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Mariko Nagai plans for her forthcoming residency in Norwich, UNESCO City of Literature

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 23 June 2016

WCN is excited to announce the first of two Japanese writers visiting Norwich UNESCO City of Literature this year, as part of a residency programme generously supported by the Nippon Foundation.


Mariko Nagai is an author, translator and photographer. She is Associate Professor of creative writing and Japanese literature at Temple University in Tokyo. Mariko's residency in Norwich will take place between 1 July and 1 August. Website





'I never know what a space would do to the projects at hand – I’ve often started a residency thinking I would work on a particular writing, only to find that the space demanded that I work on a different project. When I came across Writers' Centre Norwich's call for Japanese translators and writers to apply, I was in Singapore for a conference/research, thick in the history of karayuki-san (oversea Japanese prostitutes from the late 19th – early 20th century). Of course, I thought, this is what I want to work on, and Norwich, being in the UK, is a perfect place to work on this project. It would only make sense, I reasoned, to work on this project about imperialism and body trafficking and migrant workers in the country that was one of the imperial powers, the country which Japan looked upon as a model of imperialism. 

For the month of June, ever since I found out that I got the residency fellowship, I’ve been preparing for it: reading, thinking, creating an extensive outline, and daydreaming about these women’s lives who ended up in places like Singapore, Mumbai, Vietnam, Cape Hope, whose bodies were intimately connected with aspirations of the new empire. Then a week ago, when I invited Sawako Nakayasu to do a talk on translation (the 2016 PEN Translation Award winner, The Collected Poems of Chika Sagawa) at my university, her talk inspired me to dig up an old manuscript – an eight year old translation of Fumiko Hayashi’s Hourouki – and to reevaluate my relationship with it. Though portions of it have been published in journals, I didn’t revise it enough to pitch it for a book publication. Is it time to rework on it? Yes, I thought to myself, Fumiko’s book needs to be read now, maybe not eight years ago, but now – her book which deals with earthquakes, collapsing economy, unemployment, militarism, patriarchy, all the things that are relevant today, needs to go out in the world. And of course, I have a new project I’ve been daydreaming about for a year or so -   about shifting borders and migrations and displacement and nationalism - that I still don’t know what narrative shape it will take. 

What will I work on? These are the projects I will be packing in my bag, but to tell you the truth, I won’t know until I get to Norwich. Maybe the city will reveal to me to a project I haven’t even dreamt up yet.'

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Fierce Light

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 07 April 2016




Just over a month remains until the world premiere of Fierce Light, a major national co-commission from 14-18 NOW, Norfolk & Norwich Festival and Writers' Centre Norwich. Below, WCN Programme Manager Sam Ruddock allows us to peek behind the curtain at what lies in store at this very special commemoration of the Battle of the Somme.

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The past is lively, impossible to pin down.

So writes Jackie Kay in the brand new commissioned poem she has produced for Fierce Light, a commemoration of the Battle of the Somme. And it’s this challenge of how we make sense of such vast and indescribably bloody events as the Battle of the Somme – casualty figures numbered around 57,000 for the British on the first day alone, of which nearly 19,000 were deaths – that inspired the idea for Fierce Light in the first place. The changes wreaked on our world by World War One reached beyond politics, economics and technology into the very fabric of our daily lives, our communities and relationships. It was the artists of that war – perhaps the poets above all – who took on the challenge to make sense of a world transformed almost beyond recognition.

So, to commemorate the centenary anniversary of the Battle of the Somme, Fierce Light has brought together outstanding poets from the UK and around the world to look once more at the legacy of battle, the forces changing our world, and the struggles we face to make sense of them.

Jackie Kay has gone back to explore the story of her grandfather, Joseph Kay, who fought in the second Battle of the Somme, was captured, and injured, and survived the conflict. She visited Imperial War Museum North in Manchester and with an historian tracked down the records of her grandfather – including the date he was captured as a prisoner of war and the names of the medals he was awarded. He’s remembered in Jackie’s poem as a ‘shy man, bit withdrawn, shrapnel in his arm’, singing the miners lullaby Coorie Doon in the pre-dawn light. 



On telling her ninety year old dad about this, Jackie reported that he was overcome with new knowledge and memories of his father. He appears in Jackie’s poem, too, remembering seeing his father up early to polish the buttons on his tram drivers uniform, and he, still singing Coorie Doon, ‘still singing his father.’ 

Jackie has subsequently worked with her filmmaker son, Matthew, on the film of Fierce Light, meaning that in one way or another, four generations have been involved in what you will see at Fierce Light. 

The psychological fallout of war, which can be explored in our event with Matthew Green, author of Aftershock: Surviving War, Surviving Peace, is also mined by Daljit Nagra, in his response to Siegfried Sassoon’s ‘A 1940 Memory’. There’s a passage in Nagra’s piece which I find almost unbearably moving and utterly poignant to the memory of war, impossible as it is to pin down.

Dear Jack, what blurs you most
so great words forever moral
your mind to war recall? 
Is it the soldier smithereens 
at your arm, the Hun dispersed 
by your pluck that day you lay 
in their bunker to read sonnets?
Or how you just couldn’t die? 

Look at you now, our haunted
hero.

Elsewhere, Paul Muldoon’s takes us into the mind of a young infantryman from the Ulster Division, on July 1st 1916 - the first Day of the Battle of the Somme. It’s barely three months since the Easter Rising, and he finds himself ‘entrenched/no less physically than politically’ in the struggle for Irish independence. But he’s also a young soldier, big questions of national struggles and the world, take a backseat when compared to memories of home, and of Giselle, the girl he met just before departing for the front. It’s classic Muldoon, and the pastoral offers a contrast to what we know is coming in the forthcoming battle. This contrast, and what it opens up in contextualising the destruction of the battle and the fall of man, is also at the heart of Simon Armitage’s ‘Still’ that will be presented alongside Fierce Light. I’ll write more about that – and Yrsa Daley-Ward and Bill Manhire’s work in the coming weeks, as well as the wonderful filmmakers, who have been adapting these great new works of poetry. 

We hope to see you at the Fierce Light event at Norwich Playhouse on Friday 13 May, and the exhibition that runs at East Gallery throughout the Festival.


Co-commissioned by 14-18 NOW, Norfolk & Norwich Festival and Writers’ Centre Norwich.

  

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The Story Machine

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 02 March 2016

 

 

This year's City of Literature programme at Norfolk & Norwich Festival 2016 features a brand new style of event for the literature sector - The Story Machine. Powered by literature and oiled by theatre, this is a unique interactive and immersive experience where stories from world-renowned writers seduce participants at every turn.

As a brand new event with a lot of surprises planned for the day, what can we expect in advance? Sam Ruddock, WCN Programme Manager and the driving force behind The Story Machine, will present a series of blogs over the coming weeks that helps to shed light on how he will bring The Story Machine to life and why it's such a ground breaking literary event.



The Story Machine is the literary festival I have always wanted to produce: a funhouse jam-packed with interactive, immersive, and brilliant short stories. There will be no lecterns, no audience sat quietly in ordered rows, no discussion about the author’s childhood or where – and on what – they write. Nothing but brilliant stories given the space and time to shine as brightly as they do on the page.

In the first of a series of blogs about The Story Machine, I want to share some of how we came to produce it, and what you might expect if you come along to its premier in May. 

It all started with a team discussion of the art that’s made our hearts sing and our brains fizz over recent years. As we talked, what became apparent was that we all loved immersive experiences : theatre that asks the audience to get involved and shape it alongside the actors, Secret Cinema showings that let you step inside the world of the film, exhibitions that you can touch and feel and sometimes even taste.

Why, we asked ourselves, had we not encountered a literature festival experience like that? One answer that came immediately to mind was that we don’t need festivals for that. We’ve long believed that the reader is an active co-curator, conjuring the story in their mind every time they open a book. Recent research into the neurology of reading has even suggested that there is little more immersive for our brains than deeply settling in to read a book. So we changed the question: how we might recreate that immersive feeling of reading in a literature festival?
In searching for the answer, two things came in handy: the mass production of Moby Dick  at the Southbank Centre’s London Literature Festival and Iliad by National Theatre Wales. I had never seen any literature festival treat a text with such dedication, respect, or joy as these did. In doing so, each showed that great literature, great writing, and great stories might be right at the centre of an event, rather than a small add-on as it so often is. Back at work I sat in the glorious glass-fronted gallery at Dragon Hall pondering these questions and came across an article about those amazing short story vending machine that had appeared in Grenoble. In that moment, it all came together in my mind.  

This building might become a machine for discovering and engaging with great stories. An idea was born.  

Stepping into The Story Machine will feel like you are entering a secret garden, or disappearing down Alice’s rabbit hole. There might not be a magic potion that shrinks you down to size – or for that matter a talking Mock Turtle (one day, one day!) – but as you explore our 15th century Grade 1 Listed home at Dragon Hall, you’ll encounter all sorts of beguiling characters and tales taking place in nooks and crannies in, outside, and under, this wonderful building. Over the course of three hours you’ll plot your way through stories by thirteen hand-picked writers from all over the world, sample story-themed food and cocktails, and uncover secret stories where you’d least expect them.

Jon McGregor – whose provocation at the National Conversation also helped shape some of our thinking – will tell a story from the driver’s seat of a car. Israeli superstar Etgar Keret – one of the most cheekily playful writers I know – will whisper true stories across space and time in the dark of our cellars. In the Great Hall an unpublished new story by Sarah Hall kicks off a series exploring the relationship between humans and nature, that which we can create and that which we cannot control even in ourselves, life and art. We finish with a glorious crescendo as Norwich-based writer Anna Metcalfe’s debut collection blinds us with a moment of pure transcendence.  


In curating the Story Machine we read hundreds of stories to find the ones that thrilled us. We weren’t short of talent, and I emerge with a renewed belief in the vitality, creativity and heart in the writing of this most difficult of forms. Along the way, we’ve been delighted to work with The Special Relationship who produced Moby Dick at the Southbank Centre, Granta’s exceptional New Irish Writing edition, our good friends at Galley Beggar Press, and Cathy Galvin’s Word Factory. 

What is literature when it steps off the page to dance with us? What are stories when we find them to be so much more, or less, than we imagined? Come along to The Story Machine, and you might just start to find out. 

Happy Reading.

Sam

Tickets for The Story Machine will go on-sale on Thursday 3 March 2016 from the Norfolk & Norwich Festival website www.nnfestival.org.uk

Illustrations by Adam Avery.


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Postcard from Prague

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 18 February 2016

In January, Norfolk writer and novelist Sarah Perry travelled to Prague, City of Literature, to begin her writing residency. As the end of this exciting experience draws near, she reflects on her early expectations and the reality of what she has gained - has she achieved all that she'd wanted to?





I'm nearing the end of a stint in Prague as a UNESCO Writer-in-Residence, representing (as ever!) Norwich. Both Prague and Norwich are UNESCO Cities of Literature, a status conferred on 20 cities worldwide in recognition of their active and richly diverse literary scenes. From my bed I look into the windows of a baroque opera house that wears a golden crown; now and then swans fly upriver through the snow. I've been eating date syrup on pumpernickel bread.

Before I left, I promised myself, my husband and my cat that I’d use these two months wisely. I would (I said) return a better and a wiser woman, with a good grasp of conversational Czech and 20,000 words of a third novel.

Reader, you’ll not be surprised to hear I achieved little of this. But much of what I've gained I could not possibly have predicted, and I've learned a good many things I’d no idea I didn't know.



I had no idea, for instance, of the extraordinary complexity of Czech history – of how its borders have shifted and changed like a cloud-bank in a high wind. No sooner did I grasp something (it was lost to Germany in the Munich Treaty) I’d immediately be wrong-footed (they call it, here, the Munich Betrayal). If I researched an event I’d find I’d only gone two inches into a rabbit-hole several fathoms deep and with many blind corners. Ask me, and I’ll tell you what little I know about Forest Glass, about the Moldavite gemstones found in the river Vltava, about the student who burned himself alive, about Master Jan Huss and the devils on his paper hat.

I visited Terezin, a ghetto for Czech Jews and a stopping-place on the way to the death-camps – but learned that here, too, German-speaking Czechs were detained at the end of the war. I discovered that the past here is not long-buried: I stayed in a flat where my friend prepared breakfast in a 1983 Communist kitchen, which was one of precisely two styles available to the citizens. 



I've discovered what it is to live in a city that prizes its cultural heritage – even more, though I blush to say it, than Norwich. Take breakfast (a basket of bread, eggs with chives, pastries, hot chocolate and coffee) in one of the nearby cafes and you’ll be supplied, also, with a notepad and pencil. In my local café the walls are emblazoned with excerpts from Czech literature; it was here I met a retired Jewish scholar of linguistics and his Muslim friend, a professor of sociology in Arizona (the following day the professor emailed to let me know he’d bought my novel, and looked forward to my second). I've seen seven operas, most of them Czech: here, opera is taken seriously, but is not the preserve of the wealthy and is frequently attended by children in their party clothes.

My Czech constitutes a paltry handful of phrases, though by some fluke I pronounce them, I'm told, with so convincing a native accent I'm often met with streams of Slavic conversation I can never hope to understand. I have made friends with two Sarah's: an owl, and a musician. On the great Charles Bridge I've been warmly welcomed by a homeless man and his dog, Tiger: it was from them I learned how to say, “How are you?” I have discovered that jackdaws have eyes like blue shards of glass, and that if you keep your pockets supplied with biscuits they’ll come to know you by sight. 



I am the proud owner of a membership card to the Prague Municipal Library, where I sit always at desk 209, beneath a vaulted plaster ceiling from which plaster cherubs daily struggle to escape. I do not have 20,000 words of a new book; but the novel in my head now is not the one hazily forming there in the security queue at Stansted - because I am not, quite, that writer.



Sarah Perry was born in Essex. She gained a PhD in Creative Writing & the Gothic from Royal Holloway in 2012, having been supervised by Andrew Motion. A winner of the Shiva Naipaul Memorial Prize & a Royal Holloway doctoral studentship, she was Writer-in-Residence at Gladstone's Library, January 2013. She is currently the UNESCO City of Literature Writer-in-Residence in Prague.
 
She has written for a number of publications including the Guardian, the Independent, Slightly Foxed and the Spectator. Her work has been broadcast on BBC Radio 4 and RTE 1.
 
Her debut novel After Me Comes the Flood won the East Anglian Book of the Year award 2014, and was longlisted for the Guardian First Book Award 2014 and the Folio Prize 2015. Her second novel, The Essex Serpent, will be published in June 2016.

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(tags: UNESCO)


A most crucial year: Ruth Dugdall talks about how Escalator helped her become a published author

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 15 February 2016

When ex-probation officer Ruth Dugdall applied for the Escalator writing competition in 2006, she saw it as her last-ditch attempt at pursuing crime writing as a career. Ten years later, she has published five successful novels and is living with her family in Luxembourg - 'the perfect home for a writer'.

Below, she explains how a year spent with Escalator made all the difference.


When I applied to Escalator in 2006 I had already experienced the recurring theme of any writer’s life: rejection. My second novel The Woman Before Me won the Debut Dagger in 2005, and despite my being signed on the spot by a literary agent, the subsequent submission met with the resounding slamming of doors. I was disheartened, and applied to the one year programme as a last-ditch attempt to make a serious stab at being a writer. 

Getting chosen was a wonderful boost. Not only was this a second re-enforcement of my writing, but during the Escalator scheme I would be mentored by the wonderful Michelle Spring, a seasoned crime novelist herself who was able to show me by example that writing takes persistence. The crucial difference between those who `make it` and those who fall by the wayside isn’t talent, but a certain doggedness that I saw in other writers who came to talk to us during the scheme. It was a year of learning, and of support. 

The ten of us chosen that year became familiar with each other’s personal journey into writing, and we also began rooting for each other in the quest for agents and publishing deals. This atmosphere, this shared purpose, was something I valued immensely and I still keep in regular contact with other Escalator alumni – not just from my year, but subsequent years too; there is  a shared kinship that I have not found on other mentoring programmes. 

The scheme is, in many ways tailor-made, as you apply for Arts Council Funding for the things that will most help you personally. For example, I went on a week-long Arvon course for crime writers (and bagged an agent as a result). I also had financial assistance with childcare, so I could put in the hours needed to work on my novel, and a dedicated number of hours with Michelle to critique and edit it.

Though Escalator does not make any promises of success, you will have exposure to and contact with agents (there is a showcase at the end of the year, and many industry professional are invited). What you can be sure of, though, is that at the end of the year you will have honed the tools you need to achieve publication, you will have gained a greater insight into the publishing industry, and you will have a network of support to draw on.

After I finished the Escalator scheme, it was to be another four years before The Woman Before Me was published in 2010.  Six years later, I have just published my fifth novel, and rights for my books have been sold around the world. I have a wonderful agent, and a new book is currently on submission. It has been a long, difficult, journey but Escalator was a crucial part of this, and I am very grateful indeed that it happened.

If you are about to apply, I wish you luck. You could be at the beginning of a very special twelve months!   


Ruth Dugdall was born in 1971. She holds a BA honours degree in English Literature (Warwick University) and an MA in Social Work (University of East Anglia). She qualified as a probation officer in 1996 and has worked in prison with offenders guilty of serious crimes, including stalking, rape and murder. This has informed her crime writing. Since she started writing, Ruth has won awards in several writing competitions, and has had short stories published in the Winchester Writers' Conference and the Eva Wiggins Award anthologies.

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Stuart Hobday: Encounters with Harriet Martineau

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 10 February 2016

Writer Stuart Hobday is in the midst of fundraising for his biography of Harriet Martineau, the first female journalist. Below, he recounts what first drew him to Martineau as a historical figure and the reasons why she should be remembered.


Writing a book about Harriet Martineau is the culmination of 15 years of reading and researching into this fascinating nineteenth-century writer. I stumbled across Martineau whilst studying for my History Masters and looking into the context in which Darwin announced his evolutionary ideas. In particular, James Moore and Adrian Desmond gave Martineau much credit for radicalising the young Darwin. I then found out that we shared a home city of Norwich and I realised she was not well remembered there. In fact she was better remembered as a founder of social science and as a first wave feminist particularly in America. Of the nine biographies written about Martineau, seven have been penned by Americans.

Harriet was born in 1802 and shares the same birthplace - Gurney Court on Magdalen Street in Norwich - as Elizabeth Fry. As a teenager she became increasingly deaf and inhibited by shyness and illness. To compensate she educated herself through reading, encouraged by a free thinking Unitarian family and community around the Octagon Chapel on Colegate. In her 20s she began to write. The failure of her father’s textile business and his subsequent death affected her greatly, not least in leaving her having to make a living through her writing and embroidery. She had also seen first-hand how economics affects people’s lives and in the late 1820s she began to write fictional tales illustrating economic and political factors. Within two years these tales were widely read and influential. Her economic creed, as outlined in the tales, was one that would resonate today. She favoured free markets but with responsibility and wrote of the benefits of mutualism, cooperatives and was vehemently outspoken against injustice particularly slavery.   

In 1830 she moved to London and her large readership meant that politicians courted her favour and writers and artists sought her company. She quickly became known for her ear trumpet which helped her overcome her deafness and to hold regular meetings with the great and the good. In 1834, at the height of her fame, she embarked on an intrepid tour of America. She was well known there for her anti-slavery writings but at first she kept quiet on the issue. The sight of the slave system in action abhorred her though and eventually, at a meeting in Boston, she spoke out against the still entrenched system. This made her a great ally of the abolitionist movement and the friends she made in the US were to inform her later journalism in the lead up to the American Civil War.

On her return she wrote several influential books. Society in America was one of the first books to closely analyse a society and its structures and was outspoken in its ridicule of religious dogma. She openly condemned the sexual motivations of slave owners and the chapter entitled ‘The Political Non-Existence of Women’ applied equally to Britain as the US. The book was widely reviewed in Britain and America and was widely condemned for its insolence.

It wasn’t just Darwin that she influenced; she was a free spirited, radical influence on George Eliot, Elisabeth Gaskell, Elisabeth Barrett Browning and Charlotte Bronte amongst others blazing a trail that they followed. In later years she became a strategic journalistic partner for Florence Nightingale’s campaign for cleaner, better hospitals and training for nurses and Josephine Butler’s campaign against the Contagious Diseases Acts. 

Many written words have been expended providing sociological and gender analysis of Martineau’s career. In my book I wanted to portray the real human stories of her life and have devoted a chapter each to her encounters and relationships with these other nineteenth-century luminaries, many of whom she infused with defiant courage and causal determination. It was selected by Unbound for publication and I would be really grateful if you are able to support the crowd funding effort and help me get Harriet Martineau some of the recognition she deserves.

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(tags: Non fiction)


From Norwich to New York - writer Megan Bradbury on her journey through Escalator

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 05 February 2016

When Megan Bradbury was selected for the Escalator Writing Competition in 2013, it started a journey that would take her from the East of England to New York City.


Below, she retraces her steps along the road she travelled with successful artists including Walt Whitman, Robert Moses, Robert Mapplethorpe, who form a part of her debut novel.



When I won an Escalator Literature Award in 2013, I possessed an incomplete draft of a novel and an empty bank account. Escalator helped me to address both problems. 

My debut novel is about some of New York City’s greatest artists, creators and thinkers, and one of the things I learnt during my research is that art isn’t created in a vacuum – every artist needs practical support and belief from an outside source at some point in their career. For the photographer Robert Mapplethorpe, who is one of the artists I have written about in the book, this came in the shape of the tall, athletic, cultured and super-rich art curator and collector Sam Wagstaff, who bought Robert a camera and a studio, and who introduced him to elite members of New York City’s art scene. For me this came in the shape of the Writers’ Centre Norwich and the talented, driven and exquisitely dressed author, Cathi Unsworth, who was my mentor during the programme. 

Cathi set me deadlines, gave me feedback, and encouraged me to experiment with my writing. With Cathi’s support I was able to push myself creatively, and this not only helped to improve the novel, it has also improved my writing and working practice more generally. Cathi has also become a good friend and an enthusiastic advocate.

During the scheme I also received advice about how to apply for Arts Council funding. My application was successful, and I used the generous grant to pay for a trip to New York City and Los Angeles, where I examined archives at the New York Public Library and the Getty Research Institute, conducted location-based research in and around New York, and interviewed experts on the book’s main subjects. The grant also enabled me to buy time to write over a period of four months, during which time I was able to finish the book. I would not have been able to afford the research trip or time to write without this funding. I urge everyone who needs financial support to help complete a writing project to apply for a grant.

I have always believed in my writing and in this book but all the self-belief in the world won’t pay the bills or show you what to do next. The best solutions to these problems are money and an excellent mentor. Escalator provided me with both. With Cathi Unsworth’s mentorship, and with funding from Arts Council England, I was able to finish my novel. Everyone Is Watching will be published by Picador in June. 



Megan Bradbury was born in the United States and grew up in Britain. She has an MA in Creative Writing from the University of East Anglia. In 2012 she was awarded the Charles Pick Fellowship at UEA and in 2013 she won the Escalator Writing Competition and a Grant for the Arts to help fund the completion of her first novel, Everyone is Watching.

The novel tells the story of New York City through the geniuses that have inhabited it – among them, Walt Whitman, Robert Moses, Robert Mapplethorpe, and Edmund White. 

“This beautiful, kaleidoscopic imagining of the artists' creation of New York means everyone should be watching Megan Bradbury from now on.” - Eimear McBride, author of A Girl Is a Half-formed Thing


Author photograph copyright – Alexander James

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Three Seasons in China: Reflections before the year of the Fire Monkey

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 03 February 2016

In celebration of the Chinese New Year on Monday , WCN commissioned a guest blog from former Escalator winner and poet Eileen Pun, who recently spent time at The Sun Yat-Sen Center for English-language Creative Writing in Guangzhou, China.WCN is proud to work with The Sun Yat-sen Center for English-language Creative Writing, to advise and support them in developing their International Writers’ Residency programme.

WCN Programme Director Jon Morley attended the 2014 Consultation where potential sites and schedules were tested, helping to shape a generous month-long package of support for 18 international writers each year. Following SYSU Center Director Dai Fan’s exchange visit to Norwich as a delegate to the International Literature Showcase in 2015, WCN decided to assist a small cohort of UK writers to benefit from this unique opportunity. Philip Langeskov of UEA and poet Eileen Pun have been the UK participants to date.





Picture: Wudang Mountains, view from Hui Long Guan, Temple

Eight years ago, before I knew I wanted to write poetry, I travelled to China with the idea that I was still young and sound in body enough to really learn martial arts. I enrolled at The Capital University of Physical Education (CUPE) and lived in the Haidian District, a corner of Beijing with several universities and a pleasant student vibe. The backdrop of the forthcoming Olympics was energising, and I felt welcomed as people seemed to embrace the idea of China opening itself to the globe.   

My daily schedule, which began at dawn was vigorous, exhausting and satisfying. I ate at the canteen at fixed times, socialised very little, wrote voraciously in my diary and always slept incredibly well. Outside of my studies and training, I joined a small, grass-roots poetry group and gravitated to places like The Bookworm Library and attended their International Literature Festival.

Picture: Chengdu Bookworm Library

Eventually, these small connections landed me a job in revising translations for the New World Press. In fact, I did this work remotely with the expectation that I would join their Beijing offices the following year. The plan was: return to the UK, amass some savings and within a year, begin living, training, and working in China's capital city.

These plans never materialised. After I returned to England, my life took an unexpected direction. Like many unfledged writers, I had been a casual diarist and simply wrote for leisure. Somehow, in another geography, my musings whilst in China felt loaded. I was overcome by a keenness to push my own writing in the way I had pushed myself physically. Fast-forward slightly and I was thanking my lucky stars to be a 2010 Writers' Centre Norwich Escalator Prize Winner. Fast-forward a little further, and I am fully relocated to England's heart of Romanticism, Grasmere in the Lake District.


Picture: Eileen Pun training Wudang Sanfeng Taiji Jian (Sword)

Sometimes, I wonder after the me that went back to Beijing. Naturally, she became superbly trained, fluent in Mandarin and careered in the fast-growing Chinese publishing industry. Deep down, I know that things went the way they should have. I'm a softie, I'm still trying to master the English language, I have a strong affinity to the outdoors, and the pace that suits me best is slow, real slow.

Nevertheless, I haven't let go of the memory of a well articulated sequence, pivot or kick. There isn't really a match to these satisfactions, expect perhaps in poetry. Say, the way I feel when I manage to write something that strikes me. The frustrations too are a bit similar, most of the time there is just self-correction, calibration and ache. I've struggled to find a way to connect these art-forms, mostly it feels too idiosyncratic, too eccentric.

Last year, I expressed this yearning in an application to The Lisa Ullmann Travelling Scholarship Foundation LUTSF:

As a mature practitioner I must admit that I feel a certain physiological pressure to prioritise the development of my own movement practice. As a poet, I have been working on a sequence based on a dancer in Chinese history, Lady Gongsun. These are based on translations from the Classical Chinese poet Du Fu. A segment has already been published in the important anthology of new British poetry, 'Ten, The New Wave' by Bloodaxe Books. Not only do I feel this project will determine my path as a poet, it will also inform how effectively I can advocate art across disciplines as transformative and enriching - experiential values I deeply believe in.


Picture: Painting & Calligraphy of 'Song of Dagger Dancing to the Pupil of Lady Gongsun' by Du Fu.  Located in Tao Ker Inn Youth Hostel, Wudang Shan.

In the spring of 2015 I received news that my LUTSF scholarship application was successful. A short time later, I also found out that I had won a Northern Writers' Award. Holy green lights! This was exactly the permission I needed to bridge the poetry that I had found, with the kungfu (skills) that I had lost. I composed a project that would span over six months, ambitiously covering: training in Wudang Shan (mountains in Hubei Province); a visit to the DuFu Research Centre and Thatched Cottage in Chengdu (Sichuan Province); taking part in a writers' residency (Guangxi/Guangdong Provinces); and connecting with many scholars and artists, wanting my work to be as researched, informed, rigorous and creative as possible.

I arrived into China in July last year, at the peak of Beijing's hot summer and spent to two weeks visiting old haunts, friends and making new contacts. Unbelievably, my bank account was still valid, money from my editorial work - all those years ago - still available. China had welcomed me back.


Picture: Wudang Mountains, trail to The Five Dragon Temple  

Wudang Shan is a place that has captured the Chinese imagination for hundreds of years. It is steeped in legends, Daoist temples and stunning landscape of lush, tree covered mountains. Certain regions of Wudang and its monasteries received UNESCO World Heritage status in 1994 and can trace a long lineage of philosophy, martial arts and spirituality. This particular fusion is the reason it is considered one of the birthplaces of Taiji, a history that contains its share of heroes, hermits and outlaws.  

Considering my Romantic leanings, I'm not at all surprised by how at home I feel in these surroundings. At the martial arts school, I have a love-hate relationship with the rusty bell that dangles from the courtyard tree, constantly chiming us into training (discipline) and meals (carrots) in alternation. During these hot, two and half months I learn the extent of my physical regression - my rigid Western body. Eventually, I succumb to all this. Slow learning, slow recovery and even slower writing are all OK. I take some comfort from the reliable sunshine and the few books I have with me: The Rough Guide to China, Spleen by Nicholas Moore, Yellow Iris by Janet Kofi-Tsekpo and an e-reader with all of the works of Mavis Gallant.


Picture: Chengdu DuFu Thatched Cottage Museum

CHENGDU
By: DuFu

Sunset makes even my travel clothing
A little brighter; I have covered
Many roads and now arrive in a new
World for me; meeting new people,
Unable to say if ever I shall see 
My old home again; now the great river
Flows east, never halting, as indeed
My days of wandering have been; […]
Always there have been travellers,
Why should I lament?

Translated by: Rewi Alley
Foreign Languages Press

With my heart set to visit The DuFu Research Center and Thatched Cottage, I didn't need any extra reasons to visit Chengdu. However, its reputation as an exquisite centre for art, poetry, tea houses, pandas and 'delicious food', make it a welcome foray into a city. Nevertheless, the visit is a research trip and I wilfully keep myself focused on the reasons I am there. I need help to better understand Du Fu's work, and I want to connect with contemporary Chinese Art in some way.


Picture: Liu Yutong (Musician, Translator), Zhao Mi (Artist), Eileen Pun

After getting in touch with a number of arts related organisations, Catherine Platt, manager of the Chengdu Festival (BLF) and Liu Yutong, musician and event manager of the Chengdu Bookworm took it upon themselves to make me feel welcome and organise local introductions. One of which included a wonderfully dynamic afternoon with Zhao Mi, a well known calligrapher, painter and visual artist. We shared ideas about martiality, experimentation, the practice of art itself and the hope that we would extend our meeting into future collaborative work.  

I’m able to emerge myself in the happiness of thinking. When I’m painting, there’s a complex feeling of love and hatred. There are even moments where I have thoughts of escaping, and that is the ultimate of my emotions.  Zhao Mi, Artist

There is much too much to write here about how my visit allowed me to get a bit closer to Du Fu in my own work, or to convey the richness of conversations over tea and meals. I left Chengdu with renewed sense of purpose about my translation work, poetry, and very welcome new reading material; Du Fu Selected Poems from Foreign Languages Press and a copy of MaLa, The Chengdu Bookworm Literary Journal, Issue 3.  


Picture: Yangshuo karst mountains, strolling distance from residency quarters

Taking part in the inaugural Sun Yat-Sen International Writers' Residency (18 Oct – 16 Nov) was pivotal, dividing my time in China neatly in half. Professor Dai Fan, the programme director - also a writer  - met me and my partner at the Guilin train station in Guangxi Province after travelling over a 1000 km with all our belongings. I thought we must have looked a rabble, but if she thought so, it appeared she didn't mind. She was sleek and articulate, efficiently sweeping us into an organised car towards Yangshuo and explained the residency (a first for me) in great detail.  

Fifteen writers, as well as two documentary makers from eleven countries took part in a month long residency over three main locations in South China. These figures don't, however, give the correct sense of the territory that we covered, nor the number of people with whom we interacted. Translators, student volunteers, invited artists, academics, members of the community and the bureau of tourism joined at various points throughout.


Picture: Roberto Frias (Novelist, Translator), Professor Dai Fan (Programme Director,Writer), Lieve Joris (Writer), Catherine Cole (Writer, Poet), local calligrapher & poem by Wang Wei, Eileen Pun, Hu XiuZhu (Chairman of the Yangshuo Art Association)

The first phase was set in Yangshuo, a popular eco-tourism destination, surrounded by beautiful karst mountains. Choosing between, privacy for head space or, cultural activities (meeting mountain singers, musicians, calligraphers, painters to name a few) for stimulation was difficult, but possible. I had the annoyance of my laptop charger breaking, and needing plenty of solitude to write in long-hand and compensate for the inefficiency. Nevertheless, the setting was conducive for falling into interesting conversations, and the sharing of experience and craft. This shared link was particularly helpful to me, giving me courage and material for my poetry seminar, See Poetry Move that would take place the following week in Guangzhou.


Picture:  English Poetry Studies Institute (EPSI) Listed in no particular order Professor Tong Qingsheng, Professor Gao Wenping, Professor Li Zhimin, Associate professor Zhu Yu, Associate professor Lei Yanni and students at SYSU

The second phase took place in the garden-like campuses of Sun Yat-Sen's main campus, Zhuhai Campus, Xinhua College and Wuyi University where the residency had morphed into a conference. Here, more international writers joined the group. The number of ambassadorial students (all bright and heartwarming) grew and our timetable was packed with panel discussions, talks, seminars, workshops, readings, community presentations, tours, ceremony and banquets.

The discussions grappled with difficult issues, raising questions about censorship, the politics of publishing, identity, diaspora literature, feminism, language and the subversive. Of course, this list is not exhaustive. It was great to find ourselves stimulated, slowly drifting out of the lecture halls still talking about what had been discussed and exchanging reading material such as this article in the New Yorker.

By the time of the final phase, the rejuvenation promised by the hot springs of Jiangmen was needed. The region is known for its Chinese overseas ties and internationally recognised museum-villages with UNESCO world cultural heritage status. These have become architectural reminders of the social and global history of Chinese migration, of which, my own heritage is a part. More conversations happen and more sharing of personal stories, show how our talks have become deeper, warmer. One such exchange led to this touching documentary.  Maybe this is because we all know each other better, or maybe it is to do with the fact that a lot of our conversations are now taking place in our bathing suits in hot springs – it is hard to tell.   


Picture: My private hot spring! Gudou Hot Springs Resort, Jiangmen

Before emotional goodbyes, I am unable to resist some pretty amazing reading material and ignore my back-breaking luggage: A Cultural and Natural Jiangmen; The Art of the Knock, Short Stories by Philip Graham; Honeypants, poetry by Lynda Chanwai-Earle; Even the Hollow My Body Made is Gone and The Hands of Strangers by Janice Harrington.

There is a great deal more that can be said about the residency, and anyone with an interest about China, international literature and where these intersect might enjoy keeping abreast of the following: The School of Foreign Languages at Sun Yat-Sen University have written an in-depth article about the residency; The Ninth Letter, literary journal of the University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign, will publish work by participating writers in a forthcoming online issue; Radio New Zealand will also feature a programme about the residency; a documentary is currently under production by film-makers Wei Donghua and John Hughes.

When I returned to Wudang it seemed to receive me cooly, but is not to be blamed. I left in one season and returned in another. My favourite street corner, usually busy with mahjong and card players had dwindled. The air was now cold, the light wintery.

I also hadn't foreseen that in a month's time, the school would close for its winter break and everyone would disperse to their families and hometowns for the new year. The question, 'where will you spend your Spring Festival (Chinese New Year)?' entered every conversation, and each time, I didn't know how to answer.  


Picture: Ice-skating in the park, Sujiatun District, Shenyang 

Eventually, the answer did come. An unexpected move to Shenyang, a large historical city in northeast China not far from Russian and North Korean borders. A teacher of Daoist philosophy and published translator, Hu Xuezhi was in search of an editor to help with a new and annotated translation of Chuang Tzu (Zhuang Zi); I was in search of help with translating my research material and getting better access to ancient Chinese language and Classic literature – a worthy exchange.

These days, in the run up to the Spring Festival, the daytime temperatures are about -15, dropping to as low as -25 at night. Reflecting now - having made good on this long-awaited return to China - mostly, I feel a deep sense of gratitude to be here. I'm also chuffed that if I can handle temperatures like this, it probably means I'll not be such a softie when I get back.  








With thanks to the Lisa Ullman Travelling Scholarship Fund.

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Ed Parnell, author of 'The Listeners', on the long-standing friendships gained from Escalator

Posted By: Anonymous, 27 January 2016























Award-winning author Ed Parnell took part in the Escalator writing competition in 2007. One of its greatest benefits, he says, is the friendships he made with fellow writers, which still continue to this day.




It seems a long time ago now. September 2007, in fact, when an email from WCN’s (then the New Writing Partnership) Chris Gribble dropped into my inbox, saying that he was delighted to inform me that I’d been selected for inclusion on the Escalator Literature programme. I was delighted too.

At the time I’d just handed in the dissertation for my MA in Creative Writing at UEA, and was three-quarters of the way through a draft of my first novel, The Listeners. Things seemed good. I was writing daily, gradually creeping towards the book’s finish line (so I thought), and, having been buoyed up by talks from eager-sounding agents, the world of publishing was awash with possibility.

Things moved fast. I went on a long-planned holiday to Cornwall, getting back the day before the inaugural Escalator event at The Maid’s Head in early October. Here, I met the other Escalatees, and the biographer Midge Gillies, who was to be my mentor for the programme. Looking back, I can’t remember too much of the day itself, but my fellow winners –who’d descended on Norwich from north London, Essex, Cambridge, Suffolk and Norfolk – all seemed very pleasant, as did Midge. I had a good feeling about things.

First impressions were entirely correct. Over the next few months we had several more get-togethers, all equally convivial. I also met Midge for a number of mentoring sessions in Ely. Her most recent book was the excellent, non-fiction Waiting For Hitler: Voices from Britain on the Brink of Invasion, and as The Listeners was set in rural Norfolk in May 1940 – the end of the phony war up to which point nothing much had seemingly taken place, at least that affected the lives of people back home –we had much to discuss. It was also great just to get to talk to a published professional writer about the day-to-day practicalities of trying to make a living from writing, something I was discovering as a now-freelance copywriter(alongside ploughing on with The Listeners).

As well as the invaluable advice from Midge, and a very welcome grant from the Arts Council to buy writing-time for the novel, the main thing that I gained from Escalator was a long-standing friendship with my nine other fellow Escalatees. From the beginning we all got on famously and over thecourse of the next year met several times at WCN events, culminating in a reading we gave at Foyle’s bookshop in London (having been drilled by the poet Aoifie Mannix in the art of how to conduct a good public performance).

Beyond the year, we continued (and indeed still do) to keep in touch, forming an ad hoc literature collective called Absolute Fiction for awhile, where we performed other joint readings at Cambridge Wordfest among others. It was good to have a group of like-minded new writers for moral – and editorial – support, something I was finding particularly useful now I’d finished The Listeners and was in the drawn-out process of editing and rewriting, trying to get an agent and,ultimately, a book deal.

That story takes a little longer to conclude. Having finally found representation in 2010 – after a series of flirtations with three other agents who concluded, eventually, that my novel wasn’t commercial enough for them – The Listeners did the rounds of various publishers, gaining some encouraging positive feedback, but no publishing deal.

In early 2014, having effectively given up on it ever making the journey into print, I entered the Rethink New Novels Competition; The Listeners won and was published at the end of the year. To steal from Dickens, it was the best of times, it was the worst of times, as the book came out just a couple of weeks after my brother Chris lost his too-short battle with cancer. The Listeners had its launch in December at an event hosted by WCN, where I read alongside Patrick Barkham and Sarah Perry. Given Escalator’s and WCN’s input into the book’s long road to publication,it seemed a fitting, albeit for me bitter sweet, occasion.

The Listeners is a novel about grief, and how we try to come to terms with the things we’ve lost –it’s dedicated to my brother, who was an untiring supporter of the book during its drafting process. I’m sure he’d be proud to see it on the shelf, though I have no doubt that he would take enormous delight in poking constant fun at the smirking face that gurns out from the back cover.

Edward Parnell is the author of The Listeners. Winner of the Rethink New Novels Competition 2014. Available in paperback, hardback, and on Kindle.

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Former Escalator winner Guinevere Glasfurd-Brown publishes her debut novel

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 25 January 2016



With a month left to apply for Escalator, our former Escalatee Guinevere Glasfurd-Brown explains why the talent development programme was so important for her. Guinevere recently published her first novel The Words in My Hand, described as a 'startling debut' by The Sunday Times.



In the week that my debut novel The Words in My Hand was published in the UK, Writers' Centre Norwich launched the Escalator writing competition for 2016. I want to encourage all who are serious about their writing to apply.

I was one of ten new writers mentored on the 2011/12 intake. The year-long programme and Arts Council England funding secured as part of it gave me time and space to develop my novel from an initial sketchy outline to a full first draft. The Arts Council grant funded two research trips to the Netherlands – research trips I could not have afforded by myself – and provided paid time to write. One-to-one mentoring sessions challenged me to produce work to a series of deadlines and showed me what life as a writer was like.

Something shifted in me as I went through the year. I no longer saw my writing as a hobby, but work. Bit-by-bit, Escalator enabled me to move writing from the periphery to the centre of my life.

The extraordinary thing is, I very nearly didn't apply. I didn't think my writing was good enough or that I had a novel in me, not then. I couldn't claim that I'd wanted to be a writer since I was a child. I'd had a couple of short stories published, but had no track record as a novelist. In the end I realised I definitely wouldn't get it if I didn't apply. So, doing my best to banish my inner critic, I gathered my thoughts, put together the best application I could, sent it off and then put it out of my mind.

The WCN Escalator programme is such a rare opportunity. Take it. Apply.




The Words in My Hand tells the story of the affair between Dutch maid, Helena Jans and French philosopher René Descartes. It is a story that was hidden at the time and almost entirely lost from history since. Published by Two Roads Books (an imprint of John Murray Press), it is The Times' Book of the Month. Foreign language rights have sold in five countries outside the UK, and an edition has been published in Australia and New Zealand.



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The Kindness of Strangers – a reading in support of Palestinian Poet Ashraf Fayadh

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 21 January 2016

















On Thursday 14 January, writers and literature enthusiasts from across the region gathered at Norwich Arts Centre for an evening of readings in support of justice, freedom and Palestinian Poet Ashraf Fayadh. The event, which simultaneously took place at 122 locations in 44 countries worldwide, answered an international call for solidarity from the International Literature Festival Berlin. Fayadh, a poet and curator who is the son of Palestinian refugees and legally a stateless person, has been found guilty by a court in Saudi Arabia of spreading atheism and threatening the morals of society. His sentence is death.

Novelist and short story writer Sarah Bower gave a reading that evening which reflected on her time spent in Palestine - Fayadh’s birthplace - whilst researching for her new novel, Love Can Kill People, Can't It? During this time, she travelled to the West Bank to act as a protective presence to local people during the olive harvest, and to record any disruptive incidents by illegal settlers for the UN. 





The Kindness of Strangers

Image © Jenny Kassman

‘How can I charge you, after everything you have done for us?’ The doctor smiles at me across his desk. His smile is grave, and seems to lack practice. 

The doctor is a chest specialist, to whom I have been taken, bumping crazily over potholes, by my concerned host, Ahmed, the headmaster of the local boys’ school. I have a fever and a hacking cough which has been keeping everyone in our dormitory, including me, awake for nights on end. Call to prayer, barking dog, cough, occasional bray of an insomniac donkey. Litany of the night hours. Ahmed says he can feel the fever in my hands. Ahmed knows about illness; his wife, at 49, suffers from a heart condition for which she could be treated in Israel or Jordan, but not here, in the Occupied West Bank.

I cough out my gratitude and self-deprecation and hope the doctor will attribute the tears in my eyes to the coughing. For here he sits, among the diplomas on his bare concrete walls, dispensing what assistance he can to chronically catarrhal children, young men consumed by TB and hopelessness, and their fathers whose lungs are already filling up with tar by the time they reach their mid-forties. He has limited facilities and not much in the way of medicines, and the best hospitals are in Amman, which is about as much use to his patients as if they were on the Moon. 

Nor can most of his patients pay him for his services. Not for the first time on this trip, I’m caught in the bind of what the Palestinian Dean of St. George’s Anglican Cathedral in Jerusalem calls ‘aggressive Arab hospitality’. I want to pay the doctor. I want to pay him twice what he would charge me, because it’s hardly anything to me and might enable him to treat someone else for free, but, if I offer, he will be insulted. Especially as I’m a woman. There’s that too.

The doctor has his practice in a small town near Nablus. I won’t name it, partly for the protection of the people who can’t leave, even to get medical treatment, or an education, or a job, because they are deemed stateless and cannot, therefore, obtain passports. Partly, also, because I want to let this town, and the villages surrounding it, stand for all the small towns and villages in the occupied areas, carrying on their lives in defiance of the State of Israel which is trying to strangle them.

It’s dusk when we leave the chest specialist’s house, on our way to the pharmacy run by Ahmed’s son. The stars are no doubt spread across the sky, those iconic stars that shone on the shepherds watching their flocks and the wise men coming from the east, and Herod fretting in his palace, but we can’t see them because the hilltops are flooded with halogen blue.

This spills from the security lights surrounding the illegal Jewish settlements that stand, like latterday crusader fortresses, on almost every hilltop. The settlements themselves are oddly elusive; at night all you see are the blinding lights, threaded through with troubling impressions of razor wire and guard towers. During the day, you might catch a glimpse of sugar-white concrete apartment blocks; and there are always the access roads, freshly cut and smoothly tarmaced, signposted only in Hebrew, great surgical scars that have transformed these hillsides into a kind of Frankenstein’s monster, head and heart and limbs severed one from the other. Palestinians are not permitted to drive on these roads, even where they cut right through their own farms. Palestinians get stoned, or even shot, for using these roads.

The Dean of St. George’s, who might have stepped out of The Barchester Chronicles or The Vicar of Dibley, was giving a talk to a group of us who were travelling to the West Bank to act as a protective presence during the olive harvest. Olive harvesting in the West Bank can be a dangerous business because the illegal settlers begrudge the local people even what little is left to them of their traditional agriculture. The hills used to be covered with wild flowers in the spring, and terraces of vines and wheat during summer and autumn. The higher slopes were grazed by herds of lean sheep with floppy ears and sly, resourceful faces. But the settlers have diverted the springs that fed this agronomy, in some cases, if they don’t need the water themselves, merely smashing or poisoning the springs so the Palestinians can’t have it. They rustle the sheep, which means only those families who own enough land within their villages to pen the sheep can still keep a herd. 

They also burn olive trees, the one remaining crop which is tough enough to survive in the impoverished soil and with scarce water. There are trees in the olive groves which are hundreds, maybe thousands, of years old, in whose gnarled trunks and arthritic branches our entire history is locked. Destroy these trees and you destroy – just as much as American soldiers looting the Baghdad Museum or Daesh blowing up Palmyra – the history of all of us.

Our protective presence is intended to discourage the settlers from trying to disrupt the olive harvest, and to record any incidents which do take place for the UN. This is not merely a matter of spite or ethnic tension, it is strategic. Under Israeli land law, if a farmer 
fails to complete his harvest for three years in a row, the land will revert to the government because it is ‘abandoned’. Under this law, Israel has ‘legitimately’ seized thousands of acres of Palestinian land, squeezing the Palestinians into what will soon be little more than reservations.

So, every October, groups of brave and principled people travel to the occupied territories to help get the olive harvest in and to protect their Palestinian hosts from attack, because even the settlers will think twice about the adverse publicity they’d gain from stoning a rabbi or a genteel Quaker lady from the home counties. I was an interloper, of course; I was researching a book, and ended up being too ill to harvest many olives. I saw little, personally, of settler violence. 

What I remember are eloquent silences: the state of the art Italian olive press, for example, which Ahmed proudly detoured to show me on our way back from the chest doctor’s; the men sitting idle beside its empty conveyors because there are no olives to process. Ahmed’s son’s pharmacy, on whose shelves the medicines are gathering dust because no-one has the money to buy them. Hana’, the daughter of our village head man, who aspires to become a literary translator, but cannot get a passport to travel to London to study. 

Ashraf Fayadh is unjustly imprisoned and should be released. But he was imprisoned on account of his own conscience and creativity, unlike his fellow countrymen in the occupied territories who are imprisoned merely by an accident of birth and history. They, too, should be released and we citizens of western democracies should ask ourselves hard questions about the company we keep, the wretched irony of allying ourselves with states such as Israel and Saudi Arabia for the protection of our freedoms.



About Sarah Bower

Sarah Bower is a novelist and short story writer. She is also a regular contributor to Words With Jam and the Historical Novels Review (which she edited for two years). She works as a mentor to other writers, and has taught creative writing at the University of East Anglia, the Open University and the Unthank School of Writing. She holds an MA in creative writing from the University of East Anglia where she is currently based in her role as manager of the mentorship scheme for emerging literary translators run by the British Centre for Literary Translation. In 2014, she spent a semester as writer in residence at Lingnan University in Hong Kong.

Sarah is the author of three novels. Her first, The Needle in the Blood, was Susan Hill’s Book of the Year 2007. Her third, Erosion has an East Anglian setting, was published in 2014. Her work has been translated into nine languages.

‘My new novel-in-progress, Love Can Kill People, Can’t It? tells two stories, that of a Palestinian fisherman called Amal and of Rose, an Englishwoman from an outwardly conventional but inwardly dysfunctional family, whose father’s experience of Palestine in 1947/48 formulates her interest in the region. Though their lives are linked much more closely than either knows, it is through their shared experience of key historical events from the Munich Olympics in 1972 to the civil war in Syria that I try to show how our history is informed by that of Palestine and vice versa.’

I’m indebted to Arts Council England for the grant which enabled me to travel to Palestine to research the book.’

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More hand-picked writing opportunities for the New Year

Posted By: Anonymous, 07 January 2016



January’s a bit of a bummer isn’t it? What better way to raise your spirits and boost your productivity than by knuckling down with some serious writing! We’ve hand-picked our current favourites – from stunning residencies to screenwriting or a dip into the Romantic – so why not put on the kettle and get started?

An annual competition for essays and poems on Romantic themes, the Prize encourages writers to respond creatively to the work of the Romantics, and offers £4000 in prize money across various categories.
Closing date: w/c 1 February 2016

Birbeck University of London is offering a fully funded scholarship on their two year creative writing MA. Applicants to not need a first degree, and will benefit from in-depth support and mentoring, plus £1000 to purchase a laptop.
Closing date: 15 February 2016

A sort story competition, on the theme of “Ageing”. The winner receives £500, a place on an Arvon residential writing course of  their choice, and publication of their story on the Writers & Artists website.
Closing date: 15 February 2016

Escalator is WCN's popular talent development scheme open to all prose fiction writers in the Eastern Region of England. 10 successful applicants will win a professional development package which includes mentoring, workshops and meeting agents. 
Closing date: 26 February 2016

Celebrating the best writing for stage, screen and radio, the Nick Darke Writers' Award offers writers £6000 to provide the financial stability and free time necessary to focus on writing. This year’s category is Stage Play.
Closing date: 30 May 2016

Spend a month staying at Gladstone’s Library, reading and of course, writing. Lead a workshop and take the opportunity to focus on your writing.
Closing date: 1 June 2016

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#LibraryAdvent

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 12 December 2015

A library is many things to many people. It's a place of potential, of discovery. It's a land of dreams: of adventure and magic, of friendly dragons and other planets. It's a land of hope: of finding a new job or a new home, of learning a new skill or making a new friend. A library is many things to many people, so this Christmas WCN decided to celebrate libraries all around the world.

Every day of advent we shared a photo of a library alongside a quote from a brilliant writer, celebrating the gift that just keeps giving. You can take a look at all the quotes here, catch up with all the goings-on with Storify, or just scroll down.


#LibraryAdvent 2016 complete round-up



25th of December
Norfolk & Norwich Millennium Library



'What a gift: democracy of reading, democracy of space. A library is for life, not just for Christmas.'

- Ali Smith


24th of December
Krakow Regional Public Library



'My first job was in a public library and I recognised, even at 16, how much of a haven it was for local people, somewhere for them to get away from the noise of the outside world as well as a place to educate themselves and their children.'

- Emma Healey


23rd of December
Norwich City of Literature



'Libraryness - it's a unique quality, only possessed by our libraries: the alchemy of a free place where people of all ages and all classes come together, seeking the adventures, discoveries, solace and sheer joy found in books. We must keep them open and cherish them, for they nourish us.'

- Patrick Barkham


22nd of December
Dunedin Public Libraries



'It was in libraries that I really explored reading. They are open to all and they cater for all. They never judge. You can pick something up on a whim, and find yourself with a new favourite book. Libraries contain wonders, they should be preserved.'

- Sally Craythorne


21st of December



'Under these leaf-libraries where
Melodious lost literature
Remembers itself!'

- 'Abernethy', Douglas Dunn


20th of December
Edinburgh Central Library


'Edinburgh is a city of books and learning, open to all knowledge.'

– Dame Muriel Spark 




19th of December
Norwich Cathedral Library



(Image Courtesy of Paul Hurst ARPS) 

'Latterly it has been used as a lumber room. I hope no one will be so unkind as to say it will be so used still.' 

– Henry Beeching, Dean of Norwich, 1913


18th of December
Norfolk Heritage Library



'We need libraries and their wonderful staff. They are part of the lifeblood of British culture. Libraries are indispensable to me and to us all.'

- Mark Cocker


17th of December
Municipal Library of Prague



'A house without books is like a body without a soul.'

- Julius Zeyer


16th of December
School Library
Angel Road Junior School




'Our library is a box of wonders that opens and lets me experience different worlds, meet different people, and explore my imagination.'

– Year 6 Pupil, Angel Road Junior




15th of December
Gainsborough Library
Suffolk Libraries


'What a sad adolescence I would have had without a library to escape to! And what a very different life since then: the library opened the door to my future.'

- Andrew Cowan


14th of December
Ballyfermot Library
Dublin City of Literature

 

 (Image Courtesy Patricio Cassinoni)

'The expected and the unexpected are always to be found in Dublin's libraries; the jewels in the city's crown.'

 

 

13th of December
Plumstead Road Library
Norfolk Libraries



'As a child, the library was my gateway - the only gateway available - to the world opened up by books. I read my way around every single shelf in the children's room of my local library, and was hooked. I am still today enthralled by the possibility for new discoveries which a library holds; the thought that you can discover something quite unexpected, and walk away with it tucked under your arm. I think in these days of tailored recommendation algorithms and curated digital experiences, the sense of rampant intellectual opportunity a library represents is needed more than ever.'

– Jon McGregor



12th of December
BCLT Library



'Free public libraries are one of the traditional guarantors of freedom, places where anyone may start to explore all that humanity has thought and recorded in words. The burning of books and libraries is one of the great barbaric acts: the closing down of libraries is a step towards the same barbarism.' 

George Szirtes



11th of December


'You made me feel at home, so far from home.'

- guestbook entry by Marcelo Figueras, author from Argentina, October 2010


10th of December



'it shone like a boxful of butterflies
it shone like a web at the wood's edge
it shone like blazing hilltop victory
it shone like the valley of last resort
it shone like the story of you and me

it shone all night'

- on the library, Alasdair Paterson


9th of December
Gladstone's Library

'Heaven, I am certain, looks like Gladstone's Library: Britain's only residential library, where you can live and study surrounded by a world-class collection of books and glorious Gothic architecture. You can choose to be alone, or converse with other visitors - a bishop at breakfast, and a poet at teatime. If inspiration fails (which it won't), you can venture outdoors to a cemetery, a valley, a ruined castle, a forest and a river.’

- Sarah Perry


8th of December
Library at the Dock
Melbourne City of Literature

 

(Image Courtesy Timothy Herbert)

'There was a tree outside the window where I worked, with a face in it, and I came to know it as my “permission” tree.

I did nothing in the library except write in front of that tree, and so every time I saw it, I was inspired to write.

Besides which, it is a beautiful, light library with minimal screaming. It was also during study week, so there were many other people working there, but all separately and silently. I felt part of a community, but not interrupted or under pressure to perform.'

- Anna Spargo-Ryan


7th of December
UEA Library
University of East Anglia



'Libraries are oases of quiet and learning in a distracted and noisy world, a human refuge, which should not be denied to us.'

- Rose Tremain



6th of December
Norfolk Mobile Library
Norfolk Libraries 



'On moving to a new town or city, the first place I seek out is the library because the library is the heart of a community. I grew up in the Norfolk countryside, but, because I had regular access to a library (in fact, many libraries: the library in my school, the library in a nearby village, a mobile library and the main public library in Norwich), I was able to learn about the world. Children who grow up with access to a library grow up with the understanding that access to knowledge is a right, and this gives them power. Books allow people to dream. I’ve been lucky enough to have had access to a library throughout my life. Had this not been the case, I would be an entirely different person.' 

- Megan Bradbury


5th of December
Huntingdon Library
Cambridgeshire Libraries


'Growing up, my local library was a place of wonder, imagination, excitement and safety. Ours had two floors: downstairs for adults, upstairs for kids. I both longed for the day I could stay downstairs and dreaded it. As a kid, I snuck books out of the adults’ section; as an adult I sneak them out of the kids’ section. Such are the contradictions of a reading life and the pure joy of a library.'

- John Boyne


4th of December
Norfolk and Norwich Millennium Library
Norfolk Libraries



‘I wrote the vast majority of The Last Pilot in Norwich's Millennium Library and I saw first hand, day after day, how libraries are refuges for the most vulnerable members of society, from the lonely to the elderly; the unemployed to the unwell. The public library is so much more than the sum of its books: it’s a community hub, a place to go, to see people, to be seen; to feel you exist beyond the four walls of your house. The library is a destination, a haven, a harbour, an asylum, a sanctuary, a port in the storm.’

- Benjamin Johncock


3rd of December
Iowa City Public Library
Iowa City of Literature

'A library is where they live - words that burn
or freeze, cajole and tease, that sound of
barks, bawls, hollers, whispers, mutters
and storms...

May this, our library prosper, for
life without it would be smaller.'

- This Library, Marvin Bell


2nd of December
NUA Library,
Norwich University of the Arts

 

 ‘In their unique atmosphere there are portals to all kinds of worlds, knowledge, ideas, inspiration, it’s all there; brilliant reminders of the best and worst we can be as humans. The Whole Earth Catalogue 1972, where else could you see it? NUA library, small but perfectly formed.’
- Peter Martin, Course Leader BA Animation


1st of December
National and University Library of Iceland,
Reyjkavik City of Literature

(Image courtesy Indro Candi)

‘And there stood the library, waiting for him like an illuminated spaceship ready to whisk him away to distant planets.’
- Óskar Árni Óskarsson


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Recommended by the Readers’ Circle: A Selection of Brilliant Books

Posted By: Rowan Whiteside, 08 December 2015



Our fantastic Readers’ Circle (a collection of dedicated volunteers from around the East of England) have been devouring books from our Brave New Reads medium list. They’re reading, reviewing, and chatting about brilliant titles, from short story collections to non-fiction to poetry, to help us choose the six astounding books for Brave New Reads 2016.

Sadly, not every book can be included in the final six, so we’re featuring reviews of some of those which didn’t quite make it. Take a look below, and tempt yourself with some highly-acclaimed books (or find a perfect Christmas present!).

Interested in how we choose the featured Brave New Reads titles? Check out this earlier blog, explaining the very complicated process.

Take a look at the Brave New Reads medium list.

Find out more about Brave New Reads.


The Listeners – Edward Parnell

(Fiction)

This book is set in the woods and fields of Norfolk, starting in the summer of 1940, just as Britain was sliding into war. William Abrehart, an odd nature-loving boy, has remained silent since the death of his father but has promised to look after his two beautiful sisters and very withdrawn mother. The narrator shifts from person to person and William, Kate, Rachel and Louise all take a turn in speaking to us with their own interpretation of events and emotions present and past.  

This book is incredibly beautiful and desperately sad.  Beautifully written, with tender and lyrical descriptions of crumbling, haunted buildings and Norfolk flora and fauna. It is just as eerie and haunting as the poem by Walter de la Mare.  

Family secrets, self deception and lies sit at the heart of this novel, which depicts the heartbreaking and tragic destruction of a family over the course of a few days in a summer long ago. The depiction of the flourishing world of nature is a backdrop to the pain endured by the main characters in the book.  There are no lighthearted or amusing moments whatsoever, yet somehow it avoids being a depressing read. Wonderful sense of place and time. Takes you back to the 1940s!
- Reviewed by Cambridgeshire librarian Ruth Cowan


Beautiful Girls – Melissa Houghton

(Poetry)

Beautiful Girls is a compelling collection in which heartbreak shimmers along every line of its hauntingly exquisite and often masterful prose. Its tragedy-ridden tellings express a grim reality; how ripples from the core of grief radiate further darknesses into the girls' lives. Whilst it would prove a difficult read for some due to disturbing subject content, this really is quite a staggeringly stunning, albeit gut wrenching, collection that one should take the time out to consume.
- Reviewed by Readers' Circle member Zeena Thompson

 

 

 

Lay Me Down – Nicci Cloke

(Fiction)

I really enjoyed this haunting book; dark and heavy yet delicately threaded together. I was drawn in by a feeling of closeness which was almost claustrophobic, with the protagonists’ intimate first meeting and descriptions of their movements as witnessed by the other. There was a sense of uneasiness conveyed by the rapidity of Elsa and Jack’s first meeting to their moving to America, the fact they can’t see the Golden Gate Bridge (the reason for their moving) from the air, and the constant chasing away of memories. The more we come to know them as individuals the less they seem a couple.

This book is about the histories that people carry with them and the way these histories work their way to the surface. Jack and Elsa jumped into their relationship as it was a happy release from their past problems, but then the ripples of that choice begin to be felt. Understated but beautiful.
- Reviewed by Kathryn Elliot of the Readers' Circle

 

The Lives of Women – Christine Dwyer Hickey

(Fiction)

This was easily the best of the novels I have read so far. Christine Dwyer Hickey, like all of the great Irish writers, has the ability to say such a lot in a few words.

The story is excellent. It is divided into two halves with part in the past told by Elaine Nichol's sixteen year old self, and part in the present where she is a fifty year old woman returning to Ireland ostensibly to look after her aging father. The reader is aware almost from the outset that a traumatic event occurred which resulted in Elaine, our main character, being sent off, exiled, to New York.

The writing has such clarity: I remember when the women, who seem to live very meaningless and powerless lives, get together and one of them who has obviously been drinking is described "words sticky from her mouth" when she speaks. Brilliant!
- Reviewed by Tricia Andrews of the Readers' Circle


Reader for Hire – Raymond Jean, translated by Adriana Hunter

(Translated fiction)

I enjoyed this novella greatly. The idea that the female protagonist provides the commercial services of a reader to all and sundry sparked my interest. It may contain elements of a male fantasy but is also the exploration of the power of reading and listening, what we read and why we read it.

Marie-Constance trips through the looking glass into readerland; seemingly unaware of the effect she has on a range of listeners or at least believing that she can manage or control the expectations that they have. In the course of the novella political activism, crime, adultery, the corruption of minors (and possibly majors) whoosh by leaving her practically unscathed. Clearly, she has a determination to carry on reading on her own terms. I was very comfortable with the language of the translation. I found it enjoyable and mildly subversive!
- Reviewed by Jim Murray of the Readers' Circle

 

Check to see if the books are available from Norfolk, Cambridgeshire or Suffolk libraries.

Take a look at the Brave New Reads medium list
.

Find out more about Brave New Reads.

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Sarah Perry at the East Anglian Book Awards - East Anglia has 'never quite stopped thinking of itself as a Kingdom'

Posted By: Stephanie McKenna, 05 November 2015

Sarah Perry introduced the East Anglian Book Awards on 4 November 2015 having won the Book of the Year Award in 2014 for After Me Comes the Flood, also long listed for the Guardian First Novel Award in the same year. 







At the ceremony she shared her love of a region that has ‘never quite stopped thinking of itself as a Kingdom’. She praised the radical character of the East Anglia woman referencing Julian of Norwich, Elizabeth Fry, Harriet Martineau, Edith Cavell and of course Boudicca. With much to say on the East Anglian landcape she gives the final word to WG Sebald who with his translator Michael Hulse ‘captures more precisely than any other writer this kingdom’s unique qualities: melancholy, dreamlike, almost dangerous in its likelihood to induce existential unease.'

The East Anglian Book Awards not only hold a significant place in the literary calendar, but are very dear to me. Having been fortunate enough to have been awarded a prize last year, I know how the generosity and praise of peers can see a writer though a cold Tuesday afternoon when putting one word in front of another seems a hopeless endeavour. 

I also know that those of you whose books have secured a place on the short list will be feeling more than a little on edge, and so I promise I will not speak long. But I’d like to spend a short while touching on the cultural history of East Anglia, and its strange, marvellous landscape, and try to understand how this region has produced such an embarrassment of literary riches. 

Writing about Norfolk, and writing about writing about Norfolk, Malcolm Bradbury once said, “Sometimes our place is our real subject, the basic material we work with, providing our vision, setting, landscape and theme. Sometimes it is a culture which stimulates our writing and lets it happen.” Those who live and write here I think will recognise this twofold effect: sometimes the shingle and the fens, the curlews and skies are consciously our subject - at other times they lie several inches behind the printed page - but always they are there. 

When I moved here after a wearisome decade in London, I remember quite clearly noting that the Norwich train bore an iron plate reading RAEDWALD. When at last I thought to look into it, it pleased me to see it referred to East Anglia’s king in the year 616, when this was the most powerful of all the Anglo-Saxon kingdoms. I like to think that East Anglia never quite stopped thinking of itself as a kingdom, and that this proud separateness is part of its allure. One does not arrive here by mistake, only by intent. Those of us who frequently make the journey home to Suffolk and Norfolk by train will know there is moment when, crossing (I think) the river Ouse - where white egrets stand impassively watching the trains - it is impossible to reach anyone by phone or email.

On arrival, the stranger will find the dialects of Suffolk and Norfolk not only thrive, but are contagious: I have barely been here three years, but find myself adopting the Norwich habit of using ‘that’ for ‘it’: “Good morning! That’s a nice day, that is!” Here, a jackdaw is a cadder, a bittern is a buttle, and a heron is a harnser (which, incidentally, is perhaps what Hamlet meant when he pointed out that he knew a hawk from a handsaw). The use of language here is nimble and witty: if you drive for any distance through the countryside you’ll encounter groan-inducing puns on signs for cafes, farm shops and roadside hot dog stands (the only one that currently comes to mind is ‘Bear’s Grill’). Hilary Mantel, who lived for a time in Norfolk, recalls seeing an elderly neighbour stand on the doorstep, peer disconsolately upward, and remark that there’d not been enough rain to wet a stamp. Even the place-names seem playful, and almost certainly designed to outwit the outsider: there is no mortification quite so bad as mispronouncing Happisburgh or Wymondham. In fact, playfulness and invention seems integral to the East Anglian literary character, from Thomas Browne’s coinages – antediluvian, jocularity, electricity – to George Borrow, who entitled his memoir ‘Lavengro’, after a Romany phrase meaning ‘word-master’.

East Anglia has a long history of radicalism: political, social and religious. There was the rebel Kett, who led 16,000 men against the king and was hanged for his pains from Norwich Castle wall; the 16th century butchers, labourers, constables and painters burned at the stake for the sake of freedom of conscience in Walsingham and Thetford and on Ely Cathedral green; there was Thomas Clarkson of Wisbech, abolitionist and noted redhead. I don’t think it fanciful to say that this radical tradition thrives in the contemporary literature of East Anglia, which is willing to challenge, wary of convention, tends towards idiosyncrasy and is often disruptive. 

It is impossible to account for the hold East Anglia has over writers and artists without considering its extraordinary landscape, much of which seems made of some element which is not quite water, and not quite land. It has a peculiarly eerie, melancholy quality: it does not dazzle, in the manner of the Scottish Highlands or the Cornish cliffs; rather, it clings to you, I think – like a scent, or like a sea-mist – often I find myself unable to distinguish between memories of walking on Holkham sand or the Aldeburgh shingle and all the strange dreams I have had. Robert MacFarlane’s description of a Suffolk sunset epitomises a kind of East Anglian nature writing which is beautiful, but which faintly disturbs: “At evening, as the sun was low and red in the sky, we crossed back over the River Ore, and into the woods and fields of Suffolk. A single mushroom-cloud of cumulonimbus dominated the eastern sky, and it was soaked in the red fission light of the sun.”

In H is for Hawk, Helen McDonald describes her beloved Brecklands, and again this is no chocolate-box landscape: “It’s where wet fen gives way to parched sand. It’s a land of twisted pine trees, burned-out cars, shotgun-peppered road signs and US Air Force bases. There are ghost here: houses crumble inside numbered blocks of pine forestry.”

Sometimes I wonder if I’ve seen more strange things in heaven and earth in the three years I have lived in East Anglia than in the thirty-two preceding. I have stood in the pine forest at Wells, where it is silent as a cathedral, and suddenly heard a volley loud as gunshot as all the pine cones overhead burst open in the heat of the sun. Later that same day, scanning the horizon over the sea, I saw a Fata Morgana, a disconcerting optical illusion in which fronts of cool air create refracting lenses that build strange, Brutalist black towers in the sky, which grew and diminished over the course of an afternoon.

Naturally enough, this uncanny land is ripe with myth – the most persistent kind of story: there’s Black Shuck, who scorched the door of Bungay church in 1577 and last made the headlines in 1971; there’s the Green Children of Woolpit, who would only eat beans, and the poor Orford Merman, who was tortured for refusing to speak and finally released back into the Ness.

It seems curious to me that those responsible for the new British passport could rustle up a mere two women of significance between them. They ought to have looked East: here lived Julian of Norwich, whose Revelations of Divine Love was the first book by a woman to be published in English; here also lived Margery Kempe, who wrote the first autobiography to be published in English. Here lived the prison reformer Elizabeth Fry, here was born the great sociologist Harriet Martineau, here also lived the novelist and abolitionist Amelia Opie. Edith Cavell lived here, is buried here, and is remembered whenever beer is drunk in the pub named for her, and which is a stone’s throw from her memorial. Maggie Hambling was born here, Boudicca of the Iceni lived and died here. Britain’s first female surgeon Elizabeth Garrett Anderson was of Suffolk blood, Anne Boleyn was born in Blickling, and legend has it her heart is buried here. The character of the East Anglian woman is radical, literate, rebellious, courageous, mystic and astute.  

I will finish by turning to the outsiders, since no-one should think that East Anglia – for all its remoteness and pride – does not welcome the stranger. In fact, one can barely cross the road without encountering a poet or novelist who has run here – often without quite intending to, yet never really meaning to leave. Eric Arthur Blair, born in India, named himself for the River Orwell; the great Irish writer Eimear McBride lives here, as does the Hungarian poet George Szirtes. Ian McEwan was born in Aldershot, but lived here long enough: it is impossible to read – for example - The Cement Garden without seeing something familiar in its eerie, remote setting.

Last night, while musing on Twitter about the lure of this land, the writer David Hayden replied that since being here the landscape has ‘insinuated’ itself into his writing: “Always the dark woods, the lone trees, the green river, the night heron.”

I will give the last words to Sebald – one of the greatest of East Anglian outsiders, who with his translator Michael Hulse captures more precisely than any other writer this kingdom’s unique qualities: melancholy, dreamlike, almost dangerous in its likelihood to induce existential unease. Giving an account of walking in Suffolk on a day sullen with heat, he said: “Several times I was forced to retrace long stretches in that bewildering terrain . . . In the end I was overcome by a feeling of panic. The low, leaden sky; the sickly violet hue of the heath clouding the eye; the silence, which rushed in the ears like the sound of the sea in a shell; the flies buzzing about me – all this became oppressive and unnerving….months after this experience, which I still cannot explain, I was on Dunwich Heath once more in a dream, walking the endlessly winding paths again, and again I could not find my way out of the maze which I was convinced had been created solely for me.”

Thank you.


East Anglian Book Awards

Now in their eighth year, the East Anglian Book Awards are an important part of the literary and publishing landscape in the region. Since the awards began in 2008 they have showcased the work of well over 100 authors, 129 titles, and more than 80 publishers. Find out more about the 2015 awards here.

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