William Sutton's Blog, page 22
August 15, 2017
Batty Cigarettes: Maps & Quirky Adverts
Good to see the House of Electricity’s Electro-Expanding Blog Tour getting underway.
So far you may enjoy the Asthma Cigarettes and other Inspiration from Ads & Pictures on Lisa Reads Books and my intrepid Mapmaking with the talented Rebecca Lea Williams, on Always Trust in Books.
More coming via Titan Books‘ electrical tour.
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August 12, 2017
Electric Blog Tour
Gape at the breath-taking Asthma Cigarettes.
Galvanize yourself with Pulvermacher’s Electro-apparatus.
Modernise your thinking with the Victorian technology steampunk apparatus.
Look out next week for updated links for these posts appearing hither and thither. Thanks to all the bloggers for their warm welcome and to Titan Books for setting up the whirlwind tour.
14th August
Dr Batty’s Asthma Cigarettes: Inspiration from Ads & Pictures
www.lisareadsbooks.blogspot.co.uk
15th August
Mapping a Mystery: “Every good book needs a map.”
www.alwaystrustinbooks.wordpress.com
16th August
Techno-Thrillers Victorian style: “Victorians didn’t have technology”
www.shotsmag.co.uk
17th August
“The past is the new future” – from sci-fi to steampunk
www.bookslifeandeverything.blogspot.co.uk
18th August
The Country House Novel: the Cross-Genre Genre
https://cluesandreviews.wordpress.com
21st August
Seven Books that Electrified The House of Electricity
www.dark-readers.com
22nd August
Victorian Trainline? 5 Websites every Victorian novelist longs for
http://bakerstreetbabes.com
23rd August
My Best Writing Blocks: from Trump to Twitter
https://thecrimereview.com
24th August
Slang, wonderful slang: the Word Detectives
https://www.risingshadow.net
25th August
Bookshop Bliss: Nothing Better than a Local Bookshop Behind You
https://civilianreader.com
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August 8, 2017
Story behind the story (Devil of Euston Square)
(An old post written for a magazine now vanished.)
How I came upon the idea (the short answer)
It’s 1am, 6 June 2002. I’m half-awake, half-adream, in my bed in São Paulo, Brazil.
I see the story of a man, brilliant but poor, a lover jilted in favour of some flash harry, writing his farewell letter as he wreaks his revenge through the new-fangled underground train upon the careless bigwigs who have ruined him and his people.
In the morning, I told my flatmate the story. I bought a notebook and a green fountain pen. I went to Água Branca Park and wrote out the story in longhand. Several months of reading, several of scribbling. Bang: Lawless and the Devil of Euston Square.
What inspired you during the writing of this particular book?
It is a tale of three tunnels. I love the old lurid illustrations in London Under London, by Trench and Hillman. First Brunel’s Thames Tunnel: flooded during construction; a forlorn boat, lives lost; then the opening banquet, not long afterwards. The Metropolitan Line: under construction, collapsing 1862, disastrously crisscrossing the Fleet Sewer; opening day banquet, 9 Jan 1863, so soon after.
What if these timings were less propitious? I thought of Samson pulling down the pillars of the temple, of Guy Fawkes under Parliament, of London’s oppressed masses fighting for attention as their jobs were banned and their slum dwellings swept away in the name of Progress.
These days we are never allowed to ask if terrorism might be justified. Apart from the French Revolution. The Boston Tea Party. Nelson Mandela. What about the Haitian revolution? What about the American Revolution? The English Civil War?
The process of creating the book (the long story)
I wrote a short story, The London Underworld, in 1996. I mentioned an imaginary Victorian novel, The Worms of Euston Square. An agent, who liked my writing, asked for more on this idea. I wrote a chapter. She didn’t bite. Nonetheless, I wrote the book. Seventeen agents nearly liked it. None took me on.
On the fringe of the Edinburgh Fringe, at the wonderful Thirsty Lunch happenings, where I brushed shoulders with Alasdair Gray (bought him a whisky), ex-agent Sam Kelly enjoyed my reading and gave me contacts with agents and publishers.
More near misses. But I was surprised that Edinburgh’s Mercat Press never replied, as they’d republished Inspector McLevy’s tales of his real 1860s detection. Six months later, I chased them. They said, ‘But we did reply: we asked to see the rest of the manuscript.’ Bloody Italian postal system.
In 2006, we launched The Worms of Euston Square at the Edinburgh Festival. It did well enough, and received glowing reviews. Mercat were bought up by Birlinn-Polygon; I never heard much from them about my ideas for a sequel. After five years wrangling with the next manuscript, novelist Emlyn Rees read Worms and recommended me to Phil Patterson of Marjacq Scripts.
Phil re-sold the first novel in a two book deal with Angry Robot’s Exhibit A crime imprint. It was published 2013, retitled Lawless and the Devil of Euston Square (clearly crime and not young adult: more genre, less fantastical).
In the years since I wrote it, genres have grown up wildly around it: VicLit, Tartan Noir, steampunk, techno-thriller. Now I’ve written the next one. Which is sexier.
A ten year journey to that first book. And, funnily enough, my agent vaguely remembers receiving my manuscript chapters back in 2005.
What else?
An unexpected offshoot has been performing. (And that my Latin pupils have just discovered my YouTube channel. Oh dear. And my Twitterfeed appears at the side of my website. Alack. The subject matter of my second Lawless book may be rather inappropriate.)
It’s so easy to find yourself isolated when writing. Two years ago I promised myself I’d meet some writers. Since then, I’ve joined the Authors Cricket Club (thanks to Kay Sexton). The ReAuthoring Project (thanks, Greg, Katherine and Sam) led to me reading and singing aboard LV21 Light Ship in Gillingham, in a Whitstable restaurant, in a field at Lounge on the Farm festival, at the Canterbury Festival (thanks, Sarah), at Guildford World Book Night (thanks, Kay Hadwick), and more.
Through their workshop, I’ve met 26 writers in Portsmouth and Southsea, where I live. We’ve performed in towers, restaurants, libraries, bookshops and festivals. We have a collection out, and another due this summer, Portsmouth Fairy Tales. I launched my book with two cabarets of readings and songs (thanks, Jo and Blackwells; thanks, Waterstones). And I loved recording the audiobook (thanks, Alec).
Which means the authors who make it are the ones who don’t give up. Which means don’t give up.
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July 13, 2017
Hypno-Jets
I’ve been a fan of Jamie West’s songwriting and singing since our days back in the open mic clubs of London, Bunjies Folk Cellar, the Troubadour Cafe, and the Unlaced Plimsoll Club. I’ve sung backing vocals and played bass at accidental gatherings over the years. But, after giving him Austin Kleon’s seminal book Show Your Work, it’s been a huge pleasure to stumble into his band, the Jets, alongside Rosie Holmes on vocals and percussion and Sarah Prosser with vocals and oboe (aka Harrier Jet, Jumbo Jet & Sufferer Jet).
Over the last year, we’ve performed at Dark Songs, Valentine’s Day Massacre, Free up Fridays at Aurora Southsea, and ARTSlab at the Betsey Trotwood in Clerkenwell (with Diego Brown and the Good Fairy). Here’s a taste of that gig, thanks to media whizzes Romane in Light.
Therapist, therapist, am I quite normal,
Or should I join that commune that we talked about in Cornwall?
He’s also accompanied me brilliantly at my book launch for Lawless and the Flowers of Sin; and I hope to inveigle him along to this year’s launch of Lawless and the House of Electricity.
I recommend Jamie’s melodic harmonic acoustic euphemistic narcissistic blues schtick evocative provocative rhythmic seismic cataclysmic songwriting. In preparing for the shows, I had the joyous task of listening back to his albums, all the way to the early days of his indie-rock reprobate band Lewd. You can find many of the songs here on his website, thanks to designer/photographer Mick O’Farrell of Revolver Creative.
Sleeve notes for Hypnagogic
Biggest Jamie & the Jets gigs this year were Hypnagogic album launches at the Townhouse in February, alongside Radio KWG and Lynette Morgan and the Blackwater Valley Boys, and a second launch at Open Ealing, with Noel Le Bon and Dave Hurley.
Here are a few more recent songs, video for Therapist, God is 7, Spit Out All the Dirt, Pop Song and the whole ARTSLab gig, with more videos appearing here:
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July 2, 2017
Review of Flowers of Sin
“I was fully enveloped into the seedy side of Victorian London, them and us….” writes Pete Adams, Author.
William Sutton writes extraordinarily well, and immediately his research and authenticity shines through the murk of Victorian London. I admit this is a period of history that fascinates me, especially as I come from a large London family, and combine this with a crime thriller, what is there not to like? Well, one, I struggled to determine the crime until I realised it was embedded within the criminally diabolical circumstances that is the huge poverty gap, and how the well off are prepared to capitalise on this, and the poor have no choice in the matter.
Sutton, not only conveys realistically the turgid atmosphere of London in these terrible (but best of) times, but in the wonderful parlance of the time, he illustrates the acceptance of their lot from the impoverished people, even to the risks they take to survive, or not, and then the despicable entitlement of the wealthy – the arrogance that they can tear apart families and it will be okay because they pass over some silver – and that all of this as a way of life.
I am a slow reader, and this novel is complex, yet simple, obvious but not – I found myself so enveloped into the wonderfully described atmosphere of a depraved city that the drive of crime resolution is secondary, though when it comes, it comes like a lightning bolt, and the characters come alive, even in their death throes.
I cannot say more as it could be a plot spoiler, but what seemed like an unusually benign premise, for a Scotland Yard Detective to carry out a moral survey of the dens of iniquity in London, for a Parliamentary report, reveals so much of the sordid life that is seen as normal. But as the narrative unravels, my oh my, it is shocking and yet so real.
William Sutton creates a tremendous diverse and intricate novel that in truth requires the reader to be locked away so as not to be disturbed until finished – it is that good; one I will ear mark to return to.
Recommended – 5 Stars
I was fully enveloped into the seedy side of Victorian London, them and us….William Sutton writes extraordinarily…
Posted by Peteadamsauthor on Friday, 23 June 2017
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June 27, 2017
Holmes Fest
I’m excited about the first ever Holmes Fest. This is going to be huge within a few years,
Conan Doyle got off the boat here in Portsmouth to start his very own medical practice, met his wife here, and invented Sherlock Holmes here.
To put the spice into Spice Island, I’ll be reading a story I’ve never performed before, Lawless and the Three Pompey Piglets:
Star and Crescent hyperlocal news website announces Holmes Fest:
“Portsmouth’s very first Holmes Fest is coming up on 28th June, celebrating the world’s most famous consulting detective, Sherlock Holmes, his creator, Arthur Conan Doyle, and their relationship to the city,” Holmes Fest host and local writer, Matt Wingett, reports.
“The evening of storytelling will include comedy tales about Doyle and Holmes, spiritualist tales and investigations into Victorian crimes by internationally published writers including Diana Bretherick, William Sutton, Zella Compton, as well as brilliant comedy writers Charlotte Comley, and Anthony Noon , as well as writers Amanda Garrie, Christine Lawrence and local actor Alan Morris, and will be hosted by writer Matt Wingett. Music hall songs will be performed by Matt Parsons and Janet Ayers, and there will be projection of Victorian and Edwardian film footage from Dr Lighthouse.”
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June 19, 2017
Victorian Diagnoses: Writing Edward King #2
Feeling ill? Seduction and disappointment? Too much novel reading? Political excitement. In the Victorian era, we’d all be vulnerable to such diagnoses, and might even end up locked away for it.
Writing Edward King: Cityscapes of Portsmouth is a literature project inspired by the Portsmouth paintings of artist Edward King (1862-1951) who resided at St James’ Hospital, Milton (formerly Portsmouth Borough Asylum) for 25 years until his death.
This is a silly song I put together from my researches for Lawless and the House of Electricity. I have ambivalent feelings about these asylums, which were doubtless born out of a desire to treat the insane better, offering therapeutic environments, but often became repositories where the unwanted were forgotten.
Please explore our website to find out more about Edward King and the fourteen writers’ stories, our performances, and workshops.
It’s been a terrific pleasure to work with this hugely creative group, producing stories inspired by Edward King paintings, and I thank Annie Kirby and the Arts Council.
I wrote two songs, one inspired by Two Buildings (possibly Southsea) unfinished, though it mentions several of his other paintings. I began with a story sketching his walk from St James’ Hospital across town to paint the bomb damage during the war: this song fell out of the first draft, and I had a lot of help from writing buddy Jacqui Pack getting it into shape to perform at our New Theatre Royal and Portsmouth City Museum events. Thanks to all who came along.
On Admission to the Lunatic Asylum (The Victorian Diagnoses Song)
It’s the disease & diagnoses song
It’s my Victorian diagnoses song
Consecutive dementia, Atrophy, dyspepsia,
Apoplexy, Scarlatina, Chronic mania.
Hereditary predisposition, Domestic affliction,
Overstudy of religion, Epileptic fits, dissolute opium habits
Intemperance, sluggish blood
business trouble, desertion by husband
Chorus
Quackery and Exposure, Incontinence, liver failure,
Nymphomania, novel reading, Two years’ snuff eating
Political excitement, Brain fever, vicious vices,
Seduction and disappointment,
Overuse of lubricious ointment,
Nervous dissipation, Deranged masturbation.
Bridge
Egotism, gunshot, dropsy, Uterine hypertrophy,
Familial estrangement, Uterine derangement,
Indignation by the dozen, Parents were cousins.
Before you dare to laugh at these Victorian diagnoses,
they’ll laugh with glee hysterically one day about today’s diseases:
ASD, PTSD, electromagnetic hypersensitivity.
Attention deficit disorder,
Gulf War syndrome, border-
line personality, Wilson’s thyroid syndrome,
gluten sensitivity, Wind turbine syndrome,
Fan death, heavy legs.
Chorus
That’s a modern diagnoses song. You could say an Elizabethan diseases song. But will they remain diagnoses for long?
Bear in mind how often we’ve been wrong.
No better than Victorian diagnoses song.
See photos of our performances and pop-ups here.
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June 16, 2017
Pop Up Performances: Writing Edward King #3
We’ve performed our stories all over the city, from New Theatre Royal to Portsmouth City Museum, from allotments to cafes such as Southsea Coffee company, The Teatray, and Hunter-Gatherer. See some pics here.
Writing Edward King: Cityscapes of Portsmouth is a literature project inspired by the Portsmouth paintings of artist Edward King (1862-1951) who resided at St James’ Hospital, Milton (formerly Portsmouth Borough Asylum) for 25 years until his death.
Feeling ill? Seduction and disappointment? Too much novel reading? Political excitement. In the Victorian era, we’d all be vulnerable to such diagnoses, and might even end up locked away for it. Here’s my silly song about it, and my serious song about Edward King.
See photos of our performances and pop-ups here.
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June 12, 2017
The Old Painter of Portsmouth: Writing Edward King #1
Writing Edward King: Cityscapes of Portsmouth is a literature project inspired by the Portsmouth paintings of artist Edward King (1862-1951) who resided at St James’ Hospital, Milton (formerly Portsmouth Borough Asylum) for 25 years until his death.
I wrote two songs: the one you can hear below was inspired by Two Buildings (possibly Southsea) unfinished, though it mentions several of his other paintings.
I began with a story sketching his walk from St James’ Hospital across town to paint the bomb damage during the war: this song fell out of the first draft, and I had a lot of help from writing buddy Jacqui Pack getting it into shape to perform at our New Theatre Royal and Portsmouth City Museum events.
Thanks to all who came along. I particularly enjoyed writer Stuart Olesker noting the link to old blues song St James’ Infirmary. It’s been a terrific pleasure to work with this hugely creative group, producing stories inspired by Edward King paintings, and I thank Annie Kirby and the Arts Council. Explore our website to find out more about Edward King and the fourteen writers’ stories, our performances, and workshops.
The Old Painter of Portsea – William Sutton
Bombs are pounding on our city pocked with poverty,
Carving teeth from walls where rubble fills the cavities.
To depict it on the canvas seems obscenity.
If it’s insanity,
You may label me insane.
Seven times tonight we’ve trudged through the asylum
To the shelter, seven times the air raid sirens.
Wave my friends off to the farm.
I say a prayer they’ll not be harmed,
As into town down Locksway Road I head.
We rise early here in St James’ Infirmary.
Go out on the farm, the outbuildings, the laundry.
Every morning I walk down through old Portsea,
Carry easel, paints and canvas, as the ships sail off to sea,
And the people here they know me –
Every latest bomb they show me –
And I take the brush to paint the city’s woes.
Mallow purple, saffron yellow, Saturn red.
Sketch the outlines of the buildings where the people mourn their dead.
Chinese coral and flax blue.
Lavender reminds me of you,
And I paint a face with memories tinged blood red.
We rise early here in St James’ Infirmary,
Head out on the farm, the outbuildings, the laundry.
Work to feed and clothe the nation’s but a token
Souls unspoken may yet be re-awoken.
Taboos can still be broken.
Dutch vermillion, dahlia purple and French rose
To depict walls blown apart by Gerry’s blows.
Break out the flask and share a drink,
Then empire purple, philox pink,
To shape presences where only absence grows.
Have you seen the grey old fellow, used to paint red-golds and yellows?
Haven’t seen him lately: give St James a ring.
Every day the image fainter
Of the Lord Mayor’s wartime painter
Known to everyone: there goes old Edward King.
Now the bombs have gone
But still the paintings sing.
King, Edward; Two Buildings; Portsmouth Museums and Visitor Services; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/two-bui...
King, Edward; Patients Working on the Farm at St James’ Hospital, No.1; Portsmouth Museums and Visitor Services; http://www.artuk.org/artworks/patient...Please Feel Free to Share:
June 2, 2017
Writing Edward King
I’ve been working with 13 other writers on Writing Edward King: Cityscapes of Portsmouth, a literature project inspired by the Portsmouth paintings of artist Edward King (1862-1951) who resided at St James’ Hospital, Milton (formerly Portsmouth Borough Asylum) for 25 years until his death.
Please explore our website to find out more about Edward King and our project activities, or use the contact buttons to get in touch. Thanks to Annie Kirby for coordinating the whole shebang.
We performed our stories last weekend at the New Theatre Royal, and this weekend we’ll be popping up at the City Museum, beside the paintings that inspired us.
I’ve also performed with Richard Peirce at several cafes around town in pop-up performances.
I picked the painting ‘Two Buildings’ because it’s at the end of my road (possibly). It’s unfinished. It’s from the series of bombed buildings, yet nothing damaged. It was hard to judge how closely to use the painting, the act of painting, the painter’s viewpoint and history. It was productive to have colours and shapes and the act of creation suggested by the unfinished canvas. Working from a visual prompt is challenging and satisfying.
Instead of writing a story, I came up with this song which you can hear on the website or at the Soundcloud:
The Old Painter of Portsea by William Sutton
Bombs are pounding on our city pocked with poverty,
Carving teeth from walls where rubble fills the cavities.
To depict it on the canvas seems obscenity.
If it’s insanity,
You may label me insane.
Seven times tonight we’ve trudged through the asylum
To the shelter, seven times the air raid sirens.
Wave my friends off to the farm.
I say a prayer they’ll not be harmed,
As into town down Locksway Road I head.
We rise early here in St James’ Infirmary.
Go out on the farm, the outbuildings, the laundry.
Every morning I walk down through old Portsea,
Carry easel, paints and canvas, as the ships sail off to sea,
And the people here they know me –
Every latest bomb they show me –
And I take the brush to paint the city’s woes.
Mallow purple, saffron yellow, Saturn red.
Sketch the outlines of the buildings where the people mourn their dead.
Chinese coral and flax blue.
Lavender reminds me of you,
And I paint a face with memories tinged blood red.
We rise early here in St James’ Infirmary,
Head out on the farm, the outbuildings, the laundry.
Work to feed and clothe the nation’s but a token
Souls unspoken
may yet be re-awoken.
Taboos can still be broken.
Dutch vermillion, dahlia purple and French rose
To depict walls blown apart by Gerry’s blows.
Break out the flask and share a drink,
Then empire purple, philox pink,
To shape presences where only absence grows.
Have you seen the grey old fellow, used to paint red-golds and yellows?
Haven’t seen him lately: give St James a ring.
Every day the image fainter
Of the Lord Mayor’s wartime painter
Known to everyone: there goes old Edward King.
Now the bombs have gone
But still the paintings sing.
On Admission to the Lunatic Asylum
(The Victorian Diagnoses Song)
(Audio coming soon)
It’s the disease & diagnoses song
It’s my Victorian diagnoses song
Consecutive dementia,
Atrophy, dyspepsia,
Apoplexy, Scarlatina,
Chronic mania.
Hereditary predisposition,
Domestic affliction,
Overstudy of religion,
Epileptic fits, dissolute opium habits
Intemperance, sluggish blood
business trouble, desertion by husband
Chorus
Quackery and Exposure
Incontinence, liver failure,
Nymphomania, novel reading,
Two years’ snuff eating
Political excitement,
Brain fever, vicious vices,
Seduction and disappointment,
Overuse of lubricious ointment,
Nervous dissipation,
Deranged masturbation.
Chorus
Egotism, gunshot, dropsy,
Uterine hypertrophy,
Familial estangement,
Uterine derangement,
Masturbation by the dozen,
Parents were cousins.
Before you dare to laugh at these
Victorian diagnoses,
they’ll laugh with glee hysterically
one day about today’s diseases:
ASD, PTSD,
Electromagnetic hypersensitivity.
Attention deficit disorder,
Gulf War syndrome, border-
line personality,
Wilson’s thyroid syndrome,
gluten sensitivity,
Wind turbine syndrome,
Fan death,
heavy legs.
Chorus
That’s a modern diagnoses song.
You could say an Elizabethan diseases song.
But will they remain diagnoses for long?
Bear in mind how often we’ve been wrong.
No better than Victorian diagnoses song.
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