Commentary

Book Fair Disaster

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In last Monday’s Daily Telegraph, there is an article by David Millward about a rather unpleasant book fair in the States.

“A four-day event that was supposed to be a bookworm’s dream has been dubbed the ‘Fyre Festival of Books’ after it descended into chaos and left one person with a black eye.

Led by Rebecca Yarros, a best-selling author, the Readers Take Denver festival at the Gaylord Rockies Resort and Convention Centre was billed as the ultimate event for book lovers.

However, as the day unfolded, the event fell apart, leading one disillusioned visitor to compare it to Fyre, the fraudulent 2017 music festival held on the Bahamian island of Great Exuma.

Attendees paid $300 to $375 (£239 to £299) for a ticket to an event where they were promised they could have books signed by best-selling authors who turned up in force to promote their writing. Many paid hundreds of dollars to travel to the event.

A timed ticketing system was supposed to ensure that readers had plenty of time to go from one booth to another to meet authors.

Instead, they spent hours queuing to have time with the writers, food ran out and pre-ordered books never arrived.

‘All we did was stand in line. It was worse than Disney, and there wasn’t even a ride at the end.’ Kelli Meyer, a self-described ‘RTD survivor’, told the Denver Post.

Security staff who were supposed to marshal the crowd failed to do so. One woman took to TikTok to describe how she sustained a black eye after being knocked over in a melee.

Another complained of being verbally abused by staff after she suffered a medical emergency. She claimed: ‘I was having a hypoglycaemic moment and was screamed at by staff to; ‘get the f—- up off the floor!’ She added: ‘there were so many horrific experiences between readers, vendors, authors, Pas, and volunteers alike. This was not just a breakdown in communication, it was a systematic issue with this program.’

Yarros, author of the best-sellers Fourth Wing and Iron Flame, vented her anger in a 2,436 word Facebook post apologising to guests who felt ‘frazzled’ and ‘overwhelmed’ by their experiences at the event. She wrote: ‘Readers, on behalf of every author at the event, I’m sorry. Sorry it was disorganised, sorry you did not get to bask in the overwhelming joy that spending three days in the book world should give you.’

Renee Jones, and event organiser, admitted the event suffered ‘bumpy bumps’. She said there had been ‘concerns’ about lack of security and unprofessional behaviour by volunteers.”

Review: Purpose

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This is a non-fiction book by Samuel T Wilkinson with the sub-title: What Evolution and Human Nature Imply About the Meaning of Our Existence. The leading blurb on the back cover says, “If you struggle to reconcile faith and reason, Sam Wilkinson’s profound book Purpose was written for you. You will be left with and understanding of the guiding forces behind human evolution and behaviour,” Arthur C Brooks, professor Harvard Kennedy School and Harvard Business School and #1 New York Times bestselling author.

Samuel T Wilkinson

Sam Wilkinson is an associate professor of psychiatry at Yale University, where he also as associate director of the Yale Depression Research Program. He received his MD from Johns Hopkins School of Medicine. His articles have been featured in the New York Times, the Washington Post, and the Wall Street Journal. He has been the recipient of many awards.

The book begins with a discussion of the ‘Scopes Monkey Trial’ in Tennessee in 1925. John Scopes, a twenty-four year old substitute teacher and football coach was charged with violation of the recently passed Butler Act, which made it a crime to teach any theory which contradicted the Bible. Scopes had taught evolution which claimed that human beings had evolved from apes (in contradiction of the Bible). Scopes, himself, had very little role in the trial. The key players were William Jennings Bryan, a three-time presidential candidate and outspoken apologist for religious fundamentalism, for the prosecution, and Clarence Darrow, the most prominent defense attorney in the US at the time, for the defense. During the trial, Darrow called Bryan as a witness, and that interrogation resulted in a painful and cruel renunciation of biblical literalism. The jury, however, accepted that Scopes was guilty and fined him $100. The Scopes Monkey Trial, says the author, epitomises the science vs religion debate.

Wilkinson next attacks the doctrine of randomness associated with the concept of evolution: that every change in the struggle for survival was accidental and random, without any guidance or control. If one believes that human beings are a random construction, what are we here for? If we are here for no reason, it suggests that there is no God. But the author shows that evolution was far from a random process. That, for example, very different species have developed the same eye technology in entirely different environments at different times. The same point can be made about wings and lungs. The evolution of bacteria can be predicted.

Wilkinson then turns to the various selection processes that determine which variant is the one most likely to survive: is it done on an individual basis, amongst kin, or groups or at multiple levels. Selection can take place at different levels depending on the context, with very different results. Based on theses observations, it is not difficult to see that given the same starting point and the same inputs, living things would evolve exactly as they did if the process were to start over.

Wilkinson points out that human beings have two different sets of behaviours: kind, gentile, thoughtful, cooperative and forgiving vs. selfish, aggressive, emotive, combative and irrational. These two sets of behaviour have evolved consistently with us and are present in each of us to some extent. It is noted that even the ‘negative set’ have survival benefits in some circumstances. Wilkinson presents evidence that as human beings we are happiest when we have good relationships with others. On this basis, the author argues that life is meant as a test for us: how can we use our skills to maximise our good relations with others? He says there is certainly space to believe in a God who has given us free will and the opportunity to use our lives to benefit others.

Wilkinson presents well thought out arguments very clearly with a host of factual data. One cannot say he is wrong. He admits to a belief in God, but his belief is not part of his argument. He leaves it to the reader to draw her own conclusions, but don’t miss this read!

The Redemption Arc

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There is a post on the Reedsy Blog dated 12 April 2024 which can be informative to those of us who write. I quote from it below:

“A redemption arc is when a previously morally gray (or even downright evil) character turns over a new leaf. But what, exactly, does this redemption look like? 

Something to keep in mind is that one good deed does not make a redemption arc. The character you’re trying to redeem needs to develop some maturity, not just act positively once after a lifetime of villainy. Readers want to see someone grappling with their past and ultimately coming to terms with it through reflection and intentional behaviour as opposed to a quick and sudden change — in other words, it has to feel realistic. 

As a character recognizes the flaws in their past actions, their arc typically culminates in a pivotal redemptive moment where they selflessly sacrifice their desires — or sometimes even their life — for the greater good or for others. Importantly, this gesture must be significant enough to convincingly atone for all their past misdeeds.   

Audiences are drawn to these kinds of stories because we, as humans, are flawed and make mistakes. Seeing characters move past their misdeeds, make amends, and be forgiven by others gives us hope that we too can be offered that same grace. 

To get an idea of what that looks like, and to understand the power a redemptive arc can have for a character, let’s look at three popular examples. 

Ebenezer Scrooge in A Christmas Carol

Ebenezer Scrooge’s story is a classic example of a redemption arc. From the moment we meet him on a bleak Christmas Eve, we know he’s not a good guy. He’s callous with his overworked, underpaid employee and with the poor who come asking for donations. 

Michael Caine as Scrooge in a Muppets Christmas Carol
Michael Caine makes a pretty good Scrooge, right alongside some Muppets in A Muppets Christmas Carol. (Source: Walt Disney Pictures)

While his solitary, penny-pinching ways make his life — and the lives of those around him — miserable, he doesn’t seem like he’s going to change. That is, until the appearance of some ghosts, and a little bit of time travel, challenge Scrooge to re-examine his ways. 

The ghost of his old business partner, Marley, and the Ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future force Scrooge to re-examine his life. They remind him of the better man he used to be, what he’s missing out on now, and the way his life will end if he continues on his current path. Deeply affected by what he’s seen, Scrooge vows to change his ways.

Once he returns to waking life, he immediately donates a huge sum of money to the previously-rejected charity, raises his employee’s pay, and goes to his nephew’s Christmas party. Scrooge even becomes a father figure to Bob Cratchit’s sickly son, further cementing his new commitment to doing good.

Zuko in Avatar: The Last Airbender

After being exiled from the Fire Nation by his cruel and demanding father, Prince Zuko has only one goal: capture the Avatar in order to regain his honour. The audience is first introduced to him as he does everything in his power to apprehend the main character, Aang. In other words, he starts the series as a fairly typical antagonist: hard, spiteful, and constantly doing whatever he can to stop the good Aang is trying to do.

But as we quickly learn, there’s far more to Zuko than meets the eye. He struggles with the expectations placed upon him by his father, a man who permanently scarred him (both physically and emotionally) for daring to speak up, and then sent him on a fool’s errand to get him out of the way. Zuko isn’t always sure he’s doing the right thing and constantly struggles to balance his father’s expectations with what he wants for himself — which is to be seen and respected for his achievements, without necessarily doing wicked things. 

Prince Zuko from Avatar: The Last Airbender
Prince Zuko eventually becomes Fire Lord Zuko, earning his redemption and restoring his honor. (Source: Nickelodeon)

Eventually, he is allowed to return to the Fire Nation with his honour restored, with the Avatar supposedly dead because of him. But his doubts never go away and he remains uncertain of his decision to “kill” Aang and return home. 

When he learns of his father’s plan to burn the Earth Kingdom to the ground, and of his own connection to the Avatar before Aang, Zuko decides he’s had enough. He confronts his father about his abusive treatment and imperialistic plans and declares his intentions to teach Aang firebending so the Avatar can stop him once and for all. Zuko sacrifices the one thing he’s always wanted, his father’s approval, in the name of the greater good — and, in the end, proves himself to be an honourable man. 

Boromir in The Lord of the Rings

On the surface, Boromir doesn’t seem like the kind of character who would need a redemption arc. A noble son of the kingdom of Gondor, he joins the Fellowship in their quest to destroy the One Ring with only the best intentions.

However, even he isn’t immune to the Ring’s corruptive powers, and as they continue on their journey, he becomes more and more aggressive in trying to convince Frodo to hand over the Ring to him so he can use it to defeat Sauron once and for all.

Sean Bean as Boromir in The Lord of the Rings
No one is immune to the temptation of the Ring, not even Boromir. (Source: New Line Cinema)

This comes to a head when Boromir attacks Frodo in the hopes of gaining the Ring. He doesn’t succeed, but this does break Frodo’s trust in the Fellowship and ultimately causes him to run away to complete the quest on his own. Boromir is consumed by guilt and, though unable to admit to his part in Frodo’s flight, he helps the rest of the hobbits search for them and fights to protect them from orcs — though he ultimately fails. However, he then manages to alert the rest of the company to the hobbits capture and admits how he failed Frodo with his dying breath. 

Boromir recognizes where he went wrong, and though he can’t make it up to Frodo, he proves himself a decent man in the end by defending his friends and giving the remaining members of the Fellowship a chance to save themselves.

There’s no one correct way to craft a redemption arc. Every character is different and so is their journey. But there are some key elements you should include to successfully convince your reader of a character’s change of heart. 

4 tips to write a redemption arc

1. Show them at their worst

First impressions make or break character. If you want the reader to root for them, you typically paint them in a good light from the start, perhaps by having them be generous to strangers or kind to children.

But when your character is in need of redemption, they likely won’t start off in such a good place. In fact, you want to show how terribly they’re doing, the evil deeds they’re committing, the way they’re being callous or pushing others too hard. 

For example, when we first meet Prince Zuko, he’s clearly positioned as the antagonist. He’s hunting Aang and attacks a defenseless village in an attempt to capture him, leaving a wake of destruction behind him as he goes. 

Showing your character at at their worst provides a stark contrast and sets the foundation for their redemptive journey, making the reader ask 一 will they ever change? And if so, how? 

2. Hint at why they are the way they are

Nobody exists in a vacuum, and past circumstances influence who a character is now. Perhaps the death of a loved one pushed them down a dark path, or the rejection of a parental figure altered the way they look at the world. Whatever it is, show the reader the motivation behind a character’s actions. 

This is important no matter what kind of character you’re writing — whether villain, hero, anti-hero, or soon-to-be-redeemed villain — but it’s especially important when dealing with a character you want the reader to give a second chance.

When we can understand a character’s motivations, we’ll be more likely to see their redeeming qualities and want them to do better. It doesn’t excuse what they do, but it offers an explanation, which allows a reader to sympathize, or even empathize, with them. 

3. Give them a moment of realization

As your character moves along their journey, they’ll learn new things about themself, achieve new perspectives, and perhaps have their morals and ideals challenged. These many small moments and thoughts will chip away at a character’s set ways until eventually, it crescendos into a defining moment. This is when they finally see the error of their ways and choose to set out on a different path — if not towards outright good, then at least to something better.

4. Let them atone through sacrifice

Demonstrating the character’s commitment to their new way of being is an essential aspect of the redemption arc. Actions speak louder than words, after all. To prove to both the audience and their companions how serious they are about changing, and to make up for their previous mistakes, a sacrifice will show their commitment. 

Many classic redemption stories will have a character heroically lay down their life for a new cause. While this is the ultimate form of sacrifice, and can be an impactful way to conclude a character arc, it’s also become something of a cliché. As an alternative, consider what else your character might sacrifice. Perhaps it’s their wealth, a prestigious position, or even a relationship that they give up in the name of the greater good. 

Whatever the sacrifice is, it should be big and important enough to your character that it would’ve been unthinkable for them to cast it aside when we first met them. With that, their redemption will be solidified and they will emerge a new person.”

Write for the Screen

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Ryan G Van Cleave has an article on the Writer’s Digest website dated 6 April 2024 covering the techniques used by screenwriters to produce blockbuster movies. The same techniques apply when writing compelling fiction.

In addition to running the creative writing program at Ringling College of Art and Design, Ryan Van Cleave is Editor for Bushel & Peck Books and has authored 20+ books. As The Picture Book Whisperer, Ryan helps celebrities and high-profile clients write picture book and kidlit titles.

Ryan G Van Cleave

Ryan said, “As a writer, you’re not just a teller of tales. You’re a director, a cinematographer, a set designer, and an editor—all combined. Harnessing the cinematic techniques used by screenwriters can make your fiction zing off the page, pulling readers in with a vivid reality that they can “see,” “hear,” and “feel.”

Cue the Perspectives

Much like directors choosing the best angle for a shot, writers must find the perfect perspective for their story. Instead of settling for the predictable, stretch your creative wings and explore innovative viewpoints.

Create the Perfect Shot

Visuals in film serve as the language that brings the script to life, captivating the audience in the world the filmmakers have created. Similarly, in prose, the words you choose craft the images that populate the reader’s imagination. But how can you make those images as evocative as possible?

Start with the nuances—details that serve as the brushstrokes in the painting you’re creating. Whether it’s the sheen of sweat on a protagonist’s forehead, the ominous shadows on a villain’s face, or the dappling sunlight through a leafy canopy, these descriptions add depth to the story’s atmosphere.

Compare the standard description, “It was a stormy night,” with something more atmospheric like, “Lightning shattered the night, casting eerie silhouettes against the thundering rain-slicked cobblestones.” The latter not only sets the stage but also stimulates the reader’s senses, pulling them deeper into the narrative.

Daniel Knauf—creator of the HBO series Carnivàle and writer/producer for The Blacklist—points out that in contemporary screenplays, specific shots are rarely called due to a variety of reasons—primarily to allow the director to do his or her job. “Better to simply call out a telling detail, such as ‘John’s eyes flicker down to his attacker’s knife’ or ‘Janet twitches a smile,’ actions that can only be achieved with an extreme close-up. Likewise, a long or wide shot can be indicated as follows, ‘John stands alone on a desolate strand of sand at the edge of the Pacific.’”

Using Visual Cues

In film, visual cues such as color, depth, motion, and contrast are indispensable tools for eliciting specific emotional responses from the audience. For instance, a scene featuring a heated argument might employ sharp contrasts and rapid motions to intensify feelings of chaos or discomfort.

Can fiction writers do the same thing? “Absolutely,” says Knauf. “Imagine the character, their emotions within the context of the scene.” He offers the following examples to showcase this technique.

Version 1
Janet chuckled softly, the rim of a glass of Chardonnay resting on her lower lip. “Frankly, John’s a pain in the ass,” she said, “but I love him to pieces.”

Version 2
Janet held herself tightly, shrinking into the chair in the detective’s office as if attempting to will herself invisible. She took a nervous puff off her third Marlboro and said, “Frankly, John’s a pain in the ass. But I love him to pieces.”

The actions and settings of the character in the second version guide the reader’s emotions in a specific direction. This serves a similar purpose to visual cues in film—it sets the emotional tone of the scene. In essence, the setting and actions of your characters can function as your narrative’s visual cues. It’s another layer of storytelling that can add significant weight to your prose.

Maximizing Set Pieces

A set piece is a particularly dramatic or memorable scene in a film, often involving intense action or extraordinary visuals. In writing, these are your critical scenes—the moments of high drama, intense emotion, or suspenseful intrigue. They’re the scenes that make your reader’s pulse quicken and their eyes fly across the page. They’re the memorable, big-money shots.

A well-crafted set piece immerses the reader fully in the moment, using sensory detail and character reactions to heighten the experience. It’s not just about describing what’s happening, but making the reader feel as though they’re in the midst of the action.

For example, instead of saying, “The dragon attacked the village,” you could write, “With a roar that shook the mountains, the dragon swooped, emerald scales shimmering, and fire bloomed, transforming homes into a sea of flames. Villagers scattered, their screams lost in the monstrous inferno.”

Sure, this scene would be a nightmare for a film’s budget with all those CGI effects and a burning village set, but that’s not your problem—you’re writing prose, after all. Your budget is unlimited, so make your big moments as rich and spectacular as needed for the audience to be Hollywood-quality dazzled.

The Art of Transitions

Transitions in writing are like the dissolve, jump cut, or fade out in films—they determine the pace and flow of your story.

A dissolve can be likened to subtle shifts in time or perspective: “As the sun set, she finally allowed herself to sleep, and in her dreams, he was still alive …” Here, we dissolve from reality to dreams, moving smoothly from one state to another.

A jump cut is a sudden shift, often used for surprise or emphasis: “He was enjoying his morning coffee when the gunshot rang out.” We jump from the mundane to the shocking with no transition, which mimics how such moments feel in real life. They’re abrupt and jarring.

Finally, the fade out allows a scene to come to a gradual close: “As he walked away, his form became smaller and smaller, swallowed by the distance until he was just a speck, then nothing at all.” The scene fades from the reader’s mind, providing a gentle, smooth closure. Of course, this is a popular option for a story’s final scene, but it works just as well for a chapter ending or a potent scene that requires a bit of space before the next scene gets cooking.

A transition is not merely a mechanical device to move from one scene to another; it is an artistic tool to help you build the right emotional resonance and rhythm. By mastering the art of transitions, you give your story the fluidity it needs to captivate from start to finish.

The Power of Pacing

In the world of storytelling, pacing is akin to the heartbeat of your narrative. It provides the tempo, setting the rate at which your story unfolds. Good pacing keeps readers intrigued, wanting to turn the page yet savor each moment. As you write, pay attention to sentence length, paragraph breaks, and chapter cuts to control the pace of your narrative. A well-paced story can be a gripping story.

Knauf adds, “Good pacing is good pacing in both media. Change up the delivery from sentence to sentence, short, short, long, short, long, long, short. Prose is like a dance. Find the rhythm inside your paragraphs. Start every scene at the last possible moment; end it at the first possible moment. In other words, don’t begin a scene before something interesting happens and end it as soon as things aren’t interesting anymore.”

Sound and Music

In film, sound and music are more than mere embellishments; they elevate the story, adding another layer to the characters and the worlds they inhabit. The soundtrack of a movie can make hearts swell or race, just as a well-timed silence can speak volumes. For writers, sound in prose isn’t heard through the ears, but it can be just as potent when felt through words.

“A writer can describe ambient noise lyrically to set a scene,” Knauf explains. “For instance, ‘The droning babble of the marketplace was punctuated by the bellowing pitches of the merchants, the laughter of children, the dickering back-and-forth of customers and vendors and the shrill cries of seagulls circling for tasty scraps.’”

Never underestimate the impact of a well-placed whisper or CLANG in your narrative. These elements add another layer to your storytelling and can help build a vibrant sensory world. And remember, these auditory cues work hand-in-hand with other cinematic elements like visual cues and perspectives to offer a more engaging and well-rounded reading experience.

Openings and Closings

In both film and literature, the first and last scenes are pivotal. They hold the power to hook your audience or leave them with a lasting impression. The way you introduce your characters and set up your world can make or break the reader’s commitment to your story. Just as important are your closing scenes—they provide resolution or set up a tantalizing cliffhanger that leaves readers yearning for more.

Knauf has made a career out of strong openings and closings. One of his best tips? “Starting very tight on the protagonist is a very effective technique. Raising questions like ‘Who is he?’ and ‘What’s he doing?’ suck the audience into the story. Likewise, pulling out is a great way to escort the audience out of a story. Or ending on an unexpected line is always good.”

Does he have an example of that last point? Of course, he does.

“You’re a monster!”

“Yeah. I know.”

Just like a great movie can be ruined by a poor ending, your story’s closing lines should be as carefully crafted as the first. Provide a sense of closure or a compelling hook, depending on what your narrative demands.

Final Cut

Write your fiction with the reader’s imagination in mind. Your words are the building blocks, but their minds are the theater where your story comes to life. By applying these cinematic techniques, you can make your work more immersive, engaging, and compelling.

You’re not just a writer—you’re a director, guiding your readers through a world that only you can create. Don’t be afraid to yell, “Cut!” and rework a scene. And when you’re ready, let your work shine in the spotlight.

Action!”

Setting Can Define the Story

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There is an article dated 15 February 2024 by Amanda Cassidy, on the Write.ie website, which makes some good points about how a location can help develop the story.

Amanda Cassidy

Amanda Cassidy is a freelance journalist, commissioning editor, former Sky News reporter and author. She has been shortlisted for the Irish Journalist of the Year Awards, the Headline Media writing awards and more recently the CWA John Creasey New Blood Dagger for her debut, Breaking.

She says, “I came up with the idea for my debut novel Breaking while sitting on the beach in Spain watching my children playing in the waves. From my perch on a bar stool with a notebook, I imagined the horror of how it might play out if something happened to one of them on my watch. The story of missing eight-year-old Alanna Fitzpatrick and her strangely composed mother, Mirren began.  The setting was absolutely key for what I wanted to achieve in the story. I needed a beach, but I also wanted the Fitzpatrick family to be far from home. It would make things harder and create more tension if they were abroad when the worst possible thing happened – their daughter went missing on holidays.

But I also wanted the family to speak the same language as the police, who would be investigating the case, so I transplanted the story to the US. The destination, in this case, Florida often represents a type of paradise, especially for the Irish (or me, growing up at least). As I wrote through the novel, I realised the soft white sandy beaches and turquoise setting of the beach was in delicious contrast to the craggy Connemara coast where the Fitzpatrick’s lived.

The setting of every story can evolve like this. But there are a few things to keep in mind when you decide to metaphorically pin your flag to the sand.

  1. The devil is in the detail

This might sound obvious, but if you have played things right, your readers will be hanging onto your every word. Not only do you have to get the location descriptions right if it’s an actual place, but this also feeds into your characterisation. (Actually, it feeds into the entire novel, but let’s stick with the characters for now) My lead detective, Antonio Rolle is a Miami cop, sent to Kite Island to try to find out exactly why little Alannah disappeared without trace. He refers to things like a ‘car trunk’ or money as ‘bucks’ while Mirren, the Irish mother of the young girl, stays true to her original destination. In her dialogue, she talks about the ‘boot of the car’. People always pick up on these small differences, so wherever you choose to set your novel, make sure you ‘know the lingo,’ as my late father would have said.

  1. It doesn’t have to really exist

Currolough is the setting for my second novel The Returned.  Detective Ally Fields returns to her hometown to investigate a house fire and ends up unearthing all sorts of demons. This fictional town is a mosh-up of some of my summer holidays spent in Dingle, Co. Kerry, Clifden, Co. Galway and Cobh, in Cork. The thrill of world-building for me is making up every last detail and the greatest part of this strategy that you can’t be wrong! I had so much fun conjuring up this extremely touristy town with whale-watching tours and fish and chip shops with picnic benches outside. I even imagined a bronze statue at the centre of the town that probably lived at the back of my imagination somewhere for many years.

The words in a story paint a picture, but the fun you can have deciding where a roundabout goes or how long it takes to walk to the fictional bus station, sparks joy too! The isolation of this particular town is another reason why I decided to dedicate my storyline here. There are lots of references to the bruise-coloured hills, and the clouds shadows being reflected on the lake where Ally grew up to (hopefully) add an injection of menace and pace.

  1. Use setting as character

What new writers often don’t realise is that your setting, when crafted with passion and attention to detail, informs the rest of your novel. Think about it. In real life, the places we grew up surrounded by or the cultures we are exposed to has a huge impact on the choices we make. It’s no different in fiction.

Whether you’re looking at a short story setting or the setting of a novel, the characters who populate your writing will be largely formed and informed by setting—the influences and mechanics of their everyday world. I decided to set my third novel, The Perfect Place, in the South of France. The destination meant something to me, I’d spent time going to school there when I was just sixteen and I’d worked in France on and off for years afterwards. What if my character, in this case, influencer Elle Littlewood, bought a French Chateau and charted her renovations across her social media channels. What if the previous owner of the chateau remained living there because of the nature of the deal she’d struck. In this case, the creaky old chateau becomes more than just a setting, it’s walls almost seem to breathe as Elle desperately tries to paper over the cracks of the walls (and her own crumbling life). Again, this was a lot of fun to write but it really invites the reader to get a sense of atmosphere from a place.

  1. Have a grá for the spot you choose

You are going to be spending an awful lot of time in the place you set your novel. At least a year, for some people, longer, so you might as well enjoy popping your head into the setting of your choice. I’m watching the latest True Detective series with Jodie Foster which is set in Alaska where even the day time is night-time during its ‘polar night’ and I have to admit, I’m finding it quite claustrophobic. Of course, the plot sits so well against that backdrop but writing a novel in the complete dark, with snowstorms swirling constantly might not be for everyone. I’m hoping to set my next book in the Maldives. I look forward to writing about palm trees and snorkelling trips. With murder of course. I better also do a recce!”

Review: Peacebuilding Expertise

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I bought the book Assembling Exclusive Expertise: Knowledge, Ignorance and Conflict Resolution in the Global South because I wanted to learn more about peacebuilding. (I am a chairman of a peacebuilding charity.) The book is edited by Anna Leander and Ole Waever. Ms Leander is a Professor at the Department of International Relations and Political Science, Graduate Institute Geneva; Institute of International Relations, PUC Rio de Janeiro/ Department of Management, Politics and Philosophy, Copenhagen Business School. Mr Waever is a Professor at the Department of Political Science, and Director of the Centre for Resolution of International Conflicts, University of Copenhagen. These guys know a lot more about peacebuilding than I do, but the book isn’t about peacebuilding, per se. It is more about how peacebuilding expertise is acquired and considered to be expertise. It discussess academic expertise vs. practical hands on expertise; the ivory tower vs boots on the ground. It delves also into the politics of acquiring peacebuilding expertise. Given that I have a lot of respect for peacebuilders – particular those who’ve learned their trade both on the classroom and in the field and who are dedicated to practicing the trade, I have also come to have respect for the eloquent experts who can tell how they got there.

This book is part of a series on international relations called “Worlding Beyond the West”. ‘Worlding’ implies the post-colonial redefinition of the colony by the coloniser. While much of the global conflict arises in colonised spaces, there is conflict within the West as well, and I’m no sure it is intellectually helpful to focus on conflict resolution expertise in colonised spaces. In fact, the book covers peacebuilding expertise acquired in Ukraine, which is not in the Global South, and was ‘colonised’ by the USSR.

There are three chapters on experts. The first on who knows Nigeria. The second on acquiring expertise on Somali piracy and the third on negotiations in South Africa. The second section deals with institutions. There is a chapter dealing largely with the Brazilian-based Global South Unit on Mediation, a chapter on how the NATO Defence College acquired expertise in Libya and Ukraine, and the ‘Singapore School’s’ contested expertise on terrorism. The third section covers databases: the techniques and politics of body counts, the UN’s SanctionsApp, and the use of Big Data in conflict knowledge. The fourth section covers Syrian art and artists as contributing to conflict resolution. While it is clear that art and artists can affect the perceptions of violent conflict, it seems to me that social media, generally, have more leverage.

I would not recommend this particular book for someone who wants to understand the many levers – social, psychological, economic, political, sensory, philosophical and physical that can be pulled in conflict resolution. This book is written by academics who may have some experience in conflict resolution, but their intention is not to clarify what they have done, can do and why it does or does not work, but their intention is it explain how they came to be considered experts.

Slow Writers

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Lauren Alwan has an article on The Millions website dated two days ago in which she discusses the virtues of being a slow writer.

Lauren’s fiction and essays have appeared in The O. Henry Prize Stories, The Southern Review, ZYZZYVA, The Bellevue Literary Review, Story Quarterly, Alaska Quarterly Review, Catapult, The Millions, World Literature Today, Alta Journal, and other publications. Her work is included in the anthology AMap Is Only One Story: Twenty Writers on Immigration, Family and the Meaning of Home (ed. Nicole Chung and Mensah Demary). She is the recipient of a First Pages Prize from the de Groot Foundation, the Bellevue Literary Review’s Goldenberg Prize for Fiction, and a citation of Notable in Best American Essays.

Lauren Alwan

“As a writer at work on a book that’s taken far longer than expected—a story collection begun in 2008 now a novel in-progress—I’m interested in how, in a world that values speed, the slow writer learns to tolerate the uncertainty that comes with the long project. Is it possible to tune out the noise of doubt and the proverbial ticking clock when writing goes into overtime? Having lost count of my revisions, and in need of advice, I went looking for other slow writers and discovered that more often than not, a book’s gestation takes place over years, frequently decades. I found too that the slow writer embraces the protracted and unpredictable timeline, seeing it not as fraught or frustrating but an opportunity for openness and discovery. As J.R.R Tolkien said to W. H. Auden, on the 12 years he spent writing Lord of the Rings, “I met a lot of things on the way that astonished me.”

The world can be impatient with slow writers. Nearly a decade after Jeffrey Eugenides published Middlesex, Dwight Garner wrote in The New York Times, “It has been a long, lonely vigil. We’d nearly forgotten he was out there.” Garner’s2011 article, “Dear Important Novelists: Be Less Like Moses and More Like Howard Cosell,” argues the “long gestation period” among the period’s young writers (Middlesex was written over nine) marks “a desalinating tidal change in the place novelists occupy in our culturre.” The writer, hidden away in monkish solitude, is no longer a commentator on events of the moment in the vein of, say, Saul Bellow. Bellow wrote four massive books in 11 years, and in doing so, Garner says, “snatched control, with piratical confidence and a throbbing id, of American literature’s hive mind.” Comparing Eugenides’s books, he notes, “So much time elapses between them that his image in dust-jacket photographs can change alarmingly.” Write slowly and not only do you risk being forgotten, you may no longer be recognizable.

Books known for their protracted writing time—10, 20 years or more—span genre, length, and era. Salinger’s Catcher in the Rye, 10 years. Min Jin Lee’s Pachinko, 28 years—and 11 for her debut, I Free Food for Millionaires Edward P. Jones imagined The Known World in his head for over a decade before writing it out in seven months, and John Steinbeck made notes for East of Eden for 11 years before writing it in a year of continual work.

Still, there are those writers who seem to work best at a clip. Anne Rice wrote Interview with a Vampire  in five weeks and Muriel Spark The Prime of Miss Jean Brodie in less than four. Kazuo Ishiguro drafted The Remains of the Day in four weeks—achieved, he’s said, by implementing a process he calls The Crash: “do nothing but write from 9am to 10.30pm, Monday through Saturday. […] One hour off for lunch and two for dinner. I’d not see, let alone answer, any mail, and would not go near the phone.”

Donna Tartt, known for long intervals between books, gets through on faith in the process. The Secret History was written over a decade, and The Little Friend appeared 10 years later. Of the 11 years Tartt spent on The Goldfinch (Garner describes the author during this time as “vanished”), she’s said, “Things will come to you and you’re not going to know exactly how they fit in. You have to trust in the way they all fit together, that your subconscious knows what you’re doing.”

Min Jin Lee has described the 28 years spent writing Pachinko—beginning with the novel’s inception during her student days at Yale to publication in 2017—as “far too long.” It wasn’t until years into the novel’s writing that the project took a turn. During a four-year stay in Japan, after interviewing Japanese Koreans in Osaka, Lee came to realize she’d “been wrong about everything,” and soon after rewrote the manuscript from the beginning. “I was so impressed by the breadth and complexity of the people I met in Japan,” she said, “that I had to start the book again in 2008, and I continued to write it and revise it until the sale of the manuscript in 2015.”

The writer engaged in the long project hopes for such turns of luck, and wanting to know firsthand how luck and persistence inform the long project, I turned to writers I know, hoping for advice on how to tune out my own questioning and cultivate a next-level order of patience.

John Huddleston, photographer and professor emeritus at Middlebury College, is the author of four books—hybrid works of text and image that examine time, history, and place. Killing Ground: The Civil War and the Changing American Landscape (2003), is the product of 15 years of travel and research, and pairs historical photographs of Civil War battle sites with contemporary photos of the same locations. Healing Ground: Walking the Farms if Vermont (2011), and At Home in the Northern Forest: Photographs of the Changing Vermont Landscape (2020) each took a decade, as Huddleston says, “to better understand what I was seeing.” His current project, an interrogation of Mexico’s religious sites and his own Catholicism—has run nearly 50 years. How does he pace himself? “I think the long periods of constructing my books have engendered a maturity in the editing and printing of images,” he says. “A more nuanced and interesting perspective develops with time.”

Drue Heinz prizewinner Leslie Pietrzyk, the author of This Angel on My Chest (2015), believes in staying open to change: “My advice is to remain flexible. Perhaps my greatest ‘being flexible’ moment was working on what I imagined was a novel about a political family for two and a half years, abandoning it, and picking it up again four years later.” She repurposed much of that material, including random and forgotten prompt pieces, into her most recent collection, Admit This to No One (2021), linked stories about power in Washington, DC.

Poet, essayist, and Fulbright fellow Natasha Saje’s five books include The Future Will Call You Something Else (2023), a book of criticism, Windows and Doors: A Poet Reads Literary Theory (2014), and a memoir-in-essays, Terroir (2020). Windows and Doors was written over 16 years, and Terroir, 10. A self-professed feedback junkie, she seeks out frank, even harsh readers. “There’s always some truth in what they don’t like,” she says, and then revises extensively, as she puts it, “like a maniac.”

Thaïs Miller wrote her first two books in less than a year and published both before she was 21. The author of Our Machinery (2008) and The Subconscious Mutiny and Other Stories (2009), Miller says of those early quicksilver efforts, “Beginner’s luck is an understatement.” Currently a PhD candidate in Creative Writing, her dissertation includes a novel begun in 2009, one that’s still finding its shape. These days, Samuel Beckett’s words, “Fail better,” are pinned on a board above her desk, a reminder that “writers are always failing to achieve a perfectionist ideal. […] These words let me off the hook and enable me to experiment and play with my work, to try out new things.”

How, amid doubt, does a writer keep focus, and pace herself over years, even decades? Saje says, “I write and then get pieces published, which gives me confidence that there will be readers for the book.” Pietryzk writes prompts around her novel’s characters and settings and the material often becomes short stories she publishes in literary journals. For Huddleston, over time the work “integrates into the self, into one’s life. I generally work intensely until I can’t stand it anymore, let the work sit, then repeat. If I have a particular problem I’ll often hold it in mind without actively thinking about it.”

This immersion over years, or decades, what George Saunders calls “rigorous, iterative engagement,” can be fruitful, but it can also make a book’s endpoint more difficult to see. Huddleston’s 50-year project, which is nearing completion, has in the end surprised him. “I’ve returned to the project many times after feeling it was done,” he says, and in doing so, encountered an unexpected complication: wishing the work could go on. Similarly, Vauhini Vara, author of The Immortal King Rao (2022), says of the 13 years it took to write her debut novel, “On some level I wanted to keep spending time with it, finding its unexplored corners, tunneling into its wormholes. I didn’t want to let it go.”

So—know when to let go, keep faith in the process, be flexible, fail better, and whenever possible, stay astonished. Though perhaps most importantly, recognize the value that comes with the passing of time itself. In The Art of Slow Writing: Reflections of Time, Craft and Creativity, essayist Louise DeSalvo writes, “We’ve internalized the idea that that the only actions worth taking are those that can be accomplished quickly, […] that if our writing takes so long, we might not be cut out for the writing life.” The Art of Slow Writing is a manifesto for giving a book the time it needs, for cultivating patience and connection. DeSalvo describes, among other things, the challenge of “not knowing how long a book will take, and being comfortable with not knowing.”

Of Jeffrey Eugenides’s slow pace, DeSalvo writes that he “works with rather than against the fact that his books take long to write.” The years writing Middlesex, she notes, saw both the death of his father and the birth of his daughter, and over time these significant life events led to preoccupations with family history and genetic discourse that found their way into the book: “He wanted the novel to respond to those changes as he worked.” This synergy can blur the line between life and art and make completing a long project its own challenge. But as DeSalvo observes, finishing isn’t really the end if “we see our writing life as a continuum,” a larger process that connects each project, whether short or long, within the learned experience of the writer’s practice.

And as DeSalvo notes, there’s always the next book.”

Have You Read These Bestsellers?

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Saskia Kemsley has an article dated 20 December 2023 on the Standard website in which she asks whether we’ve read these very important and very popular novels.

Saskia Kemsley is a shopping writer at the Standard; she is a recent graduate from the University of Edinburgh. Passionate writer, freelance illustrator & language lover.

“Reading a best-selling piece of literature not only has the power to expand one’s worldview, but it can plunge you back into a significant moment in history, to help you better understand the past, present and future. If you’re in the market to dive into a legendary book that’s somehow not made it to your bookshelf, you’ve clicked through to the right place.

To come up with this list, we’ve stuck to a simple criterion of novels which have sold between 20 and 100 million copies across the world. Spanning timeless fiction as well as cult classics, keep scrolling to discover 24 of the best-selling novels of all time to read in 2024.

A Tale of Two Cities by Charles Dickens

One of the first novels to feature an interwoven narrative, Dickens’ A Tale of Two Cities follows the lives of one exiled aristocrat, Charles Darnay, and a lawyer named Sydney Carton. The two men become irrevocably intertwined in a battle for the affection of Lucie Manette, the daughter of a political prisoner. A work of historical fiction set in the years before and during the French Revolution, Dickens’ iconic novel revolves around the concept of duality, and it’s where you’ll find those infamous lines, “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times…”

The Little Prince (Le Petit Prince) by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Originally written in French, The Little Prince is technically a children’s book yet serves as a parabolic tale of morality and virtue, the lessons from which many of us have taken with us into adulthood. If you’ve ever found yourself questioning the meaning of life, we highly recommend picking up this seemingly unlikely, beautifully illustrated guide.

Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone by J. K. Rowling

For all of J.K Rowling’s controversies, the Harry Potter series remains the bestselling set of fantasy books of all time. We’re not sure we have to remind you of the plot – which follows a young boy who discovers that he is a wizard – but take this as a sign to finally pick up a physical copy of your favourite magical series.

And Then There Were None

Perhaps the most beloved novel to come from the Queen of Crime herself, Agatha Christie’s And Then There Were None is the story of a motley bunch of 10 strangers who are picked off one by one while on a remote island near the Devon coast. The year is 1939, and Europe is on the precipice of war. Hosted by two mysteriously absent, yet highly generous benefactors referred to as Mr and Mrs U.N. Owen – when the first member of the party is killed, the remaining survivors must piece together the unravelling events before they too meet a most terrible fate.

The Story of the Stone / Dream of the Red Chamber (紅樓夢) by Cao Xueqin

Known as a ‘great novel of manners’ and one of the four great classical novels in Chinese literature, The Story of the Stone, which is also known as Dream of the Red Chamber is split into an eye-watering five volumes. Xueqin’s epic series charts both the glory days and devastating decline of the illustrious Jia family, while exploring universal questions of religion, philosophy, private and public lifestyle and social relations in 18th-century China.

The Hobbit by J. R. R. Tolkien

Published in 1937, the story which began the Lord of the Rings franchise is beloved by fans across the globe. When a simple hobbit by the name of Bilbo Baggins decides to set off on a wondrous adventure which takes him far away from the rolling hills of the Shire – Mr Baggins, alongside the wizard Gandalf and the thirteen dwarves of Thorin’s company – soon finds himself swept up in an unexpectedly Odyssean tale of heroism, sacrifice and delight.

She: A History of Adventure by H. Rider Haggard

H. Rider Haggard is credited with developing the ‘lost world’ genre which authors continue to emulate to this day. Her brilliant late 19th-century novel She follows a professor named Horace Holly and his ward Leo Vincey as they set off on an adventure to discover a lost kingdom in Africa. While on their travels, they encounter indigenous communities which lead them to the city ruled by Ayesha – otherwise known as she-who-must-be-obeyed.

The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown

One for the lovers of codes and riddles, Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code received high praise when it was first published. A few shoddy blockbuster adaptations later, and the general population seem to have forgotten the fantastic narrative-building and codebreaking achieved by Brown in the first novel in the brilliant series. When Harvard professor Robert Langdon is called to Paris after the brutal murder of an elderly Louvre curator, he and a gifted French cryptologist Sophie Neveu find themselves in the talons of a dangerous trail that leads them into the still-beating heart of Leonardo Da Vinci’s artwork.

The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho

It’s rare to come across someone who has read Coelho’s The Alchemist, and who hasn’t declared it to be a life-changing piece of literature. It follows the journey of a young Andalusian shepherd who travels to the great pyramids of Egypt to discover a treasure which appeared to him in a dream. During his arduous journey, he is confronted by trials and tribulations which offer us greater moral lessons. Though often marketed as a self-help book, The Alchemist also serves as a philosophical text which offers insight into our motivations as human beings, and what we can offer to both ourselves and the world at large.

The Catcher in the Rye by J.D Salinger

The first of J.D Salinger’s books to be published, The Catcher in the Rye takes place over just two days in the life of 16-year-old Holden Caulfield following his expulsion from prep school. An essential teenage read – whether you are currently a teenager, or you’ve found yourself caring for one – we follow Caulfield’s aggravated and convoluted stream of consciousness as he rails against the falsity of adult life.

One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel García Márquez

A masterpiece of magical realism this Nobel prize-winning novel follows seven generations of the Buendía family, and the town they built from the ground up called Macondo. Though scarcely considered a settlement, the isolated dwelling of Macondo suffers wars, disasters and even miracles on an almost global scale. As such, it slowly becomes clear that the Buendía family’s small town serves as a microcosm for Columbia as a whole. It’s extremely difficult to put into words the swirling, paradigmatic semantics of Márquez’s work, but it is often cited as one of the supreme achievements in world literature.

The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

A timeless classic, The Great Gatsby tells the story of a wealthy man and his pursuit for his childhood sweetheart, all set against the backdrop of the glamorous 20s. A masterful example of the American Dream in action, Fitzgerald’s novel goes far beyond romance and addresses themes of excessive wealth, human follies and the fragility of life.

This special edition includes a foreword by famed movie director, Francis Ford Coppola as well as exceptional artwork throughout that brings to life Gatsby’s lavish parties and frivolous lifestyle.

Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

An extremely subversive novel that certainly isn’t for the faint-hearted, Nabokov’s Lolita is about the paedophilic poet Humbert Humbert and his obsession with a twelve-year-old girl called Lolita. Often deemed an inherently comedic, yet entirely repulsive literary monster – Nabokov by no means seeks to condone the thoughts and actions of this savage narrator.

Watership Down by Richard Adams

In a slight subversion of the classic ‘The Boy Who Cried Wolf’ parable, a young rabbit called Fiver is convinced that his burrow is in imminent danger. Yet the rolling hills of Sandleford Warren are experiencing fresh dapples of Spring sunshine, and none of the other rabbits have any concerns. Together with his sister Hazel and a few other daring rabbits, they nevertheless leave Sandleford in search of the safe haven of Watership Down – encountering many trials and tribulations along the way.

To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee

Though not as popular on the UK literature syllabus as it is in the US, Harper Lee’s seminal novel is nevertheless just as beloved on our side of the pond. A story about classism and racism in the American Deep South in the 1930s, To Kill a Mockingbird is a coming-of-age story told through the eyes of Scout and Jem Finch, the children of a lawyer who has been tasked with defending a black man who has been falsely accused of rape. Delivering anti-racist messages far beyond its historical moment, Lee’s novel offers fascinating, yet gut-wrenching insight into southern society during the Great Depression.

Flowers in the Attic by V.C Andrews

A Gothic drama to sink your teeth into, four siblings find themselves trapped at the mercy of their own mother and grandmother. After weeks become months, the children soon come to the realisation that their mother might not let them out of the attic after all, and they embark on a terrifying struggle to survive the conspiring members of their family that live below them.

War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy

Though often considered the book on one’s shelf that remains untouched from the moment it was purchased (due to its whopping 1,440 pages), Tolstoy’s War and Peace is still one of the best-selling novels of all time. Set during the time of Napoleon’s doomed Russian invasion, War and Peace follows the lives and motivations of five families from each tier of the feudal system throughout the tumultuous, early 19th century Russia.

The Kite Runner by Khaled Hosseini

An unforgettable, heartbreaking literary feat, Hosseini’s The Kite Runner is the story of an unbreakable friendship between a wealthy Afghan boy named Amir, and the son of his father’s servant – a boy named Hassan. The tragic story is narrated by Amir, as he reflects on his childhood in Kabul and the life-changing event which catalysed his desire for redemption.

The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins

Set in a dystopian universe which has been ravaged by a bloody revolution, an annual event known as the Hunger Games exists to quell rebellion and keep the country’s factions in line. A battle to the death which takes two tributes from each of Panem’s twelve districts, the series follows the unlikely success of a tribute from district twelve as she finds herself in the heart of the Capitol, fighting for her life and her freedom.

Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen

This classic romance novel has captured the hearts of readers across the globe since its initial publication in 1813. Our supposedly plain Heroine Elizabeth Bennet wants nothing more than for her abundance of sisters to be married off, so she can live a quiet and peaceful life at home. Yet when she finds herself in the unshaking gaze of the handsome and wealthy Fitzwilliam Darcy – who judges, challenges and frustrates her beyond belief, all of Lizzy’s plans for herself appear to unravel.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

Now’s the time to finally pick up your very own copy of the international bestseller. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo is the first of Stieg Larsson’s six-part series which follows an unlikely team of murder investigators put together by the uncle of Harriet Vanger, who disappeared from a gathering on the family’s island forty years ago. Disgraced financial journalist Mikael Blomkvist and tattooed hacker Lisbeth Salander risk everything to uncover the secrets of the twisted Vanger clan and solve the mystery of Harriet’s disappearance.

Things Fall Apart by Chinua Achebe

A chronicle of the life of Okonkwo, a wealthy, respected warrior and the leader of an Igbo community, Achebe charts the rise and eventual fall of the novel’s protagonist following his accidental murder of a clansman, while delivering wider insight into the cultural practises of Igbo society.

Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

A parodic chivalric romance, Don Quixote has become a reference point in language for likening someone to an impractical idealist. Nevertheless, the protagonist of this sprawling narrative, Don Quixote de la Mancha, is on a mission to restore chivalry to its former glory by transforming himself into an admirable knight, using famous works of literature as his reference point.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt

Donna Tartt’s The Secret History isn’t your average murder mystery – for we know who is killed, and who the killers are, within the first few pages of this dark tale. The narrator of this inverted piece of crime fiction, Richard Papen, transfers to an elite liberal arts college in Vermont to escape his disinterested and abusive family in California.

Papen finds himself enamoured by a small group of seemingly perfect, erudite Greek students who are taught in secretive tutorials by an eccentric professor. Desperate to enter into the folds of the seemingly impenetrable group, Papen manages to convince the faculty to switch majors – a decision which would turn out to be both deadly and damning.”

I’ve read nine of these books. I need to decide which one will be number ten.

Writing about Sex

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The recent edition of the Sunday Telegraph had an article by Claire Allfree “The art of writing about sex (and getting it right)”

Ms Allfree is a freelance journalist specialising in arts and entertainment.

Bottoms up: an 18th-century painting of Jupiter and Io by Edouard Gautier-D’Agoty (after Correggio)

Ms Allfree writes:

“My friends joke that I’ve become a pornographer,” says Lucy Roeber. “I haven’t, of course. But the English don’t know how else to describe a magazine about sex. So we joke about it instead.”

Later this month, Roeber and her deputy editor, Saskia Vogel, will publish the first edition of the revamped and relaunched Erotic Review. During the late 1990s, the Erotic Review was a high-end, lavishly illustrated print magazine, but for the past 14 years, it has languished as a little-read online newsletter. Now, at a moment when sex parties and orgies seem to be all the rage, it will be back to its pomp as a physical product, available from bookshops and published three times a year.

Each edition will include a guest art curator, while highlights from the inaugural publication include an essay on the blossoming popularity of romance fiction, a photo sequence from the performance artist Esben Weile Kjaer celebrating the art of the kiss, an explicit short story about a porn shoot from the veteran contributor Michel Faber, and a Chekhovian portrait of marital desire from the Welsh novelist Cynan Jones. Where the original at times felt like a magazine for overgrown schoolboys (Boris Johnson was a contributor), this new iteration feels like a magazine for grown-ups. “If we were going to bring it back, we had to take it seriously,” says Roeber. “But I also think in 2024 the audience is really shifting. Today, young people in particular are much more open and curious.”

The Erotic Review has a chequered history. First published in 1995 by the Erotic Print Society as a pamphlet featuring articles about sex and desire, in the late 1990s it became synonymous with Rowan Pelling. She became the editor in 1997, at the age of 28, and, over the next six years, transformed it into an 84-page publication with a circulation of 30,000, while attracting writers such as Barry Humphries, Auberon Waugh and DBC Pierre.

Under her reign, the sensibility was distinctly British, which is to say that sex was either filtered through a heavy dose of irony or with a hefty side helping of cheesy end-of-pier smut. The art tended to feature cheeky shots of posteriors and bosoms, while pieces included meditations on “the best nipples in town”. Pelling even cheerily encouraged her female staff to wear stockings in the office.

Vogel, a 42-year-old Berlinbased author and translator who interned at the magazine under Pelling, remembers a prevailing obsession with “nurses and spanked bottoms”.

“The British have this real thing about vice and corporal punishment,” she says. “I loved my time there, but I did feel that perhaps the magazine could benefit from a different perspective.”

In 2004, it was taken over by the media company that produces Penthouse, and after changing hands again several times it became an online magazine in 2010. A descent into obscurity followed, despite it being lovingly maintained by its founder, Jamie Maclean – now retired. It feels a bold decision to bring it back as a print edition at a time when the cultural winds are blowing firmly towards the digital sphere. But Roeber and Vogel are upbeat. “It feels important that it should itself be an object of desire, something you can hold and collect,” says Roeber.

Anyway, they argue, there’s not much space in the mainstream for serious writing about sex. “If something gets labelled as edgy or erotic, it tends to be untouchable by the mainstream,” says Vogel, pointing to Rebecca Rukeyser’s personal essay about the curious internet porn phenomenon of “goon caves” (an online subculture in which men saturate themselves with porn while simultaneously practising abstinence), which had previously been rejected by several American journals.

Yet today’s cultural climate is very different from the lad culture of the 1990s. How does a magazine that once featured a photo spread of its female staff in their underwear navigate a post-MeToo world? “We are certainly moving away from the heterosexual male gaze that we’ve all been used to,” says Roeber. “That’s not to say we don’t have heterosexual men in the magazine, because we must. But there are lots of ways of talking about desire.”

All the same, our new hypervigilance when it comes to issues of consent and power has the potential to make writing about sex a bit of a minefield, particularly if you are a heterosexual man.

“I wanted to write a story about the male gaze and how women can change the power dynamic,” says Michel Faber, whose smartly subversive contribution, “Not Just Anybody”, about a porn shoot, reckons directly with this issue. “But it took me ages to think of a story that wouldn’t be guaranteed to attract condemnation from people who are not interested in art, but very interested in quarrelling with strangers on the internet.” Vogel agrees that “there is potentially something a lot more fraught about writing about heterosexual sex”. She points to the American writer Garth Greenwell, who combines the literary with explicit homosexual eroticism. He has said that with his most recent novel, Cleanness, he wanted to see if he could write something that was “100 per cent pornographic and 100 per cent high art”.

Most pornography, however, dispenses with the art bit, which is a shame, according to Roeber. “Porn is incredibly effective at arousal, but it’s very one-note,” she says. “We have a guest curator for each issue and the aim is to open our eyes to different sorts of images, and different ways of exploring desire through art.”

But what about the prudes? In Britain, we tend to deflect our profound cultural reserve when it comes to matters of sex through a nudge-nudge, wink-wink larkiness that Roeber argues previous incarnations of the Erotic Review knowingly played up to. “We are making the magazine much more international in terms of contributors, partly to sidestep this Anglo-Saxon moral awkwardness,” she says.

“As a culture, we are certainly very embarrassed about romance,” agrees the Scottish poet John Burnside, who is contributing an essay about the eroticisation of travel to the second issue. “We are the only country in the world, for instance, which gives out a Bad Sex Award, much to the amazement of many countries across the world. How we write about sex says a lot about the culture, about how relaxed and imaginative it is.”

So, what makes good erotic fiction? Vogel points to a couple of sentences in Bret Easton Ellis’s American Psycho. “It’s a moment of anticipation. Patrick Bateman [the novel’s sociopathic fantasist narrator] is lying on the bed, waiting for a couple of women to arrive.” The novel’s extreme violence is considered so controversial, some countries sell it with a shrink-wrapped cover. Is she saying the best sex writing is transgressive? “For me, it’s where the mind wanders,” she says simply. Burnside, who thinks a lot of so-called classic writing about sex – Anaïs Nin, Henry Miller – is “boring”, believes that some of the best erotic writing pivots on the unconsummated. “These days, I look down on old men writing about voluptuous women. I’m much more interested in the almost. The look across a room that comes to nothing.”

In essence, Roeber believes there is a loosening of “moral correctness” around sex and art that makes 2024 the perfect time for an Erotic Review relaunch. In fact, “I’m not sure this incarnation of the magazine could have existed 50 years ago.”

The first issue of the relaunched ‘Erotic Review’ will be published on March 11; ermagazine.com

Let me know what you think.

Our Heroine: JK Rowling

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There is an article in today’s Telegraph by Allister Heath (the editor of the Sunday Telegraph) in which the editor, rightfully, refers to J K Rowling as a heroine.

J K Rowling

Mr Heath says, “JK Rowling is a modern British heroine, and all those who have vilified, defamed, threatened and traduced her should hang their heads in shame. She has proved to be a far more effective defender of common-sense values than all but a handful of MPs, exposing the cowardice and moral bankruptcy of much of Westminster and Whitehall.

She has fought indefatigably for ordinary people, for the truth, for the rights of women threatened by the rise of trans extremism, incurring horrific hatred from tens of thousands of deranged woke fanatics. She has had a dramatic impact on our politics, unlike the managerialist politicians who dominate the Cabinet, most of whom go with the flow on all “controversial” subjects and are thus content to be in office but not truly in power.

She has almost single-handedly neutralised trans extremism by running the most significant extra-parliamentary campaign in recent history, using little more than tweets and the occasional interview or speech. She is an inspiration to anti-woke dissidents across all continents, and to anybody who believes in the power of carefully chosen words to change the world.

Until Rowling entered the fray, the Tories, under the calamitous Theresa May, were poised to allow gender self-recognition, extremist trans groups had gone mainstream, it was taboo to scrutinise “gender-affirming care” for children or the Tavistock Centre, and Labour was careering into full woke mode. Today, thanks also to a few brave politicians, while the battle hasn’t been won, the extremists are in retreat.

Unusually given our selfish and venal public culture, Rowling has asked for nothing in return, has been given neither the damehood nor the peerage she deserves, and has in fact paid an immense price for helping to rescue her country. As if this weren’t enough, as the author of Harry Potter, she has done more for the UK, for our soft power, for the happiness of our children, for our economy and for the taxman than any current member of the Cabinet. 

How have we come to a point when a centre-Left billionaire author from Edinburgh represents Middle England’s views better than the London-centric establishment class, and even many “Conservative” politicians? And why did so few come to Rowling’s defence when she started to expose woke madness, most notably when she rightly slammed the growing use of the idiotic term “people who menstruate”? She tweeted: “I’m sure there used to be a word for these people. Someone help me out. Wumben? Wimpund? Woomud?”

When almost our entire establishment – politicians, judges, business leaders, cultural leaders – ran for cover, Rowling took on cancel culture and won. She has broken the spell, proving that the best way to defeat social-media mobs is to call their bluff. By sheer force of personality, by refusing to accept that she had lost her freedom of speech, by crafting tight, sharp and rigorous arguments, by standing up to the bullies, she has drastically shifted the Overton window on issues of gender and sex.

She was at it again this week, writing what many wanted to say but were still too scared to verbalise. Reacting to the fact that a transgender cat killer who murdered a stranger was being described as a woman – and that judges have been told to refer to defendants by their chosen pronouns, whether or not they have undergone surgery or applied for a gender recognition certificate – she lashed out. “I’m sick of this s—”, she said. “This is not a woman. These are not our crimes.”

Rowling has exposed the woke commissars’ ultimate lack of power: The mainstream majority will vote with its wallets and has no time for woke capital. The Harry Potter franchise continues to boom. Hogwarts Legacy, an action role-playing game, sold 22 million copies last year, making it the world’s best-selling video game, generating $1 billion and delivering more royalties to Rowling. 

In theory, the wealthy have the freedom to speak out; in practice, most feel that they have too much to lose and prefer to exercise their influence in private, by lobbying or via political donations. This is unhealthy. They should take a leaf out of Rowling’s book, as the likes of Bill Ackman, a fund manager, has done over the vicious epidemic of anti-Semitism in US universities.

Rowling’s emergence as our era’s leading feminist icon reminds us that the sensible Left and Right must work together, that they have much in common against the dark, extremist, authoritarian revolutionaries who seek to overthrow our society. I, for one, never thought I would come to appreciate Rowling so much, given her background as a Labour supporter. 

But none of that matters any longer: the attempt at eliminating the very concept of man and woman, the irreversible damage inflicted upon children who have had the misfortune of falling prey to social contagion, the attempt at cancelling gay people, the terrible risk to women and girls from the eradication of single-sex spaces in gyms and prisons, the despicable misogyny of those who seek to pretend that it is women, and not men, who commit many rapes and murders, all of these are issues of existential significance to our civilisation that require the unity of all sensible people, of Left, Right or neither. 

Rowling’s should be a model for other campaigns. At a time when Parliament is being cowed by Islamist extremists, we need more brave people to stand up for the silent majority. The answer isn’t to spout nonsense à la Lee Anderson, but to unrelentingly marshal reason and facts to expose the threat and danger to our liberties and democracy. Who will be the next J K Rowling?”

What a great piece of journalism!