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raves

Hello world…

Being a writer of fiction I find that my natural propensity to daydream has now become a completely justifiable way to spend my time. I even get to give it diary time:

Daydream over a primo soy milk mocha in Summertown Costa.

I don’t read newspapers or print media much: to quote Comic Book Guy from a Simpson’s episode I recently glimpsed, “I get my news from the Internet, like any normal person.”  I don’t watch mainstream TV since we got SkyPlus – we program everything and then watch, often 3/4 episodes at a time, months after they were aired. (I haven’t seen the last 6 episodes of Life on Mars or Doctor Who yet…)…and I certainly don’t watch the news on TV. For us, SkyPlus has completed removed any notion of watching TV at a certain time (i.e. when your show is on, or when the news is actually on).

YouTube and blogs have eroded my attention span whilst on the computer, so that I am now addicted to short entertainment breaks during the working day.

I read The Spectator once a week, but skip the book reviews of very intellectual books that I’m unlikely to read, of art exhibitions I’m unlikely to attend, of operas and plays I’m almost certainly not going to see. And the bridge column… And since the Speccie stopped doing the one page review of the week’s news, I have only the vaguest notion of what is going on in the world.

Really I’m no different to when I was a scientist. I had my head down in science then, like most scientists. It’s a very intensive life; no matter how hard you work at it you’re forever behind in your reading. And I don’t mean about the real world. Forget that – who has the time? I mean the tiny field of your expertise. If you’re lucky it’s a matter of reading 5 or 6 high-impact papers per month. If you’re in some mega-trendy field that could be more like 20.

Once in a while I plug back into the world and it’s a revelation.

This week I watched BBC1 for a whole evening. I read a whole Saturday supplement of a broadsheet. I read Cosmopolitan cover to cover. The things I saw, heard and read! Pop music and the US elections and all the Big Ideas of 2007…fashion, makeup…and so much more.

I had this sudden flash of insight. For a few seconds the world made a brilliant kind of sense. I felt engaged – maybe once again – to the world that I normally wander through in a bewildered daze. I began to formulate ideas, felt the incipient scratchings of understanding…

And then it vanished, all of it, every scrap of connectedness.

Italo Calvino wrote a short story about this feeling. So I guess it’s not just me. Maybe we all wander around in this haze of awareness.

So who are all those people who walk around so confidently, who seem to know exactly what’s going on, how this all works and where to go for this’n’that and the other?

Is there maybe some podcast I can download that’ll scrape everything essential together; a quick guide for the bewildered, for fantasists like me?

Categories
raves writing

Italo Calvino was a genius

This is the first of four posts about my favourite writers. About my four favourite writers. Seria A, you might say. Seria B has more than four.

I don’t write anything like any of my favourite writers; for one thing, it would be completely inappropriate for the people I write for i.e. children and young adults. But also because they are inimitable; true, blazing originals. They have influenced me though. I know exactly what little devices I borrow from them all.

How I was introduced to Italo Calvino’s writing 

Calvino was an Italian writer who died in 1985. That’s when I first heard about him as an undergraduate; I became dimly aware of people discussing his novel ‘If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler’.

But only dimly aware because as a biochemistry student I didn’t pay a huge amount of attention to the literary world. One day I saw the book in a shop, remembered the enticing title and picked it up. The cover was unusual in that it consisted solely of text from the opening page. I was curious about Italian writers, but even more curious about postmodernism then because I’d been reading Umberto Eco’s essays in ‘Travels In Hyperreality’. So I bought it.

The novel was the most unusual book I’d ever read. I couldn’t decide whether to be annoyed or dazzled. 

Here’s the opening:

You are about to begin reading Italo Calvino’s new novel, If on a winter’s night a traveler. Relax. Concentrate. Dispel every other thought. Let the world around you fade. Best to close the door; the TV is always on in the next room. Tell the others right away, “No, I don’t want to watch TV!” Raise your voice–they won’t hear you otherwise–“I’m reading! I don’t want to be disturbed!” Maybe they haven’t heard you, with all that racket; speak louder, yell; “I’m beginning to read Italo Calvino’s new novel!” Or if you prefer, don’t say anything; just hope they’ll leave you alone.

It’s about a Reader (‘you’) who starts reading a book in a shop, gets into the story, only to discover that because of a printing error the story stops after one chapter. So You-the-Reader starts hunting down the rest of the story, and so begins a quest for this story. On the quest there are fellow travelers; other readers, academics, writers, who become involved with the Reader. Reader begins a series of novels which never fail to intrigue but which can never be continued – always for a different and perfectly good reason.

Essentially ‘If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler’ is a novel about the 20th century novel. Not a novel about a writer (there are so many of those, how dreary they are), but a novel which puts the construction – and especially the opening – of novels at it’s very core. Characters are thinly drawn and serve mainly as literary devices. They feel real but it’s clear from the outset that this is all a game; a game the Reader is in on.

For me as a scientist the analytical, almost clinical approach to the construction of the novel was utterly fascinating. Unlike most writers I’ve met (and by now I’ve met a few), I didn’t study literature even to ‘A’ level, so I didn’t know about this stuff first-hand. Living with a mother who was writing a doctorate about Spanish and German Romanticism, however, I couldn’t help but be aware of some of the techniques of literary criticism. But this postmodern approach – fragmenting everything and looking at the granularity – was something I hadn’t come across. And for a while it really captivated me.

I bought the book for many friends, only to have most admit to me that they didn’t like it. Some found it pretentious or frustrating, others simply didn’t see the point. I admit that reading it now is quite diffcult. Now that I’ve got over my POMO kick, I want a proper story, with characters that evolve.

Calvino’s inventiveness and brilliance, however, cannot be denied. But his strength, I believe lies in his short stories.

(The truth is that I think short stories are the essence of writing. The novel is a very strange beast to me, and I say that as one who tries most days to write one. It defies natural story-telling; a story, surely, is something told by one person to another (0r others) at one sitting. But a novel goes on and on, beyond what is natural in oral storytelling, demanding an intense relationship between the reader and the characters.)

Calvino also wrote other experimental novels such as ‘Invisible Cities’ (yes, that’s the inspiration for the title of Joshua book 1) and ‘The Castle Of Crossed Destinies’. Those books make me tremble with admiration. But I love Calvino more for his often sublime stories in books like‘ Marcovaldo’, ‘Adam, One Afternoon’ and my very favourite collection, ‘Numbers In The Dark’.

(I don’t approve of his forays into science fiction – t-zero and Cosmicomics…Asimov did this stuff better in ‘The Gods Themselves’.)

When I was writing fan fiction about ten years ago it struck me that the world of fan fiction was itself a fascinating little world which might be explored using Calvino’s device from ‘If On A Winter’s Night A Traveler’. So I did just that; I wrote a whole novel about the world of Blake’s 7 fan fiction in that same style. It was a terrific learning experience as a writer, I have to say. And my fellow Blake’s 7 fans seemed to enjoy it…

I re-read two or three Calvino books every year and I always learn something new.

A good source of Calvino stuff on the Web is Outside the town of Malbork.

Categories
writing

Laying Down Some Intertextual Licks

Oh, but I’m a big old sucker for intertextuality. Which probably shows that deep down I’m a bit of a postmodern poseur.

I’ve mentioned this to my agent a few times – he seems to think it’s quite charming that I’ve buried references to the works of Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Italo Calvino, Borges and Haruki Murakami in my children’s adventure stories. Some of it happened quite unconsciously – I wrote the first draft so quickly that apart from the plot, which I constructed carefully, much of the writing came straight out of my subconscious without much modification. Some of it, however, is there quite intentionally, even structurally. I won’t say what.

Months later I looked back and thought – crumbs, what have I done? I’ve given away A LOT of personal information here – that anyone who knows me well will be able to deconstruct. (N.B. I removed quite a bit of this in the editing process). And what the heck is the point of all this intertextuality?

Why do we do this? My agent thinks it’s like a secret message to readers in the know.

Which begs the question – who do we write for?

A friend of mine knows the children’s author Philip Pullman, whose ‘His Dark Materials’ books are (in my opinion) the best children’s books ever written, along with The Chronicles of Narnia and the William books. Pullman allegedly told my friend once that in ‘His Dark Materials’ he’d written a book for adults that people as young as eleven also could read.

I guess I’ve written a book for teenagers that I hope they’ll re-read as adults and go ah…now I see where you got that. My books aren’t remotely similar to those written by my literary heroes, so it’s possibly too much to hope the people who read my books will go on to read Gabo, Calvino, Murakami and Borges.

But if they did, it would be so, so, so cool.

Oh, I’ve started keeping score of people I’ve persuaded (mainly by badgering) to start reading Murakami and now they really like him too:

In chronological order: David (my husband), Nathan (close friend), Steve (a writer friend), Martin (close friend), Rich (writer friend), Peter (agent). Hmm, all blokes. I have tried to persuade a few women friends but they haven’t gone for him in quite the same way.

I have one Murakami book left to read – After Dark. I am saving it up as a treat when I finish the current manuscript. And then it’s back to re-reading him, scouring the Web for rare short stories of his and generally being a sad fangirl.