Dear blogging friends,
I am one for reading more than one book at the same time. Don’t judge me! I am strictly monogamous with my husband, thank you very much, I can afford a less honourable behaviour with books. It’s not just tiredness and lack of concentration that make me drop an author, pick up another and return to the first, or second, or third one when more alert. It’s my mood, the type font and colour (grey is not the new black), the storyline, the stage of the story. Apart from my frequent book swaps, I am an otherwise respectful reader who wouldn’t even dare rid herself of any of her books since the 1990s.
Respectful up to a point, the point being exasperation towards a new author I expected more of. There, I said it. If an author lets me down, I will become a vandal. I will arm myself with the sharpest pencil at hand and attack the book’s margins with notes summing up my varying states of mind: from despair at the lack of story line, to disgust at an unfortunate turn of phrase, to boredom and incredulity that the book has actually been published.
Vandalising is highly liberating. Put yourself in my shoes: I’m as conventional and law abiding as you can get; writing on a book’s margin is, for my standards, subversive. In fact, Subversive with a capital s. Writing cheeky notes acquires the same status of socio-political and cultural dissent! In my mind I’m a rebel, and one who is even beginning to contemplate making a profit out of her own vandalising acts. If I struggle with a book, there may be somebody else who struggles too. What if I sold my vandalised copy on the second hand market, to a niche readership who will find the occasional comment more entertaining than the book?
Let me test some of my acts of vandalism with you. I came home one day with book 5 (yes, number 5) of Karl Ove Knausgaard “Some rain must fall – My struggles: 5”, leaving the first 4 behind. After a few pages I had already tackled the title, crossing out the “my” in “My struggles” and replacing it with “no, this is now my struggles”. Hilarious.
Knausgaard seems keener on word count than content. He achieves this by tediously describing mundane acts, such as putting his shoes on (no, wait, first one shoe, than the other, after of course having chosen a matching pair of socks and slipped those on too, first onto the right foot and then the left…you get the gist). You will find plenty of “Dear Lord!!” and “Arghhh” and “Kill me, no, kill him!” scribbled next to the underlined descriptions of useless pieces of information.
And then there are, of course, the author’s recurrent expressions of disgust towards the act of writing itself. Yes, really, despite the simple plot of the book being about his struggle to make it as a writer. Look at this gem: “I went to bed and slept for two hours. When I woke dusk was falling…the thought of writing still repelled me so I put on my shoes and went outside.” What else could I do but to draw a seriously shocked emojy (emoticon for our US friends) on the margins? It’s not just a round little face with big eyes. It’s Munch’s chilling The Scream, only a little less daunting for comedy effect and in black and white. A real treat for those sharing my dwindling interest in Knausgaard’s never ending writer’s block, “summarised” over 653 pages. I just love the absurdity of extensively writing about not being able to write that this Struggles number 5 managed, being sold to an agent and a publisher and to the English speaking market through an excellent translation. I should, out of politeness, enquire after the translator’s mental health, or at least hope that the money was GOOD.
I’m opening the bids for my (unfinished and hence in excellent conditions) vandalised copy at £0.00001, plus postage and packaging. Write to me privately to make an offer. You won’t be disappointed.
Are you a secret vandal? Don’t be shy and leave your comments. They are safe with me.
Best,
OfGlassAndBooks
Patricia Cornwell: bored of Kate? Don’t let me yawn you
I was listening to the radio a couple of mornings ago and who did I catch chatting away about her new book? I will not keep you guessing, dear blogging friends: guessing games could take some time and my news is too urgent for banter. It was Dame Patricia Cornwell, that’s who it was, chatting away on the breakfast show of a serious radio channel – Serious with a capital S. For the non-royalists it was The Patricia Cornwell of Kate Scarpetta, not just some passing commentator dispensing Christmas tips to commuters.
Some of my earliest friends may remember a post I scribbled with passion about Dust, one or two previous publications by Countess Cornwell. I’m pretty sure she wrote one more before the present one she was promoting through early morning airwaves. After years of loyal custom, did Dust finally put me off rushing to the bookstore each time Baroness Cornwell releases a new tome? No! Well, maybe. I don’t know… a little, perhaps – yes, actually, it may have done.
So why the excitement at hearing her on the radio? It was Saint Cornwell talking, the magician of lab work; the truth digger amongst ravaged body parts; the wizard of storytelling and languid dialogue, and of detailed psychological introspections into her nearest and dearest recounted whilst carrying out detailed physiological introspections into dismembered bodies.
Supreme President Cornwell was charming; funny; even a little modest; candid, maybe too candid. Listen to this:
British radio presenter: “Your Kate has been quite vociferous on FB and Twitter. Does she bear a grudge against you?” (Uncomfortable sniggers)
Archbishop Cornwell: “I guess so! She knows I don’t know what else to do with her! I mean, she thinks I may want to kill her off!” (or something of the sort)
British radio presenter who thinks she’s onto something here but actually is not: “Oh my, and is this true? Do you want to kill her off?” (or something of the sort)
Pope Cornwell: “No, of course not!”
I was driving, and unable to stop the car and scream. Archangel Cornwell nonchalantly revealed that she “doesn’t know what else to do” with Kate Scarpetta, and yet new books come out with Kate as their legendary main character each year, selling well and climbing the book charts. Let’s pause for a moment and drink this in one more time: The High Guardian to the Galaxy of Stardom Cornwell “doesn’t know what else to do with” with her main character, and yet, AND YET, she’s still featuring her in her new books.
Is money more important than coming up with a new idea??
Your thoughts, blogging friends, will be appreciated.
All the best,
OG&Bs
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