Understanding my response to Graham Greene

I was surprised to find a collection of Graham Greene books in one of the boxes I took out of storage recently. Surprised because I don't remember being a Greene fan, and I do remember trying to be ruthless when I packed up my worldly goods to store in 2008.

I picked up my 30c copy of 'a gun for sale' and when I finished a couple of days later I felt a bit disappointed. I wanted to feel like I'd just had the privilege of spending time with one of the 20th century literary greats, but I didn't.

I've since read a few recent reviews which talk about it reading like a less serious draft of 'Brighton Rock', a book confused about whether it is literary or a thriller, one of his most entertaining "entertainments" and a thriller to devour in a single sitting.

None of these observations really satisfied me, and I was still trying to understand my response to the book when I heard this quote from John Peel on a podcast -

"anytime he ever hears a piece of music that he doesn't like, he just assumes that it's his problem"

And I realised that was what I felt after finishing 'a gun for sale' - I was disappointed in myself.

I had a strong visual association throughout the book, and think it compares to watching a movie that I didn't mind at all, that maybe I'd be glad I'd watched on DVD rather than made a night out of going to the cinema to see.

It's a book that's based on an intriguing premise, and if we're talking about effective character names then I don't think I'll forget Raven as the choice for the protagonist, and I did read until the end. I've decided to apportion 'blame' for my disappointment to: the era it was written in (a victim of its time); my expectations; following two fabulous works by Janet Frame and Dorothy Porter.

While this isn't his most successful novel, and I didn't love it, I'm pleased that I wasn't satisfied with just saying, meh, that was okay. I wanted to understand my reaction, and am glad that I've been reminded to  look for the good in someone's work, an approach I hope that I use with people. After all, we know how much time and effort goes into the creative process.

Of course I haven't paid that respect to some books since I decided a couple of years ago that there is no obligation to finishing a book just because it has been deemed good enough to publish.

Guess I need to work on my consistency.

What I Loved: City of Bohane

I've just finished 'City of Bohane' and am full of expletives and remarkable wardrobing ideas. But I have no west coast future city of hoors and dream pipes near me, so the magic can't continue too long. And magic it is. Of the dark kind.

Last year I was lucky. I'd not read, or even heard of (why do I always feel like I'm confessing on here) Kevin Barry, but I went to a wordfactory 'Irish' event on a hot Saturday evening that happened to be during Pride in London, and Kevin Barry read. It was a brilliant short story and perhaps more importantly, his delivery is so animated and accented that once you've heard him, he's reading to you from the pages in your hands.

If you haven't read City of Bohane yet, let me pick a random page and sling you a sample…

"Mouth of teeth on him like a vandalised graveyard but we all have our crosses." (p. 4)

"See him back there:
A big unit with deep-set eyes and a squared-off chin. Dark-haired, and sallow, and wry. The kind of kid who whore his bruises nicely." (p. 53)

I want to go on, to get you a line that's setting, maybe about the Back Traces, de Valera Street or Big Nothin'. But instead I'll leave you with the thirst to read it yourself, and a little help from Kevin to get you started.

Kevin Barry reading from City of Bohane from Transmission Arts on Vimeo.

What I Loved - work I have read and must share

What a schedule, and what a lucky lady...

WARNING: This is not supposed to be a brag or name dropping, I just want to share my love for my live world of words.

Last month I talked about coming out of the writer closet, and the authors I'd heard (and bought) at great events.

And the hits just keep on coming.

At Clapham Books last week, Tom Canty read from his debut novel, Clapham Lights. The thing that really struck me was how well a young writer could stand in front of a crowded room and read his work aloud. He was funny, in the characters, and confident in what he was saying.

If I were his publisher I'd be getting Tom straight into a studio to record his novel. Apparently his girlfriend thinks his female voice is, well, pants I think he said. Maybe she could help him out there, but otherwise his delivery was brilliant.

Yesterday I went to the Spread The Word event at Woolfson and Tay. The afternoon was informal, for writers to write about 'things that happen in a bookshop'. I met a Shakespearian scholar, got talking to Paul Sherreard (who gave me a fantastic business idea - cheers) and had plot inspiration from the crazy (Shaun Levin's word, not mine) Devawn Wilkinson.

Most of us bought the Write Around the Bookshop map and used a prompt from that, along with the setting (surrounded by books, opposite a pub) to come up with a new piece of work.

After a break a selection of young writers who have been involved in various Spread the Word schemes read, either from anthologies and/or the exercises they'd done in the afternoon.

Again, I was so impressed with how well young writers can deliver their work. You'd think they've been doing it for years, and they're definitely ready for being on bigger stages.

A few open mic slots were taken with, let's just call them (myself included), less published and slightly more mature writers, who also read their output from the afternoon.

It was a great opportunity to write, mix, listen, and of course eat. The red velvet cake was a big hit, and next week I want to go back for the Savoury Asian Pulled Pork - sounds amazing.

And next Saturday I'm back at The Society Club for July's Word Factory event.

What luck!

I'd really love to hear what events others have been to, and how it's helped their writing. And hopefully anyone who hasn't been taking advantage of local events might think about getting along to one soon.

Couldn't get tickets for David Sedaris, but hey, I saw Kevin Barry!

Post-holiday-what-do-I-do-at-this-laptop-confusion is gone.

I walked out on it on Friday morning. I don't miss it, and I have the photos to remember the holiday.

Last night I went to the Word Factory's June event. It was a warm night, Pride night, and the event was over-subscribed. The doors were open, and all sorts passed by, lost in the lanes and closed streets of Soho, curious about the people in the doorway, the concentration in the room, about what exactly was going on in The Society Club.

NOT to detract from Keith Ridgway and Mary Costello, if you've never seen Kevin Barry interviewed or reading his work, do*.

He read us 'Ox Mountain Death Song', a short story in 17 parts, published in The New Yorker last year. The crowded room in turn laughed, looked pensive, nodded, wry smiled, laughed, and clapped long enough for Cathy Galvin to say, 'We can't really call encore, can we?'

I'm sure many of us would have liked to.

I'm back in the writing swing of things after my holiday. Though it is Sunday. And sort of sunny. And I've got all these souvenirs to sample, so...

Spoils from Sat night in Soho

Looks like Sunday

*There's plenty of clips to choose from, but 'The Apparitions' is a fine one to start with.