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Sunday 31 August 2008

Malaysian novelist Tash Aw writes for this week's Times Literary Supplement

by Suzan Abrams

The 36-year old Malaysian novelist *Tash Aw, whose debut novel in 2005, The Harmony Silk Factory earned him a longlisted nomination for the Man Booker Prize and which later garnered him a win for the Whitbread Prize for First Book, writes for this week's Times Literary Supplement in London (August 22 & 29, 2008 issue).

In the one and a half page spread, Aw who lives in England, earnestly investigates the strong Asian influences of the Ramayana: Love and valour in India's Great Epic based on a series of colourful pictures in an exhibition of paintings showing at the Pearson Gallery, Great Britain. Malaysia grabbed some of the limelight for its generous attention to shadow theatre and puppetry throughout the ages, based on the characters of the Ramayana; often engulfed in volatile and adventurous turmoils. This making up for deep philosophical sacrements held to be divine. Aw writes in praise and awe of the lavish paintings before him and applauds their magnificent artistry. He also talks with some depth, of Rajput paintings.

*Tash Aw's second novel called Map of the Invisible World is set in the 60s in Malaysia and Indonesia. It involves two different and unsettling lifestyles and a dutch painter called Karl. The Dutch are solidly reminiscent with Indonesian history. The novel is due for release next April.

Suggested further reading: The British historian and writer, William Dalrymple's commentary in the Guardian last week on the British Library's Ramayana Miniatures.

Credit: Picture courtesy of Sutharsan.com

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Saturday 30 August 2008

The Lost Dog by Michelle de Kretser

Caption: Picture of Michelle de Kretser is from Barnes & Noble.

by Suzan Abrams


Maybe it was because I had resided in Melbourne, Australia, from 1999 to 2003 and indulged in a fair amount of inter-state travel.

Today, memories of the bush or any slight mention of Australia's unique botanical fancy still commands the enduring power to draw on a cold gray memory accentuating the faraway continent's distinct prickly heat, punishing February sun, crunching sounds shaped from mummified leave corpses that may attune themselves to the rhythm of cracker-munching and gravelling sand on snake-winding tracks that glint like leftover diamonds in sawdust.

Even grass had the power to sting, a branch to scratch the pale smooth arm, twigs that masqueraded as pincers for a mild pinch and flies that ringed the scalp if you happened to thread on West Australian country in Perth or thereabouts.

I was roused from these extraordinarily affectionate scenes with their vague familiarity first, byPeter Carey's newest novel His Illegal Self and now Michelle de Kretser's The Lost Dog.

The simple title may have yet stashed away a dense mystery for the unsuspecting reader.

Tom, an Indian, emigrates to Australia as a child in the same way that the Sri Lankan novelist, de Kretser herself, came to Melbourne from Colombo at 14. Tom unknowingly aligns himself to an artist Nelly Zhang who is scarred from a scandalous past knitted by sudden untoward circumstances, rather than wilfulness. Nelly an ambitious painter has a son, Rory who is very much a minor player in the script. He is talked about rather than providing much lively action to the plot. It is her group of Melbourne friends who soon form Tom's necessary acquaintances with their secrets and careful attempts at camaraderie on a mismatched arts scene.

Tom falls in love with Nelly but his feelings are too painful if not a little scattered, for a smooth definition. Although, she stays a warm friend, the artist bitten by distrust and betrayal in the past remains the cold fish. There is a possibility that her hurts may stay eternal. The story opens with Tom at Nelly's holiday retreat in the bush where he has deliberately holed himself up for four days to complete his passion of writing a book; in this case, cleaning up his non-fictional manuscript on Henry Miller; a job to which he proceeds industriously.

In the interim, Tom loses his beloved pet dog which forms the theme as a lingering thread from the book's start to finish. It is while Tom desperately enlists the help of friends and neighbours to look for his dog while flitting from the city and back to the bush with a childlike anxiety, that his life flashes before him..of his childhood in India complete with a stern grandfather, slightly feather-brained but beautiful young mother and indulgent father. Then there were the numerous chaotic scenes, cluttered and colourful which he faithfully carries with him through the years as a child would hoard his favourite toys.

It was on Tom's grandfather's death and with no private accomodation left, that the small family had moved to Australia. Plus, it was the sixties when anglo-indian families armed with a new bravado, were already emigrating worldwide to make their fortunes. Tom's father, Arthur dies not long after but the ghostly melancholy spills upon the whole plot like a gentle nimbus cloud...dark and foreboding but lacking in courage to create tears. Tom's father appears like the gentle unseeing hand throughout the plot.

In present day Australia, Tom is left with a broken marriage, an ailing 82-year old senile mother, Iris, a grouchy aunt, Audrey, and his own survival guide to cope with his mother's major tantrums when she refuses to go into a home. He indulges his parent as best he can but stays dangerously on the verge of losing all control.

The whole plot is mishmashed together by the above where de Kretser demonstrates her complete mastery at exposition scenes by proceeding to mould and string events in her gentle precise way, that makes her voice soft and abating as it is powerful and full of resonance.

de Kretser is done with the subject of conjunction in grammar; words like and are bravely replaced with commas.

Such poetic drama lends an ethereal quality to the entire story as de Kretser puppets her main character Tom to playact the sensitive caregiver while the artist strings along as terribly pained and the rest of the cast holds up as loving and giving if not somewhat apprehensive about the appearance of Tom in general.

Not always of course. There are jarring episodes even as Tom's mother Iris, is purported to be selfish, dreamy and superficial although unintentionally so and the aunt Audrey sketched as grouchy, dull and dogmatic. Still, in the face of irritation and resentment that brew amongst the secretive arty crowd, no one is ever rude or prone to raising their voices.

The characters are well-mannered, not once inclined to cussing or swearing and it is the effortless way that de Kretser leaves lines incomplete, words unsaid or forces one to shrug his shoulders or turn away in mid-sentence, that makes all the difference to tone, hype and drama. Yet kindness underscores every action and subsequent reaction.

de Kretser is adept at introspection and reflection without any signs of mawkishness or brutal realization. Being treated to numerous flashbacks which she manages to control with perfect timing and pace, the reader is left to visualize doors being continuously opened and shut with characters from the present and past constantly leaving or entering a room. The slight melodrama that expounds itself from such episodes may even make the reader feel Christmassy and cheery. It is after all, a conciliatory and homey crowd

Overall, the story trickles into the mind like the slow drip of water, melting liquorice or a prism intent on changing its colours even without light. A reader is forced to spy beauty in the face of tragedy. de Kretser also ingeniously turns ordinary detail into the romantic. Picture mini stories hidden inside assorted furnishings, window displays or the popular tiny objects that make a Camberwell market on Saturdays tick.

Not all the characters are well-developed as they may have been. A few in the arty crowd appear stereotyped and predictable even as Melbourne's cultural melting pot is wonderfully emphasized with names like Zhang, Osman, Pillai and so on. Also, the ending may appear more than a little vague. The novelist runs a risk of leaving the field open for a paradox...did this really happen for instance or it might have or may not have been... Be prepared for riddles.

This reader can't help thinking that the holiday retreat in the bush would have whipped up the better title since so much more surrounded its furnisings, ornaments and environment as opposed to the case of the missing dog.

Still, such questions are bound to sit well on a reader except for the hurried or impatient.

Michelle de Kretser has written a splendid philosophical novel on the search for the self.

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I have no problems with death as long as it lets me ferry my books for the ride. - suzan abrams

Friday 29 August 2008

AIDS Sutra: Untold Stories from India Launched on August 13, 2008

by Suzan Abrams

16 Indian writers from the famed and celebrated Rushdie to the untried but highly-talented Nikita Lalwani, longlisted as last year's Man Booker Prize nomination for her first novel Gifted - and the majority of them living in the West - were asked to walk the streets of different regions in India recently for an important collection of AIDS stories.

India is one of the higher-risk countries in the world with almost 3 million accounted for the fatal HIV-positive disease. Later to be published by Random House India, Anchor Books US and Vintage in the UK and produced in collaboration with Avahan, the India Aids initiative of the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation with proceeds going solely to children infected by HIV, the writers would first be asked to talk to housewives, homosexuals, drug-addicts, policemen, sex workers and other related sources, for what would make up the crippling factors of this cruel illness. The result is a varied and eclectic collection of stories, launched across India's varied bookstores two weeks ago on August 13.

Sir Saman Rushdie spent a day with enunchs in Western Mumbai. He would later write a tale called The Half-Woman God based on his meeting with Lakshmi Tripathi (pictured above) known to be one of India's most popular transsexuals. She was last seen hugging famous Bollywood actor Salman Khan, on a telly show. The distinquished novelist said that India has always understood androgyny. "The man in the woman's body, the woman in the man's," he reflected. "Yet the third gender of India still need our understanding, and our help," he added.

Shoba De wrote a story of someone she knew personally; her driver dying of aids.

Kiran Desai, Man Booker Prize winner for 2006 travelled to the Andhra coast where she visited a village populated by hereditary sex workers.

Aman Sethi wrote of two homesick truckers Sanjay and Kamlesh who pay for sex to break the dullness of road travel and the consequnces that derived from such restless acts.

Siddharth Dhanwant Shanghvi who won the Betty Trask Award in London in 2005, for his first novel, Last Song of Dusk wrote of the eccentric filmmaker Murad, the toast of Mumbai's bright lights.

The rest of the writers were made up of Nikita Lalwani, Vikram Seth, the British historian William Darylmple who has set up home in North India, Sonia Faleiro, Amit Chaudhuri, Nalini Jones, CS Lakshmi, Sunil Ganguly, Jaspreet Singh, Siddharth Deb and Mukul Kesavan.

The Nobel prize winning economist Amartya Sen, wrote the foreword.

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Thursday 28 August 2008

In Reuters today:

It felt a bit like tempting fate but American advertising executive Dave Freeman who in 1999, co-authored a classic non-fiction title with Neil Teplica called 100 Things to Do Before You Die, has died suddenly at the age of 47.

Freeman passed away after hitting his head in a fall in his Californian home. His family said that he had only managed to complete about half of the list of his to-do recommended journeys to the 'coolest places on earth'. Reuters reports today, that his accidental death has sparked aggressive bucket wish lists online especially amongst bloggers. A bucket list means completing a number of things you may have always wanted to indulge in, while still alive. Freeman's concept had also hit the big screen this year in the film called The Bucket List, when Jack Nicholson and Morgan Freeman had played 2 terminally ill men fulfilling a wish-list.

The writers' idea had also sparked off popular movie, food, music and books wish-lists. For the rest of the story, read HERE.

Wednesday 27 August 2008

Update

I haven't been able to blog as often as I like but I hope to make up for this with the writing project which I'm involved in and which will be ready in December or January. My mind is totally preoccupied with this at the moment. It will mark a small milestone for me, hopefully the start of many other things. I'm really having fun living in Europe. Everything feels so vibrant.
I'll keep a little diary of what I'm up to and when my project is ready, I'll show you the diary so you know how I went about it all. It may prove an interesting read.
I shall have to forget reporting on the majority of publishing news internationally for the moment but I will be updating my blog as often as I can on books, reviews and other thoughts on writing, which I've always loved to do. I will have a post for tomorrow.

Monday 25 August 2008

Why Avon Books US launched a new website

Avon Books, an imprint of US publishers HarperCollins, has launched a sunny new website. The imprint focuses on romances which sell big-time in the states.

However, I wasn't so much interested in this aspect of things as I was in the valuable observation made by Liate Stehlik, senior v-p and publisher of Avon Books exclusively to Publishers' Weekly magazine.

Said Stehlik, "Online interactivity is the future of the romance genre—and romance readers are among the most tech-savvy of all consumers; we’ve created Avon’s new web presence specifically to enable readers to get a more integrated experience of author, book and community.” Stehlik had also added that books which are “sneak peaked” command more than 100 times the visits of books that don’t have online previews.

I thought that this would be important to every writer intent on online publicity, no matter the genre. - suzan abrams

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An old Libyan poem

Caption: Omar Mukhtar who is actually in shackles being photographed on his arrest by the Fascist Italian army under the dictatorship of Benito Mussolini in 1931 and the concentration camp where many innocent Libyan civilians were imprisoned.

by Suzan Abrams


Below are excerpts of an old Libyan poem in translation by the Bedouin poet and resistance leader, Omar Mukhtar who was born in 1862 in a small village called Janzur on the eastern part of Barqa. Mukhtar who throughout his life remained religious and very poor, would turn to fighting in the desert against the then Fascist Italian Army.

Mukhtar who understood the strategies and geography of desert warfare well, led his people in small groups to successfully usurp many of the Italian army personnel in the fight against battleships and Italian colonization. The army was terribly embarassed at the time that one of their biggest foes, had turned out to be someone thought completely insignificant in the role of conqueror, as no one expected much of a Bedouin, one of the famous of Arab nomadic tribes.

It was the early part of the 20th century when Italy occupied Libya. It was only when Tripoli, its capital city, was finally bombed for three days in a row, that Mukhtar who had held his enemies off for 20 years and feeling defeated and exhausted, was finally arrested by the Italian army who in turn, was said to have treated the rebellious resistance leader as a prize catch. On the direct orders of Mussolini, he would be hung in front of his followers at the concentration camp in Solluqon as a stout reminder on the folly of rebellion. The poet's fight for peace and freedom for his land came to a sad undignified end.

In 1981, a film was made on the last years of Mukhtar's life and it starred Anthony Quinn, Oliver Reed and Irene Papas. Today, Mukhtar's face is still shown on Libya's 10 dinar dollar bill. The film considered to be damaging to the country's history, was banned in Italy.

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My only illness is being at al Agailla camp, the imprisonment of my tribe and the long way from home…

My only illness is the loss of my beloved, good-looking strong people on top of camels and best-looking horses…

My only illness is having to lose my dignity at my advanced age and the loss of our finest people, the ones we cannot do without…

My only illness is the torturing of our young women, with their bodies exposed…

My only illness is the loss of sweet and good people and having to be ruled by grotesque people whose straight faces show nothing but misery…

My only illness is the broken hearts, the falling tears and all the herds with no protector of care-taker…
- Omar Mukhtar -

The above are carefully written lines that measure the devastation set before the poet's eyes. The poem scribbled in secret, is not meant for any tender display of beauty, grace or style as much as it is to painfully evoke the raw anguish, suffering and despair of a broken people. The poem serves as a lamentation in its quest to convey an important message.

The poet himself longs for a peaceful, happier time in the desert. The poet is solely concerned in these heart-wrenching verses with the loss of his land and longs for the mighty warrior strength inhibited by the Bedouin tribes as they proudly rode their horses and camels.

Through capture and imprisonment, all dignity has been lost and every family heirloom, tradition, ritual and old culture have faded to a distant memory. The old man can no longer bear it...he is stricken by what the weakness of his age has brought him. He does not fear the future as much as he inwardly shudders at the present predicament of his peoples' tears. He sees in what he perceives to be the difference in the ugliness of the bad and the sweetness of the good, both of which are uncomfortably displayed before him, like jagged shards of glass unable to fit harmoniously together.

The poet is also abashed that the modest women of his tribe, always covered from head to toe, would have had to strip for degrading acts. He is worried that his people may be forever scattered with no commendable leader to watch over them.

There is no freedom for the individual, no time to reflect on philosophical wisdom while sipping tea in a tent or mulling on the change of weather. How much harder for a nomadic tribe so used to the wide open lands before them, to movement and a closely-tended treasured community spirit, to be deprived of the simple acts of peace snatched from them; a peace liberally given them from birth. - suzan abrams

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Sunday 24 August 2008

The White Tiger by Aravind Adiga

by Suzan Abrams

I thoroughly enjoyed the clever writing in Aravind Adiga's first novel, The White Tiger, which has since been longlisted for the Man Booker Prize 2008.

I decided that both the title and plot made it the man's novel. In normal circumstances, I wouldn't have bought it but I am pleased when my boundaries as a reader are challenged enough to push me to embrace the experimental and question my own rigid perceptions sometimes.

Here I thought that devoid of the usual female sentiments that highlight romanticism through nostalgic introspections and idealistic notions from in-depth diaspora or family stories currently popular in contemporary Indian literature, The White Tiger took a peculiar turn for the extraordinary with its jarring look at hypocrisy and poverty - that did not once let up - and my belief is that while it may be scoffed at by skeptics who turn up their noses at the Man Booker Prize or otherwise choose to stay snobbish about a potential shortlist, still irregardless... this novel will in about a decade or so become recognized as one of the early important titles together with Animal's People, Six Suspects etc. that began to reflect a darker harsher face to modern day India and so helped change the settings and trends to stories from the Indian sub-continent, published in the millennium.

I witnessed hometruths through the lives of these servants, from fictitious episodes sketched by Adiga, with a long-forgotten familiarity. I'm glad that he chose to settle for profound and gut-wrenching insights, not otherwise observed or admitted by the outsider. Even the insider details as to the comic consumption of alcohol, was wonderfully telling. A lot of the message that comes from a life of servitude is painfully true.

The worst who get it as Adiga rightly points out are the Tamilians - many in different parts of south-east Asia, still in lower-income groups, on regular protest marches for equal rights and while considered to be one of the lower castes are often denied of equal opportunities, even in the year 2008. In almost every community even a traditional Sikh (Punjab) one, there would be different caste groups comprising say, of tailors, carpenters, cowherds, etc, heading back to a time of ancestry and according to a family's surname, or even by the colour of one's skin/complexion, would the individual still be treated accordingly following a vow of silent discrimination, by other members of his community.

Many Indian families who emigrated worldwide carry the caste system with them as faithful heirlooms. Many do talk of their servants with a puritanical self-righteousness; often speaking about them loudly in the third-person as if they were never there. In Malaysia & Singapore, Indian professionals from different parts of India at one time, mostly employed Tamilian servant boys and girls 9-14 years of age from the villages - these childrens' grandparents may have come on boats years before to these countries to work as labourers - and these young servants would sometimes be treated to the milder versions of measures spelt out by Adiga. One 12-year old boy slept at night under the family's expensive dining table. His straw mat was his bed and the table his roof. His owners were teachers in Kuala Lumpur. He wasn't ill-treated in any way besides having to do an enormous amount of household chores, but his sleeping arrangements said it all.

Not all were unkind but a fair number were.

For me, the story dug deep to reveal horrible injustices and while intriguing, entertainment it was not.

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My neutral observations of The White Tiger were that every time fictitious servants tried to converse in English, they spoke in present continuous tenses. This trait, apparent in other novels as well. I was amused that Adiga chose to portray women as superficial, useless and cheap or otherwise survivors armed with a sly cunning.

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What I disliked about The White Tiger was the framework device and the whole letter-writing episode which I felt was unnecessary. There were only a few lines on China in general terms, scattered about the novel. Adiga could have got away with the comparisons and rivalry in straight prose, I felt.
I also couldn't relate to Balram's craving for the four Muslim poets, which seemed strangely out of place in context with the text. I believe Adiga was trying to impose a literary element somewhere in the middle of the vast mass of general fiction, but that just didn't work for me. It sort of hung in the air...Balram never made it a point to inspect the poems with the clarity he claims to have possessed and it doesn't take many rupees to buy a second-hand book in India. Balram chose to do neither so as a reader, I stayed unconvinced.

I also disliked the section that started from the 'spit puddles'. For me, it had to be the surreal spiritual visions afforded by buffaloes and especially the scene on hanging about at the book-stall for so long that the foul taste of books lingered in his mouth. I suspected that Adiga used the 'books episode' to remind readers that Balram was indeed once a clever student but I felt that all those scenes went-off course from what was otherwise, a tight polished structure.

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My favourite character was Ashok. He was so clearly part of the new India that started being essayed about in magazines everywhere in the nineties. Many Indian engineers worldwide, and those running Silicon Valley in America, come from Bangalore.

Then there were those fascinating conversations between the main characters, The Mongoose and Ashok in the car when they were drunk and Balram had to pour out the expensive whiskey. Well, as to the dialogue that went on... That's exactly how a fair number of well-to-do Indian businessmen in real life, would initiate conversations in the event they have had a pint too many. Some may display a brash false bravado, lots of exaggerated arrogance and strutting about and all at once. Aravind Adiga got it spot-on here. His tell-tale scenes were perfect.

I also loved it that for me as a reader all the characters were skillfully developed. And what an intriguing end with the servant's gripping Robin-Hood justice! The last pages were chilling to a point of being enigmatic. The whole story appeared compelling and unforgettable.

I thought how much this differed from Animal's People which was super for its exquisite prose from start to finish and its skilled technical execution where Sinha beautifully employed the 'fire' imagery but which commanded a soppy end afterwards where every single character lived happily-ever-after and all knots were so neatly tied up that I found myself easily abandoning the characters for good, as soon as that last page was turned. There was nothing else to know about them.

But here now and still, I wondered if there would ever be a sequel and if Balram would succeed in getting his comeuppance from a revengeful nephew, some years down the line. It bore thinking about.

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Suggested reading on the Dalit community in Tamil Nadu state, India's official untouchables.
I caught a valuable documentary of the same, on Dublin's Gaelic tv channel recently... its been repeated a few times.

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Thursday 21 August 2008

Not feeling up to posting anything at the moment, although I have subjects in mind to write about. Will post something later in the day (Friday).

Wednesday 20 August 2008

My book review of Yasmina Khadra's The Attack featured on Iranian website

My earlier review of Yasmina Khadra's The Attack is currently running on an Iranian website called Iranian.com

Another 2 articles are still on hold and I don't know if they will see the light of day.

Arabic literary websites are normally closed sites and it is very hard to have something submitted published. Blogs may be alright but for everything else, the editor will study your work and maybe you will be published or maybe you won't. There were others after me that had their work displayed and I thought I'd be rejected. But one review made it. Here on this website, I currently make up for the 1% of non-arabic writers.

If you click here you'll see mine under the name Suzan_Abrams, titled Bomber - Sharing the Pain.

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My second entry on the subject: Serbia stops sales of The Jewel in the Medina

by Suzan Abrams

Reuters reports that Serbia - the only country which sold the controversial Jewel in the Medina written by journalist Sherry Jones and published by Random House US, has withdrawn the book from stores in its country, with immediate effect.

Serbia was the only country in the world to have sold the debut novel in the first place. It had placed several hundreds of copies in its stores on August 1, a week before Random House cancelled associations with the title that spoke of the Prophet Mohammed's wedding to 11-year old A'isha. The story traces the couple's engagement right up to Mohammed's life and describes in intimate detail, private relations between the two.

The US launch was August 12, was swiftly cancelled.

It appears that a fortnight after the book had appeared in Serbian bookstores, the Islamic community had already demanded a ban to sales. Many Muslims had considered the text offensive.

Serbia has a 550,000-strong Muslim community, with the majority on the border region near Bosnia and Montenegro.

Alexandar Jasic, who is director of Serbian publisher Beobook, tells Reuters that there is always a market for historical fiction in Serbia and that he didn't think the story to be an insult to anyone.

But Imam Jusufspahic, the second highest ranking cleric in Serbia thinks otherwise. "The insults of religious feelings led to wars in this region," he says. "If we had been able to avoid them before we would have had fewer wars."

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This writer feels that the Imam was sensibly, considering a wider scope of things. Having been born in a Muslim country herself, she agrees with the Imam. While she sees Muslim teachings as ancient, priceless and often, wise; it is not from the entreaties of all common sense - a religion that allows for democratic thought or liberal discourses. She feels this faith's privacy should be respected. The high risk at the moment stays that this particular work of fiction, could so easily fall prey to the hands of extremists, especially with all the controversy the book had already generated last May; months before its publication.

On reflecting over the last few decades, we don't need unnecessary deaths and wars. Random House should have known better even while vetting the book proposal. In confronting a harsh reality at the last minute and bravely cancelling publication, the American publisher showed tremendous courage. Anything on the Prophet Mohammed and it's best not to go there, this writer feels. Sherry Jones should not have provoked her hoped-for fame at the expense of troubling controversies, clearly smouldering on the horizon.

And reading what Salman Rushdie has had to say on the matter, it is obvious that he still has not learnt any valuable lessons from the fatwa. Two Japanese translators died at the expense of his predicament and a Norwegian publisher was almost killed. We don't need any more of that. Jones is selfish if she can't see this simple dangerous truth. - suzan abrams

Here, an earlier entry:

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Tuesday 19 August 2008

Faber UK & its US arms to publish Petina Gappah's short stories & novel

by Suzan Abrams

This news has just come in.

Catherine Neilan writes today in the Bookseller that Faber UK & its US arm, will publish an anthology of short stories by Petina Gappah, a Zimbabwean writer and lawyer who lives in Geneva, Switzerland. A pre-emptive offer had been made via Janklow & Nesbit's literary agent, Claire Paterson.

An anthology of short stories called An Elergy for Easterly will be published first in the UK in April 2009 and launched two months later in the US. Another novel, The Book of Memory has been scheduled for spring 2010. Both works deal solely with Zimbabwean issues including the current hyper-inflation and a population's painful experiences under Robert Mugabe's regime.


Gappah who also engages in some vibrant freelance journalism, has been described as one of Zimbabwe's new contemporary voices for literary fiction. Lee Brackson, the publishing director for fiction at Faber in the UK has summed Gappah's writing up as exhilarating.

Petina Gappah hosts a regularly updated blog on blogger called Petina Gappah.
She also writes blogs for the Guardian UK's Comment-Is-Free pages.

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An Old Eskimo Poem

by Suzan Abrams

Actually called an Inuit poem, the Inuit people were formerly known as the Eskimos, the indigenous population of the North American Artic that stretches from Bering Strait to East Greenland, spanning a land of over 6,000 kilometres. The ocean-loving people who made huskies and igloos cool, traditionally inhabited the polar regions made up of parts of Alaska, Canada and Siberia. Eskimo is actually an American-Indian word meaning "eaters of raw meat". The Inuit's favourite food is still blubber.

You may read more on the Artic Website.

Moved

The great sea stirs me.

The great sea sets me adrift,

it sways me like the weed

on a river-stone.

The sky's height stirs me.

The strong wind blows through my mind,

It carries me with it,

so I shake with joy.

(C) Translation: Tom Lowenstein

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What I cherish about this poem is its lively sunny energy. It radiates a mood that hints of sunlight on my shoulders instead of underwater explorations. I visualize wide open spaces with no measured horizon and the observer held as an audience no bigger than a speck in the vast tranquil scene.

This poem describes the unknown poet's gullible, childlike awe; cheerful at the prospect of a capture that spells excitement. Far from the hardy fishing net or razor-sharp lampoon, the writer's kidnapper is no other than the mighty sea. The poet is satisfied at being held in this force's thumb, where in his dual role as hunter of whales, seals and fish, he pays homage to the origins of his livelihood.

Moved
is the kind of obliging celebratory verse that graciously salutes a harvest festival or even the worshipper of paganism. It stops short at being a folksong. The Inuit indulgently beholds the ocean's greatness and its underlying depths of mystery. He pays reverence to its powerful strength. The sea in turn, breeds secret thoughts in the poet's otherwise subdued mind and heart and shakes him out of fair sobriety to embrace the exhilaration of the moment.

At the prospect of a tempest, the relationship between the poet and the sea is still kind.

The poet does not perceive the sea as a dangerous threat or foe when roused but rather, a friend in whom he would bank his trust. It is easy to picture him on his kayak as he recalls with confidence and gaiety, the memory of being rocked. The closest imagery would be of a baby being cradled in its mother's arms. "...The great sea sets me adrift, it sways me like the weed on a river-stone." How feeble indeed the weed and yet uncomplaining too, of its botanical structure, housed in unlikely places.

The poet offers a courage that may challenge adventure. Not even the strong wind, as he writes, can make him tremble. For at the end he resigns himself to a happy acceptance and contentment when he signs off with the tell-tale line, "It carries me with it, so I shake with joy." This liner also suggests an animated conjuncture of bliss, once the poet sets his vision on the sea.

*********

A radical thought may also suggests the idea of master and servant. The poet bears servitude to the ocean's instructions for his providence and in turn, trusts the masterful ocean - no questions asked - with his life.

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Monday 18 August 2008

Enid Blyton tops Dahl and Rowling as Britain's best loved author

by Suzan Abrams

Today, The Daily Telegraph writes that the legendary children's author Enid Blyton has been voted Britain's best-loved author in an adult reader survey, beating even Roald Dahl and JK Rowling. No doubt, Blyton will always have my vote. As a child, I found her far more delicious than lollipop. She helped humour my funny dreams and steady those wobbly castles-in-the-air.

My favourite caricature to this present day stays the Gollywog, with its congenial personality, flamboyant dressing and incredibly clever mind. No, I'll never believe for a minute that Enid Blyton was racist. She simply expanded on the wonders of her environment and I can only assume that she loved all of her characters equally.

Reprinted from The Telegraph's Weekend Magazine, here is a rare clip featuring England's celebrated childrens' author of all time, the prolific Enid Blyton. One of the world's top bestselling authors of the last century, she wrote some 120 novels, more than 700 other books and an estimation of 10,000 stories. Here Blyton is photographed with her spaniel, Laddie, who is licking her daughter Imogen's face while her older daughter, Gillian points to something with which to arrest her mother's attention and gaiety.

Pictured above of the Christmas story is a rare children's classic, first written, illustrated and published by the mother-daughter team of Bertha & Florence Upton in 1907.

It was English children's book illustrator Florence Upton (pictured left)who created the Gollywogg doll and character as an imaginary companion to her toys. In 1895 at the age of 22, Florence illustrated her first book, written by her mother, Bertha.
Titled , The Adventures of Two Dutch Dolls, it involved a Gollywogg. The word golly was meant to be an exclaimation of surprise.
The dutch dolls were Florence's own toys. A total of 22 incredibly popular children's books on the Gollywogg were written and illustrated by Florence and her mum. Later all through the 1940s and 1950s, Blyton would reinvent the universal popularity of the famous black doll.

Lots more on gollywogs provided by Sterling Times

Today, Upton's dolls including the Gollywogg, are housed at Chequers, the British Prime Minister's country residence.

Labels:

Sunday 17 August 2008

Sorry readers. I haven't got a post lined up for today as I have been deeply involved in a writing project that must be completed by September. Will let you know more about it then. I'll have a post for tomorrow.

Saturday 16 August 2008

An ancient Egyptian poem

I wish I were your mirror
so that you always looked at me.
I wish I were your garment
so that you would always wear me.
I wish I were the water that washes
your body.
I wish I were the ungent, O woman,
that I could annoint you,
and the band around your breasts,
and the beads around your neck.
I wish I were your sandal
that you would step on me.

********

Above is an ancient Egyptian poem that could well be thousands of years old. I am not sure of the exact period or poet. What struck me most were the brazen innuendoes, representing the raw lust that old Egyptian romantics were famous for. I may think of the poet in question as choosing to call the object of his desire...a broad instead of a lady, so biting is his thirst for a bodily desire that suggests through sharp interwined images; the locking of his whole being into a tight framework with his enraptured one. His tone is one of daring and coyness. For love, he is willing to endure pain, playacting the role of her sandal and being appropriately trampled upon.

In this vein, the poet's secret revelations may be described as masochistic in effect and sensual by turns. At one moment, he desires her vision never to leave his face. From the start, he would rather she stare at him transfixed. This suggests a loss of individual liberation and a sacrificial ambition to bow to her every whim. He would rather be her labourer signifying a stricken desire..with the danger of heartbreak leading to fatalism. For here, is the kind of crude sacrifice carved up by a heart-struck lover from where logic may have fled.

With trademark tools of water, salve, garment, beads,sandals and a band on the lover's breasts, the poet hinges on images that must come into contact with human skin and desires to live in that fluid colourless form. He is no longer content to admire the physical figure from afar. The roles of the lover and loved are clear. The poet hides in the shadows and his sweetheart basks in the limelight. His carefully thought-out masquerade bears similarities with a ghostly apparition. There is a yearning for an invisible form, so he could play tricks and games...offer a wholehearted devotion and hang about with a closeness that would denounce any signs of separation. He would see all and know all. At last, his lust would be satisfied.

No doubt, the composition calls for a fairly straightforward technique, with the use of objects meant to highlight various parts of a physique. The high entertainment would probably lie in the poet's quest to shock the reader with content that depicts his hankering.

I wonder if these words took refuge as a harboured secret or if they were presented with much aplomb as a romantic gift on a papyrus scroll. - suzan abrams

An interview with novelist Kate Bousfield for Coven of One

Note: I'm running an interview I first did with British novelist Kate Bousfield on the publication of her debut novel, Coven of One, 2 years ago. The reason why I'm running it now is that I hope to do a book review on Coven of One, shortly. I have removed content from this interview that I find no longer applicable when first produced in its original form.


Coven of One by Kate Bousfield,
(Fiction, 256pp, £9.99,
Publishers: Opening Chapter, UK
Click here for pre-ordering details worldwide

"...The yellow ridged fingernail reached out to swirl the inky, black water. With a sprinkle of chosen herbs the scene burst into life once again. The shrouded face watched intently as the picture cleared, expanded, shuddered and then settled down to admit the ruh...yes, she was coming..." - Coven of One.



And Someone Was Taking Notice...


(An interview with debut novelist Kate Bousfield)



by Suzan Abrams


Introduction

Imbued with a curious spirit, in a scattered online cafe culture and where intelligence and intuition often take precedence over body language with regards to a writer's or painter's craft; the Cornish novelist Kate Bousfield or otherwise popularly known as The Inner Minx, may just come across to the blog world at large, as a lively mix of candour and niceties where a swift, sharp humour tops the list.

This mingled with the added joys of her newest paperback, Coven of One - that promises to be a delicious but darkly mysterious Halloween treat. It revolves around the lovable and courageous Dorcas Fleming, who embarks on her hedgewitch's journey into the unknown while employing pagan magick in a world built by Bousfield akin to 17th century Cornwall. Hedgewitching that is, which may also be described as solitary witching or a walker between worlds.

Coven of One - The Book & Spirituality

"Witches have always had bad press," says Bousfield. "It was only natural that I should be drawn to such intrigue. It is an ancient natural belief, a belief in the natural world and the natural magic therein." She links this faith to her own deep spirituality, carefully nurtured from young. "As a child, I was still gathering evidence," she adds. "I think I was in my early twenties when I eventually got my spiritual self sorted out."

And the writing bit? "Coven was an easy book to write," recalls Bousfield. "I had completed the first draft in less than 3 months. As a person with strong Pagan beliefs and an interest in hedgewitching, I realised that I was not part of a coven. I am a Coven of One and with my home county as inspiration, the story grew from that point.

"There was extreme pleasure when the plot fell into place like a familiar jigsaw and the words flowed. I think this book was just meant to be."

There is a strong, spiritual message to be had for the reader of Coven. Here, folklore, mythology and all the beautiful revelations of fantasy rush to mind.

Bousfield offers a serious description. "The country in which it is set is a divided one. Religon has torn the land apart with the Pagans to the north and the Church to the south. The book's character, Dorcas, has to find a way to cross this divide and rid her new placement of the evil that is lurking under the Southern Seas. In essence, a battle between good and evil that examines the effects of insularity and ignorance."

Of course, of course! And of the self? "Age has brought me a kind of adaptability so I am many things to many people. Most of all, I am me and I try to remain true to the person that I am.

And what about her impeccable humour? Impeccable? Polished, starched, crisp and neat-to-a-point kind of thing? Bousfield is surprised. "Never has my humour been described as impeccable before. Quirky or odd, maybe. I don't know, never really examined it. I love wit, sharp wits and a clever play on words."

But over and over, there is a call to reflection. "My soul will evolve as my contract stated in the beginning - I have no control over this and can only learn to read my signposts on this journey through my life. Still in her matter-of-fact manner, "I hope I have taken notice on most of them and acted on them accordingly," she finishes with a flourish.

A Personal Romanticism

And then of course, there is always the tender romantic ambience of it all. Think scents. For instance, the smell of gorse in bloom on the cliffs where Bousfield remembers the flowers "smelling like coconut" "It's a very heady mixture when coupled with the smell of the sea on a warm day."

There are walks on the cliffs too, either on a mild summer or a wild winter's day. In either case, it never fails to feed Bousfield's soul.

The writer who craves purples and blacks over pastels, loves living in Cornwall. "Only good if you like surfing and a lot of lard in your food," one can almost hear her quip. Bousfield finds the dramatic coastline, a perfect haven of peace.

Dawn also happens to be Bousfield's favourite spiritual moment. "The best time of the day when anything is possible," she enthuses. "This was crowned a few years ago when I watched the sun rise from a hot air balloon. For once, I was lost for words."

The best view of course, is to be taken from her bed, where Bousfield lives in Cornwall. Her house sits on a hill, about 2 miles from the coast. The sea changes colour from moment to moment but Bousfield as I had described earlier to be a lively mix of niceties could suddenly decide sunset to be her favourite view while intently watching the sun sink majestically into the sea. This then, separated slightly from the rising of the dawn.

To indulge in a moment and to embark on a view like two distant points. All of which provided inspiration for her novel-writing.

Choosing Writing


"I didn't choose writing. It chose me!"

Today, Bousfield would not dare pin her Muse down to any single thing.

She is obstinate about this. "My inspiration comes from a hotch-potch of words, poems, pictures, scenes and people," she hints. "A chance remark in the street, an interesting face in the crowd or a sound or the edge of hearing can all add to the mix. " She now asks me. "Did you know that the word muse comes from Old French meaning muser or 'to waste time''? I think I must do a lot of that!"

Bousfield's parents died six years ago. Not having expected to be orphaned quite so early, she confessed to feeling devastated. Writing soon proved thereupatic.

"As part of my healing, I started to write down my thoughts on the computer and before long I found that my own fingered stabbing had produced a massive number of words. I started counting and haven't stopped since.

She continues. "I have always been an avid reader but writing allows me to read and write at the same time. Does that make sense? The joy of writing is that I can live the book as I'm writing. I am those characters and they are me. We create together."

Of course, she cannot see herself stop writing, in the least. Of this, she is definite. There is after all, a sequel to Coven of One, called Natural Magick and "a larder full of others."

"Before I wrote Coven of One - there are two before Coven and two after - I had moments of panic when I thought that I would not get it down quickly enough and it would be lost.

"In writing this novel, I found I could relax, safe in the knowledge that it was all there waiting."

"So now can't stop! Won't stop! It is the air I breathe. And the place I feel most at home, apart from my own home, that is! I get withdrawal symptms if I don't write and don't talk to me about the holidays that take me away from my laptop I would love to think that I could write fulltime in the future...a dream, but you never know"

One can almost imagine the affectionate petulance that comes from such a stubborn resolution.

Publishing Coven of One


How did that remarkable publication of her debut novel first begin?

To think that any aspiring author's dream started from Bousfield's own extraordinary reality, of "lacking in ambition." "I was always happy to go along with the flow and let life bob along as it needed. Now I realise that it was all heading in this direction, everything merging and becoming what it needed to be. I learnt and I am still learning that what will be will be. If it's right..."

In Bousfield's own words while observing her new success:

"The wheel turns, the path is drawn so sit back and enjoy the ride."

When Bousfield started blogging about 6 months ago, "her first dabble into the world of web-logging'', she was pleased when it straightaway brought her into contact with published and un-published writers. She believes there is no other place where this could happen so easily.

One particular link was Skint Writer, a popular and professional blogger, who has since removed his blog and discarded the pursuit of blogging altogether, since the reproduction of this interview.

Skint turned out to be the Welsh author, poet and painter, Derec Jones that led him to POD his 3 literary books that included a novel,The Three Bears, (featuring alternative fiction in a dark form), The Walker and other stories ( a collection of tales that preyed on sharp twists and strange surreal endings) and The Words in Me, a collection of contemporary poetry, wrapping questions around the fragilities of the human self.


Bousfield found herself, watching the entire process with fascination.

"I found that many other authors were taking this route via Lulu. etc. but was interested to see that Skint (shall I call him Derec, now?) was doing it all by himself through his own publishing company. Later, Derec put a call out to writers who were interested in doing the same thing.
All my signposts said yes, so I sent him my manuscript and the rest is history."

Interestingly, history didn't mean the Lulu route at all. Derec admired Bousfield's writing so much, he would invest in his own finances to publish Coven of One straightaway in traditional paperback.

This being the rare but wonderful episode replayed from yesteryear where a publisher truly believed in his author no matter how rare, original or eccentric the form and before conglomerates would eat up a great deal of small alternative presses with the exception of poetry, and marketing gimmicks would combine with commercial saleability, to call the shots for the book-buying industry.

But Bousfield continues to see so much more than that. Armed with a big vision, it is perhaps the sparkle of a professional relationship that counts through and through.

"I think we chose each other," she reflects. "We share a quirky sense of humour. He puts up with my dreadful humour and overuse of certain words. The real joy is that I have found someone who works at my pace (fast), understands me as a writer and knows my characters as well as I do.

"Also, Derec's a top blogger and very professional. After what seemed like an interminable wait, for him to peruse my words, he came back with adjectives that blew me away. He loved it, I loved it, we loved it, the deal was done and the process started."

Not that Bousfield hasn't experienced her fair share of heartache and rejection.

"I once waited 9 months for a rejection slip to come through the door. It's madness, long drawn and madness. We proved a point with Coven, a huge point. When two minds want to achieve the same goal, it can be done in a very short space of time.

Counting this October 31, the book would have taken just a few months to be readied for the shops.

Bousfield counts her relationship with Derec who heads Opening Chapter, as held steady by trust and simple understanding. She sees it as the kind of friendship a publisher and writer rarely share. "I can be rude to him as well which is important.

"Another real bonus was that I had a lot of say in the cover, something I felt strongly about. Derec knew this was important to me and why shouldn't it be? The cover is a reflection of the words inside and so many times, I have failed to see this connection with books already on the shelf.

Today, the infant success of Coven of One continues to be surreal for Bousfield. It is after all the hope of every writer to see their work in print and for her to claim excitement would simply be "the understatement of the year."

Bousfield's Writing Days


"The best time to write would be first thing in the morning but if I had the chance I would carry on and write all day.


"If undisturbed and the juices are flowing, I can write for hours at a time but I have a day job, a family and a house to run so writing is usually lmited to evenings and weekends. "

Family is all to Bousfield but she claims that she "could not look after them if she did not feed her spirit as well and that one cannot exist without the other."

Bousfield sleeps about 5 to 6 hours, rising at 6.30am on weekday mornings. She often checks her blog while drinking morning tea. Bousfield works in a school for children with special needs . The rest of her day is spent ferrying her kids, shopping on the way home from work, tidying, cooking and feeding the cat.

Throughout, her sardonic humor prevails.

"I have become an expert at not seeing dust and the rest of the jobs are saved for holidays when I ignore them and do some more writing!" At this point, I almost picture a giggle.

"Weekend is catch-up time. Sleep, housework, family, blogging, friends. I love cooking when it is for a reason, not just the everyday boring stuff. I make my own bread and yogurt and I can rustle up a mean paella, when I feel inclined. I also treat myself sometimes to a great escape.
Spending time completely and utterly on my own. Not selfishness, just self-care."

Other éscape routes designed for pleasurable destinations include reading in the bath with a glass of wine and sandwich. Here Bousfield has no favourites except perhaps for Bach's Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. "Any author who can draw me in with their painted words will find me coming back for more. I am open to anyone and anything although I have a slight leaning towards science fantasy."

Bousfield who watches very little tv and sees writing as pure relaxation also owns up to other pleasures that include "being partial to a spot of drinking, dining out and camping in remote parts of the country. Oh...and buying shoes. "You can't find any high heels on a beach in Cornwall," she laments.

Writing Spots by Kate Bousfield


"My favourite writing place would be in the garden but since I started blogging, I have to be somewhere in the house to pick up the signal from the router. I like to write and blog at the same time. Otherwise, I could probably write anywhere as long as I had a comfortable chair. What am I saying? I write anywhere and everywhere and have been known to stop the car and ferret in my bag for pen and paper. I'm a saddo!

"I write novels mostly on keyboard but I love to write poetry by hand, out in the open. Handwriting is fast becoming an art form. When was the last time you received a handwritten letter from a friend?

"I am not a neat writer. I have the usual collection of help books, quotes, dictionaries etc but I am also surrounded by my collection of ínspire-ments. These range from cards, worry dolls, a brass Shiva, a tin of my children's teeth ("don't ask'') and a candle that I used to light before I sent anything off."

Labels: ,

An interview with novelist Kate Bousfield for Coven of One

Note: I'm running an interview I first did with British novelist Kate Bousfield on the publication of her debut novel, Coven of One. This interview was conducted 2 years ago. The reason why I'm running it now is that I hope to do a book review on Coven of One, shortly. I have removed content from this interview that I find no longer applicable to its original portrayal.

by Suzan Abrams

Coven of One by Kate Bousfield,
(Fiction, 256pp, £9.99,
Publishers: Opening Chapter, UK
Click here for pre-ordering details worldwideby Suzan Abrams"...The yellow ridged fingernail reached out to swirl the inky, black water. With a sprinkle of chosen herbs the scene burst into life once again. The shrouded face watched intently as the picture cleared, expanded, shuddered and then settled down to admit the ruh...yes, she was coming..." - Coven of One.And Someone Was Taking Notice...
(An interview with debut novelist Kate Bousfield)

by Susan Abraham


Introduction

Imbued with a curious spirit, in a scattered online cafe culture and where intelligence and intuition often take precedence over body language with regards to a writer's or painter's craft; the Cornish novelist Kate Bousfield or otherwise popularly known as The Inner Minx, may just come across to the blog world at large, as a lively mix of candour and niceties where a swift, sharp humour tops the list.

This mingled with the added joys of her newest paperback, Coven of One - that promises to be a delicious but darkly mysterious Halloween treat. It revolves around the lovable and courageous Dorcas Fleming, who embarks on her hedgewitch's journey into the unknown while employing pagan magick in a world built by Bousfield akin to 17th century Cornwall. Hedgewitching that is, which may also be described as solitary witching or a walker between worlds.

Coven of One - The Book & Spirituality

"Witches have always had bad press," says Bousfield. "It was only natural that I should be drawn to such intrigue. It is an ancient natural belief, a belief in the natural world and the natural magic therein." She links this faith to her own deep spirituality, carefully nurtured from young. "As a child, I was still gathering evidence," she adds. "I think I was in my early twenties when I eventually got my spiritual self sorted out."

And the writing bit? "Coven was an easy book to write," recalls Bousfield. "I had completed the first draft in less than 3 months. As a person with strong Pagan beliefs and an interest in hedgewitching, I realised that I was not part of a coven. I am a Coven of One and with my home county as inspiration, the story grew from that point.

"There was extreme pleasure when the plot fell into place like a familiar jigsaw and the words flowed. I think this book was just meant to be."

There is a strong, spiritual message to be had for the reader of Coven. Here, folklore, mythology and all the beautiful revelations of fantasy rush to mind.

Bousfield offers a serious description. "The country in which it is set is a divided one. Religon has torn the land apart with the Pagans to the north and the Church to the south. The book's character, Dorcas, has to find a way to cross this divide and rid her new placement of the evil that is lurking under the Southern Seas. In essence, a battle between good and evil that examines the effects of insularity and ignorance."

Of course, of course! And of the self? "Age has brought me a kind of adaptability so I am many things to many people. Most of all, I am me and I try to remain true to the person that I am.

And what about her impeccable humour? Impeccable? Polished, starched, crisp and neat-to-a-point kind of thing? Bousfield is surprised. "Never has my humour been described as impeccable before. Quirky or odd, maybe. I don't know, never really examined it. I love wit, sharp wits and a clever play on words."

But over and over, there is a call to reflection. "My soul will evolve as my contract stated in the beginning - I have no control over this and can only learn to read my signposts on this journey through my life. Still in her matter-of-fact manner, "I hope I have taken notice on most of them and acted on them accordingly," she finishes with a flourish.

A Personal Romanticism

And then of course, there is always the tender romantic ambience of it all. Think scents. For instance, the smell of gorse in bloom on the cliffs where Bousfield remembers the flowers "smelling like coconut" "It's a very heady mixture when coupled with the smell of the sea on a warm day."

There are walks on the cliffs too, either on a mild summer or a wild winter's day. In either case, it never fails to feed Bousfield's soul.

The writer who craves purples and blacks over pastels, loves living in Cornwall. "Only good if you like surfing and a lot of lard in your food," one can almost hear her quip. Bousfield finds the dramatic coastline, a perfect haven of peace.

Dawn also happens to be Bousfield's favourite spiritual moment. "The best time of the day when anything is possible," she enthuses. "This was crowned a few years ago when I watched the sun rise from a hot air balloon. For once, I was lost for words."

The best view of course, is to be taken from her bed, where Bousfield lives in Cornwall. Her house sits on a hill, about 2 miles from the coast. The sea changes colour from moment to moment but Bousfield as I had described earlier to be a lively mix of niceties could suddenly decide sunset to be her favourite view while intently watching the sun sink majestically into the sea. This then, separated slightly from the rising of the dawn.

To indulge in a moment and to embark on a view like two distant points. All of which provided inspiration for her novel-writing.

Choosing Writing


"I didn't choose writing. It chose me!"

Today, Bousfield would not dare pin her Muse down to any single thing.

She is obstinate about this. "My inspiration comes from a hotch-potch of words, poems, pictures, scenes and people," she hints. "A chance remark in the street, an interesting face in the crowd or a sound or the edge of hearing can all add to the mix. " She now asks me. "Did you know that the word muse comes from Old French meaning muser or 'to waste time''? I think I must do a lot of that!"

Bousfield's parents died six years ago. Not having expected to be orphaned quite so early, she confessed to feeling devastated. Writing soon proved thereupatic.

"As part of my healing, I started to write down my thoughts on the computer and before long I found that my own fingered stabbing had produced a massive number of words. I started counting and haven't stopped since.

She continues. "I have always been an avid reader but writing allows me to read and write at the same time. Does that make sense? The joy of writing is that I can live the book as I'm writing. I am those characters and they are me. We create together."

Of course, she cannot see herself stop writing, in the least. Of this, she is definite. There is after all, a sequel to Coven of One, called Natural Magick and "a larder full of others."

"Before I wrote Coven of One - there are two before Coven and two after - I had moments of panic when I thought that I would not get it down quickly enough and it would be lost.

"In writing this novel, I found I could relax, safe in the knowledge that it was all there waiting."

"So now can't stop! Won't stop! It is the air I breathe. And the place I feel most at home, apart from my own home, that is! I get withdrawal symptms if I don't write and don't talk to me about the holidays that take me away from my laptop I would love to think that I could write fulltime in the future...a dream, but you never know"

One can almost imagine the affectionate petulance that comes from such a stubborn resolution.
Publishing Coven of One

How did that remarkable publication of her debut novel first begin?

To think that any aspiring author's dream started from Bousfield's own extraordinary reality, of "lacking in ambition." "I was always happy to go along with the flow and let life bob along as it needed. Now I realise that it was all heading in this direction, everything merging and becoming what it needed to be. I learnt and I am still learning that what will be will be. If it's right..."

In Bousfield's own words while observing her new success:

"The wheel turns, the path is drawn so sit back and enjoy the ride."

When Bousfield started blogging about 6 months ago, "her first dabble into the world of web-logging'', she was pleased when it straightaway brought her into contact with published and un-published writers. She believes there is no other place where this could happen so easily.

One particular link was Skint Writer, a popular and professional blogger. Skint turned out to be the Welsh author, poet and painter, Derec Jones that led him to POD his 3 literary books that included a novel,The Three Bears, (featuring alternative fiction in a dark form), The Walker and other stories ( a collection of tales that preyed on sharp twists and strange surreal endings) and The Words in Me, a collection of contemporary poetry, wrapping questions around the fragilities of the human self.

Bousfield found herself, watching the entire process with fascination.

"I found that many other authors were taking this route via Lulu. etc. but was interested to see that Skint (shall I call him Derec, now?) was doing it all by himself through his own publishing company. Later, Derec put a call out to writers who were interested in doing the same thing.
All my signposts said yes, so I sent him my manuscript and the rest is history."

Interestingly, history didn't mean the Lulu route at all. Derec admired Bousfield's writing so much, he would invest in his own finances to publish Coven of One straightaway in traditional paperback.

This being the rare but wonderful episode replayed from yesteryear where a publisher truly believed in his author no matter how rare, original or eccentric the form and before conglomerates would eat up a great deal of small alternative presses with the exception of poetry, and marketing gimmicks would combine with commercial saleability, to call the shots for the book-buying industry.

But Bousfield continues to see so much more than that. Armed with a big vision, it is perhaps the sparkle of a professional relationship that counts through and through.

"I think we chose each other," she reflects. "We share a quirky sense of humour. He puts up with my dreadful humour and overuse of certain words. The real joy is that I have found someone who works at my pace (fast), understands me as a writer and knows my characters as well as I do.

"Also, Derec's a top blogger and very professional. After what seemed like an interminable wait, for him to peruse my words, he came back with adjectives that blew me away. He loved it, I loved it, we loved it, the deal was done and the process started."

Not that Bousfield hasn't experienced her fair share of heartache and rejection.

"I once waited 9 months for a rejection slip to come through the door. It's madness, long drawn and madness. We proved a point with Coven, a huge point. When two minds want to achieve the same goal, it can be done in a very short space of time.

Counting this October 31, the book would have taken just a few months to be readied for the shops.

Bousfield counts her relationship with Derec who heads Opening Chapter, as held steady by trust and simple understanding. She sees it as the kind of friendship a publisher and writer rarely share. "I can be rude to him as well which is important.

"Another real bonus was that I had a lot of say in the cover, something I felt strongly about. Derec knew this was important to me and why shouldn't it be? The cover is a reflection of the words inside and so many times, I have failed to see this connection with books already on the shelf.

Today, the infant success of Coven of One continues to be surreal for Bousfield. It is after all the hope of every writer to see their work in print and for her to claim excitement would simply be "the understatement of the year."
Bousfield's Writing Days

"The best time to write would be first thing in the morning but if I had the chance I would carry on and write all day.


"If undisturbed and the juices are flowing, I can write for hours at a time but I have a day job, a family and a house to run so writing is usually lmited to evenings and weekends. "

Family is all to Bousfield but she claims that she "could not look after them if she did not feed her spirit as well and that one cannot exist without the other."

Bousfield sleeps about 5 to 6 hours, rising at 6.30am on weekday mornings. She often checks her blog while drinking morning tea. Bousfield works in a school for children with special needs . The rest of her day is spent ferrying her kids, shopping on the way home from work, tidying, cooking and feeding the cat.

Throughout, her sardonic humor prevails.

"I have become an expert at not seeing dust and the rest of the jobs are saved for holidays when I ignore them and do some more writing!" At this point, I almost picture a giggle.

"Weekend is catch-up time. Sleep, housework, family, blogging, friends. I love cooking when it is for a reason, not just the everyday boring stuff. I make my own bread and yogurt and I can rustle up a mean paella, when I feel inclined. I also treat myself sometimes to a great escape.
Spending time completely and utterly on my own. Not selfishness, just self-care."

Other éscape routes designed for pleasurable destinations include reading in the bath with a glass of wine and sandwich. Here Bousfield has no favourites except perhaps for Bach's Jonathan Livingstone Seagull. "Any author who can draw me in with their painted words will find me coming back for more. I am open to anyone and anything although I have a slight leaning towards science fantasy."

Bousfield who watches very little tv and sees writing as pure relaxation also owns up to other pleasures that include "being partial to a spot of drinking, dining out and camping in remote parts of the country. Oh...and buying shoes. "You can't find any high heels on a beach in Cornwall," she laments.Writing Spots by Kate Bousfield

"My favourite writing place would be in the garden but since I started blogging, I have to be somewhere in the house to pick up the signal from the router. I like to write and blog at the same time. Otherwise, I could probably write anywhere as long as I had a comfortable chair. What am I saying? I write anywhere and everywhere and have been known to stop the car and ferret in my bag for pen and paper. I'm a saddo!

"I write novels mostly on keyboard but I love to write poetry by hand, out in the open. Handwriting is fast becoming an art form. When was the last time you received a handwritten letter from a friend?

"I am not a neat writer. I have the usual collection of help books, quotes, dictionaries etc but I am also surrounded by my collection of ínspire-ments. These range from cards, worry dolls, a brass Shiva, a tin of my children's teeth ("don't ask'') and a candle that I used to light before I sent anything off."

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