I’ve just had the great indulgence of three long days secreted away on trains travelling the length of the country, keeping myself deliberately out of communication by phone or email. Hours and hours lost in books! Bliss.
You may remember one of my New Year resolutions was to acknowledge brilliance when I found it. This week I want to sing the praises of one of Britain’s best mystery writers whose books were my companions on the said journeys.
Robert Goddard is one of those authors whose skill leaves you reeling. His debut novel, Past Caring, is in my personal top five. I rarely read a book twice – too many books, too little time – but this one I did. And I was riveted both times.
The hero is flawed – a disgraced teacher, a history graduate, with a failed marriage and no prospects. His help is enlisted by a shadowy figure in Madeira, to research a 70-year old mystery. The backdrop is the Liberal Government’s constitutional crisis just before the First World War and the Suffragette movement, and in Past Caring the historical context really comes alive. Fluid writing, intricate plotting with loads of twists, believable characterisation – a totally gripping read.
Goddard’s fond of flawed protagonists. Take no Farewell, another favourite, features a failing architect – a deliberate ploy to enable the author to indulge his love of architecture of that period. Geoffrey Staddon has never forgotten his first important commission, to build the best house he ever designed. But when life is disintegrating around him he reads that the love of his life, Consuela, the mistress of that house, is on trial for murder by poisoning. Remorse and shame come flooding back. He absolutely has to save her from the gallows. Twists and turns, revelations and secrets, keep the reader on tenterhooks to the very end.
So what can we say of Robert Goddard overall? He specialises in suspense and intrigue, unlikely heroes, altered reality, redemption. He’s a stickler for authenticity in his locations and history. He’s the kind of author who does his research thoroughly – but he has the skill to make the topics accessible to the uninitiated. The reader is left with the choice to pursue the contexts to whatever level of detail they choose, not doing so doesn’t detract from the enjoyment of the story itself. And the range of subjects this writer weaves through his varied stories is a measure of his own great interest in life in all its forms and vagaries.
But if you like simple linear plots – he’s not for you. Just when you think you’ve grasped the way things fit, he spins you back out of control again. Relationships, eras, acts and consequences, they’re all juggled simultaneously. And if you find it hard to hold names in your head, you’ll need a very large piece of paper to list all the characters and how they fit … or did, until the plot twisted for the umpteenth time. But if you love Prague or Madeira or Devon or wherever the book is set, you’ll find his narrative so evocative of the place you’ll be walking those streets with him.
Two reviews, I think, sum him up:
‘Combines the expert suspense manipulation skills of a Daphne du Maurier romance with those of a John le Carré thriller’ New York Times
‘His narrative power, strength of characterisation and superb plots, plus the ability to convey the atmosphere of the period quite brilliantly, make him compelling reading’ Books
I’ve been adding to my Goddard collection for years and was recently delighted to find several tucked away in a National Trust property bookstall, with an honesty box next to them. Pearls indeed. OK, OK, OK, I know that authors should blaze a trail for writers everywhere receiving a just reward for their labour. Of course they should! But I really couldn’t resist these. And the money did go to a worthy cause. I hope Robert Goddard would be somewhat mollified by this tribute to him.
I’ve never met him but there’s a fascinating interview with him on //www.youtube.com/watch?v=BTAXug1lJBE&feature=related
in which he explains why he writes as he does. And he interviews as well as he writes. Enjoy!
Tags: National Trust, Past Caring, Robert Goddard, Take no Farewell
Thanks to my daughter’s vigilance, I’ve just found an amazing website, tailor made for people like me who don’t get round to noting programmes about ethical issues until it’s too late, or who forget the ones they’ve seen. If you share my obsession about ethics you’ll probably know about it already. But just in case I’m not the very last ostrich out of the sand, I’m going to share this discovery with you. And no, the BBC aren’t paying me a penny!
It’s http://www.bbc.co.uk/ethics/ and it gives information about religion and ethics programmes broadcast by the BBC on TV and radio – past, present and future, so pretty comprehensive. And of course, giving appropriate links. Loads of cross referencing and fascinating diversions. The usual suspects are there – abortion, euthanasia, assisted conception, sexual exploitation … arguments for and against, recent controversial cases, documentaries, drama, comment. It’s great to have one site that gives easy access to the more obscure references as well as prime-time coverage.
I’m off on my travels again this week, so it’s good to know in advance what’s coming up and to know exactly where I can go with one click to catch up the following week if trains don’t run to time, or the hotel stages a fire alarm at the wrong moment, or I get so lost in my latest Robert Goddard novel that I lose all track of the hour.
Tags: abortion, assisted conception, BBC, ethics programmes, euthanasia, sexual exploitation
Wow! I’m so impressed by the skill of some writers. Amazing imagination, incredible ability to hold strands of plots together and weave them into a coherent pattern, stunning empathy with characters experiencing life’s challenges, facility with words that takes me deep into the world they’ve created.
I’m particularly thinking today of Peter James whose Dead Tomorrow I took with me to Devon. 
It’s a story about a mother whose young daughter desperately needs a new liver. And about a detective who knows what devastating loss feels like and who suspects human trafficking is taking place on his watch. And about youngsters living on and under the streets of Eastern Europe. And about bodies being dredged up in Brighton minus their major organs …
OK, this isn’t the kind of book that wins the Mann Booker prize. But it is the kind that makes you walk into a lamppost. And it leaves you with lots to think about. How far would I go to save my daughter’s life? How long would I wait before having a missing loved one declared dead? How much would I give up to help street kids abroad? What should I do about the desperate shortage of organs for transplantation?
As readers we all have our preferences. One man’s meat … as they say. But me? I like books that ask these kind of questions. Well, I would, wouldn’t I? Because that’s the kind of novel I write too. Only a couple of weeks now and my sixth one, Remember Remember, should be out. And I start a run of appearances at things. Most of March looks a bit crazy on the calendar so blogs might be brief!
And I’m hoping that Bertrand Russell got it wrong when he said:
Many people would sooner die than think; in fact, they do so.
Because encouraging people to think is what I’m all about.
But Russell also said:
I think we ought always to entertain our opinions with some measure of doubt. I shouldn’t wish people dogmatically to believe any philosophy, not even mine.
I’m with him on that one. In my novels I always leave lots of scope for my readers to make up their own minds.
Tags: Bertrand Russell, Dead Tomorrow, organ transplantation, philosophy, Remember Remember
Well, I’m still here! Transpennine Express got me safely to Manchester and back even though they didn’t think it important to have any heating in February now the snow’s gone. And there was no coach E, so my seat reservation was a tad meaningless. But I found a seat anyway and got Direct Red by Gabriel Weston read at last. My frozen feet kept me nicely awake. This surgeon’s tale of her early experiences as a doctor, has been on my list for ages, so it was good to finally have it at the top of the pile. Having worked in hospitals for decades myself the stories resonated, and these are refreshingly honest and humble.
As for my presentation on the place of fiction in bioethics, well, suffice it to say the listening bioethicists didn’t eat me alive. But their minds are definitely on a more exalted plane than mine. They tease out words and ideas and just revel in arguments about what exactly constitutes bioethics; who’s in the circle, who’s out; whether it’s right or wrong to have cctv monitoring or assisted suicide or films giving only part of the picture on one of life’s big questions; what exactly Aristotle was getting at; whether artists should be allowed to shock people … all good exercise for my little grey cells. Just this once! You can read all about it if you’re interested.
The fact that we all see the world in different ways depending on where we stand and how observant and sensitive we are to different things was summed up nicely in this poem by John Godfrey Saxe:
Image Jumbo by Piet Grobler from Flickr used under Creative Commons
It was six men of Indostan
To learning much inclined,
Who went to see the Elephant
(Though all of them were blind),
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.
The First approached the Elephant
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
‘God bless me! but the Elephant
Is like a very wall!’
The Second, feeling of the tusk,
Cried, ‘Ho, what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp?
To me ’tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear!’
The Third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Thus boldly up and spake
‘I see,’ quote he, ‘the Elephant
Is very like a snake!’
The Fourth reached out an eager hand
And felt about the knee.
‘What most this wondrous beast is like
Is mighty plain,’ quoth he;
’Tis clear enough the Elephant
Is very like a tree!’
The Fifth, who chanced to touch the ear,
Said, ‘E’en the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can.
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan!’
The Sixth no sooner had begun
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
‘I see,’ quoth he, ‘the Elephant
Is very like a rope!’
And so these men of Indostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right,
And all were in the wrong!
So oft in theologic* wars,
The disputants, I ween,
Rail on in utter ignorance
Of what each other mean
And prate about an Elephant
Not one of them has seen!
*substitute bioethic or scientific or moralistic or whatever. Because the moral applies to all of us in one context or another, doesn’t it?
Hey ho, I return more than ever humbled by my own ignorance. And I confess, relieved to have that experience safely behind me. I can now bend my mind to other things … like family problems in Devon, so I’m off down there for the rest of the week. It takes a full day on the train each way, which means at least two books ticked off my still-to-read list – other people’s mobile phones and conversations permitting. I’m taking February by Lisa Moore and Dead Tomorrow by Peter James. An unexpected bonus. They’ve been tempting me for some time.
Tags: bioethics, Dead Tomorrow, Direct Red, elephants, February, GLEUBE
So, JD Salinger – he of Catcher in the Rye fame – has died without repenting of his decision to become a recluse. For 45 years he’s hidden from reporters and photographers, and since 1965 he’s refused to publish any more of his work. Rumours are now circulating that he’s left a raft of books behind. Time will tell.
But who can blame him? Imagine the pressure after you’ve created a masterpiece. How can another book possible live up to expectation – the author’s, never mind the public’s. A lot to be said for quitting while you’re ahead, leaving people thinking you’re unassailable. As in, keep your mouth shut; if you open it people will know how little you know.
But his reclusiveness strikes a chord with me. Especially this week. Writing is a solitary occupation. And letting your own creativity out into the cruel world is daunting. There’s a measure of safety hiding yourself and your work away from outside scrutiny. Why am I feeling this especially this week? I’ve been preparing to go to Manchester on Monday to give a talk about the place of fiction in the future of bioethics and I confess, I’m finding the prospect daunting. Why? Hard to say. After all, it’s all about what I do every day.
First, I guess it’s because, who knows where the goalposts are with fiction? I never had these anxieties talking about my research when I was a university researcher trotting round the globe.
Second, with the creative arts, doing it and talking about it are two different things. A touch of the those-who-can-do, those-who-can’t-teach syndrome, maybe? Or is it to do with how we communicate? It’s been said that writers write because they can’t fully convey what they want to any other way. Including verbally. We spend hours agonising over the minutiae of the written word, but you can never be sure what you say will come out exactly as you intended it. And just how you say something matters hugely – especially to an audience of bioethicists and philosophers. Help!!
Whatever the explanation I’m in sympathy with JD Salinger today.
Maybe the snow that’s started again this week will effectively close all transport to England on Monday …
Tags: bioethics, Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
What a week since I last posted a blog! The news has been a positive playground for medical ethicists!!
IVF clinics reported to be destroying embryos with minor conditions; a ‘genetic breakthrough’ which could help treatments for breast cancer to be tailored to individual need; a mother who forced her son to fake illness being sent to prison; a manager of a home accused of giving elderly residents overdoses of drugs; a powerful torch being trialled in the detection of malignant tumours; patients who travel to Switzerland to die in Zurich’s suicide clinic potentially facing a £30,000 death tax; the novelist, Martin Amis, recommending ‘euthanasia booths’ on street corners where elderly people could end their lives with ‘a Martini and a medal’; a girl of 5 who suffered brain damage during labour being awarded £1.25m by an Essex Trust … enough! enough!
Not surprisingly given my overt interest in the topic (Crucial Decisions at the End of Life and Right to Die) I want to home in on the matter of assisted death. Yes, again! Because it’s been a big week for this topic. Lots of column inches; lots of airtime devoted to it.
In 2007 Tom Inglis fell out of an ambulance in which he was being treated following a pub fight. He sustained brain damage and was paralysed. This week (my blogging week ie) his mother, Frances Inglis, was jailed for life for killing him with an overdose of heroin – on the second attempt. She really really intended to kill him this time, no doubt about that. She posed as his aunt to get admittance to his nursing home, she was armed with a syringe and £200 of heroin, she wedged an oxygen cylinder and a wheelchair against the door and poured strong glue into the lock to delay anyone entering for as long as she could. But, ‘you cannot take the law into your own hands and you cannot take away life however compelling you think the reason,’ said the judge, before telling her she must stay in prison for at least nine years. Outside the court Tom’s brother praised her courage and love. He asked, how could it be legal to withhold food and drink to allow a patient to die slowly, but not legal to end suffering in a quick and calm way. But a crucial point here is that Tom wasn’t requesting death himself. And at least one doctor predicted that he would eventually recover many of his faculties.
Kay Gilderdale’s daughter, Lynn, did request that she could end her ‘miserable excuse for life.’ She’d had ME for 17 years, she was in excruciating pain, and she’d had a premature menopause at the age of 20. Kay provided her with the means to do so. The 31-year old injected herself with the heroin, her mother topped it up with more of the same plus sleeping pills and antidepressants and injections of air into her bloodstream. She too really really intended her daughter to die. But this week she has been acquitted of the charge of attempted murder. Nevertheless she will have to live for the rest of her life with the memories and knowledge of what she has done.
On the same day that Frances Inglis was sentenced to nine years in prison, three senior judges were deciding that an Asian businessman, Munir Hussain, should walk out of prison, his sentence for grievous bodily harm (after beating a burglar with a cricket bat) replaced with a suspended sentence. Justice, compassion, mercy, upholding the law … all the reasons are trotted out for the differing penalties.
But what would you instinctively do if you found a menacing burglar threatening your family? What would you do if your daughter/son was lying in torment, physical and/or mental and begging for your help? Or if you were on the jury deciding the fate of a mother who has deliberately killed her child?
So-called ‘mercy killing’ raises powerful emotions. Campaigners are re-doubling their cries for a change in the law. The current attempts to do so hinge around cases where people are wanting to end their own lives because of terminal illness or intolerable suffering. Similar arguments; important circumstantial differences. But the potential consequences of such a change are sobering too. Doctors under pressure to speculate as to the time left to give credence to the ‘terminal illness’ (the Lockerbie bomber case springs to mind), disabled lives categorised as inferior and worthy of terminating, patients under pressure to end their lives before they become a burden or inconvenience, a slippery slope to euthanasia of the unwilling … You’ll have read the lists too.
Many people face the dilemma of deciding between two tragic choices, not just the few who hit the headlines. Some of them contacted Any Questions? and Any Answers? this week each with their own painful story. I’ve heard many more. I’ve been personally involved in such cases. Some families go ahead and break the law, some think it would be right to but can’t bring themselves to perform the act, and others believe life is sacred and not to be cut short by human hand. And opinion is fierce on both sides.
Independent MSP, Margo MacDonald, found the same thing when she listened to people caught up in these difficult questions, and her appreciation of the fine nuances is reflected in her proposed End of Life Assistance (Scotland) Bill published this week. It’s hedged about with safeguards:
- a minimum age of 16
- at least 18 months registration with a GP in Scotland
- late stage terminal illness or a degenerative condition or permanent incapacity
- intolerable life
- agreement by two medical practitioners
- a psychiatric assessment of capacity to decide
- 2 witness signatures
- a cooling off period of two days.
She’s a persuasive campaigner and her own situation (she has Parkinson’s disease) gives her a strong platform. But no-one knows how her parliamentary colleagues will react (this is not a vote-winning cause) and without their support it can’t even get through to the next stage. But if it does become law then Scotland could become the first part of the UK to legalise assisted suicide, so it’s a critical issue.
MSPs are expected to vote on this Bill in the autumn – a free vote so they can go with their conscience and not along party lines. Keir Starmer, the Director of Public Prosecutions, is due to issue new guidelines on assisted suicide within the next eight weeks.
Which way would YOU want them all to go?
Tags: assisted suicide, attempted murder, Crucial Decisions at the Beginning of Life, End of Life Assistance (Scotland) Bill, Frances Inglis, Kay Gilderdale, Keir Starmer, Margo MacDonald, Munir Hussain, Right to Die
There’s nothing like a major disaster for putting things into perspective, is there?
Events in Haiti this past week have shown a tragedy on a scale beyond imagining. And they totally eclipse some of my current concerns – final editing of my forthcoming book; safety on the icy roads; wallpapering our staircase. When thousands of people are without homes or loved ones, water or medicines, why would anyone worry about a displaced comma or the style of an acronym? When whole communities lie in ruins, who cares if wallpaper is spirit-level straight? When people lie crushed beneath collapsed buildings, broken wrists and ankles seem like small fry. Yes, Haiti has had a profound impact.
It was the same with the Boxing Day tsunami, the collapse of the twin towers, the Lockerbie disaster, the Dunblane massacre … Overwhelming reactions. A compulsion to do something. Yes, we pledge money; prayers have a new earnestness; a few dedicated people may actually go to the danger zone to give their all; we set ourselves new priorities. But then … we move on, we return to our complacent lives, dwell on our own concerns, pursue our own trivial ambitions and dreams. Our species just can’t live their lives at such a peak of intensity. So I want to reflect before the spotlight fades.
Haiti has flicked the switch, but other things have happened during this past few days which have helped to focus the glare, and reminded me of important truths.
- A friend died suddenly and unexpectedly – how important it is to say all the things we want to say now, before it’s too late.
- The official apology to the victims of the Thalidomide tragedy came 50 years after the event – a sincere ‘Sorry’ means a lot.
- The new TV Book Club aired its first episode on More4 – anticipation is often more fun than realisation.
- A 59-year old woman is set to become the oldest to be offered fertility treatment in the UK – just because we can doesn’t mean we should.
- A former nurse is on trial for assisting her daughter to die – these cases highlight the horror when every choice is a tragic choice; the victims need our sympathy not our judgement.
I’ve just made the very last correction to the final draft of Remember, Remember. The last vestiges of the snow are melting. And the staircase is finished. But the devastation of Haiti will reverberate for years. I hope its impact on me will last too.
Tags: assisted death, Dunblane massacre, Haiti earthquake, Indian ocean tsunami, Lockerbie disaster, Remember, Thalidomide, TV bookclub, Twin towers
I’m a writer in search of an idiosyncrasy. The range of mannerisms and quirks people adopt is truly amazing – see I Thought I Was Crazy! Quirks, Idiosyncrasies and Meshugaas. And yes, somebody really did do a research project on the subject. Imagine getting paid to ask people about their bizarre habits and behaviours. Brilliant!
But I’m hankering after a more literary idiosyncrasy myself.
Philip Henscher – he of The Northern Clemency fame (a door-stopping 700+ pages long) – reckons he’s written all his books in longhand using a green Pentel pen and A4 Black’n’Red notebooks. I cannot begin to imagine the sheer hand-strain and number of trees involved there. Or the consequences of innumerable changes required by fastidious editors.
Will Self says he’s returned to a manual typewriter on the grounds that ‘the computer user does their thinking on the screen, and the non-computer user is compelled to do a lot of thinking in the head.’ Hmm. But what about corrections, and cutting and pasting, and sending copies to editors?
Jane Austen kept a creaking door un-oiled so that she had warning of any impending interruption. Now I like the sound of that …
But I’m looking for something unique. Of course, I could just resort to totally unimpressive and un-noteworthy truths like being compelled to finish any book I start reading. Or having to tidy my environment before I can function creatively. Or needing silence to write … Hmmmm. How sad is that? And if there are any psychologists out there reading this, don’t bother; I already know I’m a crazy mixed-up loon. I didn’t dare study psychiatry during my training because I’m too close to the limit myself.
No, all I’m trying to do is find something stylish for my epitaph. Perched precariously on a couple of planks miles above a stairwell hanging wallpaper tends to foster thoughts of imminent demise.
Maybe something like: She routinely ate pickled onions before meeting her publisher; or She stored her own books spine to the wall lest she be tempted to read them; or …
I’ll need to think. On the other hand, perhaps I do actually do something off the wall, but it’s so normal for me I can’t identify it as a peccadillo. Now there’s a thought to conjure with! So those of you who know me personally, all insights gratefully received.
Apropos of nothing really, I came across a quote recently that I jotted down because it reflects something of my own raison d’être as a novelist:
‘I see myself as someone who drops tiny crumbs of nourishment, in the form of comment and conversation, into the black enormous maw of the world’s discontent.’ (Fay Weldon)
Cool, huh?
Hope you’re all weathering this severe winter intact.
Tags: And I thought I was Crazy!, Fay Weldon, Philip Henscher, The Northern Clemency, Will Self
Well, what an amazing beginning to the year 2010!
Temperatures up here have sunk to minus thirteen – minus sixteen a bit further north. It’s snowed every day except one for three weeks now. We’ve slipped and slithered to a few events – the ones that weren’t cancelled – but the roads have been deadly.
But it’s stunningly beautiful. I keep reaching for the camera …
]
… with due care, of course. Don’t want to fall and break that expensive lens … or both my arms … and end up totally helpless … like someone in the advanced stages of dementia … like my character, Doris Mannering, in Remember Remember … Fanciful? Yes. But then aren’t all creative writers? Imagining yourself into a person or place is what it’s all about.
And I’ve been doing a lot of imagining this week. It’s the big edit. ‘Be severe,’ said my editor. And ‘kill the baby’ (which in common parlance means, erase the bits you love best). I’ve been severe all right! Twenty-eight thousand words have been cut. That’s more words than many a dissertation. And every one of those twenty-eight thousand words has been thought up, written down, read several times and now deleted. For ever. Weird way of filling your time, huh? But fortunately for me I’m sufficiently distant from the original draft for it not to be too painful. There’s something to be said for publishers’ delays after all!
I finished this mammoth stint at 10.30 last night and sent it off to my editor. But then, in the night … you know about my subconscious mind … I had an idea … As the saying on my old computer had it: Perfection is always one more draft away. And because we’re never satisfied, we go on … and write another novel … and another … always hoping … this time …
Tags: 2010, editing, perfection, Remember Remember, severe winter
Phew! The last day of 2009 – time for a reflection or two.
One of the things that has touched me greatly this year has been the messages sent by readers. I acknowledged each one individually, but I want to thank you more publicly too.
Writing’s an essentially lonely occupation, and every time a new novel comes out, I get the heebie-jeebies. Is it any good? Will anyone buy it? Will anyone like it? March is fast approaching and I’m going through the same qualms with Remember Remember. Editing fiercely; hoping.
Just knowing real people have read my books, engaged with the characters, and formed an opinion is heartening; the personal touch so much more meaningful than sales figures. I particularly like to hear that people have lent them to friends – a much stronger affirmation than knowing X people have bought (but not necessarily read) them … although, if my publisher’s reading this – I am promoting sales, honestly!
To my shame I’ve been remiss myself in giving feedback to authors. However, there’s no mileage in regret, so I decided before 2009 ends to compile a list of ten books that come instantly to mind (without consulting my bookshelves); books that I’ve loved and recommended/lent to other people. My little tribute to some giants among writers, whom I should have contacted and didn’t. (I’ve deliberately left out the classics to make the choice more personal.)
In no particular order
Past Caring Robert Goddard
Sacred and Profane Marcelle Bernstein
Fingersmith Sarah Waters
We Need to Talk about Kevin Lionel Shriver
The Jigsaw Man Paul Britton
The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime Mark Haddon
The Third Twin Ken Follett
Still Alice Lisa Genova
Take No Farewell Robert Goddard
Rebecca’s Tale Sally Beauman
I salute all these authors. And add to my New Year resolutions:
Be more active in acknowledging literary brilliance in future.
My very best wishes to you all for 2010 – whether or not you’ve contacted me! And happy reading!
Tags: Fingersmith, New Year resolutions, Past Caring, Rebecca’s Tale, Sacred and Profane, Still Alice, Take no Farewell, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nighttime, The Jigsaw Man, The Third Twin, We Need to Talk about Kevin