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The National Conversation: Enduring Stories by Erica Wagner

Posted By: Anonymous, 14 May 2015

An original provocation piece by writer and editor Erica Wagner, delivered at the National Conversation event 'Amazon and the Civil War for Books' on Sunday 17th May as part of the Norfolk and Norwich Festival.

Just about one hundred and fifteen years ago, a young American anthropologist named John Reed Swanton travelled to a group of islands which were called, in his day, the Queen Charlotte Islands, off the northwest coast of Canada. He was in the employ of the Bureau of American Ethnology in Washington D.C., but he worked under the guidance of the influential anthropologist Franz Boas at the American Museum of Natural History, a place just a few blocks from where I grew up, on the Upper West Side of New York City. He had been sent to collect objects from the people who lived there: argillite carvings, wooden boxes, the kinds of objects you find in museums. But in the time he spent with the island inhabitants, he didn’t collect objects, not really. He listened to stories. And he took down the names of the men who told him those stories: one was called Ghandl; the other, Skaay. He transcribed their words in their own language, as they were spoken. 

Acknowledging their authorship and language was a radical act. Almost every other anthropologist working in his day believed that stories collected from indigenous people could be compressed and flattened into a so-called ‘universal’ version of that story. As Robert Bringhurst, the scholar who, nearly a century later, would translate these stories into striking, erudite English versions, notes, this is like walking into the Uffizi and saying: but why do we need all these paintings of the Crucifixion? Surely one is enough? I reckon not. Not a few of the stories Swanton heard these men tell are some of the greatest I have encountered in any language, from any culture. By giving these poets their names Swanton allowed them to be authors. The rights of authors, as it happens, remain a lively topic for debate here in the 21st century.

I’m going to talk to you about discovery, and about what literature and art truly are, and the potential that they have to change our lives. Because lately I’ve been thinking that it’s too easy to slip into a mindset in which we believe we are talking about art and literature – when what we’re really talking about is business. Commerce. Not that it’s wrong to talk about business. It’s important to talk about business. But it’s also important to consider how we can separate these two conversations.

We’re told that we are in the midst of a civil war on which the fate of our reading habits will depend. In the world of the old stories the name ‘Amazon’ conjured a fierce, glorious image of a bold woman warrior: no more. Now the ferocity of an Amazon brings a new kind of terror: of a monopoly that will devour literature. We seem to be entering in a period of truce, it’s true. Last month HarperCollins agreed a deal with Amazon over e-books; this followed on from the settling of the lengthy dispute over pricing between Amazon and Hachette, resolved before the end of last year. These are arguments and transactions that take place in a time of unprecedented flux: or so it would seem. But is that really the case? Are we really in a brave new world?

Let’s say, for argument’s sake, that modern humans have existed in roughly their present form for 100,000 years. Those early people led lives which were very different from ours, but their brains were like ours. The astonishing art on the walls of the Chauvet cave in the Ardèche valley of southern France was made about 30,000 years ago; some indigenous art in Australia is much older. Beowulf’s 3,000 lines – which survive in a single manuscript – were written down around the 10th century CE. Now: the printing press of Johannes Gutenberg came into commercial use about 500 years after that, around 1450.

What am I doing by throwing these numbers at you? 

I’m demonstrating that the book is only a very, very small part of the human literary story. From Gutenberg to widely available commercial printing, another couple of hundred years intervened. But literature, I’m quite certain, has existed since humanity has existed. My great-grandmother was born in the East End of London in 1888. When I discovered her birth certificate in the Public Record Office at Kew, I also discovered that her mother had put a rough cross in the box for her signature – and so I learned that my great-great grandmother could neither read nor write; not so uncommon, in those days. But for all I know, my great-great grandmother could have been a storyteller, a singer, her mind could have held a treasure-vault of history and art. But it’s gone. Because books, of course, have a job to do too.

The name of the islands John Swanton visited has changed since he arrived in 1900. Thanks to the efforts of the indigenous people who still live there, and who only narrowly survived the arrival of Europeans into their territory, these islands are now called Haida Gwaii, ‘The Islands of the People’ – and it was the Haida people Swanton had come to study. If you have been to the Great Court of the British Museum, you will have seen a Haida house pole, acquired three years after Swanton travelled there. The house in front of which it would have stood had been abandoned; as had the whole village. Many Haida villages had been abandoned by then. Smallpox and other European diseases had ravaged the population. ‘The island population is now shrunk to not over seven hundred,’ Swanton wrote in a letter.  ‘...The missionary has suppressed all the dances and has been instrumental in having all the old houses destroyed – everything in short that makes life worth living.’

Do not mistake me. I am not comparing the destruction of an indigenous culture – of many indigenous cultures – to business arguments in the publishing world. What I want to demonstrate is that the human need to hear stories and to tell stories is something which I believe to be so ingrained in us (in our brains, in our hearts, in our souls) that it will survive no matter what; it will find new forms and flourish in different ways. For the past few hundred years the novel has been the dominant form of storytelling in Western culture; but as I’ve tried to show, that’s a drop in the ocean of time. And what is a ‘novel’, anyway? It’s a way to tell a story. Well, there are other ways to tell stories too. When I watched Breaking Bad, I discovered I was thinking about its plot and its characters with the same seriousness I’ve devoted to many novels. Perhaps not coincidentally, that series emerged in an industry which is also in flux: the old television networks no longer dominate the scene, and newcomers like AMC and Netflix are shaking up the industry. So perhaps it’s no surprise that Amazon is coming into this market too. 

But books are a hugely significant part of our culture. I know about John Swanton, you won’t be surprised to hear, thanks to a book; I came to consider the great span of human culture I’ve just described thanks to a book. That is Robert Bringhurst’s A Story as Sharp as A Knife, first published in 1999; translations from Swanton’s transcriptions which were taken down nearly a hundred years before. There are two companion volumes, which are really not companions, but the central texts of Bringhurst’s great work: they are Nine Visits to the Mythworld, devoted to the works of Ghandl, and Being in Being, which is devoted to the works of Skaay. Bringhurst is a Canadian poet and polymath, a scholar of Ancient Greek and typography, too. Bringhurst took many years to teach himself Haida in order to make these magnificent translations.

Publishers, booksellers and writers find themselves in an industry in transition: some of the changes that transition brings are inarguably troubling.  Independent bookshops continue to close. There are fewer than 1,000 on British high streets now, the Guardian has reported; one-third fewer than the decade before. Fifty-seven independent bookshops in this country closed just last year. I’ve worked with the Society of Authors and the Authors’ Foundation to distribute grants to writers struggling to make ends meet – I know that things are tough out there; not least because I’m an author myself. The results of a survey conducted on behalf of the Authors’ Licensing and Collecting Society released last month make sobering reading. Since 2007, the last time authors were surveyed, there has been a 29% fall in writers’ incomes in real terms. And yet, while I have no wish to be a perceived as a Pollyanna, I wonder if there was ever a time when things weren’t tough for the people we now call ‘authors’? Sometimes, it’s useful to take a step back – a really, really big, step back, as far back as 100,000 years – to get a different angle on things.

Swanton’s work didn’t find much of an audience when he came back east. And Bringhurst’s work with the words of Ghandl and Skaay has, so far, found a smaller audience than it deserves. The edition I have was published in Canada by Douglas & McIntyre, a fine house; they went bust, however, a few years ago, a not-unusual fate for a publisher these days. But they were taken under the wing of another Canadian publisher, Harbour, and so have lived to fight – or publish – another day, at least for the time being. I have spent over a decade wondering why no British publisher would take on these texts, which deserve to be recognized as classics; I’m delighted to be able to say that the Folio Society is now preparing an edition, to be published in the autumn, with an introduction by Margaret Atwood and illustrations by the Haida artist Don Yeomans. 

Atwood’s association with these works goes back a long way – it’s one of the things that brought us together as friends.  Not long after I discovered the works of Ghandl and Skaay through the translations of Robert Bringhurst – by way of a series of chance conversations, for such is the way of these things, and it is by these conversations that our human future is made – I commissioned a piece from her on this epic trilogy; it was published in The Times a dozen years ago.  Of what Bringhurst had done, she wrote that: ‘It’s one of those works that rearranges the inside of your head — a profound meditation on the nature of oral poetry and myth, and on the habits of thought and feeling that inform them. It restores to life two exceptional poets we ought to know. It gives us some insight into their world – in Bringhurst’s words, “the old-growth forest of the human mind” – and, by comparison, into our own.’  

So we see that these stories can still come to us from the most surprising places; we see that they can find a way through. I am sure that – whatever the future of the industry holds – this will continue to happen. So – can we say where publishing is headed? Where the industry will go? Will Amazon devour everyone and everything? I don’t know. What I do know is that stories and storytellers will survive.

As the world changes – as it always has – and information passes between us in different ways – as it always has – good books, important books, get through. The Wake, by Paul Kingsnorth, was one of the highlights of 2014 to my mind (and indeed, I was one of the judges who put it on the longlist of the Man Booker Prize). This book, written in what the author has called a ‘shadow tongue’ of Old English, was published by the crowd-funded imprint Unbound; just the other day, I’m thrilled to say, it was named the inaugural Book of the Year at the Bookseller Industry Awards 2015. And Preparation for the Next Life, a gripping debut by Atticus Lish, was published first in the US by Tyrant Books, a small-press publisher; the book has been widely and warmly reviewed, both in the United States and in this country, where it has just been published by Oneworld; last month it won the PEN/Faulkner Award for fiction We find the stories we need to hear.

I am not denying the state of the landscape. But by speaking here less of commerce than of art, I hope to remind you of why we all bother in the first place. Human culture is ancient and durable. Perhaps when it seems at its most elusive – in the way it can pass from voice to ear to voice – it’s the most durable artifact there is. Books may vanish: but if we keep listening, literature will survive. Ghandl and Skaay were poets who had survived the wreck of their civilization. And yet Ghandl and Skaay held on to their art; and John Reed Swanton – who was, incidentally, just 27 years old when he met them – was wise enough to recognize it. It’s up to us to keep our ears to the ground. To speak to each other. To listen. In Skaay’s epic which Bringhurst calls ‘Raven Traveling’, Raven goes hunting. And then he stops, and dives into the water.
He rammed his beak into the rock
out on the point at the edge of town.
He cried as he struck it.
It was solid, that rock,
and yet he splintered it by speaking.  


A Story as Sharp as a Knife: The Classical Haida Mythtellers and Their World by Robert Bringhurst
Nine Visits to the Mythworld: Ghandl of the Qayahl Llaanas, translated from the Haida by Robert Bringhurst
Being in Being: The Collected Works of Skaay of the Qquuna Qiighawaay, translated from the Haida by Robert Bringhurst (Masterworks of the Classical Haida Mythtellers); Douglas & McIntyre, Canada.
The Wake by Paul Kingsnorth is published by Unbound, £18
Preparation for the Next Life by Atticus Lish is published by Oneworld, £14.99

Erica Wagner writes for The New Statesman, The Financial Times, The Economist and The New York Times. Her latest novel is Seizure,  published now in French as La Coupure.Follow Erica on Twitter: @EricaWgnrFind out more about Erica on her website

Read the first article in this two part debate for the National Conversation - Philip Gywn Jones, The Civil War for Books: Where's the Money Going?

We'd love to know your thoughts on this topic, please do comment below or on twitter #NatConv

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What's Wrong With Amazon? By Isabelle Grey

Posted By: Anonymous, 14 May 2015

 An article by writer Isabelle Grey in anticipation of the National Conversation event Amazon and the Civil War for Books at the Norfolk and Norwich Festival this Sunday 17th May.

Amazon has unquestionably shaken up the way in which readers choose and buy books. It has also opened up the publishing arena to anyone who wants to edit and market their own work. Has this really provoked a civil war? I am old enough to have written my first book on a manual typewriter; as a journalist, I am a veteran of the Wapping dispute. I have seen before how bitterly two sides can fight over new technology.

As a writer, I am neither for nor against Amazon, any more than I am for or against radio, film, television or books (print or digital) as a delivery platform for the stories I want to tell. What I don’t want to do is to write something that will never find an audience.

As a citizen, I have issues with Amazon around employment practices and fair taxation. As a reader, Amazon is too easy to resist. As a writer, Amazon is no more or less interested in making money out of me than my publisher or an independent bookshop.  But what Amazon and other e-book sellers do far better than either of them is to find readers for me – over 120,000 of them so far.

The 'thing' about e-books that publishers (and, to be fair, most large corporations, including the BBC) have been woefully slow to get is the value of data. They are catching up – HarperCollins now has a director of audience development while Hachette have developed data visualization and social listening tools. These things aren’t mere Silicon Valley hipster jargon: they really matter.

Shakespeare wrote for the stage because some of his audience were illiterate. Dickens wrote his novels as part-works because cheaper and faster printing techniques made that a popular and exciting way to go. There’s a generation of authors coming along who will write for the mobile phone, because that’s the first place they go to find what they want. Where hardware leads, the style and form of content follows.

The big difference is that today’s hardware comes packed with the potential for data-gathering. It’s not only marketing and sales strategies that are based on data analytics. So are the stories we tell. Here’s an example: Netflix are currently spending $100m (out of a predicted annual spend of £3.5bn) on a TV series called The Crown, a bio-pic of Queen Elizabeth II, that is being show-run by Peter Morgan and Stephen Daldry, a writer and director with multiple Oscar nominations. Why? Because the data that Netflix gathers and analyses tells them that their subscribers’ favourite shows are about royalty, marriage and parenthood.

Their data tells them a whole lot more, too – not only what people search for, but also how, when and where they watch, for how long at a single sitting, at precisely what point they get bored and click out, and what they then say about it, and to whom, on social media.

As a writer, I find that knowledge exciting. I don’t want to be a slave to it, but why would I not want to know the precise effect my work – almost line by line –  is having on a reader or viewer? For me, that is the huge creative debate that is to come –  and, trust me, it is coming. What is the value of that kind of knowledge? How will it, and should it, be shared? And how far should writers and other creative artists either wish or be asked to respond to it?

It’s not a civil war, it’s a revolution.

Isabelle Grey is a former freelance journalist and reviewer, magazine editor and (as Isabelle Anscombe) author of five non-fiction books. For the past twenty years she has written television drama, including the BBC docu-drama Genghis Khan and an episode of the Bafta-winning series Accused with Jimmy McGovern. She also writes for film and radio and for five years taught screenwriting at Central St Martin's. She is currently finishing her fourth novel for Quercus, a follow-up to Good Girls Don't Die.

Follow Isabelle on Twitter: @IsabelleGrey
Find out more on Isabelle's website 

Find out more about the event Amazon and the Civil War for Books. Tweeting? Use #NatConv to debate online with us this Sunday evening.

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Denise Riley opens the Worlds Literature Festival Salon

Posted By: Katy Carr, 19 June 2014

What I want back is what I was
Before the bed, before the knife,
Before the brooch-pin and the salve
Fixed me in this parenthesis;
Horses fluent in the wind,
A place, a time gone out of mind.
From ‘The Eye-Mote’ by Sylvia Plath

In this, the tenth year of Worlds, forty writers gathered from across the globe to sit around a table in the beautiful Cathedral Hostry and introduce themselves to each other before settling in for four days of discussion, provocations and thought around the theme of nostalgia.

Is nostalgia a bromide? asks Denise Riley in the first of our Worlds Literature Festival 14 Salon provocations. Denise’s approach is indeed  provoking. Introducing the theme  a couple of hours earlier, Jon Cook talked of Odysseus and his epic quest, and the classic painful pull of home. Many of the writers around the room said that they often feel the siren call of nostalgia threading throughout their work. Their initial response to the term was mainly positive.

Yet Riley has no soft feelings for nostalgia. She says that the current usage of the term represents ‘a virus of weakening which is spreading all over our culture like an oily paste.’

Bromide is a popular 19th Century sedative which induces a state of detached sleepiness. Riley suggests that our current use of the term nostalgia as representing an idealised version of the past, is a kind of verbal bromide.

As nostalgia is not the same as reminiscence. It sanitises as it is expressed. It places the past at some safe distance, allowing us to believe that the past is over, that it is more sealed off than it actually is. It smoothes over like a tranquiliser, like a bromide, what ought to be raw and jagged.

Why is this weakened form of nostalgia so rampant? Watered down versions of the overused term abound. What are the sources of this cloudy vagueness? asks Denise.

Nostalgia is not the same as the search for the past or some lost good. There’s something a lot riskier going on than that; the underbelly of sanitised nostalgia is dark. Nostalgia doesn’t repeat or duplicate memory. It may even distort or evade the real work of memory.

Could nostalgia be a form of self deception, a social disease? Part of a profoundly conservative narrative indicating a lack of authenticity which is hostile to lived history?

Denise moves on from these questions to point out that you can in fact be nostalgic for a place you’ve never inhabited. And yes, nostalgia is a useful consolation which offers not only escapism, but also solace and self understanding for those who have been displaced. Indeed, you can feel nostalgia not only for the past, but for the future. 

Could it be that nostalgia is a search for wholeness? A wanting to become that which you have always felt that you should be. Riley reads the final stanza from Plath’s 'The Eye Mote', and the memorable lines: ‘What I want back is what I was.../A Place, a time gone out of mind’. These lines evoke a wish for a past that may never have existed in the first place. The desire for an impossible wholeness. 

More worryingly, the grand identifications of our social structures and religions may well rest on the same shaky foundations of the consolations of nostalgia. Reams of people pushing aside lived experience in search of an idea of what we must once have had in the past. But probably never did. Premature attachments to invented identifications.

Riley ends by positing that it is dangerous to pack so much into the hazy land of nostalgia. It holds too much. Instead we need to unpack the term, and look details of the past in the eye; using various forms of critique rather than the simple dark pull of nostalgia.

The discussion following the official provocation, starts with a defence of the term. Perhaps in the West nostalgia is somewhat embarrassing, but in other countries that are still searching for an identity, they need to look to their past in order to form their nationhood. When there is no collective meaning of the word home, then nostalgia can be useful. There are so many narratives that have not been written or told yet, so in many countries nostalgia is not narcissistic or conservative, but instead urgent and critical.

Yes, there are endless examples of how nostalgia is and has been put to political use for nefarious means. The nostalgic constructed version of the past always serves a present purpose in these cases. People are invited to feel sentimental about the past due to a realpolitik. 

So is nostalgia intrinsically conservative? And therefore, for artists, to be avoided? 

There is however, a difference between historical nostalgia and reflective nostalgia; the latter can be more personal and idiosyncratic, it can work as an individual approach to the past and an antidote to the official versions of things. As nostalgia doesn't have to have an object. Could that objectless personal desire perhaps not be a pure thing; a limitless urge for an integrity that has been lost?

Un-syrupy nostalgia can often be a call to action. Good writers can use that. In order to revive the term, the knowingness of nostalgia has to be deployed now, rather than dismissed. We have to sharpen up and remain authentic, without giving in to sentiment.

The writers end by agreeing that we need to separate out the various types of nostalgia in order to redeem the category. Maybe there’s a better word or words for the many different forms of nostalgia that we’re discussing, as the word nostalgia is too compromised, soft-focused for the complicated forms of personal experience it seeks to describe. The word nostalgia in its current incarnation obfuscates more than it clarifies. 

Follow the Worlds conversation on @WritersCentre on twitter, on these latest news posts, and find out more about all the writers and events here.


Listen to Denise Riley's provocation in full here:

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If we stop reading novels then what might we lose? Han Han and the One

Posted By: Katy Carr, 07 August 2013

At the ninth annual Worlds Literature Festival Salon event, the international writers present were tasked with examining Ways of Writing: Ways of Reading, particularly focusing on how literature and story-telling have been affected by economic and digital changes.

Thursday brought a joint provocation from Peng Lun and Eric Abrahamsen which focussed on the best-selling Chinese writer Han Han. Peng Lun is a Chinese editor who publishes world renowned writers and edits Granta China whilst Eric Abrahamsen is a Chinese-English literary translator and publishing consultant who lives in Beijing. The following is a report of Peng and Eric’s provocation and of the discussion that followed.

Peng and Eric explained that Han Han changed a generation’s consciousness with his novel writing, but has now abandoned the long-form and is publishing one short idea a day on the internet. What does this say about the way things are going? Does this reflect a wider trend in moving from long form to short form, and is it symptomatic of attention spans in the modern age? Should we be worried?

Peng began by placing Han Han as typical of his generation in China; the first generation to come of age with the internet and to have grown up under the one child policy.

Han Han didn’t do well under China’s school system, but he was good at writing and so he focused on that. At 17 Han Han wrote a novel which became an instant best-seller. He was offered a place at Fudan University but declined, opting instead to become a racing car driver (with a brief foray into singing) and in so doing became an idol for millions of young people in China.

Han Han started a blog where he criticised the government on many issues in a sharp and satirical way. He gained the attention of the authorities, and some of his blogs were deleted by the internet companies due to pressure from the government. In 2010 he published a new magazine called the Party. The magazine was published in 2011 and sold over 1 million copies before being banned.

However, Han Han’s latest project is very different. ‘The One’ is a website that Han Han and his team has set up with a dotcom giant. It features one image, one question and one report each day, and each day’s content is different to the next, seemingly totally eclectic. As each daily update on ‘The One’ is disconnected from the one before there is little opportunity to respond to the ideas presented, no long-term build up, no chance for ideas to gather momentum.

‘The One’ is designed for China’s ‘e-babies’ (Han Han’s terminology), in order to give them content in a way that captures their attention and that is easily digestible. Is this a cause for concern? Could Han Han’s shift in form be representative of the way things are going? As a cultural icon his thoughts and ideas have real impact; he has taught the youth, who are extremely porous and prone to influence, how to rebel. Han Han has changed Chinese society.

Han Han’s key achievement was bringing irony into public discourse, in one of the least ironic places in the world. He did this through his novel. This is important as it gives people a way of staying under the radar and still being able to criticise. He gave the Chinese public, particularly the young people, options and a vocabulary that previously they did not have.

So, given his influence and power, what should we make of Han Han’s move from the traditional long-form novel to the online short-form?

Peng and Eric concluded by saying that they think this move away from the long-form into easily digestible online bites of ideas is concerning, for some artistic ideas can only be had over the course of a very long period of time – six months to ten years. These are ideas that percolate in the mind, grow and cannot be expressed in the short-form. The long-form is the only way to expand a sustained idea; and so Peng and Eric asked us to consider what we may be losing by this leap into the daily and the easily digestible.

Readers need to spend time digesting – the novel has a slow rhythm which might only be perceived if you don’t think about much else when you read it. Many social ideas will only take root, or mature if people have a forum in which they spend time. As discussed in Ruth Ozeki’s provocation, technology has reduced the time and space in which we have to express our ideas. Technology has increased the pace of things, so that readers don’t have time to consider things at great length.

Yet we humans are organic and have inate biological rhythms. There are certain things that we can’t speed up, certain ideas that can’t adapt to pacier form. So if we don’t fight for the time and space to express these sustained ideas then there are works of art and concepts that we simply won’t have.

The provocation reminded one writer of Chomsky’s idea that liberalism can’t be articulated in a sound-bite on TV, but that right-wing politics can be. The advent of TV had a direct impact on the policies that influence the public.

As regards to form, it was pointed out that online gaming is a type of long-form, a closed world where people can get lost. Whilst an aphorism or poem is a short-form that not only slows you down but forces you to concentrate. So it’s not all about length of form, but the quality and composition of that form too.

The session closed with the writers considering the provocateurs’ idea that the traditional long-form novel was the one which was most subversive in Han Han’s work – it really changed the culture and allowed his ideas to travel and disperse under the radar. Han Han had the greatest impact on his culture when he was working at his slowest. People need to internalise ideas and thought and that takes time- social change won’t come in a tweet.

The novel is meditative and immersive, it pulls us into a hypnotic state, giving us a chance to absorb ideas and art. It gives us the chance to feel something different, to feel changed. The novel creates a space where something happens both for readers and writers, and if we stop reading them, we will lose that space forever.  

Listen to Peng Lun and Eric Abrahmasen's provocation:

A Worlds 13 Round Up:

Watch the highlights on YouTube
Listen to the discussion on SoundCloud
See the images on Flickr

Read the blogs

From the events:

A Writers Dilemma: Tove Jansson, More than the Moomins

Best of British and Novelists’ Fears

Meir Ben Elijah: Out of the dark and Into the Light

From the salons:

Sjón’s Stories Inhabit the Worlds Literature Festival Salon

What is the Internet Doing To Writers? Ruth Ozeki and the Trials of Switching Off

Rachel Lichtenstein's Diamond Street App: Is This The Way Stories Are Going?

Find out more about Worlds Literature Festival.

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Is the Literary Novel Doomed? - Marcel Möring

Posted By: Katy Carr, 11 July 2013

For the third Worlds Literature Festival Salon, Marcel Möring gave a provoking introduction, rousing writers in defence of the literary novel.

His terms were clear. The novel is under attack. This form which is the story of how it all began is us and we are it. Novelists listen to the heartbeat of time, and so their work is urgent. Novelists need to give people not what they want, but instead what they might least expect. They need to make art.

Möring states that the novel has come to a standstill and that novelists just seem to have accepted this.

He finished by rousing the assembled writers. Let us be bold and daring. Let’s risk it all and get back to the point whereby we ourselves are shocked by literature. Let’s mess with time and place and the idea of the text. Let’s be free and experimental. Let’s make art.

Novelists are the mothers and fathers of narrative invention. They have an obligation and must try to go where no man and no woman has gone before.

There was general agreement from the writers gathered that there is indeed a crisis in the novel form. The market has become constricted and now publishers are not taking a chance on experimental forms of novels, writers are being herded towards the familiar.

Has the European novel sold its soul and become a commercial tool of bog standard story telling? It might have. Yet is this just an Anglo-American disease? The novel in English may be doomed, but this doesn't necessarily hold for all novels.

Those writing in other forms noted Marcel’s insistence on the novel being the ultimate literary form. Maybe the most interesting literature is happening outside of the novel now. Would that be such a  bad thing? 

A poet noted that of course it’s worthwhile to look for something new in the novel; poets are constantly searching for the new. If novelists become really experimental and break down all of the boundaries in the novel, maybe they’ll end up writing poetry!

Then the writers talked about how great literature needn’t be experimental. Some of the best modern literature comes from reportage, which is not known for experimentalism. Also, many people do not want the experimental in their novels. They just want the writing to be high quality, the construction excellent, such as in the work of Annie Proulx and Johnathan Franzen. 

There is more than one way of being brave. You can break boundaries in other, non-experimental ways – by being emotionally honest, by opening up the raw. Why this insistence on a new form? Making a novel experimental can also be a way of being inauthentic – you can hide behind form.

The idea of Modernism was explored. Isn’t the classic Modernist form outdated? Don’t we need to find our own way of writing for this time we’re living in, rather than harking back to the experimentalists of the early 20th Century? People discussed Will Self’s Umbrella, the room divided about how relevant the novel’s Modernist style is now, whether or not it’s pastiche.

The writers considered whether today we have to find our own Modernism; a style more relevant to the time we’re living in. And noted that writers shouldn’t just break up form for the sake of it;  the experimental works best when it comes out of necessity.

As a riposte, Möring listed all of the interesting ways of writing that novelists could  be employing, that are being underutilised. Diary style, in the style of the Talmud, interviews... Modernism aside, we are not being inventive enough, surely.

There was general agreement that novelists are indeed under great constraints commercially – they are certainly being herded towards the safe and this is indeed having an effect on form.

Yet there was also frequent mention of the wealth of individual presses and brave editors who are doing great work and publishing more interesting fiction.  Good books continue to travel in the most surprising ways. There is also a gratifying resurgence in revivalism; Richard Yates, Paula Fox, John Williams were all cited as examples of great writers who have been re-earthed recently with the writers concluding that it is at least reassuring to note that if your challenging, brave book doesn’t make it the first time round, there’s always a chance that it will be brought back to life later on. 

Listen to a podcast of Marcel's provocation below:

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Worlds Literature Festival Free Reads: An Introduction to New Worlds of Literature

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 09 July 2013

Worlds Literature Festival takes place over a week, with a series of public and private events. Worlds 2013 was no different, with a series of public evening events (including a sold out event devoted to Tove Jansson, creator of the Moomins), the private literary salons, and the Worlds Festival Free Reads.

The Free Reads brought brilliant international writers to Norwich (England’s first UNESCO City of Literature), and invited everybody to come and discover new writing.

The Free Read sessions invited the Worlds guests to give a short reading of their work. These readings offered a quick introduction into exciting foreign literature - in an hour and half you were transported around the world; travelling a few steps or a long mile in another’s shoes.

Tuesday’s Free Read featured Rozalie Hirs, Rachida Lamrabet, Bejan Matur, Marcel Möring and Neel Mukherjee.

Bejan Matur took to the stage first, reading in conjunction with Writers’ Centre Chief Executive Chris Gribble. Bejan read in Turkish, then Chris followed with the English translation - the simultaneous reading offered a glimpse of the strange duality of language.

Our second reading was from Marcel Möring, a Dutch novelist and playwright who has twice won the brilliantly named Golden Owl award. He read from In a Dark Wood (Dutch title Dis). You can watch his reading on youtube.

Neel Mukherjee read the prologue from his unpublished novel The Lives of Others (January 2014). The short extract told the tale of the horrifying limits humans are pushed to by desperation and hopelessness, and left the room silent and pensive. Rachida Lamrabet, equal rights campaigner and novelist, read a short piece which reflected her multi-cultural heritage, followed by Rozalie Hirs reading a selection of her poetry which is filled with repetition and assonance, leaving the hostry resonating with rhythm and rhymes.
Whilst Tuesday’s Afternoon Reads focussed on literature in translation, Wednesday’s seemed to have a distinct post-colonial literature slant with readings from Tash Aw, Chandrahas Choudhury, Melissa Lucashenko and Zhang Yeuran.

Melissa Lucashenko was the first to read, and read from her newest novel, Mullumbimby, a book which touches upon issues of indigenous culture and colonial appropriation. Next, Tash Aw read a short extract from his new novel Five Star Billionaire about Gary, a character who is catapulted into stardom after winning a signing contest. Tash’s reading captured the ‘get rich quick’ aspect of the modern world, and the pervading Westernisation of Asia.   
Chandrahas Choudhury read a witty novel extract from Arzee the Dwarf and a short piece from his novel-in-progress, where the character found himself living an increasingly adventurous life. Zhang Yeuran, who said that she felt so nervous that she was going to imagine the audience as potatoes to calm her nerves (it worked!), read an extract from her current novel Cocoon.

Our last Worlds Festival Free Reads took place on Friday and featured readings from Michelle de Kretser, Ruth Ozeki and Masashi Matusie with Michael Emmerich.

Michelle de Kretser read first, from her Miles Franklin award winning novel Questions of Travel - Michelle won the award on Wednesday while at the festival, becoming the second Worlds guest in a row to win. The extract she read focussed on a backpacker travelling the world, and the transience of that backpacker’s experience of foreign culture. Watch Michelle de Kretser reads from Questions of Travel.

Masashi Matsuie read next in Japanese, whilst Michael Emmerich read the English translation. They read from At the Foot in the Volcano, with Michael following Masashi’s reading with the English, creating an interesting lag between the initial reading and the consequent understanding.    

The last reader on Friday, and of the week, was Ruth Ozeki. Ruth read a few pages from the beginning of her newest novel A Tale for the Time Being, which is a novel defined and drawn along by the split narrative.

Worlds Literature Festival introduced me to brilliant international writers, wonderful new writing, and to fresh perspectives. I highly recommend you take a look at the writers' work, and I hope to see you at Worlds next year!

A Worlds 13 Round Up:

Watch the highlights on YouTube
Listen to the discussion on SoundCloud
See the images on Flickr

Read the blogs

From the events:

A Writers Dilemma: Tove Jansson, More than the Moomins

Best of British and Novelists’ Fears

Meir Ben Elijah: Out of the dark and Into the Light

From the salons:

Sjón’s Stories Inhabit the Worlds Literature Festival Salon

What is the Internet Doing To Writers? Ruth Ozeki and the Trials of Switching Off

Rachel Lichtenstein's Diamond Street App: Is This The Way Stories Are Going?

Find out more about Worlds Literature Festival.

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Rachel Lichtenstein's Diamond Street App: Is This The Way Stories Are Going?

Posted By: Katy Carr, 28 June 2013

Rachel Lichtenstein’s Worlds Literature Festival salon provocation introduced her groundbreaking app, Diamond Street, based on her book of the same name.

As a social historian interested in psychogeography and a former visual artist, Lichtenstein said she was very excited by the possibilities of GPS technology to bring her place-based historical writing to life in a new artistic form that would merge the past, the present and the fantastic in a beautiful new way.

Set in the Hatton Garden area of London, and relating stories that come out of the landscape, Lichtenstein immediately saw great opportunities for Diamond Street the app to bring the heart of her book of the same name to a new audience. She was also keen to work in this interesting new form, but she knew that she did not have the skills to realise the project on her own.

Lichtenstein showed us clips from the app, and we walked the sewers with her on screen. Later, we listened to the voices of locals who had recorded live versions of the oral history narratives from the book. The high quality of the sound and the visuals as well as the beauty of the narrative prose was evident in all of the clips played.

The writers responded enthusiastically to the presentation, saying that the app brought up all kinds of exciting possibilities for writers. In general the writers said that it did not seem like a film or TV adaption, as the narrative used was pure and directly from the book – the app instead felt like a separate art form that was just as beautiful, if different to the original book.

Lichtenstein said that the form in the app reminded her of the Talmud where the text is central and there were possibilities for asides and extra information alongside – much in the way that online links work.

On a more practical note, Lichtenstein talked about how the app was funded in the main by an Arts Council England grant for which she was very grateful. At the moment the app is not profitable, nor something she could expect her publishers to pay in full for, but she did also point out that the process of making an app like this will get considerably less expensive as time goes on. 

Lichtenstein also talked about how it was a real pleasure to work in a team; a novelty for a writer. The writers discussed the joy of working in a team, but also the stress of that – when writers are used to being in full control of things.

Artistically, some writers expressed concerns about viewing locations on screen; the encroachment of the readers’ imaginative space. This led on to a discussion relating to the previous salon about multimedia eroding our creative space, chewing up part of the territory of the imagination. Displaying things that used to exist only in people’s minds might be deadly to the creative imagination.

But this pessimism was refuted by the overall enthusiasm for the app as a new artistic form, and the possibilities it opened out to writers. 

As one writer noted, whilst books are the major cultural artefact of our time, many cultures have struggled to tell stories in books. Many cultures have very little written culture, but, like in Greenland, already turn to graphic novels, or other alternative forms.

Overall the writers felt that the creation of this work is evidence of exciting new ways of structuring stories, new forms. Lichtenstein has peeled back the veil of space and time in a wholly original artistic way and this is exhilarating.

Listen to a podcast of Rachel's provocation:

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What is the Internet Doing To Writers? Ruth Ozeki and the Trials of Switching Off

Posted By: Katy Carr, 27 June 2013

Is the internet turning us all into cyborg fiction writers with attention deficit disorder?

Ruth Ozeki’s Worlds Literature Festival Salon provocation dealt with the effect of the new digital landscape on the writer and on our sense of self.

Ozeki told us of the disruption she encountered when trying to write her novel, her desire to go online and look up facts, as well as the heavy weight of having the world’s writers on your lap, accessible at any time from her computer.

So she went away to write, to a place in the countryside that had no network, no internet. She struggled with this lack of connection, angry. Her mind tried to look things up in the way that google does and Ozeki struggled with the fact that she couldn’t access facts with the click of a mouse. Unwired, she felt insufficient, losing faith in herself as a person and as a writer. She couldn’t write. The book felt broken and so did her mind.

But after two weeks she noted that her sense of self came back to her, and that she was able to write again.

The whole experience led Ozeki to question the effect of the internet on our sense of self, to wonder what it’s doing to us.

Technology often creates the very problem that it’s trying to eradicate, said Ozeki, the internet is de-familiarising solitude and so creating loneliness, even as social networks proliferate.

The internet has democratised language. Now anyone can self publish and there is a proliferation of blogs and self published work on there. Is this a good thing?

Ozeki referenced Milan Kundera who wrote "Once the writer in every individual comes to life (and that time is not far off), we are in for an age of universal deafness and lack of understanding." (The Book of Laughter and Forgetting, 1979).

It could be said that time is here. We are all writers now. And we are blurring the boundaries between the private and the performative in our everyday life in a way that was unthinkable less than a quarter of a century ago.

Ozeki's provocation turned at the end, to consider what we might gain through this new way of being. Our sense of self is malleable and durable. It can adapt. This interconnected online world might change our sense of self, but it might also make us more open to other people’s ideas, stories that are not our own. Our sense of self may become more relational and less fixed and that might not be such a bad thing.

(NB Ozeki deals with all of these issues in her book A Tale For The Time Being which looks like a fascinating read.)

After Ozeki’s provocation the writers mulled over the effect of the internet. If quality writing depends on deep time then how does one get to that when constantly connected?

Many talked about how they too felt addicted to the internet, unable to detach, constantly distracted. was cited as a great solution, a good way of avoiding going online when writing.

However, not everybody felt the immediacy of this problem, some of the international writers saying that this is really an affluent first world problem.

Forms of writing were discussed. Ozeki had referenced the Japanese i-novel as the main literary form in Japan now, saying that every new writer there was expected to write one or two of them. The personal format of the i-novel is inherent, and perhaps grew out of the first person format of the Haiku. In any case, portraying a personal reality has become the natural subject matter for Japanese writers these days.

Then the writers discussed that universal deafness mentioned by Milan Kundera – if everybody is creating, who is absorbing the information? Where are the deep readers?

Not everybody subscribed to Kundera’s view of things, seeing it as arrogant and elitist; an example of the idea that literacy shouldn’t grow amongst the peasants.

We discussed how in Iceland there is a longstanding belief that everybody has the right to tell a story, not just the official storytellers or the elite, and later we discussed how in Iceland’s national newspapers anybody can have their obituary published, not only public figures. The right to tell stories is for everybody and that shouldn’t feel like a threat.

As regards the worry about listening, maybe there are simply different ways to listen, to read. We skim words online, but maybe we are creating more links than ever before. There is a type of effervescence there. Perhaps Sjón’s idea of stories superseding form will also hold for the internet.

And so the Salon ended on a positive note. However the overwhelming impression of the discussion remained the writers’ anxiety about the assault on that ‘deep time’ and about their own inability to resist the distractions that the online world holds.

Listen to Ruth Ozeki's Provocation on the Salon Podcast

Watch Ruth read from A Tale for the Time Being at Friday's Worlds Festival Free Read:

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Best of British and Novelists’ Fears

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 25 June 2013

The third day of Worlds Literature Festival brought muggy sunshine and an evening event with two of Granta’s Best of Young British Novelists; David Szalay and Evie Wyld, hosted by Ted Hodgkinson of Granta. Both David and Evie read from their extracts featured in Granta’s Best of Young British Novelists 4.  

David read first, from his novel in progress, Europa, a novel which will take the form of a number of 10-15 thousand word novellas, linked by ideas of transnationality:

Evie followed with a reading from her just-published novel All the Birds, Singing:

Best of Young British Novelists 4 is an anthology that collects work from young writers who show potential and skill and, as such, the writing isn’t linked by theme or style. Instead it aims to showcase the best sample of writing, which is representative of the chosen author’s style. Consequently, David and Evie’s writing is very different, yet their discussion of writing had several common threads.

As the title suggests, the recurring motif of the evening was one of fear. (Not that the audience was scared, mind you- although Evie’s reading was very creepy.) Evie explained that she’d grown up reading horror, from the Point Horror books, to Stephen King, to Silence of the Lambs, and that as a child she’d always thought she’d write horror books. And, in a way, she does.

The fear in Evie’s novels is an oblique suppressed horror- it is a fear created by the self, and all the more terrifying because of the illogical indefinableness of it. Evie commented that she liked ghost stories, especially family ghost stories, saying that she didn’t believe in ghosts, but she did believe in people seeing ghosts.

Evie followed this by talking about her preoccupation and fear of sharks, and laughed that she’s always having to take sharks out of her book- so there are far more sharks lurking in the first draft than the final draft!

David has a knack for picking out the grotesque in ordinary people, creating fear and repulsion in the hidden shadows of humanity. He said that he found it amusing how often he found something in his book funny, and when somebody else read the same section they would find it depressing or horrifying. David then commented that “to the writer, the characters in the story are less real than to the reader” and as the creator, the author will not fear the demons and horrors in their own work. (Unlike their readers!)

Of course, the fear that both David and Evie have to confront is the worry of not living up to the expectations placed upon them by being chosen as two of the best writers of their generation. Previous Best of Young British Novelists include Martin Amis, Iain Banks, Pat Barker and Jeanette Winterson- proving that the mantel is an impressive but intimidating prospect. But we don’t think they have anything to worry about at all.

Listen to a podcast of the event below:

Take a look at some of the photos from Worlds Literature Festival.

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A Writer's Dilemma: Tove Jansson, More than the Moomins.

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 19 June 2013

I have a dim memory of being read the Moomins as a child, poking at the chubby creatures with my equally chubby fingers. I also have a copy of  The Summer Book sitting on my ever increasing ‘To Be Read’ pile at home. Still, before the Tove Jansson: Between Light and Dark event, Tove Jansson was nothing but a shadowy figure. Now, post event, The Summer Book has been moved to the top of the pile. I’m determined to re-read the Moomins back catalogue, and I’m desperate to find out more about the elusive figure of Tove Jansson.

On the panel was Rebecca Swift (of The Literary Consultancy), poet and Jansson fan, Esther Freud (author of Hideous Kinky), who wrote the foreword to The Summer Book; actor Samuel West (Howard’s End), voice of the Moomin app and Icelandic writer Sjón, who recently collaborated with Björk on her Moomins and the Comet Chase soundtrack. The event began by Rebecca inviting the panel to talk about what Tove’s work meant to them. Fascinatingly, our panellists’ child selves seemed to be drawn to the Moomins because of the thin edge between light and dark in her work, and her truthfulness as a writer. As adults, they love Tove’s work for similar reasons, but are also drawn to her wry observations on humanity (or Moominity?!).

Throughout the discussion it became clear to me that the Moomins held a very special place in the hearts of not only our panellists but in our audience’s too. The centre of the discussion seemed to be on Tove’s artful way of combining conflicting emotions, and the subsequent creation of bittersweet tableaus. Indeed, our panellists seemed to agree that bittersweet was the best word to describe Tove’s writing.

For me, what stood out the most from the event was the image of Tove as a determined artist and a writer who was absolutely dedicated to her craft. She went to extraordinary lengths to be able to create, going as far to living on a tiny island (think the size of a large living room). On the miniscule windswept island there was a small house, which you’d assume would be the living space – yet Tove lived in a tent to preserve the house as a workspace, and to resist the bleeding over of relaxation into work. I find that both extraordinary, and inspiring.

She was an artist who wanted to pursue her craft first and foremost, and came to almost abhor the Moomins, because drawing the Moomins left her no time to experiment and try new things. Of course, the popularity of the Moomins also came to mean that she was first and foremost known as the creator of the Moomins and her other artistic pursuits were all but ignored.

Eventually, Tove handed on the work of drawing the cartoon to her brother Lars, giving her the freedom to pursue her other creative urges. It was lucky that she did, as it gave her the time to write her adult fiction, including The Summer Book (which both Esther and Sjon raved about as being one of the best books they've ever read.).

I think anyone who fancies themselves as an artist, or a writer, could do a lot worse then using Tove Jansson as an icon. Hugely successful, Tove was always striving to achieve and create, never resting on her laurels, and always focussing on her art- what more could you want in a hero?

Take a look at the story of the evening on Storify

Listen to podcasts of the event on Soundcloud.

Watch Esther read from Comet in Moominland:

Watch Sam and Sjón discuss Tove Jansson and read from her work:

Take a look at photos from Worlds 13:

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Cartographer, Sculptor, Thief: Michael Ondaatje in conversation with Kamila Shamsie at Worlds 2012

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 04 July 2012

Petra writes about one of her literary heroes; Michael Ondaatje who visited Norwich for an event with Kamila Shamsie:

Metaphor abounds when talking about Michael Ondaatje. There is a need, or a desire, to describe him as something other than purely a writer. Is he an archeologist revealing objects inch-by-inch from the soil? Is he the clever thief you cannot help but like - like his character Caravaggio? (Are all writers thieves – or “fancy talking pickpockets” – as Tommy Wieringa suggested earlier in the week of Worlds? (Read our earlier blog about Novelists as pickpockets) Is he a sculptor? Or a cartographer, drawing maps of fantastical places? I’d like to identify him with Herodotus, that master storyteller of whom Ondaatje writes in The English Patient: someone who has traveled far, gathered stories, and is reporting back, all the while remodeling reality in some secret way…

Ondaatje's work has always haunted me, inhabited me. Thus, it was an honour to see him read his poetry and prose at the Worlds 2012 literature conference, followed by a great discussion with novelist Kamila Shamsie.

There is a delicious, languid lucidity contained in Ondaatje’s writing. He is also a natural reader. The lines of his work wove together, slowly, erotically, over the listening crowd in the Playhouse. He uses language to encompass weighty themes: history, memory, war, philosophy, love and yet in the next moment he is terrifyingly, revealingly intimate: his language is close to the body and close to the earth. Another Worlds guest, Teju Cole, has written of Ondaatje: “I'm unsure if I'm reading or if I'm the one being read.” (Read the full article)

Ondaatje began by reading two poems, The Great Tree and Last Ink from his collection Handwriting.  An excerpt from Last Ink:

In certain countries aromas pierce the heart and one dies
half waking in the night as an owl and a murderer’s cart go by
the way someone in your life will talk out love and grief
then leave your company laughing.

He then read from his novel Anil’s Ghost and from his latest novel, The Cat’s Table, which follows the journey of an 11-year-old boy called Michael on his journey from Sri Lanka to England.

I was mesmerised by his description of boyish wonder in The Cat’s Table, where the young narrator and his friends watch an Australian girl swimming in the pool aboard the ocean liner: “When she left we followed her footprints, which were already evaporating in the new sunlight as we approached them.”

Kamila Shamsie - a brilliant, lively interviewer - walked Ondaatje through the intersection of memoir and fiction that appears to lie at the heart of The Cat’s Table and many of his other works. Ondaatje spoke about the age of eleven being a sort of liminal age for him – the age where you change, move, forget or become.


Pressed on the line between fiction and memoir, he compared the Western narrative experience with Eastern notions of narrative, where truth is not something to be defined in an empirical or absolute way. He said works like The Cat’s Table or his novel/memoir Running In The Family, written about his family in Sri Lanka, have meant that he has come to accept certain stories or narratives as true, even if they didn’t start off that way – even if they started off as an exchange of tall tales. He felt strongly that the narrative act was never static. Ondaatje’s work, at its best, seems to circle constantly around truth as a multiplicity of experiences.

Ondaatje spoke about the processes surrounding his writing practice. He writes without a plan and said there was an “enjoyable tension” for him in finding out what will happen. The conversation lingered over his tendency to write in vignettes and he mentioned his process of constructing a novel via notebooks, each containing a new draft, enabling him to cut and paste bits until he achieves the right balance. Ondaatje said he likes to engage in the “drama of writing the story”.

Shamsie mentioned a line from In the Skin of the Lion: “Let me now re-emphasise the extreme looseness of the structure of all objects”. Ondaatje said that he felt his process was very much “loose in writing, tight in editing”. He spoke of drafting being akin to moving furniture and spoke of his joy in setting up a sort of thematic or narrative echoing within his novels. Shamsie brought up Ondaatje’s love of film, and of editing in particular, noting that the end of The English Patient - where Hannah knocks a glass off the shelf in one life, and Kip reaches down to scoop up the dropped fork of his daughter in another - is a very filmic moment, a splice.

The discussion turned then to power, Shamsie bringing up another line from The Cat’s Table, where the narrator learns: “What is interesting and important happens mostly in secret, in places where there is no power.” Ondaatje said that he learned this as a young man and how he’s remained interested in the bizarre strata of power, something that was very apparent when he came to England as a boy. There was discussion of his love of the ‘outsider’: the charming thief, or the outlaw – like Billy the Kid. (For those of you who haven’t read Ondaatje’s The Collected Works of Billy the Kid: Left-Handed Poems, I highly recommend it – it’s a favourite of mine.)

Ultimately, Ondaatje said he was drawn to writing what cannot be filmed, and was fascinated by exploring the space of the narrator. An audience member asked if he still wrote poetry, to which he said, sadly, no he didn’t. But I’d argue he does, still – it’s just that we don’t classify it that way. To me, all of his works are a sort of poetry.

Listen to the event on SoundCloud:

An Evening with Michael Ondaatje & Kamila Shamsie by Writers' Centre Norwich

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Summer Reads 2012; Events So Far...

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 29 June 2012

It hasn’t been much of a summer so far this year, but our Summer Reads reading programme has been in full swing since May. With a host of author events, book club meetings and library events going on, it hasn’t seemed to matter so much that it’s been rainy and miserable.

Our first event was with SJ Watson, author of best-seller Before I Go To Sleep. I read Before I Go To Sleep last year and loved it, so I was thrilled to discover that it had been chosen as one of WCN’s Summer Reads books for 2012.  The event was held at the Norfolk and Norwich Millennium  library. The room quickly filled up with readers who sat patiently, clearly filled with anticipation. I noticed that the audience was a diverse mix of people- it’s always interesting looking at the audience for individual events, because it gives a much better idea about who the book appealed to- Before I Go To Sleep is a novel which seems to engage almost everybody!

SJ Watson began the event by reading an extract from the beginning of Before I Go To Sleep. Sam Ruddock, the man behind the Summer Reads programme, began a conversation with SJ Watson which ranged from medical accuracy, to gender, to the nature of the debut novel. SJ said that he didn’t find it difficult to write from the perspective of a woman, because, as a writer you should be able to write from other people’s perspective. The audience laughed when SJ mentioned that he found it odd that people seemed to be comfortable with the idea of individuals writing as serial killers but not comfortable with a man writing as a woman! He did say that he asked his female friends to read the novel and fact check it for him too however...

When the floor was open to the audience for questions there was a constant flow of interested queries. SJ Watson spoke at length about the difficulties of balancing medical accuracy (as he worked for the NHS for a number of years, medical accuracy was imperative!) whilst maintaining the plot and pace of the story. SJ Watson said that he'd thought he had made up Christine’s precise medical complaint, but discovered that there is a very similar case when the book was published.

The SJ Watson event was a great success, and a brilliant start to our Summer Reads reading programme!


During our Worlds Literature Festival we had THREE of our Summer Reads events, making it a jampacked schedule of bookish joy. Our first event was ‘An Evening with Dame Gillian Beer, Jeanette Winterson and Jo Shapcott’ and was completely sold out. Jo Shapcott read from Summer Reads book Of Mutability, which won the Costa Book Award. Jo’s poetry was emotionally charged, and worked perfectly in companion with Jeanette Winterson’s reading of Why Be Happy When You Could be Normal. (Read more about the event in Petra’s Blog.)

Anna Funder, whose novel, All That I Am, was our first Summer Reads book, participated in an event with JM Coetzee and Tim Parks. These three very different authors created a smorgasbord of literary delights. Anna Funder read from All That I Am and then discussed her motivation for writing the novel and the difficulties when crossing over from writing non-fiction to fiction. Throughout the event the audience were clearly hanging upon her every word. During Worlds festival Anna Funder won the Miles Franklin award for All That I Am and was even interviewed from the Writers’ Centre offices for Australian television!

Last, but by no means least, came our event with Teju Cole, author of the multi-award winning Open City. Teju Cole read an extract from Open City  and discussed how his work was influenced by his street-photography. (Take a look at some of his photos on Flickr) The event was so successful that Waterstones almost sold out of Teju’s books! (You can read a long blogpost about the Teju Cole event here)

Listen to a podcast of the Teju Cole event below:

World Voices featuring Teju Cole, Vesna Goldsworthy and Arturo Dorado by Writers' Centre Norwich

Still coming up is an event with Stefan Tobler, the publisher of Down the Rabbit Hole, and with Rosalind Harvey, the translator. Taking place on the 25th of July, you can buy your ticket for only £2 from our website or the Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library. (Find out more about the event) This is sure to be a fantastic event, and as a big fan of Down the Rabbit Hole I can’t wait to find out more about the book!

As ever, we have a regular book club which meets to discuss the Summer Reads books. It’s been great to see so many new faces, as well as the regulars of course, so please do come along if you’d enjoy a relaxed evening of chatting about books. Our next Book Club Sessions are for Of Mutability (in partnership with Norwich Poetry Book Club) on the 10th July and for Down the Rabbit Hole  on the 24th of July.

We’re also running a new series of events in libraries across Norfolk. Sam has been visiting the libraries across the county and enjoying chat, Mexican chocolate and intriguing Mexican fizzy drinks.

He says:
‘The Get Involved library events are all about meeting readers across Norfolk, and having a relaxed conversation about books with them. It has been a pleasure to visit libraries that are supporting Summer Reads so well this year, and to see all the great work they do with their communities. I’ve been struck by the warmth with which these events have been received and delighted with the atmosphere and willingness to share that everyone involved has created. I’ve enjoyed every minute of delivering them. Not only have we succeeded in introducing the delights of Summer Reads to lots of readers and book clubs, but I’ve discovered lots of books I’d never heard of too! What could be better?’


Find out more about our Summer Reads reader events.

We love to chat with you about these books, so please do tweet us @WCNbookclub, follow us on Facebook, and check out our Summer Reads Pinterest page!

If you love our Summer Reads illustrations too, check out this blogpost from the illustrator Lauren Marina.

Vote online for your favourite Summer Reads book and you could win book tokens!

Find out more about our Summer Reads reading programme.

Reading is just the start...

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What is British Literature? The Launch of Granta Britain

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 28 June 2012

In my mind Granta is the literary magazine.  At my parents house there are two shelves full of Granta issues, stretching over a period of about five years. First established in 1889, Granta has evolved over the years- note the striking cover design- but has always included brilliant writing from debut and established authors. So, even before the event began I knew I was in for a treat...


Issue 119 of Granta was on the theme of ‘Britain’, making it the perfect closing event for our international Worlds Festival. Throughout the week discussions had focused around identity, with nationality playing an important role in the examination of the self.

The evening began with John Freeman, the editor, introducing the writers and introducing Granta. Edmund Clark was the first contributor to take to the stage. He is a photographer who is best known for his images which explore control and incarceration. Edmund Clark’s photo Home from his collection Guantanamo: If the Light Goes Out is included on page 192 of Granta: Britain(View images from Guantanamo: If the Light Goes Out on the Guardian website)

The series of images within Guantanamo: If the Light Goes Out can be divided into three separate ideas of home; the naval base at Guantanamo where the guards and their families lived, the complex of camps that the detainees lived in, and the homes of the detainees themselves, whether the homes are new or old. The contrast between the homes that the detainees lived in out of choice and the rooms they were forced to live in, was stark. 

The photo which was included in Granta was Home, (Number 3 on the Guardian slideshow) and it depicted an image which epitomised an archetypal British household: two armchairs, a flowering plant, net curtains. Edmund said that these images of British domesticity were thrown into sharp relief when placed next to the images from Guantanamo, and that he realised when he was putting the images together that what he “was actually exploring were the homes that the detainees remembered and dreamed of” whilst in the space that they hoped to escape.

The images within Guantanamo: If the Light Goes Out are mixed, with images from the guards’ quarters, the cells of the detainees, and the homes of the detainees. This mix of photographs deliberately creates feelings of disorientation and confusion in the reader and reflects the prisoners’ experience of Guantanamo. Edmund said that throughout the project he realised that he was depicting the memory between the spaces.  There are deliberately very few images of people within the collection, as Edmund wanted to subvert the stock image of prisoners in orange jumpsuits, and the empty spaces are given far greater emotional weight.

Edmund’s collection explored identity through living spaces. By including images from Guantanamo and from the detainees past and present home he is depicting the identities that the detainees choose, and the identity that the detainees had forced upon them. Our expectations and assumptions are challenged through the images, making us reassess our default opinions and stereotypes.

Rachel Seiffert was the second reader. She read from an extract from a not yet published novel; Hands Across the Water. The extract described a blossoming relationship between an Ulster girl and a Glaswegian boy. Rachel’s writing focuses on individual characters within a broader historical perspective.

Rachel talked of the Irish troubles with particular reference to the Orangemen. She said that she researches thoroughly but once writing she focuses in on the characters themselves; and from then on it’s about writing with empathy and finding your way into your characters lives. Writers, by necessity, need to be able to shrug on and off others identities- writing characters well is so much about assuming others’ perspectives.


Andrea Stuart, the third reader, spoke of a different kind of history- the history of her family; of migration, slavery and dreams of a better life. She traced her family tree in her latest  book, Sugar in the Blood  and “revived her slave ancestors from absence”. Andrea’s book gave her slave ancestors back the identity which was taken from them, as they were stolen from their homelands. (Read a review of Sugar in the Blood  from The Independent.)

 This writing of her family history allowed Andrea to claim her story and her family’s story, a story which otherwise might have  been lost like so many other slave narratives. It creates an examination of intrinsic facets of her own identity- that of an Afro-Caribbean British citizen and as a writer. Andrea spoke of the necessity of writing Sugar in the Blood, not only for her own illumination but because it gave the forgotten a voice and a place in history.

Across the week identity has been a crucial discussion point- look through the earlier blogs to find out more about the Worlds events and themes. For writers individual identity is fluid, at least when they are writing.  However, one of the recurring questions throughout all the events and conversations has been how does my identity effect what I write? Whether we’re referencing the African writers who have been told they are not “African” enough, or the middle-class authors who feel hindered by their background,  or the writers who have been translated from their own language into a foreign speech which they cannot understand, identity is as an inescapable part of writing as it is of life.

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Identity, Censorship and Culture: Challenges Writers Face Across the Globe

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 27 June 2012

The World Voices event was organised as part of our Worlds Literature Festival, our Summer Reads reading program and to celebrate Refuge Week. Naturally, expectations were high. Luckily Arturo Dorado, Teju Cole and Vesna Goldsworthy more than exceeded them.

Arturo Dorado, the City of Refuge Writer in Residence, began the evening with a startlingly honest account of his oppression. A political refugee, Arturo encountered such prejudice and censorship in Cuba that he found he was unable to write. He explained that he found Cuba to be a country with a society built around lies and falsehood and that he believed a totalitarian society was one of perversion and destruction.

Living in a democratic country it is often easy to forget that there are people all around the world who live in a society of censorship, and are denied that most basic human right of free speech. Arturo’s introduction was a well-timed reminder that those of us living in the UK have benefits and rights that people are fighting for in many other countries. He closed his speech by saying that when he first moved to England he felt lonely and homesick, but he hoped that in Norwich he could start his life over again.  For many in the audience, and certainly for me, that was a poignant moment where I felt very grateful for all of the advantages that I take for granted.

Vesna Goldsworthy read from her memoir Chernobyl Strawberries. The extract she read described her father-in-laws funeral. Vesna said her choice was motivated from hearing another Worlds participant, Alvin Pang, discuss his mother-in-law’s funeral and the different customs of mourning around the world. One of the fantastic things about the Worlds Literature Festival is that it inspires and sparks off discussion points and explorations, meaning that you’re constantly forming new ideas whilst struggling to document the old ones.

Vesna’s reading explored the contrast between her country of birth (the former Yugoslavia) and Britain, her adopted country. This comparison of nationalities was described in great detail, with beautiful imagery. As Vesna read about the conflicting customs of Yugoslavia and England I found myself pondering the idea of a mass identity through nationality. It is a strange thing to think that people can be identified not by skin colour, or accent, but instead through some unconscious collective behaviour. (Watching the English: The Hidden Rules of English Behaviour by Kate Fox is a great book to read if you’d like to find out more about being peculiarly English) Vesna’s writing seemed to aptly describe the less obvious gaps between cultural practises. Vesna finished by reading two poems from her latest collection The Angel of Salonika.

Teju Cole, author of Summer Reads pick Open City, wore traditional African clothing for his reading. Cole, born in the US to Nigerian parents, grew up in Nigeria then returned to the States for university, and has lived there ever since. Open City tells the tale of a Nigerian immigrant, who moves to New York and learns the city by walking it. Teju Cole describes himself as a writer, art historian, and a street photographer. His writing very much touches on all these aspects of his life. Teju writes as an African in America and he writes visually. As Teju said, he writes the pictures he cannot take.  This cross-over between worlds creates a rich reading experience.

This event was named World Voices, and voices from around the world were certainly encountered.  The evening was an inspiring examination of different cultures and writing from across the globe which left me wondering about identity, and how nationality can help define us. As the overarching theme of Worlds 2012 was ‘Fiction, Memoir and the Self’ questioning the meaning of identity seems to fit in perfectly.   


Listen to the World Voices event on SoundCloud:
World Voices featuring Teju Cole, Vesna Goldsworthy and Arturo Dorado by Writers' Centre Norwich

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Jeanette Winterson and Jo Shapcott explore ideas of Truth in Writing

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 27 June 2012

Petra Kamula, who completed an internship with WCN last year, returned to Worlds Literature Festival. Read about her experience of the event with Jeanette Winterson, Jo Shapcott and Dame Gillian Beer: 

How to describe the pleasure the moment before a literary event begins? A dark room packed with people, bright lights on a blank stage, three chairs and a microphone. Jostling, muttering, anticipation, the firefly flashing of mobiles. Then, silence hits: the authors enter and begin casting words into a deliciously hungry crowd.


That was how Worlds 2012 began for me, last week, when I had the pleasure of listening to writers Jo Shapcott and Jeanette Winterson read from their work.

The event began with an introduction from Dame Gillian Beer, who set up the key themes of the evening. Beer began by introducing the idea of a tension existing between individual experience and imaginative experience in Shapcott and Winterson’s works. Beer discussed the fluidity of memory and the fragmentary nature of experience, exploring the role of the story to excavate meaning from the many layers we build up across a lifetime.  

These ideas echoed through the evening, as Beer suggested both writers, and indeed all writers, were in some way engaged in a pursuit of the self, whilst also pursuing what lies beyond the self, in order to inhabit all other selves.

Beer introduced Jo Shapcott as supple, surreal, flirtatious, light-winged, probing. On the stage, Shapcott cast an effective spell: a gifted and warm reader, she created an immediate connection and intimacy with the audience. Shapcott read her poems in a strong, steady rhythm – each word exact – allowing the audience to grasp the poetic lines she was casting out, like the expert fly fisherwoman, each word glinting before hitting the water of the ear.

Shapcott read first from a sequence of bee poems, an unsettling narrative about bees becoming part of a woman’s body following a failed relationship. A highlight, for me, was her reading of ‘The Deaths’ from her prize-winning collection Of Mutability, which she introduced, tongue-in-cheek, as “quite spooky”. The poem evoked an encounter with an unfamiliar persona, not the grim reaper, but another, softer, stranger version of Death. The poem was surprising, sharp and meditative.  

In introducing Jeanette Winterson, Beer discussed the freedom of fiction, and the release in being able to write not merely what was, but what might have been.  

As a reader and performer, Jeanette Winterson captured the audience immediately with a spiky, rock star charm. Lively, direct, puckish, Winterson launched into a reading from her latest book Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal, a memoir that explores her childhood, which she drew on in her first novel Oranges Are Not The Only Fruit. Diving in and out of reading and recounting personal anecdotes (and more often than not fusing the two), Winterson raised the idea that stories are a mode of control: they are a version, but never the final version. 

On her website, Winterson notes: “As this life story is a work of fiction, it is true to the way we recall our lives, rather than the way we actually live them. We live in linear time - we have no choice - but the curve of our memory is never a straight line. Happenings that lasted an hour can obsess us for years. Years of our lives can be forgotten.”

She discussed humour in her work, saying it was an essential part of keeping the reader engaged. She described humour as a way to change gear or tone “like in music or on the stage”. However, she was quick to point out, her smile quirked, “in the North of England we have a better sense of humour”.

During the lively Q&A, both Winterson and Shapcott agreed that the best work emerges in the excitement of discovery. “English is a ragbag, exuberant, crazy language!” Winterson said, drawing attention to how language can be used to frame, contain and, ultimately, remake experience.

I am reminded of a quote I heard later in the week, via the poet Frances Leviston. Quoting Adrienne Rich, Leviston argued that truth is an “increasing complexity”. This is a wonderful device for considering the work of both Jo Shapcott and Jeanette Winterson.

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