Neil Hanson's Blog, page 4
September 4, 2013
Literary Lunch
I'm at the Yorkshire Post Literary Lunch next week (Thursday 12 September, Cairn Hotel, Harrogate, 12 noon-3pm) talking about my new book The Inn at the Top. It's the first time I've done the event since 2001, when I shared the platform with Edna Healey and Esther Rantzen. It took place a few days after 9/11 and having eaten the lunch, watched by an expectant audience, the three of us were all clearing our throats and girding our loins, since we didn't know in which order we'd be speaking, and, in my case at least, also wondering whether a) I should have gone a little easier on the Chablis and b) probably linked to a) above, whether I should have nipped to the loo before the hour-long series of talks began.
Just then, the Chair of the event, the Yorkshire Post's long-standing right-wing columnist, Bernard Dineen, rapped on the table for attention. 'Before we begin,’ he said, ‘I'd like to ask you to stand for a two-minute silence in memory of the victims of the terrorist attack on Manhattan.’ You could have heard a moth's wing-beat in the silence that followed and you could tell from the faces of the audience that everyone was reliving the horrific sight of those television pictures of the Twin Towers collapsing.
Once we'd sat down again, however, a horribly selfish thought struck me: I began praying that I would not be the first one called upon to speak, for if I lived to be 100, I would never find an audience that would be less receptive to the light, trite and bright speech I'd been planning, than a roomful of people with images of that horrific death and destruction still filling their minds. I stopped breathing as Dineen cleared his throat and said ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, our first speaker today is... Edna Healey.’
Edna gamely rose to her feet and began her talk in complete, deafening silence, but slowly managed to steer the audience away from those horrific memories and onto much safer ground. When she sat down, I led the applause. Esther Rantzen and I had a much easier task later on, but I never got a chance to thank Edna at the time for dealing so well with the poisoned chalice. So Edna, if you're reading this, it's twelve years late, I'm afraid, but thank you, you saved my life.
Just then, the Chair of the event, the Yorkshire Post's long-standing right-wing columnist, Bernard Dineen, rapped on the table for attention. 'Before we begin,’ he said, ‘I'd like to ask you to stand for a two-minute silence in memory of the victims of the terrorist attack on Manhattan.’ You could have heard a moth's wing-beat in the silence that followed and you could tell from the faces of the audience that everyone was reliving the horrific sight of those television pictures of the Twin Towers collapsing.
Once we'd sat down again, however, a horribly selfish thought struck me: I began praying that I would not be the first one called upon to speak, for if I lived to be 100, I would never find an audience that would be less receptive to the light, trite and bright speech I'd been planning, than a roomful of people with images of that horrific death and destruction still filling their minds. I stopped breathing as Dineen cleared his throat and said ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, our first speaker today is... Edna Healey.’
Edna gamely rose to her feet and began her talk in complete, deafening silence, but slowly managed to steer the audience away from those horrific memories and onto much safer ground. When she sat down, I led the applause. Esther Rantzen and I had a much easier task later on, but I never got a chance to thank Edna at the time for dealing so well with the poisoned chalice. So Edna, if you're reading this, it's twelve years late, I'm afraid, but thank you, you saved my life.
August 24, 2013
On The Road
I'm on the road in September and October at a string of events to promote my new book "The Inn at the Top" (out on 26 September from Michael O'Mara Books www.mombooks.com/). I always enjoy doing them - it's not often that you get a chance to engage with the people who actually buy your books face to face - but some of the horror stories I hear from publicists in the publishing trade suggest that not all authors share my enthusiasm, while others turn into (or perhaps already are) egotistical monsters who make rock stars and their entourages look like models of decorum and politeness by comparison.
One friend, a publicist with an Australian publisher, both of whom had better remain anonymous, has a motto "It's always the poets" and can cite chapter and verse to prove it. One poet, arriving in Australia all expenses paid for a Writers Festival on the usual early-morning "redeye" flight, arrived at his hotel, the Hilton, at 9:30 AM and was told - understandably enough at that time of day - that his room is not yet ready for him. ‘Well in that case,’ he said, ‘I'm just going to get changed right here,’ and he began stripping off in the middle of the hotel foyer. Only when he was down to his underpants did the long-suffering publicist manage to persuade him to at least move to the Gents to complete the operation. He then spent the next couple of days complaining about anything and everything: his room, the hotel, the food, the weather (probably the first British visitor to Australia ever to complain about that).
In addition to a solo appearance to read from his new book, his publishers had also arranged for him to take part in two panel discussions. The poet turned up for the first one but then spent the entire hour with his eyes closed and his head resting on his arms, and did not open his mouth to address a single word to anyone. At that point the publicist said ‘Look, you're obviously not enjoying this experience at all. Why don't we just fly you back home, at our expense of course?’
'But I don't want to go home,’ he said. ‘I want to stay.’
The publicist relented but the second panel discussion was no better than the first. But then, in a moment of inspiration, the publicist realised what was wrong: they just hadn't been stroking his ego enough. The Chair for his next appearance was replaced by their most oleaginous performer, who introduced the poet with the words ‘Our guest this afternoon is a distinguished poet who has written 18 books. I have a confession to make: I've only read 17 of them so far, but I just can't wait to read the new one.’ As the treacle continued to pour, the poet's whole demeanour changed. A smile appeared, like sunshine after a rainstorm, and basking in the Chair's synthetic adoration, the poet opened his mouth in public for the first time since he arrived, spoke to the audience and read some of his work.
Despite the publicist's motto, however, it isn't always the poets. One prominent British newspaper correspondent arrived in Australia to promote his new book at another Writers Festival and was so foul to the young woman appointed to be his publicist, that he'd reduced her to tears before they'd even left the airport. Her boyfriend was with her and in the most mild way possible he remonstrated with the great man, saying something like ‘there's no need to be like that, she's just trying to help.’
The great man then announced that he would not be leaving the airport at all until he'd had a personal apology from the boyfriend for his 'insulting behaviour'. My reaction would have been to have said ‘Fine, have a nice flight home,’ and left him there, but since that would have left a hole in the Writers Festival's schedule, the publicist's boyfriend was persuaded to make a fulsome apology, albeit through gritted teeth, and the great man was then free to carry on to the Festival where he proved to be almost equally obnoxious to everybody else he met.
However... if you're within range of Yorkshire in September or October and come along to one of my events, I hereby promise not to a) remove my clothes, b) close my eyes, lay my head on my arms and refuse to speak, or c) demand a public apology from you for any bad behaviour, real or imaginary... and if you ply me with enough alcohol I might even tell you who the poet and the "great man" are!
The Inn at the Top Events:
Thursday 12 September, 12 noon, Yorkshire Post Literary Lunch, Cairn Hotel, Harrogate, (Tickets/ details: 07731 690163 / mbrownevents@hotmail.com)
Thursday 26 September, 6.45pm,Waterstone’s York, (Tickets/details: www.waterstones.com / 01904 628740)
Friday 27 September, 7.30pm, Richmond Walking and Book Festival at Richmond School Sixth Form Centre, Darlington Road, Richmond, N Yorks, DL10 7BQ (Tickets/details: www.booksandboots.org 01748 824243)
Saturday 28 September, 12noon-2pm, Castlegate Books, 13 Market Place, Knaresborough, HG5 8AL, book signing, (Details: info@castlegatebooks.com 01423 862222)
Tuesday 8 October, 7.30pm, Morley Literature Festival, Gildersome Conservative Club, Street Lane, Gildersome, Morley, Leeds, LS27 7HX, (Tickets/details: Morley Library or Lesley Gettings on 0113 253 9763)
Wednesday October 9, 7.30pm, Betty’s Cafe Tea Rooms, Ilkley, (Ilkley Literature Festival event). Includes “Delicious two course supper followed by tea and coffee”. (Tickets/details: Betty’s Cafe Tea Rooms, Ilkley, 01943 608029)
Saturday 19 October, 10.30am, Ryedale Book Festival, The Milton Rooms Studio, Market Square, Malton, YO17 7LX (Tickets/details: www.ryedalebookfestival.com)
I'll also be signing books at several Yorkshire branches of Waterstones, more details soon.The Inn at the Top: Life at the Highest Inn in Great BritainThe Inn at the Top: Life at the Highest Inn in Great BritainThe Inn at the Top: Life at the Highest Inn in Great Britain
One friend, a publicist with an Australian publisher, both of whom had better remain anonymous, has a motto "It's always the poets" and can cite chapter and verse to prove it. One poet, arriving in Australia all expenses paid for a Writers Festival on the usual early-morning "redeye" flight, arrived at his hotel, the Hilton, at 9:30 AM and was told - understandably enough at that time of day - that his room is not yet ready for him. ‘Well in that case,’ he said, ‘I'm just going to get changed right here,’ and he began stripping off in the middle of the hotel foyer. Only when he was down to his underpants did the long-suffering publicist manage to persuade him to at least move to the Gents to complete the operation. He then spent the next couple of days complaining about anything and everything: his room, the hotel, the food, the weather (probably the first British visitor to Australia ever to complain about that).
In addition to a solo appearance to read from his new book, his publishers had also arranged for him to take part in two panel discussions. The poet turned up for the first one but then spent the entire hour with his eyes closed and his head resting on his arms, and did not open his mouth to address a single word to anyone. At that point the publicist said ‘Look, you're obviously not enjoying this experience at all. Why don't we just fly you back home, at our expense of course?’
'But I don't want to go home,’ he said. ‘I want to stay.’
The publicist relented but the second panel discussion was no better than the first. But then, in a moment of inspiration, the publicist realised what was wrong: they just hadn't been stroking his ego enough. The Chair for his next appearance was replaced by their most oleaginous performer, who introduced the poet with the words ‘Our guest this afternoon is a distinguished poet who has written 18 books. I have a confession to make: I've only read 17 of them so far, but I just can't wait to read the new one.’ As the treacle continued to pour, the poet's whole demeanour changed. A smile appeared, like sunshine after a rainstorm, and basking in the Chair's synthetic adoration, the poet opened his mouth in public for the first time since he arrived, spoke to the audience and read some of his work.
Despite the publicist's motto, however, it isn't always the poets. One prominent British newspaper correspondent arrived in Australia to promote his new book at another Writers Festival and was so foul to the young woman appointed to be his publicist, that he'd reduced her to tears before they'd even left the airport. Her boyfriend was with her and in the most mild way possible he remonstrated with the great man, saying something like ‘there's no need to be like that, she's just trying to help.’
The great man then announced that he would not be leaving the airport at all until he'd had a personal apology from the boyfriend for his 'insulting behaviour'. My reaction would have been to have said ‘Fine, have a nice flight home,’ and left him there, but since that would have left a hole in the Writers Festival's schedule, the publicist's boyfriend was persuaded to make a fulsome apology, albeit through gritted teeth, and the great man was then free to carry on to the Festival where he proved to be almost equally obnoxious to everybody else he met.
However... if you're within range of Yorkshire in September or October and come along to one of my events, I hereby promise not to a) remove my clothes, b) close my eyes, lay my head on my arms and refuse to speak, or c) demand a public apology from you for any bad behaviour, real or imaginary... and if you ply me with enough alcohol I might even tell you who the poet and the "great man" are!
The Inn at the Top Events:
Thursday 12 September, 12 noon, Yorkshire Post Literary Lunch, Cairn Hotel, Harrogate, (Tickets/ details: 07731 690163 / mbrownevents@hotmail.com)
Thursday 26 September, 6.45pm,Waterstone’s York, (Tickets/details: www.waterstones.com / 01904 628740)
Friday 27 September, 7.30pm, Richmond Walking and Book Festival at Richmond School Sixth Form Centre, Darlington Road, Richmond, N Yorks, DL10 7BQ (Tickets/details: www.booksandboots.org 01748 824243)
Saturday 28 September, 12noon-2pm, Castlegate Books, 13 Market Place, Knaresborough, HG5 8AL, book signing, (Details: info@castlegatebooks.com 01423 862222)
Tuesday 8 October, 7.30pm, Morley Literature Festival, Gildersome Conservative Club, Street Lane, Gildersome, Morley, Leeds, LS27 7HX, (Tickets/details: Morley Library or Lesley Gettings on 0113 253 9763)
Wednesday October 9, 7.30pm, Betty’s Cafe Tea Rooms, Ilkley, (Ilkley Literature Festival event). Includes “Delicious two course supper followed by tea and coffee”. (Tickets/details: Betty’s Cafe Tea Rooms, Ilkley, 01943 608029)
Saturday 19 October, 10.30am, Ryedale Book Festival, The Milton Rooms Studio, Market Square, Malton, YO17 7LX (Tickets/details: www.ryedalebookfestival.com)
I'll also be signing books at several Yorkshire branches of Waterstones, more details soon.The Inn at the Top: Life at the Highest Inn in Great BritainThe Inn at the Top: Life at the Highest Inn in Great BritainThe Inn at the Top: Life at the Highest Inn in Great Britain
August 13, 2013
Literature Festivals
The programme for my local literature festival came clunking through my letterbox last week. It is a two-and-a-half week celebration of the written word, replete with the great and the good of the literary world and even finding room for some less exalted talents - yes, I'm appearing too. I'm a big supporter of it, and vice versa, and what follows is not a criticism of this particular festival, since all - even the cash-rich, heavily sponsored "big beasts" of the Lit Fest circuit - are inked with the same pen to a greater or lesser extent.
Here are the headline acts of this one - the Ilkley Literature Festival - as featured on the front of the programme: Kate Humble; Brownlee Brothers; Jeremy Paxman; Alexander McCall Smith; Radio 4's Any Questions; Duncan Bannatyne; Kate Adie; Carol Ann Duffy; Germaine Greer; Kirsty Wark; Rod Ellingworth; Jonathan Aitken; Shirley Williams.
True, they've all got a book to plug... even Any Questions, at least in the form of its chair, Jonathan Dimbleby, who's plugging his before taking to the airwaves, but in what is arguably one of the half dozen leading British writers' festivals, how many of those fourteen names (I'm counting Dimbleby and both Brownlees) could accurately be described as writers?
I know that without "bums on seats", festivals can't survive and thrive, but I wonder if it's necessary for them (and Ilkley is far from the worst example in this respect) to pander quite so wholeheartedly to the vanity &/or "book to accompany a programme/series" projects of TV "personalities". Among the latter, I'd count Germaine Greer who, despite her academic pedigree, has been most notable this century as a tele-contrarian and rent-a-gob, whose last original thought, in my unworthy opinion, was somewhere south of 1980. Pistols? Dawn?
Here are the headline acts of this one - the Ilkley Literature Festival - as featured on the front of the programme: Kate Humble; Brownlee Brothers; Jeremy Paxman; Alexander McCall Smith; Radio 4's Any Questions; Duncan Bannatyne; Kate Adie; Carol Ann Duffy; Germaine Greer; Kirsty Wark; Rod Ellingworth; Jonathan Aitken; Shirley Williams.
True, they've all got a book to plug... even Any Questions, at least in the form of its chair, Jonathan Dimbleby, who's plugging his before taking to the airwaves, but in what is arguably one of the half dozen leading British writers' festivals, how many of those fourteen names (I'm counting Dimbleby and both Brownlees) could accurately be described as writers?
I know that without "bums on seats", festivals can't survive and thrive, but I wonder if it's necessary for them (and Ilkley is far from the worst example in this respect) to pander quite so wholeheartedly to the vanity &/or "book to accompany a programme/series" projects of TV "personalities". Among the latter, I'd count Germaine Greer who, despite her academic pedigree, has been most notable this century as a tele-contrarian and rent-a-gob, whose last original thought, in my unworthy opinion, was somewhere south of 1980. Pistols? Dawn?
