picture till she does.
As well as the inevitable themes of revenge, hate, love and loss, I've tried to examine two others: the devastating effects of bullying and our culture's obsession with celebrities.
It's only now, in this era of greater medical understanding, that bullying is recognised as an evil comparative with abuse or a traumatic event. Many schools fail to deal with the issue - the bully receives a mild slap on the wrist while the victim is transferred, making it seem as though they're the one being punished. The continuous blasts to their confidence cause a victim to become defensive and paranoid and, rather than "toughen them up", leave them vulnerable to the exact same treatment over again. The bully doesn't learn their lesson either; if left unchecked, they'll remain a bully, taking their aggressive and damaging behaviour out into the wider world.
Thankfully the tide is turning, but when I started writing Grubb in 2009, celebrity culture was at its peak - or nadir. Racks bulged with gossip magazines, the best seller lists were clogged with ghost written autobiographies, spurious 'celebrities' (read: reality TV rejects) flooded the airwaves with obnoxious opinions about class, parenting and the rest.
The worrying thing was, people were swallowing this junk. Frances may be an exaggeration, but there were scores of deeply unsavoury characters who could get away with murder because they were famous. At the time of writing, a celebrity covering evil acts with charity work was seen as far fetched; nowadays, not so much. A Brazilian TV star was actually arranging assassinations to boost his show's ratings - a trick I wouldn't put past Frances, if Sewell's Spotlight started to flag.
Writing Grubb was the most cathartic experience of my life. Like Rose, I no longer have bad dreams. Though it might've been a monumental climb, I hope readers enjoy the view.
July 1, 2014
New scribbleydoos
Two new pieces of writing (one somewhat belatedly). One is brand new, the other pre loved.
Antinous - The second in my Muse sequence, it gives Hadrian's lost love Antinous a voice. The Emperor's heartbroken reaction suggests a genuine connection; the rest is pure fancy. As a dyed in the wool romantic, I can't help hoping it's true.
Nanny was Vincent Price - Looking over my submissions so far, I can't help noticing they're not very family friendly. I never intended to be a smut pedlar, it just happened! Here is a (hopefully) less controversial piece, reeling off some of the demented things I've been told by various relatives over the years. Why do they do it? Who knows!
Antinous - The second in my Muse sequence, it gives Hadrian's lost love Antinous a voice. The Emperor's heartbroken reaction suggests a genuine connection; the rest is pure fancy. As a dyed in the wool romantic, I can't help hoping it's true.
Nanny was Vincent Price - Looking over my submissions so far, I can't help noticing they're not very family friendly. I never intended to be a smut pedlar, it just happened! Here is a (hopefully) less controversial piece, reeling off some of the demented things I've been told by various relatives over the years. Why do they do it? Who knows!
June 30, 2014
Looking back at ... The Revenge of Rose Grubb, Part One
After I'd finished The Governess, I was casting around for a subject for my next story. I was determined not to be a one trick pony; I think it's a mistake to stick to one genre, and had already decided that historical fiction wasn't for me.
Three concepts came together at just the right time. My partner's mother mentioned that she had gone to school with a well known actress, and she'd been a snobby, bitchy bully. I was intrigued by the thought you could be a "national treasure" but a horrible person. I'd long considered writing a book about girl on girl bullying, drawing upon my far from glorious school days. How much worse would it be if your tormentor grew up to be a ubiquitous TV star?
Around the same time, bullying was never far from the news. Suicides caused by bullying were at an all time high, with tragedies either side of the Atlantic. In one horrifying case, a bully somehow convinced her parents to burn down her victim's house; her target was the sole survivor. These stories gave the lie to the oft heard view that bullying is a rite of passage and victims "bring it on themselves".
So I had a plot - victim seeks revenge against their bully, now a celebrity - and even a motive. I hoped to refute the common perception that it's "only" bullying, that the victim ought to have moved on with her life and not raked up business the bully can't even remember. (Though what does that say about them?)
The last piece fell into place while I was rereading Carrie, of all things. Carrie's able to pull off a devastating revenge thanks to her telekinesis; I saw a heroine with magical powers could be a distinct advantage. Rose is the anti Carrie, if you like: she has a loving mother, she embraces her gifts, and rather than some muddled hate mongering version of Christianity, her family are friendly sweet shop owning Satanists.
Thanks to watching far too many Seventies horror films, I knew revenge wasn't simply a matter of popping out of a dumb waiter and shooting somebody. Since Frances lives in the spotlight, it's only fair she should die in the spotlight. And what better career for someone who can genuinely do magic than an illusionist like Derren Brown? Using this template, I had the perfect final act in mind; in fact, I'm sure I wrote it first.
Next time I'll look at characters, structure and themes. Buckle up your seat belts - it's a roller coaster ride of revenge, and it isn't going to be pretty.
Three concepts came together at just the right time. My partner's mother mentioned that she had gone to school with a well known actress, and she'd been a snobby, bitchy bully. I was intrigued by the thought you could be a "national treasure" but a horrible person. I'd long considered writing a book about girl on girl bullying, drawing upon my far from glorious school days. How much worse would it be if your tormentor grew up to be a ubiquitous TV star?
Around the same time, bullying was never far from the news. Suicides caused by bullying were at an all time high, with tragedies either side of the Atlantic. In one horrifying case, a bully somehow convinced her parents to burn down her victim's house; her target was the sole survivor. These stories gave the lie to the oft heard view that bullying is a rite of passage and victims "bring it on themselves".
So I had a plot - victim seeks revenge against their bully, now a celebrity - and even a motive. I hoped to refute the common perception that it's "only" bullying, that the victim ought to have moved on with her life and not raked up business the bully can't even remember. (Though what does that say about them?)
The last piece fell into place while I was rereading Carrie, of all things. Carrie's able to pull off a devastating revenge thanks to her telekinesis; I saw a heroine with magical powers could be a distinct advantage. Rose is the anti Carrie, if you like: she has a loving mother, she embraces her gifts, and rather than some muddled hate mongering version of Christianity, her family are friendly sweet shop owning Satanists.
Thanks to watching far too many Seventies horror films, I knew revenge wasn't simply a matter of popping out of a dumb waiter and shooting somebody. Since Frances lives in the spotlight, it's only fair she should die in the spotlight. And what better career for someone who can genuinely do magic than an illusionist like Derren Brown? Using this template, I had the perfect final act in mind; in fact, I'm sure I wrote it first.
Next time I'll look at characters, structure and themes. Buckle up your seat belts - it's a roller coaster ride of revenge, and it isn't going to be pretty.
June 25, 2014
5 Rollicking Revenges
Revenge is sweet, as box office receipts readily testify. Here are five of the best revenge sagas, be they of the stage, page or screen.
After careful consideration, I've only selected works that have revenge as the overarching theme; so while I love Inigo in The Princess Bride and his unforgettable battle cry ("You killed my father. Prepare to die!") and admire Macduff for avenging his family's murders, they don't make the final cut.
As befits such a murky subject, there seems to be no such thing as a happy ending in revenge. In all works, even ones where they apparently get away with it, there's a bittersweet taste to their victory. Confucius was right!
The Duchess of Malfi
John Webster's best known work is hugely divisive. There are those who think it's lurid, melodramatic claptrap - and those who think the same, but love it. It winks at practically every revenge tragedy trope. It has two thoroughly reprehensible villains, one of the earliest examples of the hitman as anti hero, and perhaps the daftest murder in stage history. (Clue: it involves a Bible).
Kind Hearts and Coronets
I'm a fan of charming monsters, and Louis Mazzini (Dennis Price) is suave evil incarnate. When his mother marries a penniless opera singer, her aristocratic family disinherits her. Once he's of age, Louis starts to bump his relatives off in increasingly preposterous ways. This being an Ealing comedy, you're chuckling throughout.
Theatre of Blood
When hammy actor Edward Lionheart (Vincent Price) didn't win a prestigious award, he's thought to have taken his life. Years later, he's back - and the critics who snubbed him are having to brush up on their Shakespeare. Revenge as practised by a lunatic with a Bard fetish - pity the poor chap who reviewed Titus Andronicus!
The Life and Loves of a She Devil
For some reason, revenge seems to be a predominantly masculine occupation. This fiendish satire helps redress the balance.
When Ruth Patchett realises she can't tolerate her life as a morbidly ugly six footer with a cheating husband, she embarks upon a revenge so audacious and complex, it makes your mouth drop open. She is the poster girl for wronged wives everywhere. Julie T Wallace is perfectly cast in the dated but fun TV series.
Kill Bill
Alternatively, you could go straight for the jugular. Lady of war The Bride (Uma Thurman) is left for dead at her wedding rehearsal; one of the casualties that day was her unborn daughter. She goes after the Deadly Vipers, the league of assassins she belonged to - and Bill (David Carradine), her lover turned executioner. Some surprisingly effective twists and touching moments, ultra violence aside.
After careful consideration, I've only selected works that have revenge as the overarching theme; so while I love Inigo in The Princess Bride and his unforgettable battle cry ("You killed my father. Prepare to die!") and admire Macduff for avenging his family's murders, they don't make the final cut.
As befits such a murky subject, there seems to be no such thing as a happy ending in revenge. In all works, even ones where they apparently get away with it, there's a bittersweet taste to their victory. Confucius was right!
The Duchess of Malfi
John Webster's best known work is hugely divisive. There are those who think it's lurid, melodramatic claptrap - and those who think the same, but love it. It winks at practically every revenge tragedy trope. It has two thoroughly reprehensible villains, one of the earliest examples of the hitman as anti hero, and perhaps the daftest murder in stage history. (Clue: it involves a Bible).
Kind Hearts and Coronets
I'm a fan of charming monsters, and Louis Mazzini (Dennis Price) is suave evil incarnate. When his mother marries a penniless opera singer, her aristocratic family disinherits her. Once he's of age, Louis starts to bump his relatives off in increasingly preposterous ways. This being an Ealing comedy, you're chuckling throughout.
Theatre of Blood
When hammy actor Edward Lionheart (Vincent Price) didn't win a prestigious award, he's thought to have taken his life. Years later, he's back - and the critics who snubbed him are having to brush up on their Shakespeare. Revenge as practised by a lunatic with a Bard fetish - pity the poor chap who reviewed Titus Andronicus!
The Life and Loves of a She Devil
For some reason, revenge seems to be a predominantly masculine occupation. This fiendish satire helps redress the balance.
When Ruth Patchett realises she can't tolerate her life as a morbidly ugly six footer with a cheating husband, she embarks upon a revenge so audacious and complex, it makes your mouth drop open. She is the poster girl for wronged wives everywhere. Julie T Wallace is perfectly cast in the dated but fun TV series.
Kill Bill
Alternatively, you could go straight for the jugular. Lady of war The Bride (Uma Thurman) is left for dead at her wedding rehearsal; one of the casualties that day was her unborn daughter. She goes after the Deadly Vipers, the league of assassins she belonged to - and Bill (David Carradine), her lover turned executioner. Some surprisingly effective twists and touching moments, ultra violence aside.
June 19, 2014
Revenge!
As part of a retrospective for my second book, The Revenge of Rose Grubb, I'll be writing a series of revenge themed blogs. This week: why are authors and film makers drawn to the revenge plot time and time again?
As long as humans have banded around the campfire and spent the night spinning tales, there have been stories of revenge. Whether it's the focal point of the drama or an absorbing subplot, there's something about a character dishing out their own brand of justice, which may or may not be served cold.
Why does this theme have such a command of our imaginations? As children, our first impulse on being hurt was to whack whatever it was right back. Even once we learn to keep our tempers in check and forgive, it's our automatic reaction. There's no doubting that on some level it's a wish fulfilment fantasy; you might not be able to bring down a cheating partner or crooked boss, but the hero of the new revenge saga can. The more labyrinthine and humiliating the comeuppance, the better.
What's the recipe for a good revenge? Here are a few guidelines I've drafted, taken from years of observation.
1) They must deserve it
If you want to keep your audience's sympathy, the revenge must be proportionate. If the baddy's sole crime is giving your heroine a parking ticket, hacked off limbs flying everywhere is OTT.
This is one of the few genres where it's okay to make your antagonist a monster. Whatever they did must be devastating; they must show no remorse and there's no chance of redemption. They've ruined your hero's life past recovery, whether it's their dreams, their reputation or - most commonly, and certainly most powerfully - a person.
2) Avenging the death of a loved one
Even people with the most fleeting acquaintance with revenge know this is what it's all about. To ramp up the stakes, the villain must have killed the protagonist's loved ones. The traditional choice is a father, a la Hamlet, but these days you're just as likely to see a lead avenging lovers, children or friends. Not only are they paying their enemy back, life for life, but they're making up for all the years they could have had with that loved person.
This is a very old idea, dating back to Elizabethan revenge tragedies, and arguably before then. The hero tended to be the kinsman of a good person who had been murdered. Of course, anyone who's seen Star Wars knows that there are sometimes subversions ...
3) Expect the unexpected
Although your typical revenge saga has certain rules to abide by, don't be afraid to mix them up and give that extra punch. Perhaps the villain is innocent. Perhaps the person they're mourning isn't really dead. Maybe this whole set up is an elaborate ruse, choreographed to drive your heroine insane. Though make sure you've laid your trail carefully, or your book might find a home in the nearest waste paper basket.
4) The Nietzschen zig zag
It takes a special kind of person to sit down and plot somebody else's ruin. "He who fights monsters" has been quoted to the point of tedium, but for good reason - how can you have your heroine wreak havoc but remain likeable? If they whine too much, your reader'll demand they grow a pair; if they maim first, no questions asked, audiences may find themselves siding with the villain.
If you worry you're going too far, ask for a second - and third, and fourth - opinion. Even the Bride shows moments of humanity: she cries after at least two of her hits, and clearly regrets killing Vernita Green in front of her daughter. "What would you do?" may seem banal in such a high octane scenario, but it's a vital tool for keeping it real.
5) The masquerade
Perhaps your baddy can't be approached unless it's under cover of a big song and dance number. Perhaps your protagonist is a madman with a love of spectacle (think V for Vendetta, or any film featuring Vincent Price as a serial killer). Whatever the reason, your reader has front row seats for the finale - and whatever may have gone before, this scene must not disappoint.
As long as humans have banded around the campfire and spent the night spinning tales, there have been stories of revenge. Whether it's the focal point of the drama or an absorbing subplot, there's something about a character dishing out their own brand of justice, which may or may not be served cold.
Why does this theme have such a command of our imaginations? As children, our first impulse on being hurt was to whack whatever it was right back. Even once we learn to keep our tempers in check and forgive, it's our automatic reaction. There's no doubting that on some level it's a wish fulfilment fantasy; you might not be able to bring down a cheating partner or crooked boss, but the hero of the new revenge saga can. The more labyrinthine and humiliating the comeuppance, the better.
What's the recipe for a good revenge? Here are a few guidelines I've drafted, taken from years of observation.
1) They must deserve it
If you want to keep your audience's sympathy, the revenge must be proportionate. If the baddy's sole crime is giving your heroine a parking ticket, hacked off limbs flying everywhere is OTT.
This is one of the few genres where it's okay to make your antagonist a monster. Whatever they did must be devastating; they must show no remorse and there's no chance of redemption. They've ruined your hero's life past recovery, whether it's their dreams, their reputation or - most commonly, and certainly most powerfully - a person.
2) Avenging the death of a loved one
Even people with the most fleeting acquaintance with revenge know this is what it's all about. To ramp up the stakes, the villain must have killed the protagonist's loved ones. The traditional choice is a father, a la Hamlet, but these days you're just as likely to see a lead avenging lovers, children or friends. Not only are they paying their enemy back, life for life, but they're making up for all the years they could have had with that loved person.
This is a very old idea, dating back to Elizabethan revenge tragedies, and arguably before then. The hero tended to be the kinsman of a good person who had been murdered. Of course, anyone who's seen Star Wars knows that there are sometimes subversions ...
3) Expect the unexpected
Although your typical revenge saga has certain rules to abide by, don't be afraid to mix them up and give that extra punch. Perhaps the villain is innocent. Perhaps the person they're mourning isn't really dead. Maybe this whole set up is an elaborate ruse, choreographed to drive your heroine insane. Though make sure you've laid your trail carefully, or your book might find a home in the nearest waste paper basket.
4) The Nietzschen zig zag
It takes a special kind of person to sit down and plot somebody else's ruin. "He who fights monsters" has been quoted to the point of tedium, but for good reason - how can you have your heroine wreak havoc but remain likeable? If they whine too much, your reader'll demand they grow a pair; if they maim first, no questions asked, audiences may find themselves siding with the villain.
If you worry you're going too far, ask for a second - and third, and fourth - opinion. Even the Bride shows moments of humanity: she cries after at least two of her hits, and clearly regrets killing Vernita Green in front of her daughter. "What would you do?" may seem banal in such a high octane scenario, but it's a vital tool for keeping it real.
5) The masquerade
Perhaps your baddy can't be approached unless it's under cover of a big song and dance number. Perhaps your protagonist is a madman with a love of spectacle (think V for Vendetta, or any film featuring Vincent Price as a serial killer). Whatever the reason, your reader has front row seats for the finale - and whatever may have gone before, this scene must not disappoint.
June 15, 2014
Holiday Reads
It's been an odd week. The Missus and I have spent a few days in Ibiza, taking a much needed rest. As well as lending colour to the travel scenes of book 3, it's helped us to drill the later acts of A Midsummer Night's Dream (doing it in the style of the B52s really works!) The UK is gripped by World Cup fever; on a sadder note, comedy legend Rik Mayall died on Monday, aged just 56. Eighties sitcom fans are still reeling.
Packing for your holidays prompts the all important question: which book should accompany you on your travels? Thanks to the Kindle, book lovers don't have to break their backs, but it's still a good idea to download a couple in case your first choice doesn't work out. The best seller of the moment versus a taut psychological thriller? Your guilty pleasure versus something more edifying? Best of all, you won't have everybody craning to look at the cover and judging you.
"Beach read" and "airport book" are often used in a derogatory sense, suggesting they're junk to be gobbled and discarded. This is needlessly harsh; who wants to read a twelve volume behemoth on holiday? You want something you can pick up and put down as you make transfers, wait on train platforms or kill time in your hotel room. If you've a boring flight ahead of you, it's the perfect escape.
Books I've read on holiday - The Time Traveller's Wife, the Regeneration trilogy, The Long Firm - become inextricably linked with those times and places. I have fonder recollections of books read in these conditions than duty reads from university. And at least you know you don't have to write a book report on it.
My reads this time were an eclectic bunch: Molesworth by Geoffrey Willans, Coraline by Neil Gaiman and Olivia by Dorothy Strachey. While these may be dismissed as "light" in terms of content and length, they enriched my time on the beach. I'm a noisy reader, regularly snorting and talking back to books, but it seems I sniggered even more than usual.
The ideal holiday read has certain requirements. It doesn't necessarily have to be funny or non serious, but it does need to be accessible, with jumping off and on points. It should be free of padding (depends on your reading speed, but the optimum length is 200 - 300 pages) and distractingly flowery language. While these rules can and should apply to other books too, they're especially pertinent in this case. If this book is to be your only companion for the next few days, you don't want to think you've made a mistake by page 100. Indeed, I sometimes take favourite "comfort" books on holiday, knowing entertainment is a given.
Sometimes a holiday book can surprise you. My creative writing teacher raved to us about John Fowles' The Collector; while I'd guessed it'd be on the grim side, I didn't expect to be completely devastated by it. Cue snotty sobbing on a train in France, all the commuters staring. Whoops!
Packing for your holidays prompts the all important question: which book should accompany you on your travels? Thanks to the Kindle, book lovers don't have to break their backs, but it's still a good idea to download a couple in case your first choice doesn't work out. The best seller of the moment versus a taut psychological thriller? Your guilty pleasure versus something more edifying? Best of all, you won't have everybody craning to look at the cover and judging you.
"Beach read" and "airport book" are often used in a derogatory sense, suggesting they're junk to be gobbled and discarded. This is needlessly harsh; who wants to read a twelve volume behemoth on holiday? You want something you can pick up and put down as you make transfers, wait on train platforms or kill time in your hotel room. If you've a boring flight ahead of you, it's the perfect escape.
Books I've read on holiday - The Time Traveller's Wife, the Regeneration trilogy, The Long Firm - become inextricably linked with those times and places. I have fonder recollections of books read in these conditions than duty reads from university. And at least you know you don't have to write a book report on it.
My reads this time were an eclectic bunch: Molesworth by Geoffrey Willans, Coraline by Neil Gaiman and Olivia by Dorothy Strachey. While these may be dismissed as "light" in terms of content and length, they enriched my time on the beach. I'm a noisy reader, regularly snorting and talking back to books, but it seems I sniggered even more than usual.
The ideal holiday read has certain requirements. It doesn't necessarily have to be funny or non serious, but it does need to be accessible, with jumping off and on points. It should be free of padding (depends on your reading speed, but the optimum length is 200 - 300 pages) and distractingly flowery language. While these rules can and should apply to other books too, they're especially pertinent in this case. If this book is to be your only companion for the next few days, you don't want to think you've made a mistake by page 100. Indeed, I sometimes take favourite "comfort" books on holiday, knowing entertainment is a given.
Sometimes a holiday book can surprise you. My creative writing teacher raved to us about John Fowles' The Collector; while I'd guessed it'd be on the grim side, I didn't expect to be completely devastated by it. Cue snotty sobbing on a train in France, all the commuters staring. Whoops!
