Black Bread White Beer by Niven Govinden

The UK Miscarriage Association notes that “Even though about one in four pregnancies ends in miscarriage, there’s a lot that we still don’t know about why it happens.” This is a loss which affects a lot of couples hoping to conceive and give birth, but it is something rarely acknowledged openly or discussed except amongst the privacy of family. Negotiating how to deal with it is a strain that can threaten to break a relationship. Black Bread White Beer follows a couple who have just experienced a miscarriage and their day immediately following this trauma. They are in their mid-thirties and feel compelled to get their family started soon since the clock is ticking. “Even when it felt like they were at their closest, physically all-consuming, somewhere, in the crook of an arm, a cavity in their pumping hearts, was a final gap waiting to be filled.” The novel concentrates largely on the husband Amal’s perspective as he picks up his wife from the hospital and drives her to her parents’ house. In these high-pressure moments Niven Govinden brilliantly explores the minutia of how a couple functions and the dysfunctions which threaten to split them apart. Amidst relating the story of this particular couple he deals with larger issues of familial responsibility, faith, gender, racism and social expectation.

Every moment of this novel is filled with emotional tension since the knowledge of the couple’s immediate loss is felt so heavily between them. Before Amal retrieves his wife from an overnight stay in the hospital it is there. “Even before she returns, he feels the disappointment, self-blame, hanging in the air, but it does not seem irreparable. It is nothing that faith cannot fix.” Amal has abandoned the faith he was raised with from his Indian heritage to convert to Christianity before marrying his white girlfriend Claud. The sense of a personal belief system is at odds with feelings of social obligation creating a complexity in how Amal (someone who sees faith largely as symbolic) expresses himself religiously and whether faith can be called upon in an emotionally intense situation such as this one. There are instances where the subtle effects of racism can be felt – not overt or malicious, but modified expectations and reactions to Amal because of his skin colour. As such Amal has a heightened awareness of his otherness amidst Claud, her parents and their largely white community and that his actions might be perceived by them as stemming from his race. “It is the immigrant’s millstone: even in the face of this smug, politically incorrect tediousness he will remain all eyes and teeth, determined never to be less than his most exemplary self.” Being a minority is something Amal is always aware of and it impacts the way he relates to those around him whether those people perceive him as other or not. This self consciousness about race is an issue which is drawn to the surface even more acutely because of the intensity of the couple’s situation.

Govinden also skilfully writes about the different ways men and women currently deal with emotions and how they conceal them from the world. Claud tries to compose herself when concealing the fact of her miscarriage from her parents and strengthen herself to deal with the world. “Her make-up, all four products of it – powder, lipstick, mascara and blush – have made a warrior of her.” Whereas Amal deals with his heartache by secretly getting drunk and eating a lot of junk food before reconnecting with his wife and dealing with his in-laws. “Maybe it is only men who have let the modern age weaken their resilience, crying into baked goods and wallowing into beer.” In this way Govinden shows the way society’s expectations about how men and women should act in public impact upon their private outlets for releasing emotional tension.

At one horrifying point Amal discovers his wife’s parents have printed up cards to invite their friends to a party in order to celebrate their becoming grandparents. The sense of expectation that the prospect of a new baby creates is something that reverberates beyond the couple actually having it. “Everyone around them is using their due date to put an end to their personal issues. They are all after a clean slate.” Prospects for a new baby are not only felt by the couple having it, but by everyone around them. It seems cruel that a couple should have to not only deal between themselves with the loss of expectation following their miscarriage, but also the emotional investment and hopes of those around them. As such, Claud retains their secret about her loss trying to maintain control and privacy about her tumultuous emotions.

Black Bread White Beer deals with the private life and daily workings of a relationship better than any book I can think of. The miscarriage is a catalyst which draws to the surface a multiplicity of issues which always existed between Amal and Claud, but were often paved over by the niceties of comfortable routines. The great test of this is whether their bond is strong enough to withstand the challenge of all this surfacing in the face of such a profound disruption and loss. Govinden sympathetically portrays how relationships can only continue if there is a process of constant renegotiation for the desires, expectations and faults of each person involved. For all the emotional turmoil raised in this novel, it conveys a tremendous sense of hope and strength to continue on despite tragic circumstances.

Angela written by Chrissy Williams and illustrated by Howard Hardiman

There have been countless in-between times I've spent watching ‘Murder, She Wrote’. Whether it was between having breakfast and getting dressed for the day, reading a book and going out for the evening or slouching on the sofa with a hang over, it seems that repeats of the show can always be found playing on some network. The preposterous plots and grandmotherly charm of Angela Lansbury never fail to make me smile and warm my heart. In this new pamphlet 'Angela' with text by Chrissy Williams and illustrations by Howard Hardiman the personality of Angela Lansbury via Jessica Fletcher is explored through a tale of love and obsession. In a confiding deeply-intense monologue stream the narrator speaks directly to Angela in an act which prises free the woman from behind the female super-slueth persona. Through poetic lines and repetition it speaks of a longing for a psychological and sexual connection with her while disentangling the mystery of amorous obsession. “Angela – you draw the dagger out, keep drawing, keep on drawing. This dagger never ends.” Angela is both the instigator and teller of the mystery tales giving her a godlike power which we mortals are enthralled by wanting her stories of small-town murder and intrigue to continue on and on.

Hardiman's illustrations recreate a cast of suspicious characters as might be found in episodes of the show as well as a trail of clues and murder scenes, but each is sharply etched out as if they were woodcuts and coloured in only three vibrant shades of red, white and black. In addition Angela herself is represented as on the hunt for answers, giving a cheeky wink to the camera or staring out at the reader with her face a mask of deep-lined horror. The familiar cartoonish aspect of the genre characters are given a darker edge as if they've been overlaid with the projection of a gothic psychological horror movie. Hardimen says on his website that he was given a brief to imagine Murder, She Wrote as directed by David Lynch. In fact, Lynch appears in the background at one point alongside a cast of characters. Subsequently the pamphlet gives a feeling of deep unease alongside a sense of psychological turmoil mired in absurdity. Shining through all this is Angela’s light-hearted personality making this comic a source of both stark beauty and subversive pleasure. Hardimen’s talent for packing complex emotions into a tenebrous landscape populated by quietly-dignified melancholy figures as was exemplified in his tremendous series ‘The Lengths’ is used to wonderful effect when set against William’s playfully lugubrious poetry. ‘Angela’ emanates with nostalgia tainted with an adult heartache.

Trailer for 'Angela'

Ammonites & Leaping Fish: A Life in Time by Penelope Lively

Do you think of your life as a narrative? Casting your mind back do you hit upon “landmark” moments that set you on a course to becoming the person you are now? Last year I started spending more time with an acquaintance who I’d casually known for years. Increasingly we discussed books and went to events together although we didn’t really know all that much about each other. So one evening while we were having dinner he suddenly looked up at me and asked “Who are you?” I had to mentally scramble around quite quickly picking up and arranging all those introductory phrases and things you say at social gatherings to present a coherent answer to this. We’re accustomed to constructing narratives, forever tweaking and refining them, to make sense of our lives. It’s not that we necessarily try to fictionalize elements of the past, but that we attempt to make our lives into a complete comprehensible story rather than a series of slapdash experiences dependent upon chance and sporadic bursts of willpower which is the existence of most people. As Lively writes, “Most of us settle for the disconcerting muddle of what we intended and what came along, and try to see it as some kind of whole.” The trouble is that giving an approximate linear shape to our lives doesn’t really convey the experience as it was lived or how that experience has been translated into the memories inside our heads. Penelope Lively is very aware of this problem. Our lives don’t play through like a grand fictional narrative on a movie screen starting at birth and ending in death. Life exists in the sensory moment and in the scattered fragments of memory flitting through our minds throughout every day. 

Lively has previously given us her fictional representation of this in her lauded novel ‘Moon Tiger’. Here a life is presented in an impressionistic way. The story doesn’t move from start to finish but leaps around settling here and there upon episodes through a variety of narrative points of view. ‘Ammonites and Flying Fish’ which Lively admits is not a traditional memoir uses a similar tactic when trying to present a picture of her own life now that she’s over eighty years old. She muses upon what old age means now and how it’s transformed her personality: “We have to get used to being the person we are, the person we have always been, but encumbered now with various indignities and disabilities, shoved as it were into some new incarnation.” In many ways Lively feels like the same person she was when she was younger, but now she has a lot of memories to mull through. “We are the same, but different, and equipped now with a comet trail of completed time, the memory trail.” She finds old age has its challenges and also its freedoms and pleasures. There are physical problems, but she’s liberated by the fact that she doesn’t feel obligated to do anything that she doesn’t want to do. Lively muses upon the social impact of people living longer and how society reacts and is transformed by this new aging portion of the population.

Memory is a troublesome issue for Lively – both the process and the way memories are used to give coherence to our lives. Throughout the book she refers back to the strange phenomenon of memory loss when it comes to names. It’s a common problem and one that is often cited by writers and psychologists, but nobody can ever answer why it is that being unable to recall the name of someone you met last week would be more difficult than remembering the capital of Indonesia. It annoys her that no one has an answer and the problem annoys me too as it’s a difficulty I’m prone to though I’m less than half Lively’s age. In addition to losing the ability to recall names as easily, Lively finds herself unable to look forward to the future so much as continuously circling back through thoughts of the past. “What is at issue, it seems to me, is a new and disturbing relationship with time.” And so she casts her mind back and tries to construct a portrait of her life.

Hilariously, Lively remarks that “we old talk too much about the past.” In the chapter which immediately proceeds this that is exactly what she does: goes on for a hundred or so pages talking about the past in an engaging way. Personally I love hearing interesting older people talk about the past and Lively is an incredibly fascinating individual. When she describes the beginning of her life she juxtaposes her personal memories of growing up in Egypt with general historical knowledge of social and political upheaval of the time whether that be the Suez Crisis or the nuclear attack threat of the Cold War. She also supplements this knowledge with documents including her personal writing or articles and books from the time. This connection to history is very important to her. “If you have no sense of the past, no access to the historical narrative, you are afloat, untethered; you cannot see yourself as a part of the narrative, you cannot place yourself within a context. You will not have an understanding of time, and a respect for memory and its subtle victory over the remorselessness of time.”

Lively has a preoccupation with time and a desire to define the meaning of time which eerily reflects Ali Smith in her book ‘Artful’ which I read recently. Lively remarks that “linguistically, we are positively cavalier about it – we make it, we spend it, we have it, we find it, we serve it, we mark it. Last time, next time, in time, half-time – one of the most flexible words going, one of the most reached for, a concept for all purposes.” Smith also notes this flexibility and ponders our relationship with it: “Time means. Time will tell. It’s consequence, suspense, morality, mortality. Boxers fight in bouts between bells ringing time. Prisoners do time. Time’s just ‘one damn thing after another,’ Margaret Atwood says. That sounds like conventional narrative plot. And at the end of our allotted time, we’ll end up in one of those, a conventional plot I mean, unless we stipulate otherwise in our wills.” Time is the map we use to locate ourselves within whether that be recalling when we first kissed someone, arriving at work or planning to retire. We exist in time and we wouldn’t have any conception of our place in the world without it.

Lively notes some grand changes in society since the time she was young remarking specifically upon the advancement of equality for women and acceptance of homosexuality. Then she changes tact, giving an impression of her life by recounting a series of seemingly random memories and sensations. Next she presents a group of objects in her house and the personal significance of each item. Objects for her are all artefacts of the past, in some ways more reliable for recounting history than anyone’s subjective account. “It is objects, things like these scraps of pottery, that have most keenly conjured up all those elsewheres – inaccessible but eerily available to the imagination.” Finally, she ends discussing the meaning books and writing have had upon her life.

Penelope Lively discusses reading, history, fiction and nonfiction at Yale University in 2009.

Lively is someone who is passionate about literature. For her, “books are not acquisitions, they are necessities.” She feels her life is not just informed from what she has read, but literally is a part of her past and who she is: “What we have read makes us what we are – quite as much as what we have experienced and where we have been and who we have known. To read is to experience.” The books we read allow us to experience lives we can never lead bound as we are in our own particular circumstances of our own particular time period. She has found this in both fiction and non-fiction. Her dedication to literature and illuminating thoughts on what books mean to us struck an emotional chord with me. Lively is someone dedicated to not just telling stories, but constantly pushing the boundaries of narrative itself and finding new radiant ways of writing. She has a wonderful quip which is a play upon a famous TS Eliot line: “I can measure out my life in books.” This book shows a new way of measuring one individual’s life. One that is honest, artful and enlightening.

In Bed with Gore Vidal by Tim Teeman

Getting under the covers with Gore Vidal is a terrifying prospect when thinking about the last time I saw him appear live on television. It was when David Dimbleby interviewed Vidal after Obama’s election in 2008. The elderly Vidal was haughty, argumentative and made no sense. Since he was such a vocal and frequent presence on television throughout his life, Tim Teeman references this incident in the book as the nadir of Vidal’s many public appearances due to his evident mental and physical decline. The appearance was particularly embarrassing in relation to thinking about a time when I’d seen him several years before give a reading at a PEN event in London. After the event people were mingling in the corridor chatting away when Vidal’s long-term partner Howard came bursting through clearing a path with a walking stick and grumbling “Make way! Make way!” as Vidal followed behind him strutting with his nose held high like an imperial statesman while everyone looked upon him with awe. People surrounding him practically bowed in respect. Looking past his status and accomplishments, consider portraits of the tall masculine intellectual stud in his heyday and the prospect of slipping in bed with Vidal is much more enticing. I was ambiguous about wanting to go there, but now that I’ve read this insightful, entertaining and admirable biography I’m glad that I did. In this book Teeman disentangles Vidal’s complicated position on sexuality while constructing a history of his erotic life. In doing so he creates an important portrait of one of recent gay history’s most controversial figures. 'In Bed with Gore Vidal' prompts us to challenge our assumptions and ask vital questions about how we define sexuality on a personal, social and political level.

Teeman makes clear at the beginning: “This is a book with sexuality at its heart; it is neither a general biography nor evaluation of Vidal’s writing career.” Through rigorous research and clear analysis Teeman manages to compile a collage of opinions both about Vidal’s sexuality and what sexuality means for an individual in relation to society. Drawing on an impressive range of resources, Teeman’s references draw upon Vidal’s books, letters between Vidal and his friends, interviews with a huge variety of people Vidal knew intimately, an important unpublished interview the publisher Don Weise conducted with Vidal in 1999, research material for an unfinished biography by Walter Clemons which was largely destroyed and an interview Teeman conducted with Vidal himself a few years prior to his death. Like a review of the last century’s most influential figures names of prominent politicians, writers and Hollywood actors are listed as having not only been acquainted with Vidal but close personal friends: Jackie and JFK, Eleanor Roosevelt, Princess Margaret, Rudolf Nureyev, Allen Ginsberg, Tennessee Williams, Norman Mailer, Paul Bowles, Muriel Spark, Anais Nin, Christopher Isherwood, Edmund White, Rock Hudson, Greta Garbo, Paul Newman, Susan Sarandon and many others. Naturally all these opinions and viewpoints about Vidal are sometimes in conflict with one another and present a series of contradictions.

Even just by scratching the surface of Vidal’s life a huge variety of questions arise about what the writer did in bed especially when considering Vidal’s ability to “embellish” the facts and present a carefully monitored public persona. Did Vidal really have sexual relations with the long-dead Jimmie Trimble who Vidal always considered his great lost love and masculine ideal? Did he ever have a cock in his mouth or was he only into mutual masturbation? Was Vidal indifferent about the AIDS crisis or deeply moved by it? Was he a great lover of women or was his close relationships with them only platonic? Did he really suck off and fuck Jack Kerouac in the Chelsea Hotel? Did he ever have sex with Howard, his partner of over 50 years, or (as he claimed in interviews) never have sex with him? Can Vidal, with all these questions swirling around him, legitimately claim not to be gay?

A small part of a 2008 interview with Gore Vidal speaking about sexuality at his home in Hollywood.

By presenting these queries with an even-handed array of references and offering his own diligent clear-sighted commentary Teeman constructs what feels like an accurate reconciliation between how Vidal presented himself as someone who claimed “There is no such thing as a homosexual person” and a man who lived with another man for over fifty years while having countless sexual encounters with male prostitutes. In some ways it all seems to come down to semantics as Teeman notes: “Vidal thought ‘gay’ referred to a sexual act, rather than a sexual identity.” Since Vidal saw sexual identity as always being fluid, people can’t ever be defined as either homosexual or heterosexual in his mind. 

There is a niggling sense throughout the book that his position on sexuality is largely founded on Vidal’s own fear of having his public image diminished by being labelled as gay: “He knew his political destiny would be betrayed by his gay sexuality – this taint.” That a public image could be diminished by a queer label was something he learned well after the reception of his ground-breaking novel ‘The City and The Pillar’ upon publication in 1948. On multiple occasions Vidal tried to be elected into government and harboured a longstanding daydream wish to one day become president. With these ambitions for power and overall public approval, it’s not surprising that, as Teeman observes, “his mind never allowed that ‘gay’ could mean firm wrists, men of all kinds having sex with, and loving, one another and being open about it; even realizing the potency of its political appropriation, or something to reveal, rather than hide.” Vidal had his definition and he stuck to it without considering how it might reflect on his personal longstanding relationship with Howard or the way it might be interpreted by society as self-denial.

Vidal always became very disgruntled if anyone tried to fix these labels on him. It’s humorous to think how the author, so deeply concerned about his self image, would have hated that this book exists. Now that Vidal is dead riffling around the sacred bed to discover his dirty underclothes gives the reader a giddy feeling of transgression – like when Colm Tóibín depicted the inner life of the deeply private Henry James in his novel 'The Master'. Such audacity can seemingly only occur after the subject’s passing. Vidal reveals himself as a hypocrite when he affixed the label of homosexual on Henry James even though this is something no one can know for sure. Teeman points out the “irony in Vidal freely casting James as a homosexual and homosexual writer, whereas he strenuously resisted any such definitions being applied to himself.” This is another indication of Vidal’s tremendous arrogance, but also what made him so enthralling to listen to as he was clearly a great gossip. He knew almost everyone worth knowing so could either recite accounts based on experience or spin believable fables to suit his purpose.

This is the well known incident between William Buckley and Gore Vidal that occurred during ABC's coverage of the 1968 Democratic convention in Chicago.

This resistance to embrace terms like “homosexual” and “gay” in relation to himself often led to feelings of animosity between the gay community and Vidal – something Vidal was never that bothered about as he felt “There is no fellow feeling particularly.” In addition, as can be seen in many recorded interviews with Vidal, he enjoyed a good scrap and enjoyed stirring heated debate. However, Teeman records how through some clear-intentioned writing, sporadic acts of charity and support for gay activism Vidal backed his claim when he once said to someone “I am on your team. After all, I’ve been there all along.” Maybe he didn’t do everything he could, but he played a part. Perhaps even by standing alone with his radical opinions he progressed ideas in society in ways that aren’t so clear-cut. As Teeman wryly notes: “He was a renegade, not a crusader.” And, after all, this raises one of the questions central to the heart of this book: was Vidal a sexual pioneer creating a level playing field or an old-fashioned relic who was too worried what people would think? There is no clear answer to this question or any of the other many questions raised by the fascinating and frustrating figure of Vidal. The fact that we’re forced to question and challenge our own beliefs and assumptions when considering him is what makes him so interesting to study. For that reason, Tim Teeman has produced a valuable biography and study that takes sex seriously while also providing a fantastically titillating read.

The Frost Fairs by John McCullough

After reading a couple books on this year’s Polari First Book Prize shortlist, I decided to go back and reread the 2012 winner John McCullough’s book of poetry The Frost Fairs. It’s only fitting McCullough received recognition for this book by a LGBT prize because several of the poems describe ambiguous lines of gender and sexuality. In fact the very first poem is from the perspective of someone whose bits are “a mishmash of harbour and ship.” Later a character is vividly brought to life when described trying to apply makeup and contemplating “the logistics of masking your beard shadow in a jerking patrol car when you’ve only one eye.” More than describing the multifarious perspectives of queer and trans people McCullough’s poetry also seeks an idealised space where gender is levelled out and identity blurred. In one later poem which contemplates the sky he writes “Cloud sex – or merging and changing – complicates matters because it makes it hard to remember who they are or were.” With the act of transformation identity is destabilised and is shown to be something that is constantly being recreated.

This also demonstrates another skill of McCullough’s writing which is to reflect the personal and particular in the larger elements like a sky of clouds or a galaxy of stars. Although we often feel bound in our own circumstances and might feel our lives are stationary, McCullough’s poetry reminds us that we are inextricably bound to nature and the movement of the planet through an expansive ever-changing universe. My favourite poem in the book ‘The Light of Venus’ juxtaposes a pairing of Earth and Venus with a separated couple and the memory of when they were together. There is an incredible tenderness described with the couple’s meeting and the energy created from it is set against the proliferation of lightning storms on Venus hidden under the serene haze which covers the planet. There is a sense of threat, but also a tender union borne out of a need for survival. 

Other poems in the book also evoke a beautiful sensual connection: “I picture your long fingers caressing the rims of improbable fountains, grasping mangoes from Assam, the sides of a bed that turns into a life-raft” His use of language creates a playful interplay between the erotic and fantastical. Again there is the sense of urgency – that romantic liaisons are both desired and necessary. The more sombre poem “Islands” sees a transformation similar to the above bed/life-raft where a bathtub turns into the sinister image of a boat filling with water. It feels as if these images aren’t only metaphorical but stand for the emotional reality of the narrator.

In a poem that draws the most direct connections between micro and macro worlds ‘On Galileo’s Birthday’ the universe is reflected in a bowl of cacti. Here there is the sense that casting our gaze outwards whether it be up to the stars or to lines of poetry we won’t discover any definitive answers. We can only marvel at the mystery and majesty of the world. This poem also seems to reveal McCullough’s primary mission in his incredibly moving and intelligent writing which is “plotting outer and earthly and inner space”

Tony Hogan Bought Me an Ice-Cream Float Before He Stole My Ma by Kerry Hudson

From the first magnificently shocking line of this long-titled novel, I was instantly gripped by the powerful and original voice of the narrator. Like David Copperfield the book starts with the narrator Janie’s birth and the story continues on following her till the brink of adulthood. Janie Ryan is raised by her fascinating strong-willed filthy-mouthed mother who has returned to her mother’s house in Scotland after becoming pregnant after a short spate of living in London. The pair move all over the UK through a variety of social housing and exist on the perilous knife-edge between Monday benefit cheques and total poverty. Along the way Janie witnesses horrific scenes of abuse against her mother from a drug dealer she takes up with named Tony Hogan. Far from being something out of the ordinary amongst Janie and her friends it’s simply acknowledged “That’s what das do.” Although her mother finally escapes abusive Tony he eventually turns up again disrupting the modest peace and comfort Janie and her mother have been able to find on their own: “Tony smothered the life that me and Ma had built, a furry mould growing over a sweating slab of cheese.” With Janie’s mother dealing with problems of abusive men, poverty, substance abuse and depression she is forced into taking on a more adult role to protect their fragile existence: “We were a glass family, she was a glass ma and I needed to wrap us up, handle her gently.” Through a lot of strife and hardship Janie gradually grows to become as fiercely independently-minded as her mother: “Ryan Women, with filthy tempers, filthy mouths and big bruised muscles for hearts.” While dealing with a lot of difficult and painful subject matter, Hudson is able to maintain a lot of hilarity and genuine warmth in the story through her incredible array of characters and an inventive use of language.

One of the great things this book does is expose the inherent sexism of society especially when discussing pregnancy amongst people from poor backgrounds: “People thought it was an epidemic or something to do with the tides, ‘so many careless girls in one year’. Not one word about the careless lads.” Equally it exposes a troubling attitude towards women who drink, dress provocatively and stay out late at night: “they’d say it again, ‘You see? Hammered. Asking for it.’” Not only is physical and sexual violence overlooked by those around them, it’s passively condoned as something normal and that women of a certain “type” seek out. While the world may gasp in shock when someone of the upper classes like Nigella Lawson is shown with a man’s hand gripped around her neck, they’d be more likely to roll their eyes or turn away in embarrassment and fear when seeing an intoxicated woman on benefits being similarly abused by a man. This is a sick fact of inequality based on social and economic status. Hudson also shows how difficult it is to work towards a better life once you’ve been pigeonholed as coming from a certain class. In one scene at school Janie meets with a jobs advisor who rebuffs her aspirations to study law with the claim that his “job is managing expectations” rather than helping her to realize these dreams.

A great joy of reading this novel is the powerful way Hudson uses language to evoke her characters through dialogue in a way that makes them instantly familiar and understandable. The voice of the narrator also beautifully evokes the sense of time and place making it feel immediate and real. This is particularly effective in the way she frequently references the smells around her as in one scene in a cramped car travelling across the UK: “The car stank, layer upon later of reek, my feet stewing in my Docs (hormones Ma said), Doug’s ‘silent but violents’, though he delicately lifted one arse cheek when he let one off so it was hardly a secret, onions, lard and our unbrushed teeth thick with stale sugar.” This instantly takes the reader there and grounds them in Janie’s reality. I admire how Kerry Hudson has been able to cast light upon a part of British society not often seen or discussed. It’s a tremendously accomplished work of fiction.

This is the second book I’ve read which is nominated for this year’s Polari First Book Prize. It’s totally different from The Tale of Raw Head & Bloody Bones. I don’t think there is a useful way to compare them and I don’t think I could choose which should win the prize over the other so I’m more eager than ever to hear what the result will be on November 13th. However, Hudson’s novel is also nominated for the Scottish Book Awards which can be voted on by the public here: http://www.scottishbookawards.com/vote/

While I haven’t read any of the other books listed for this prize I’d strongly suggest you support Hudson’s book by voting for her to encourage an innovative and very promising author.

The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt

Earlier this year I read The Secret History for the first time. It’s one of those books that came attached with so much expectation from years of people saying in that whispered deep-feeling tone “one of my favourite books!” that I was almost hesitant to approach the alter of it. I took the plunge and I was engaged with the twisted blood-thickened plot and the complex ping-pong game of philosophical ideas, but I didn’t find myself swept away in that glued to the book sort of way that happens too rarely. However, after reading the first section of The Goldfinch I was totally stuck as if my legs were lodged in cement. Theo’s journey from adolescence where he survives a bomb-explosion in a NYC art gallery to the bleak deserts of Las Vegas to the forlorn wintry canals of Amsterdam is a magnificently worked out plot that includes thievery, gambling, depression, the seedy black market underworld, antique furniture restoration, high-society engagement parties and a heart-racing shoot out. All the while Theo carries with him a secret which must finally be confronted and dealt with in order for him to fully accept reality and deal with his grief.

The Goldfinch tackles many large themes with all the intellectual and time warp weight of any Dickens, Proust or Dostoevsky whose writing all inform this novel. But the ideas are always in the context of the magnificent story and connected to the book’s various and memorable characters. One of the most notable is Theo’s friend Boris – an Eastern European born citizen of the world and a totally self-invented self-made man. Boris’ fanatical indulgences and addictions are pursued with an unapologetic passion driven by the question “What if our badness and mistakes are the very thing that set our fate and bring us round to good?” Theo can’t follow the same paths without being hunkered down with guilt and a sense of life’s inevitable perils. “We can’t choose what we want and don’t want and that’s the hard lonely truth. Sometimes we want what we want even if we know it’s going to kill us. We can’t escape who we are.” There is a pervading sense in the novel that we are led more by a sense of destiny as determined by our essential selves than by any free will we strive to impose. As much as Theo despises his father he continuously invokes common phrases and aphorisms his father said and as he grows older finds himself resembling his father both physically and in his actions. One of his father’s many addictions was gambling and it’s the element of chance which goes with this that haunts Theo’s life: “The stray chance that might, or might not, change everything.”

It’s fascinating thinking about the comparisons between this new novel and The Secret History. There are striking common themes and devices Tartt uses to engage with timeless discussions and unanswerable questions concerning art, love and life. She also has an original way of portraying masculinity, the blurred and hidden lines of sexuality and the continuous way substance abuse is used to dull the hard edges of life. Tartt has a voice so distinct that it demands to be heard and a way of entrenching you in a character’s thought process that it chimes incontestably with your own. This truly is an up-all-night reading sort of book and one that holds a plethora of dazzling surprises.

What Music to Read To?

The spare room at the back of my apartment is where I do a lot of my reading. I’ve added shelves filled with books all around the room and there is a big comfortable sofa to recline on. In general it’s a fairly quiet space, but students live above me and frequently there are planes flying overhead as it's London. So in order to avoid distractions I listen to music sometimes. I always have difficulty finding the right kind of album which will blend into the background, but still be engaging enough to flow with what I’m reading. I listen to classical music sometimes, particularly Chopin. More often though I’ve been listening to types of folk music particularly with a sensitive male voice leading.

Do you have a favourite kind of music or albums that you listen to while reading?

Here are three recent albums I listen to a lot while reading, particularly when travelling on the tube or bus.

 Spectral Dusk by Evening Hymns

Evening Hymns is really Jonas Bonnetta, a Canadian who collaborates with several different people when creating his music. Spectral Dusk is his third album. It has a real connection with nature with sounds of water sometimes in the background. There is a pervading sombre tone to the album, but it is really beautiful.  

 Palindrome Hunches by Neil Halstead

This was my favourite album from last year and it introduced me to the genius Neil Halstead. He was a founding member of the band Slowdive but has since gone on to create four albums of his own. He plays the guitar and sings with a soft voice songs of heartfelt hope and sorrow.  

 Coexist by The XX

Coexist is the second album by The XX with a really minimalist sound led by alternating male (Oliver Sim) and female (Romy Madley-Croft) vocals. The album plays upon the themes of a coming together and breaking apart of a relationship. The soft beats in the background help spur me along through the plot of a novel.  

The Tale of Raw Head & Bloody Bones by Jack Wolf

In what way is the mind connected to the body? Can thought and material substance be intertwined? Are we all just organic machines that will eventually break down or do our souls extend beyond the limitations of the body? These are some of the philosophical conundrums pondered in Jack Wolf’s bizarre and fascinatingly engrossing Polari First Book Prize Nominated novel The Tale of Raw Head & Bloody Bones. Set in mid-1700s England the story is narrated (in the language and style of the time) by Tristan Hart, a boy raised by his stoic father who is in perpetual mourning after the death of Tristan’s mother. From early on the boy is shown to have a high intelligence and analytical engagement with the world: “The World was as an open Bible; the Challenge was in learning how to read it.” Tristan develops a medical fascination for the workings of the body regularly taking specimens of rats and other dead animals to dissect and preserve their bones for display in his room. However, Tristan is prone to dark fits where his mental unbalance leads to a breakdown. In these sections the narrative becomes much more hallucinatory as his vision of the world is skewed by visions of the demonic forces of the fairy tale figures of Raw Head and Bloody Bones as described to him when he was a child. After slowly recovering from one such fit he is given the opportunity to go to London to live with his father’s acquaintance, the writer Henry Fielding. Here he comes into his own remarking “Life was become a Joy to me instead of a Chore. I even began to forget mine apparent Madness. No longer did I study Descartes and Locke with the Desperation of a condamned Man. I suffered no Delusion, no Phrenzy, no Melancholia.” He begins medical training and studying anatomy properly. Slowly he develops theories and embarks on research which makes him believe he will produce groundbreaking work which will change the medical practice forever.

A large part of this novel is devoted to exploring the murky areas of sexuality not often touched upon in a way that is both meaningful and philosophical. Tristan realizes early on that standard missionary sex doesn’t excite him as much as it does others although there is a girl who works at an inn who teaches him the basic mechanics of giving pleasure remarking hilariously at one point that “Every Fool knows how to fuck. You needs to learn how to make my Cunny glow.” It’s only when he gets to London and visits a whorehouse that he is able to act upon some of the darker fantasies that have been brewing in his sexual imagination. Tristan seeks connections to understand his own sadistic nature and the relationship between pain and pleasure. As he observes at one point after whipping the face of a man he looks down upon as an animal, “Pain needeth neither Language, nor Reason. It crosseth all Boundaries: betwixt Man and Beast, Monster and Angel, even between Sinner and God. Did not Christ Himself suffer the most enduring Agonies upon the Cross? ‘Tis a Species of Love, I thought.” He sees pain as a purer form of connection between one person and another that can be more tender than a gentle caress. When matters of the darker side of human desire are written about in novels it usually focuses on the more sensational side. While the sexual scenes covered in this book strike a rhythm that sometimes builds to what might be titillation for some, they are handled with style and care.

When Tristan finds a soul-mate in his closest friend’s younger sister Katherine the two discover a bond over shared sexual desires of an edgier nature. Tristan admits to Katherine that their activities and sexual compulsions are “‘terrible, and vile, and cruel. But beautifull, despiting all of that.’” The ecstasy achieved through dominating the submissive Katherine creates a strong bond between the two and helps Tristan understand his true nature as both man and monster. Katherine says to Tristan, “‘you are no Raw Head; I say you are Bloody Bones; the Fiend who collects the marrow-Bones of the Dead, and prizes them more dearly than the Living.’” His interest in medicine and building upon his intuitive understanding of the bodies’ mechanics isn’t purely scientific but inextricably linked to his sexual drive. This is demonstrated in a disturbing scene where he observes a surgery on a cancer patient. It drives him to work upon theories regarding the connection between the body, nerve stimulation and the mind. He ponders whether thoughts and memories reside in the matter of the body or in electro-chemical processes of the mind: “Where doth any ordinary Memory exist when it is not in Process of Recollection? It hath not ceased to be. Yet it is neither in Man’s Awareness, nor is he aware of its Lack.” Tristan seeks to understand the ways in which mental facility is affected by a person’s physical status and vice-versa. As he progresses in his research and through pondering with references to great thinkers like Descartes he comes to understand how language acts as the bridge between mental activity and the physical: “Thought hath, or Thought is, a material Substance. How else could it be shaped into a Word?” Questions such as these loom in the background as Tristan carries forth on his journey and succumbs again to fits of “madness.” The book eventually becomes quite fantastical. A great deal of suspense is created as the reader must decide whether the events are only occurring in Tristan’s troubled imagination or in the real world. This in itself raises the question – if we believe in our minds something to be true does it therefore make it physically true?

Tristan is a fascinating character and it’s interesting to see his transformation throughout the novel. In some cases his personal struggles reflect the larger struggles of society at the time. Tristan’s late mother is Jewish and his heritage, as is made evident in his physical characteristics, arises periodically as an issue from which he cannot escape. He becomes aware that some people make judgements about him based on this seeing him as “someone alien: my Mother. I looked like a Jew.” As described in the novel, the government at that time was debating the hot topic about whether to pass a law allowing Jewish immigrants to become citizens. Issues of class, religion and sexuality loom large in Tristan’s tale and his personal struggles. There is a great deal to ponder and enjoy in The Tale of Raw Head & Bloody Bones. Scenes are described in brilliant metaphorical language and the dark story has a powerful gripping effect. It’s very seldom that an author writes intelligently about sex. Edmund White’s fiction and Jonathan Kemp’s novel London Triptych also do this. Wolf also breaks boundaries showing how sexuality can be explored in a ways that are creative, frank and relevant to everyday life. I haven’t read any of the other books nominated for this year’s Polari First Book Prize, but I think this would make an excellent winner as Jack Wolf is clearly a talented compelling author.

Film Review: Only Lovers Left Alive

Yesterday afternoon I went to see a screening of Jim Jarmusch’s new film ‘Only Lovers Left Alive’ at the London Film Festival. This is a moody but humorous story centred around vampires Adam (Tom Hiddleston) and Eve (Tilda Swinton) who have been lounging about the world – presumably since the dawn of creation. Rather than being portrayed as supreme beings they are shown to be down to earth individuals who continue to have lovers’ spats and exist in perpetual crisis of either being caught in the sunshine or not getting enough blood to subsist on. Eve resides in Tangiers reading through her favourite books and conversing with the writer Christopher Marlowe who is also a vampire. Frustrated artist Adam has a reclusive existence in Detroit making experimental music, moaning about how fed up he is with “zombies” and dodging a faithful legion of rocker fans. The two meet up after a long period of separation, have an unsettling encounter with Eve’s sister Ava and ponder the stumbling progression of the human race. Along the way there are a string of amusing literary references about writers Adam and Eve have known. Adam complains about what a horrible person Byron was and Marlowe pouts about Shakespeare taking credit for all the work which he produced after he became a vampire but couldn’t release under his own name because he was dead. The script is light-hearted and clever in a way that isn’t as pretentious as Woody Allen’s 'Midnight in Paris' which also playfully invokes a lot of literary characters from history.

The film is really made by excellent performances from Hiddleston, Swinton and John Hurt who plays Marlowe. Hiddleston plays Adam like a mopey teenager perpetually moaning about things, showing a geeky fascination with electronics and collecting rare instruments. Hiddleston is a very versatile actor who can transform himself into a wide range of characters. I saw another fascinating film called ‘Exhibition’ at the Festival on Saturday which features Hiddleston in a minor but funny role of an estate agent. With her other-worldly beauty Swinton is perfect playing the bookish vampire and first woman of creation Eve. She reads through novels scanning the pages in seconds in a way that made me incredibly jealous of how much reading she can get through. She speaks to animals that pass her by and mushrooms growing out of season. Although, she is intellectual and polite she is shown at the end to be someone who is also fearsome and terrifying. This is a really amusing film that’s well worth seeing.

Shire by Ali Smith

At lunch one day while I was browsing through books at Clerkenwell Tales my eye was caught by a very attractive small book called 'Shire'. When I saw it was written by Ali Smith I immediately bought a copy as a present for my friend as her birthday was soon. However, I only just recently got a copy for myself. I'd been greatly anticipating reading it as it's a book of four new stories, the first story 'the beholder' I had heard Smith read at the Edinburgh Book Festival last year. It's a really heartfelt and funny story about someone who discovers that she's slowly turning into a tree. She has numerous problems in her life, but these become superseded by the beauty that's growing within her. The next two stories are half-fiction half-tribute to individuals. 'the poet' gives an account of the life of Olive Fraser, a Scottish poet who published a scattering of things throughout her life, but never came to great prominence as she was plagued by illness and financial troubles as Smith bluntly lists: “Bad headaches. Grey skin. Nosebleeds. Concentration lapses. Unexplained illness. Fatigue. Drifts from job to job.” Smith creates a story around this of the poet as a girl discovering music in the binding of a book she throws against a wall. 'the commission' is a much more overtly person story than I'm used to reading from Smith. Here she pays details her mentorship from a scholar named Helena Shire. The academic supports Smith during her time at university by giving her money as well as talking to her about literature and ideas. The story travels back and forth throughout scenes in Smith's life showing her development and how Helena helped shape the person she's become. The final story is a short piece called 'the wound' which relates directly to an anecdote in Smith's previous book Artful where she discusses art as an exchange that “can be a complex and wounding matter” and cites as an example a poem from the late 1500s. In this poem and Smith's story a man borrows mischievous Cupid's wings and bow and arrow. He flies up into the air filled with jubilation but accidentally shoots himself. This parable shows how art and love can transmogrify the individual by causing pain and through that pain understand the world and other people all the greater.

Like much of Smith's work Shire doesn't fit into a neat classification as it is at once literary fiction, biography, theory, philosophy and memoir. What carries us through all this fascinatingly varied terrain is Smith's engaging and innovative voice. Other authors' writing would probably become scattered and confused trying to handle so many subjects, but Smith masterfully carries us through her narratives making every story she touches upon immediate and moving. I'm continuously in awe of her daring and powerful ability to make meaningful connections.

Film Review: The Invisible Woman

Last night at the London Film Festival, I went to see The Invisible Woman, the film adaptation of Claire Tomalin’s novel about Charles Dickens’ affair with 18 year old actress Nelly Ternan. I haven’t read Tomalin’s book and I was slightly hesitant about this movie. Was it going to be a sensational costume drama along the lines of The Other Boleyn Girl? Or a vanity project for director and star Ralph Fiennes? All these fears I had were assuaged when the movie got underway and I discovered what a patient, sympathetic drama it was about a complicated love affair.

Dickens meets Nelly while in his prime as a writer. Heavily established with his wife (played by the incredibly sympathetic Joanna Scanlan) and several children he continues to produce praised serialized novels, gives popular lectures frequently and contributes to charitable events. Whenever he is recognized in public he’s treated as a celebrity surrounded by avid fans seeking to shake his hand. During a production of his friend Wilkie Collins’ play The Frozen Deep his eye is caught by actress Nelly. He increasingly seeks to spend time with Nelly alongside her two actress sisters and their mother played by the talented Kristin Scott Thomas. Thomas’ character understands that Dickens is interested in her daughter even though he makes no overt flirtation with her and takes a cautious approach to this potential affair. Nelly is a shy, intelligent girl who is a great fan of Dickens’ writing and is equally cautious towards Dickens’ evident affection for her. Felicity Jones does an amazing job playing Nelly in a way that is guarded, but full of passion. When Dickens finally decides to break from his wife Catherine the split acts like a seismic shift in the lives of Dickens, his wife and Nelly. He’s unable to marry Nelly and therefore she can’t be formally recognized as his partner. Even when the couple are travelling together on a train which crashes he can’t admit that he knows her and must treat Nelly like a stranger. Some years in the future when the two have separated, Nelly lives a beleaguered existence having remarried and given birth to a new family but she’s unable to escape the haunting memory of her affair with a powerful literary genius.

What’s most effective about this movie is the balanced and sympathetic attention it gives to all the characters involved. Charles and Catherine have grown apart and are shown to be somewhat trapped in their established lifestyle. Catherine seems to know she can’t hope to hold onto the affections of her incredibly active and busy husband. While Dickens could be condemned as despicable for turning his back on his longstanding wife (and the way he goes about breaking up with her and declaring his favour for Nelly is atrocious) it’s not understandable that his affections have transformed. Fiennes plays Dickens as someone who cares about people deeply, but someone who is also attached to his public persona. As Catherine remarks in an amazing scene between her and Nelly, Dickens affections will always be torn between the woman he loves and the public. Love is difficult. There is always a conflict between ego and giving yourself fully to the person you love. The true passion we feel for those we love is often sublimated and inexpressible. Through the subtle performances of Fiennes, Jones and Scanlan we see the quiet introspective moments of these three people’s lives and how their desire was largely swallowed due the circumstances they found themselves in. It’s a powerful, haunting film.

Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald by Therese Anne Fowler

I was interested to read this fictionalized version of Zelda Fitzgerald’s life as I know so little about her. My only impressions about her from talking to friends and reading about F Scott Fitzgerald’s life was that she spent some time in a mental hospital, had her own literary ambitions and possibly derailed her husband from producing as much work as he might have. These are the kind of brief biographical details that we sometimes lazily cling onto to rather than taking time to investigate the full complexity of the person and that we are prone to believe because we are always handed a subjective view of history. As the author notes in her afterward: “Where the Fitzgeralds are concerned, there is so much material with so many differing views and biases that I often felt as if I’d dropped into a raging argument between what I came to call Team Zelda and Team Scott.” We can’t ever know what really happened in this long and tumultuous relationship. However, what is clear is that Zelda was a passionate, troubled and highly artistic individual. Z: A Novel of Zelda Fitzgerald sheds light upon the inner life of this fascinating woman and the sexist attitudes of the time which often stifled her own artistic endeavours.

The novel takes us from the time Zelda is a teenager first meeting Scott through to the disintegration of their marriage and the end of Scott’s life. At the start Zelda comes across as quite an ordinary girl from a distinguished family who goes to parties and flirts with young men. When someone asks Zelda “There’s more to life than fellas, right?” Zelda replies: “‘Not really,’ I said. My smile felt weak, but it was a start.” Her whirlwind romance with the charming and ambitious Scott takes her to NYC and eventually Europe where the pair lead lives filled with drink, parties and endless socializing. One is suspicious of the simple elated excitement and wonder Zelda exhibits without showing a trace of fear or uncertainty or sadness, but this throwing herself headlong into the giddy rush of it all serves as a hidden warning for the tricky times ahead.

When the party wanes Zelda becomes a much more interesting character because of her own greater appreciation for and engagement with the world. At one point she observes, “For the first time, I had a glimmer of the immensity of the planet, of lives being lived as routinely or as vividly as my own had been at any given moment.” She also grows from someone who is complacent in the subjugation of women: “I ended up with a black eye. I was of the mind that I deserved what I got.” to someone who understands it’s necessary to stand up for herself as she comments later in the novel “It was so much easier to be led, to be pampered and powdered and petted for being an agreeable wife. Easier, I thought, but boring. And not only boring, but plain wrong.” However, standing up for herself and expressing her own voice is difficult given Scott’s own misogynistic attitude toward Zelda and his attitudes about women in general. The vision of liberated free-acting women portrayed in his novels turns out to be a sham. Scott says at one point “All of that flapper business was just to sell books.” This attitude most likely partly stems from Scott’s own fears that Zelda’s artistic powers might compete with his own. Unfortunately, this oppressive nature is reinforced institutionally at the psychiatric clinics she enters into where she’s told to write about the correct role of women in the household and by her own family and many of their social circles. At Gertrude Stein’s literary salons the wives (Zelda included) must sit apart drinking tea while Stein herself and the men talk art. Also, the powerful and threatening figure of Hemmingway looms large in the novel. Initially he is a kind of protégé of Scott, but then becomes a well known author himself who drives a wedge between the couple by continuously making Scott believe that Zelda is hobbling his artistic abilities and holding him back. Meanwhile, Zelda suspects Hemmingway might be a “fairy” and have designs on her husband that involve more than literary kinship. Generally in this book Zelda’s viewpoint seems to be a trustworthy one. However, when it comes to her perspective on Hemmingway one wonders if her opinion isn’t skewed due to jealousy and personal bias after a disturbing encounter where Hemmingway propositions her. What is clear is that Hemmingway is a calculating social climber who works too hard to prove his machismo. He is accustomed to using people especially for his own sexual gratification and to advance his literary career.

When the glitzy cloak of success starts fraying at the edges and the endless parties and boozing take their inevitable toll Zelda and Scott’s relationship really starts to feel the strain. Scott is shown to be someone convinced of his own literary genius, but also harbours a tremendous amount of insecurity. Often he prefers drinking, socializing and whoring over getting down to the tedious business with pen and paper. As money troubles mount he even starts to let short stories written by Zelda be published under his own name in order to receive greater payments and to enhance his own literary standing. Zelda grudgingly accepts this, but it adds to her increasing mental strain. Throughout much of the novel it’s as if Zelda is viewing her life by looking through a cracked window making wry comments about her relationship with Scott, artist-packed soirees and stuttered attempts to make a career as a writer or painter or dancer. Towards the end of the novel, her viewpoint becomes more fragmented as she mentally breaks down from the ever towering strains of her physical problems, misdiagnosed psychological problems, tumultuous relationship with Scott, lack of recognition for her own achievements and the weariness which comes from partying hard like a true woman of the Jazz age.

There have been many other books which fictionalize the lives of writers to give insight into their personality and the circumstances which went into creating their body of work. Some of the most accomplished I’ve read are CK Stead’s novel Mansfield, the Virginia Woolf portion of Cunningham’s The Hours and my favourite of all Colm Toibin’s novels The Master (about the life of Henry James). It’s difficult to resist peering through the window into what the lives of these authors might have been like – a strange impulse given how writers often lead reclusive and quiet (ie dull on the surface) lives. Of course, great writing speaks to our souls and, while we might like to believe we’d have a spiritual kinship with the author of such great thoughts, the actual person might turn out to be deeply flawed and disappointing. After reading Fowler’s novel I can’t help but feel suspicious about Scott Fitzgerald and Hemmingway knowing that their personalities probably in some ways mirror their fictional versions. Not that I won’t still be able to appreciate their work, but I’ll be more guarded when approaching it. What’s particularly excellent about Z is that it establishes Zelda was an artist in her own right (albeit, one who is little read now and usually only by fervent fans of her husband) and a woman who is largely misunderstood (as is shown by my own vague prior impressions of Zelda.) So this novel has given me much greater appreciation for the complexity of her life and understanding of how lives of terrific excess can fuel and finally extinguish the flames of creativity.

Marriage at Cana by Zelda Fitzgerald

Artful by Ali Smith

'Artful' is probably unlike any book you've ever read or will read again. It is a heartfelt account by a narrator who spends his/her time reading through a battered copy of Oliver Twist and speaking to a deceased lover who haunts him/her by sitting at a desk, speaking a strange language and stealing little things. The gender of both the narrator and the deceased lover who the narrator refers to as "you" are never specified. The narrator recognizes that this must be a manifestation that's part of his/her grieving process so goes to see a therapist but finds little comfort past confirming that the deceased lover is speaking Greek rather than a completely made up language. Interspersed with this are contemplations on the meaning of particular concepts like 'time', 'form', 'edge' and 'offering' in relation to art. Taking examples from such disparate sources as the poetry of William Carlos Williams, Dylan Thomas & Sylvia Plath, novels by Jose Saramago, WG Sebald and Elizabeth Hardwick, Shakespeare, quotes by Katherine Mansfield and Margaret Atwood, the art of Yayoi Kusama, Herzog's documentary 'The Cave of Forgotten Dreams' and a Beyonce song. These references bring great weight to Smith’s arguments and observations as well as providing an eclectic list I could be thrilled by when I recognized the source or become very intrigued by if I didn’t know it. If it all sounds too cerebral to you, it isn’t. Smith incorporates all these references in a way that make them feel so meaningful to your own life and the life of the narrator grieving over a lost lover.

Smith uses second person narration in a lot of her fiction. This doesn't constrain the gender of the characters to one thing or another, but gives us a sort of utopian vision of social interaction where matters of male/female don't play any part. By writing "you" the voice of the narrator always feels very direct and intimate like being told a bedtime story. It also allows multiple meanings to blosom depending on who you think might be the recipient "you." It might be the narrator speaking to a particular character or the author speaking directly to the reader or, by speaking the words in your own mind, the reader directing the text out to someone in their own imagination. This is one of the most pioneering and powerful things about Smith's fiction and shows how she's someone that can break down boundaries and open up possibilities through a creative use of language. 

Smith unpacks words’ meanings by citing phrases that include the word such as this excerpt on time: “Time means. Time will tell. It’s consequence, suspense, morality, mortality. Boxers fight in bouts between bells ringing time. Prisoners do time.” Through these examples time can take on both an exhilarating meaning as well as a terrifying one or contain a whole slew of emotions at once. She shows that language is always about context. Language twists and bends through repetition. She could have easily referenced different dramatic plays from the branch of theatre known as “Absurd” as practiced by Ionesco, Pinter and Albee. In their plays words are sometimes repeated until they are flattened out to mean nothing and everything. The same sort of dissection takes place when reading books with special attention. Smith notes at one point “Books themselves take time, more time than most of us are used to giving them. Books demand time.” If we’re to let ourselves be moved and transformed by writing it’s necessary to surrender an adequate amount of time to fully understand what the writer is trying to say. We also literally lose ourselves in the book by surrendering our own time to it. The process allows us to subordinate ourselves to the power of our own imagination. As Smith describes, “it knows us inside out, the imagination. It knows us better than we know ourselves.” By giving space for the imagination in art we discover, not just more about the world, but about ourselves. Imagination also allows us to know, understand and love one another. At one point Smith observes “To be known so well by someone is an unimaginable gift. But to be imagined so well by someone is even better.” This admits the fact that we can’t ever really know each other as we are all trapped inside our own heads. All we can do is imagine each other. To truly be loved someone must think the world of you, to stand in their imagination as someone who is probably even greater than you think yourself to be.

The title of the book is taken from Dickens’ character of the Artful Dodger – a figure Smith herself seems to inhabit in her writing - someone who is crafty, intelligent and a great survivor. I can’t recommend this book highly enough as well as Smith’s books of short fiction. I love Smith’s passionate engagement with art as something that is not just a luxury of life, but essential to it. Art flows through us. Art unmakes and makes us. Art gives us back to ourselves. And, as 'Artful' proves, Ali is a supreme artist!

Ali Smith will be discussing 'Artful' at Gay’s the Word bookshop in London on Sunday, October 20th at 1pm: https://www.facebook.com/events/1405649822998955/

Man Booker Prize Reading at the Southbank

At the Queen Elizabeth Hall in the Southbank Centre this evening the six shortlisted authors for the Man Booker Prize read sections of their novels and answered questions from able presenter Mark Lawson. It was excellent to see Lawson chairing the event as in some past years the reading has been run by less knowledgeable people who didn't actively engage the authors. Jim Crace arrived fashionably late (due to traffic he complained) and just in time to read a section of his novel. Bulawayo spoke beautifully of the sense of seeing American culture from an outsider's perspective and the way in which imagination can't be suppressed no matter where you are writing. Catton explained the incredibly ambitious structure she laid out for her novel based on astrological signs and ever decreasing lengths moving through the sections of the novel. Crace remarked on how it's only in recent times that historical fiction has felt obligated to remain true to fact and how he is enthused by inventing historical information as he sees fit. This seems particularly fair in the way he writes historical fiction which doesn't specifically demarcate itself from any particular date or location. Lahiri spoke of the way she felt growing up in America with an Indian family that she felt a strong connection to both cultures, but at the same time not belonging to either. Ozeki talked about her hesitation of including a character called Ruth who is much like herself in the novel when she began it in 2006, but after significant world events felt it fair to include those events using her own name and personal perspective. Toibin talked about how the politics in Ireland has changed so that he didn't feel any great danger of negative retaliation or censorship because of the re-imagination of religious subject matter he uses in his novella. He remarked though that he's received some very angry messages from feverish religious Americans which he's printed and saved for posterity.

When Lawson opened the floor up to questions I was able to get the second question in from the audience. I asked Eleanor Catton about a male character who featured in the section she read (I won't say who to avoid spoilers). He's a really fascinating character who I wish we had more of in the book but he only appears very late on. She replied that she felt the reason she made him so interesting was that he'd been talked about quite a lot earlier on in the book so she felt he needed to make a grand impressionable entrance. After several more questions (including an embarrassing one where the audience member got Ruth's name wrong) the event ended and the authors signed copies. Sadly as my copy of The Luminaries is a Kindle version I couldn't get Eleanor to sign it, but I had my copies of Harvest, We Need New Names and A Tale for the Time Being signed. All three authors were very engaging and nice to talk to as they were signing my books. I must say that Lahiri seemed rather bored by the whole proceedings. Maybe she just has a subdued personality or maybe she feels rather passive towards the hoopla of book events given all the awards and attention she's received.

As to who will win the Booker, I think it's really open although Crace does have the best chance. But I think Catton's book is so strong it might well win and I hope it does. Responding to Lawson's final question about what winning the prize would mean to them most authors agreed with the sentiment that just being shortlisted and alongside such great authors was winning enough. All fair enough. Equally, just having a prize in order to get excited about books and discuss various reactions to them seems to me a justified reason for it all.

The reading was streamed live and can be viewed here (my question is at 1:21:50):

An evening of readings from the books written by the six short-listed authors. Hear the work that could win one of the most prestigious literary awards in the world, in an evening chaired by renowned journalist and author Mark Lawson.