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240 pages, Hardcover
First published May 1, 2012
Dazed & Confused: You seem incorrigibly drawn back again and again to your own life, or a life like yours, in all of your fiction. What’s with that?Philip Roth does seem an inspiration of sorts - even if Riley's young protagonists are rather different to Roth's. He is quoted in the book's epigraph (Did fiction do this to me), which does highlight one difference to First Love - there Neve happened to be a writer, but here the struggles of an author's life - and the reaction of others to that life - are more central to the novel. Her main romantic relationship - a periodic one with an itinerant American musician - founders when he accuses her of being "too literary" (an accusation both ridiculous but which hits the mark).
Gwendoline Riley: Well, in order to make statements like that you’d need to know the first thing about my life, which, unless you’re one of my four friends, you don’t. That aside, I will say, boringly, that I find you do have to write what you know, and that there has to be something real at stake in a book to make it worth writing, so maybe that answers the question. In My Life as a Man Philip Roth has a teacher put a sign up in his writing class: ‘anyone in this class caught using his imagination will be shot’. I wouldn’t reach for a gun, but I do hate that horrible corporate word ‘imagination’ and think it’s a real blight on fiction. It makes me think of Terry Gilliam films or – yuck – magic realism. What’s wrong with just – thoughts? If you mean my narrators are always writers, well, there’s no getting away from that!
Source: http://www.dazeddigital.com/artsandcu...
I know I felt sorry for him when we first met because he was telling me about a Chinese restaurant he liked because it did a very good set menu for one. I thought, Ah...Aislinn would happily have little to do with her father, but he seems to regard even her non-response as an aggressive action: she likens her situation to someone who, in the Hollywood movie cliche, has stepped on and activated a landmine:
'Right,' I said. 'Very touching. And then, next thing you know: don't wear trousers, and he's thumping you if you look at him wrong.'
'Mm...' Mum said.
And then she said, 'Well it's a long time ago now isn't it? Not the most pleasant subject matter this, is it, Aislinn?'
'No.' I said.
This felt a useful metaphor to me back then, anyway; life seeming once again to be pretty well rigged; my ongoing existence being assessed again, apparently as an impiety, a de facto infarction. And similarly, too – it occurred to me – escape would require a substitutionary sleight, a well-weighted illusion left in my stead. Then everyone could be happy.
