Sunday, 6 January 2013

The Young Ardizzone

As I mentioned before Christmas (in the post from which I swiped this photo) I got a lovely Slightly Foxed edition of Edward Ardizzone's The Young Ardizzone (1970) from my Virago Secret Santa, and I took it away with me for my few days of indulgent reading at the end of 2012.  It was the first book I finished in 2013, and it amuses me that the year I found most elusive for A Century of Books was the first one I completed in 2013 - not that I'm doing that project this year.  BUT it is going on Reading Presently.  And what a lovely gift it was!  It is - but of course - wonderful.

There are lots of teenage girls out there who go mad for Justin Bieber, or young boys who idolise football players (I'm afraid I can't name any who weren't playing back in 1998).  In my own off-kilter way, I'm in danger of becoming a total fanboy for Slightly Foxed Editions.  They're just all good.  There are other reprint publishers I love, as you know, but I think these are the most consistently wonderful offerings.  No duds.  Excuse me while I put a photo of the editorial team on my wall.  Ahem.

Edward Ardizzone's childhood seems to have been rather unusual, where parenting is concerned.  He was born in 1900, in Tonkin, Vietnam, but moved to Suffolk, England when only five.  His father, however, stayed behind, moving around Asia - visiting England at intervals, moving his family around the country (for he was certainly still married to Ardizzone's mother, who spent four years out in Asia with him when Ardizzone was at boarding school) but playing minimal part in Ardizzone's childhood.  The chief figure was his tempestuous grandmother - Ardizzone often describes her going 'black in the face with rage', but adds that she 'was normally gay, witty and affectionate'.  More diverting relatives!  Lucky Ed.

I always love reading about people's childhoods, but I loved Ardizzone's more than most, because it   took place in East Bergholt.  I'd initially thought, flicking through the book, that only a chapter or two took place in East Bergholt - but he is, in fact, there for a few years.  It's the village where my grandparents lived for about 40 years, and Our Vicar's Wife was there for her final teenage years, so I know it pretty well.  I even recognise the house Ardizzone lived in from this little sketch.


A very lovely village it is too.  Here are some of his recollections:
Yet certain memories are with me still.  A particular picnic in a hayfield during haymaking; a fine summer afternoon in a cornfield when the stooks of corn became our wigwams.  A certain rutted lane with oak tree arching overhead and hedges so high that the lane looked like a green tunnel leading to the flats below.[...]Not far from the old parish church, with its strange bell cage planted down among the tombstones, was a round bounded on one side by a very high red brick wall.  Set in this wall was a small gothic door.  It was of wood and decorated with heavy iron studs.  Beside this door was a wrought-iron bell pull.
It's all quite simply told, but works well with the simple pictures.  The name Ardizzone meant nothing to me when I received the book, but I did recognise his illustrations - although I don't know where I encountered them - which are throughout the book as a delightful accompaniment.  I must confess, to my unlearned eyes his draughtsmanship is not the very finest, and the comparisons Huon Mallalieu's Preface makes with E.H. Shepard and Beatrix Potter seem a trifle generous.  But, even with those reservations, his illustrations enhance the memoir no end.  It is almost all done with lines and crosshatching, just a dot or two to suggest facial expressions.


Ardizzone didn't enjoy school greatly - there are some incidents of bullying which seem to me quite shocking, but he only really mentions them in passing, without any suggestion that they have scarred him for life.  And, indeed, his various school exploits take up most of the book - with plenty of cheerful moments, especially when describing respected schoolteachers.

I only wish Ardizzone hadn't whipped quite so quickly through the final section of his autobiography - where he explains (in three or four pages) his progression from being shown by the London Group, favourably reviewed at the Bloomsbury Gallery, commissioned to illustrate a Le Fanu collection, and finally a successful children's author/illustrator.  He rattles through it all at breakneck speed, which is a shame, as it sounds a fascinating period in his life.  So many autobiographers find their own childhood much more interesting than the rest of their life, and many of their readers would find everything interesting.  Oh well.  Mustn't grumble; I'll accept what Ardizzone has given us.  And what he is given us is rather lovely.


Saturday, 5 January 2013

Song for a Sunday

Happy Sunday, folks.  Bridget Jones's Diary is one of only three films that I have seen twice at the cinema, and it has a pretty fab soundtrack (once you let Geri Halliwell quietly out the back door).  Here's Rosey and 'Love'.



Friday, 4 January 2013

Stuck-in-a-Book's Weekend Miscellany

Welcome to the first Weekend Miscellany of 2013!  I hope you had a lovely Christmas and New Year, whoever you were with.  As of Thursday, I'm back in Oxford, having refuelled on cat, countryside, and family.

1.) The blog post - lovely Thomas at My Porch has had a clear-out, and (as well as admiring his lovely shelves) you can put your name in the draw for his duplicate Dorothy Whipple books.  US residents only, though, since he wanted to keep the Whipples in a country where they're difficult to find.  It's open til 31st January.

2.) The link - I've yet to listen to it, but Mary has passed on the info about a Radio 4 programme on the incredible Margaret Rutherford.  Click here for it.  If I had a time machine, I'd probably (mis)use it just to go and see her on the stage as Miss Hargreaves.  What bliss that would be...

3.) The book - I really loved The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets by Eva Rice (it was in my top books of 2008), so I was very excited to receive a review copy of her new book, The Misinterpretation of Tara Jupp - with a lovely note from Eva too.  My reading will be taken up by Vanity Fair for the foreseeable future, but Eva Rice's is one of many 21st century books I've been holding off until A Century of Books was finished.  If it's half as good as The Lost Art of Keeping Secrets, then I'll adore it!

And not forgetting... the readalong of Cheerful Weather for the Wedding is coming up soon!  A lovely lot of people seemed keen - see here for details - I suggest we post reviews sometime in the week beginning Monday 28th January, and I'll post links and have a discussion here.  Fun fun!

Nine New Year’s Not-Resolutions for Writers

by Melanie Thorne


I don’t like to make New Year’s resolutions. It’s too formal—a pledge, a declaration of something you’ll do more of or stop doing altogether, and I always fail. While there are no real consequences for failing this personal oath, I still feel guilty for not living up to the impossible standard I’ve set myself on this sort of arbitrary “new start” each year. Writers already have enough tools to beat ourselves up; we don’t need New Year’s resolutions as an extra dose of feel-bad-about-yourself.

So screw it. This year I’ve decided to make not-resolutions. Not decrees or vows, but rather, goals and hopes for the new year ahead, gentle guidelines that I will do my best to meet but not beat myself up over when I don’t. Who actually keeps 100% of their New Year’s resolutions anyway? Oh? You do? Shut up, I hate you. I mean, good for you. For the rest of us, let’s make 2013 about doing the things we can do, not the things we think we should—in life, and in our writing careers—and also about easing up on ripping out our own throats every time we feel we’ve fallen short.

1. Stop Comparing Yourself to Other Writers  

I had a conversation with a writer friend recently about nemesis books. You know, the book that is like yours, but maybe, you think or have been told, isn’t quite as good, or at least isn’t that much better than yours, and yet that other book has sold more copies, or been on more lists, or received more critical acclaim, more praise from big-name authors, more media attention, more reviews from important publications, or more of whatever it is you had hoped for your own novel that this other book got and you didn’t. I could write a whole post on this topic but my point here is that I think all of us have our own go-to comparison book that makes that evil parasite of jealousy squirm in our brains.

But here’s the thing: almost every single author out there wishes their book had gotten more ________, and no two books get the same amount of ________ because no two books are exactly the same. Isn’t that part of why we love to read? We can’t compare our books to others tit-for-tat because we will drive ourselves crazy. How do you measure subjectivity? In reality, the act of comparison is much less about the success of the “nemesis” book(s) and more about our own insecurities setting traps to make us feel worse about the success of our own book.

So this is my number one goal for 2013: stop comparing my book and my career as an author to other books and their authors. My book is mine and no matter how much more attention or praise or sales another book got, it does not in any way diminish the praise and attention and sales my book—and yours—received.

And really, the truth is, every single one of us has something someone else is jealous of. Why not enjoy what we have?

Which brings me to #2:

2. Enjoy Your Successes

My book was published last year. MY BOOK was PUBLISHED last year. I got money for it. From a NY publishing house. My book is in bookstores. Thousands of people have read it. Holy f---ing crap! Isn’t that the dream?

All year people kept saying, “You must be so excited!” And I was. I was, and yet...I was so worried about everything that it was hard to enjoy it as much as I’d wanted. Waiting for the trade reviews before the release was agony, and then when Hand Me Down was out in the public each new review that appeared online made my heart stop for a second. I stewed over the bad reviews for longer than I’ll admit here and I didn’t let all the praise sink in as deeply. I felt like there was so much to be done and so much to stress over that I didn’t stop to savor each glowing review, each heartfelt email from readers, each time I saw my book in a bookstore as much as I now wish I had.

This year, I want to slow down and enjoy each little hilltop of success, appreciate the view from each new peak before moving forward, and you should, too. Celebrate your accomplishments! I’m not sure why this is so hard for so many of us writers, but if you’re like me and find this difficult, I hope this year we can make progress.

3. Write More

I’m leaving this vague because this will mean different things for each writer. Maybe you need to set a word count goal each day. Maybe it means sitting down for five hours while your kids are at school. Maybe you want to revise a shitty first draft you have sitting on your hard drive. Figure out what it means for you, what specific goal you want to reach or specific habit you want to nurture, and make it happen.

For me, it means parking my butt in a chair and forcing myself to sit in front of the computer for at least three eight-hour days each week until I have a finished draft of my second novel. I need to set a schedule, block out that time, and stick to it. Write crap, write lots and lots of crap at first, yes, that’s fine, but write more.

4. Leave the House More, Too 

This may seem contradictory to the last goal, but it isn’t. I find that when I go out in the world—lunch with friends, grocery shopping, a walk in my neighborhood—I notice things that later make it into my writing. The color of the sky, an overheard conversation, the muffled sound of a bad band practicing in their garage=material stored for later. Writers are observers. We take the world into our heads and reproduce pieces of it on the page. If you’re not out in the world, how can you possibly write about it?

5. Limit Your Social Media Time 

An author friend of mine spends a half hour on Twitter in the morning and another half hour in the evening and that’s it. She has more self-discipline that I do, but I’m going to try this year, even during the paperback release of Hand Me Down, to limit my social media time.

But what about promoting? What about interactions with other writers? What if I miss something?!

Promoting via social media is an important part of being an author, but how long does it take to write a post, respond to Tweets, catch up on your feeds? For me, a hell of lot less time than I actually spend online. Do I really need to click through fifty vacation photos of someone I hardly know? Do I really need to read every single article about the business or craft of writing that shows up on Twitter?

No. No, I don’t.

So my goal is to set a limit for how long I can be online. Writing can be lonely, and interacting with my writer friends scattered across the country is an important part of my day, but I can do this in intervals. I might miss something, sure, but is it even possible to not miss things on Twitter? We can’t feasibly soak in all available information.

So I think the key will be only reading the articles that speak to me; engage in the conversations that are fun or beneficial. I’m not going to force myself to read an article that bores me or doesn’t resonate. Maybe it will later, and when I read it at the right time, it will have a much greater impact. Don’t feel obligated and don’t let the clickable distractions suck you in and hold you hostage. Time limits and increased self-discipline. I will beat you, social media!

6. Find a Community

If you don’t yet have a network of writing friends—find one. If you can’t find one you like, create one. The important part is to have a group of writer friends to commiserate with, complain to, celebrate with. You need to be able to share the good and bad news that “civilians” just don’t get with people who will. Plus, talking shop with people who live for stories and words that way we do is food for our solitary writer souls.

Since I’m lucky enough to belong to this great group of debut authors here on Book Pregnant, my hope for the year is to find a real-life, in-person community as well.

7. Separate Yourself and Self-Worth from Your Book 

You are not your book. I know it often feels like you are, but say it with me: I am not my book. I’ve noticed a lot of authors—myself included—refer to our books as ourselves. As in, “I got reviewed,” when, really, it was the book that got reviewed. You’ve poured your heart and soul and blood and sweat and tears and time and energy into this project, and it feels like an actual piece of you is out in the world, but it is still not the entirety of you.

You have life goals and you have career goals and your book is probably a place those desires overlap, but that doesn’t mean that the success or failure of your whole life is equal to the level of success that this, your first (of many) book, achieves. There is no failure here—if your book is being published, you’ve already sailed past the exit for failure, and regardless of how far this book takes you, you have a family and friends and hobbies, a life, outside your writing. Your book is only one part of you; one aspect of your life. Don’t let it become your definition.

8. Remember Why You Do This

Why did you start writing? Did you have story burning inside of you that just had to be told? Did you fall in love with language? Were stories your escape, your friends, your window into lives beyond yourself? All of those are true for me, and I bet you have several reasons you started writing, too. Rediscover those. Remind yourself why writing is important; why you push through the never-ending obstacles. Know what you’re fighting for, and you can win.

And, finally:

9. Give Yourself a Break

Writing is hard.


Melanie Thorne is the author of Hand Me Down, a debut novel in the tradition of Dorothy Allison and Janet Fitch that tells the unforgettable story of a girl who has never been loved best of all and her fight to protect her sister, and was recently named a Kirkus Reviews Best Book of 2012. Melanie earned her MA in Creative Writing from the University of California, Davis, where she was awarded the Alva Englund Fellowship and the Maurice Prize in fiction. She lives in Northern California. Connect with her at www.melaniethorne.com, on Facebook and Twitter.

Thursday, 3 January 2013

2012 in First Lines

I seem to have all manner of year-in-review posts appearing or in the pipeline, but I can't resist the one Jane reminded me about, which started with The Indextrious Reader, I think.  It's quite simple - use the first lines of each month on your blog, to give an overview of your blogging year (albeit one which is amusing rather than very useful!)  This probably isn't the ideal meme for me, since I tend to start my posts in a meandering way, eventually getting to the point after a paragraph or two...

January: "I have set myself the 2012 challenge of reading a book published in every year of the twentieth century..."

February: "I didn't come back from Hay-on-Wye empty-handed (surprised?) and I thought I'd share my spoils with you."

March: "The first book I read from my recent Hay-on-Wye haul was Kay Dick's Ivy & Stevie (1971) about Ivy Compton-Burnett and Stevie Smith."

April: "I feel I should do an April's Fool... but I can't think of anything.  So let's have a Song for a Sunday as normal, eh?"

May: "A very quick post today - in case you missed it on my previous post, Annabel/Gaskella has taken up the challenge of nominating another author for a reading week, and designing a great badge, and so... Beryl Bainbridge Reading Week will be hitting the blogosphere June 18-24!"

June: "There has been a bit of a theme on SiaB this year, hasn't there?"

July: "I had a lovely break in Somerset, and was surprised by how well my little sale went - I'll head off to the post office tomorrow, laden with parcels."

August: "One of the weirder tangents my thesis has taken me on is the depiction of Satan in 20th-century literature..."

September: "Saturday night was a big barn dance for my parents' wedding anniversary and my Mum's birthday, with about 100 people coming."

October: "Time for the third and final update on how A Century of Books is going!"

November: "Stu is otherwise known as Winston's Dad, and knows more about literature in translation than anyone I know."

December: "Happy Weekend, one and all.  And happy December, no less."


Well, wasn't that productive?  Do have a go yourself - and let me know in the comments if you have done so!



Wednesday, 2 January 2013

Reading Presently


thanks to Agnieszka for making the badge!

This will be the page for 2013's project, where I'll list my 50 Reading Presently books - books that were given to me as presents, along with their givers.  I will never use the word 'gifted' as a verb, or 'gifting' at all.  *Shudder*

1. Moranthology by Caitlin Moran - from my brother Colin
2. The Young Ardizzone by Edward Ardizonne - from Verity
3. What There Is To Say We Have Said : Eudora Welty & William Maxwell - from blog-reader Heather
4. The Diary of a Provincial Lady by E.M. Delafield - from Thomas
5. House of Silence by Linda Gillard - from Linda
6. A Spy in the Bookshop ed. John Saumarez Smith - from Lucy
7. Return to the Hundred Acre Wood by David Benedictus - from Verity
8. Is It Just Me? by Miranda Hart - from Lucy
9. How The Heather Looks by Joan Bodger - from Clare, maybe??
10. Room at the Top by John Braine - from John H.
11. Ella Minnow Pea by Mark Dunn - from Ruth
12. The Easter Party by Vita Sackville-West - from Hayley
13. The Saturdays by Elizabeth Enright - from Nichola
14. Skylark by Dezső Kosztolányi - from Our Vicar and Our Vicar's Wife
15. Bassett by Stella Gibbons - from Barbara
16. The Library at Night by Alberto Manguel - from Colin
17. The Help by Kathryn Stockett - from dovegreybooks reading group
18. Four Hedges by Clare Leighton - from Clare
19. Books, Baguettes, and Bedbugs by Jeremy Mercer - from Charley
20. Some Tame Gazelle by Barbara Pym - from Mum
21. Virginia Woolf by Winifred Holtby - from Lucy
22. Of Love and Hunger by Julian Maclaren-Ross - from Dee
23. Oxford by Edward Thomas - from Daphne
24. Young Entry by Molly Keane - from Karyn
25. Dumb Witness by Agatha Christie - from Fiona
26. The Flying Draper by Ronald Fraser - from Tanya
27. A House in Flanders by Michael Jenkins - from Carol
28. The Restraint of Beasts by Magnus Mills - from Mel
29. The Queen and I by Sue Townsend - from OUP colleagues
30. Mr. Skeffington by Elizabeth von Arnim - from Rachel
31. Six Fools and a Fairy by Mary Essex - from Jodie

Tuesday, 1 January 2013

Caitlin Moran is basically Dickens.

I’m going to start this review by getting all hipster – bear with me one moment while I put on my oversized specs and dig out some ironic vinyl records – and say that I loved Caitlin Moran before it was cool to love Caitlin Moran. Granted, I don’t buy a newspaper myself, or subscribe to The Times online, but my father and brother regard The Times as second only to Scripture and I flick through it when I visit either of them. More specifically, I have read Caitlin Moran’s columns for years. I don’t always agree with her, but I always find her brilliantly, ingeniously funny. The sort of funny that makes reading a newspaper actually fun.

Following on from the success of How To Be A Woman, which I have borrowed but have yet to read, a selection of her columns has been published under the title Moranthology. Geddit? Good. Her topics are widespread – a lot of celebrity-culture and arts & entertainment, but also just the world around her, from new dresses to Gregg’s pasties to tax (she’s pro.) Here’s how she glosses her inspirations in the introduction:
The motto I have Biro’d on my knuckles is that this is the best world we have – because it’s the only world we have. It’s the simplest maths ever. However many terrible, rankling, peeve-inducing things may occur, there are always libraries. And rain-falling-on-sea. And the Moon. And love. There is always something to look back on, with satisfaction, or forward to, with joy. There is always a moment when you boggle at the world – at yourself – at the whole, unlikely, precarious business of being alive – and then start laughing.
And that’s usually when I make a cup of tea, and start typing.
Caitlin Moran and I are unlikely ever to be friends. This is largely – though not entirely – because all her friendships seem to be assessed on the willingness with which said friend will breakdance, drunk out of their minds, in seedy clubs at four in the morning – or how much they admire Ghostbusters, which I’ve never seen. But, should our paths ever cross – at, say, 7.30 am, as she is stumbling back from a faux-Victorian strip club with Lady Gaga, and I am blearily crawling to the corner shop to get milk for my morning tea, not wearing any glasses because for some reason that only feels like a viable option in a post-caffeine world – should we meet, perhaps we would bond a little. Bond about our love of books (she champions libraries wonderfully; ‘A library in the middle of a community is a cross between an emergency exit, a life-raft, and a festival’) and our distrust of the Tory Party. Maybe even about how great Modern Family is, although that’s not mentioned here. But that might be it. I’ve never seen Sherlock, and I don’t much care for Doctor Who - these admissions are probably enough for Moran to cement-bag me to the bottom of the Thames, a la Mack the Knife. The columns where she reviews or goes behind the scenes of these shows are near-pathological in their adoration.

And, of course, there are plenty of other things we don’t agree about, or enthusiasms we don’t share. That’s beside the point. Moran could write about how much she likes dead-heading roses to make bonnets for foxes, and she’d make the hobby seem not only amusing, but rather bohemian and cool. Because Moran just is cool, without seeming to try at all. The sort of cool which entirely embraces self-deprecation and wears absurd foibles as badges of honour – and makes everything she writes seem adorable and awesome. (The only time I felt disappointed by Moran was when she referred to the ‘anti-choice’ movement. However strongly people may disagree over the issue of abortion, I’ve always deeply admired the almost-universal respectful use of ‘pro-life’ and ‘pro-choice’ by those who oppose either one. Because, Moran – as well you know – absolutely nobody takes an anti-life or an anti-choice stance. That is never their objective.) But, that aside, she doesn’t put a foot wrong. She can babble about Downton Abbey, declare her hatred of children’s book/TV character Lola, or opine on her holidays to Wales, and it’s all just brilliant. And it’s brilliant because she has her tone down pat – a way with simile that is always innovative and hilarious (she, for instance, describes X Factor alum Frankie Cocozza as having ‘a voice like a goose being kicked down a slide’) and a clever mix of high and low registers which is positively Dickensian – throwing slang in with perfect judgement. Because (see above) she’s so cool.

And that mention of Dickens isn’t careless. Caitlin Moran is basically a 21st-century Dickens, with crazy awesome hair. In amongst all the hilarious columns on the ugliness of fish names or how someone stole her hairstyle, Moran gets in some serious social politics. So, like Dickens, she is incredibly funny – but uses the humour to slip in social commentary; the difference being that Dickens would give us a plucky urchin at the mercy of Sir Starvethechild. It would be glorious, but his point would be rather lost in a thicket of the grotesque. Moran, give or take some emotive wording, just tells it as it is.

Moran grew up on a council estate with eight siblings and parents who were on disability benefits. As she says, ‘I’ve spent twenty years clawing my way out of a council house in Wolverhampton, to reach a point where I can now afford a Nigella Lawson breadbin.’ But she still knows what poverty was like firsthand, and writes movingly, sensibly, and brilliantly about various issues to do with cutting benefits or alienating the poor.
All through history, those who can’t earn money have had to rely on mercy: fearful, changeable mercy, that can dissolve overnight if circumstances change, or opinions alter. Parish handouts, workhouses, almshouses – ad-hoc, makeshift solutions that make the helpless constantly re-audition in front of their benefactors; exhaustingly trying to re-invoke pity for a lifetime of bread and cheese.

That’s why the invention of the Welfare State is one of the most glorious events in history: the moral equivalency of the Moon Landings. Something not fearful or changeable, like mercy, but certain and constant – a right. Correct and efficient: disability benefit fraud is just 0.5 per cent. A system that allows dignity and certainty to lives otherwise chaotic with poverty and illness.
Who but Moran could write about her hatred of creating party-bags, her love of David Attenborough and her friend with schizophrenia who has to move cities in order to retain state-given accommodation? Not in the same column, you understand, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Moran has won all sorts of awards, I believe, and I would say that she deserves them – but, quite frankly, she is the only columnist I ever read. I’ve been enjoying her columns for years (some in this book are, naturally, revisits for me) and I’m so delighted that they’re now available as a book. I’ve got my fingers crossed for another, since this can only represent a small percentage of her output. But I’ll count my blessings with this one (thanks Colin for giving it to me!) and urge you to seek it out. Like I said, Moran is basically Dickens. Hilariously funny, socially conscious, rocks some impressive sideburns. Well, two out of three ain’t bad.