Just got in from seeing “Submarine”, Richard Ayoade’s directorial debut.  It’s based on Joe Dunthorne’s debut novel.  I haven’t read it and I don’t think I’ll be doing so soon.  Technically, the film is very good indeed but the plot is, …well, Dunthorne lives in Hackney, apparently;  thus only the addition of “ed” is needed to turn the author’s place of residence into an adjective that describes his story. 

An unpleasant, Welsh, Adrian Mole and his dysfunctional family meet Tracy Beaker and similar.  Jonathan Romney, The Independent’s film reviewer described the film as “charming”.  I suggest if anyone needs to borrow a tenner, Romney may be your man.  It apparently takes not very much to charm him.

I have to ask this question because I've just received a very favourable one but it also happens, I think, to be a good example of the art.

Although during the time that Head Count was on Authonomy, I received some really nice reviews, only a very few people managed to read it all the way through.  The ones who did were, it has to be said, pretty fulsome and, in fact I have had good Amazon feedback and personal feedback from readers that has been extremely gratifying.
However, it wasn't until I sent my story to Suzannah Burke that I realised what a "proper" review should read like.  She has the style and nature of reviewing down perfectly. There is the briefest of synopses; a sound and not over-wordy introduction to the characters and themes and, some very kind observations on style and technique.  Most importantly from my point of view, she possesses a great knack for saying just enough to get folks interested but not so much that the game is given away.

I suppose I hadn't realised how mannered the art of book reviewing at its best really is.  A few more like this and I'd be a very happy man indeed.
Suzannah's weblog can be found at:
http://sooozsaysstuff.blogspot.com/

A couple of days ago, we went to the pub for a beer and a band.  The band was passable but attention wandered and we fell to talking about books.  Amongst our company was a writer by the name of Kent Barker whose company I enjoy and whose opinion I value.  I can't remember how we got around to it but I happened to mention that I really could not get into Larsson's "The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo".  Now, Kent is not one hide his feelings and I was treated to such a lavish eulogy to this book that I thought at first that he was making sport of me.  But no.  Both he and my normally loyal wife railed against my poverty of understanding when it comes to this apparent masterpiece.  How could I not enjoy it?  What kind of a bottom feeder was I?  I mean, I've had disagreements based upon taste but I was given to feel that I was so far off the mark with this one that my only course of action was to get myself sectioned. 

It wasn't as if I gave up too soon.  I think a third of the way into a book that held no interest for me either as literature or simple tale, is a pretty bold attempt.  None could accuse me of not trying.  I reckon that's more than I managed of Lord Of The Rings or Dune before chucking in the towel.  

Perhaps I will give it another go for the sake of argument and this time I shall make notes.  That way I'll be able to counter any attack that casts doubt upon my integrity as a reader of taste and discernment. 

I find myself more than usually pleased by a little bit of news I heard yesterday.  A chap called Steven Wyatt, an author I encountered on Authonomy, turns out to have garnered a publishing deal with Tim Roux's "Night Publishing" outfit.  Now normally, let's face it, news like this is frequently greeted with ambivalence at best and  hostility at worst.  We congratulate through gritted teeth and trust that Karma will not allow the bill for such good fortune to go unpaid.

Jealousy, though, is a foul emotion and one with which I seldom have truck, by and large but (it pains me to admit) one whose foetid breath I occasionally scent whenever a fellow straggler on the road of creativity manages to flag down the minibus taking the Olympic Swedish Massage Team to an event in Mauritius. 

On this occasion, however, I begrudge Steven none of his good fortune. Don't get me wrong; I am jealous.  It's just that it's the kind that falls a long way short of wanting him to develop a yeast infection or something.  I think I may be in severe danger of developing a soul. 

Steven Wyatt is a fine writer and "Presumed Killed", his marvellous coming of age  tale set during and shortly after World War I, will be on my Kindle as soon as it's been shattered into zeroes and ones.  In addition, I shall no doubt buy a hard copy as a gift for someone who has not yet been seduced by the little grey screen.  For now, I shall take delight in his good fortune and may even bring myself to acknowledge that some of it is almost certainly down to talent and hard work. 

I cannot believe my own generosity of spirit.  Sainthood surely beckons.  

O.K. We'll give this a try.  I never thought I'd get to stage where I'd be prepared to write a blog.  That's not to say that I don't already have a blog elsewhere.  I do.  It was set up in order to demonstrate to students how to do it.  Each year, I make the new lot create one and add to it at least once a week.  It's an act of cruelty on my part but one which, unlike throwing bangers at pigeons when I was a small boy, nothing of which I am ashamed.
Most of the time, like most people, not a great deal happens to me.  Thank God.  I have thoughts but they aren't of moment nor, I suspect of any inerest to others.  However, I do take part in forums of various kinds and I suppose this is just like contributing except that no-one is prompting a response and no-one is likely to take up the argument.  A bit like being mental, then.  The blog is my own little bus shelter where I can sit and ramble to myself whilst everyone shifts a little further along the seat and develops an interest in advertising hoardings.  I assume people can reply so that would be nice. 
I intend to write when the mood takes me or at least once a week when it doesn't.  I shall have to do it when sober because of the libel laws but that's the only other determining factor.  
I shall finish with a little vow.  From henceforth, in any posting I make anywhere on the interweb, I shall refer to this as my "Weblog".  It's guaranteed to annoy the yoof.  And that's mother's milk to me.