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Day: 3 November 2013

American Smoke and intellectual osmosis

As part of the acclaimed Manchester Literature festival, a gaggle of celebrations of all things literary, Iain Sinclair, a contemporary psychogeographer, presented his new book, American Smoke.

Gracing the beautifully exposed brick walls of the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, on a vain level I thoroughly enjoyed the location of the event. A tasteful interior and impressive array of modernist fiction gives the former mill an aura of scholarly opportunity, as if any essay I worked on in this location would gain a first due to intellectual osmosis.

However, my dreams of intellectual success were dampened, literally, when a man spilt his pint on me. After swiftly moving to my seat, in a pathetic attempt to dry my saturated clothing, Sinclair was warmly welcomed by the University of Manchester’s very own Jerome De Groot. Formalities aside, Sinclair began to explain his attempts to ‘build up an argument with place’, describing his absorption with Hackney in his youth, a setting of many of his novels. However, despite this geographical setting, Sinclair mused about his utter absorption with the United States of America, and how this culminates in his forthcoming novel American Smoke. He described the novel as a walk in the footsteps of Kerouac and Olsen, among others, stitching together fictional memories and awakening these literary masters.

His readings were very enjoyable to listen to, featuring lively writing and contemporary references, such as Boris Johnson. However, I do have a complaint. In one reading he references both Middlesbrough and Hull as dystopian microcosms. Heightening my swell of annoyance due to the lingering smell of beer, I could not ignore this insulting allusion to the two cities near which I grew up. Admittedly, they are not the most pleasant of places, but this blind remark reminded me somewhat of Lord Howell’s idiotic definition of the North as ‘desolate’.

Anyway, other than this remark, the writing and content was somewhat charming and full of quips, and the experience was enjoyable (other than the beer and geographical discrimination).

“I have a dream”: Lemn Sissay & Manchester Camerata

No introduction necessary, Lemn Sissay and the Manchester Camerata walked out into the Manchester Town Hall and blew us all away.

The Manchester Camerata is acknowledged as one of the UK’s leading chamber orchestras; they played Beethoven’s String Quartet No. 13 in B Flat, Op. 130, which was written between 1825-6. Andrew Mellor states that the quartets which came at the end of Beethoven’s creative life ‘became a means of personal expression’ and describes that they have a reputation for being ‘obscure and impossible music born of an unstable, irrational mind.’ The Camerata were flawless (to my unmusically-trained ears) and fascinating; I sat bolt upright in my seat for the entire performance.

The quartet was split into sections, in between which Sissay would bound onto the stage with hair like Willy Wonka and perform his new poem commissioned by the Manchester Literature Festival specifically for this event. I feel truly privileged to have witnessed it.

The poem was Sissay’s personal response to Martin Luther King’s “I have a dream” speech. He didn’t mention the title of the poem, but I think it would be called ‘I Belong’, which was constantly repeated throughout: “I stand on top of the Hacienda. It means house, it means home. And I shout ‘I Belong!’ ”

Leaping around, wide-eyed, spitting out lines of immigration and Manchester and John Cooper Clarke, Sissay could have rallied us up and sent us out into the streets; he spoke of “the unassailable us” and told us to “unlock all doors.” No one dared to interrupt him except for the church bells, which forced him to pause one section and start again.

The Camerata finished with the ‘colossal chain of fugal variations’ which friends of Beethoven successfully persuaded him to cut from the original piece (it became its own piece: ‘Grosse Fugue’). The musicians chose to restore it to its rightful place.

At the end of the event, Sissay jokily differentiated between the people who came for the music and the ‘poetry people’ in the audience. I came primarily for the poetry, but the music was so interesting that it worked in a similar way to poetry: sending your mind in all sorts of strange directions as you try to focus in on it.

The ‘music people’ must have been equally shocked by the power of Sissay’s poem, which woke us all up from the musical stupor each time he came on. His poem should be heard in every school in the country and shouted from the tops of buildings across Manchester.

Writing a Path Through Palestine

I went to this talk half expecting a slightly irritating, unoriginal rant, but at a small event in a church hall Bidisha managed to tackle one of the biggest contemporary global issues in a way that was warm and human and taking sides. There were no extracts read from her new book Beyond the Wall: Writing a Path through Palestine; it was more a description of her trip to Palestine, taken with the aim of observing what was happening before writing her book. It is nigh on impossible to remain neutral whilst discussing the Palestinian question but Bidisha managed it by treating it as an emotional and human problem, rather than a political, geographical or religious one. She spoke about bullying and abuse of power in a general context and then applied it to this setting.

Bidisha is also very interested in the power of words, whether written or spoken. She talks about how the words used by the authorities are used to control and humiliate, particularly the word ‘forbidden’. On the other hand, the words of Palestinian children were of hope for the future, which reflected the tone of the talk.

Beyond the Wall would be an excellent introduction to the Palestinian question for anyone who feels they should know more about the subject but are overcome with a terrible inertia when confronted with epic historical tomes. For those who are already familiar with the Palestinian question, it would offer a fresh, emotional perspective on one of the most hotly debated topics of our time.

‘If I could take beautiful photos, I wouldn’t write short stories’

Tucked behind The Ritz down a little side street is the International Anthony Burgess Foundation, a literary café dedicated to the Mancunian writer who most famously wrote A Clockwork Orange. It is fitting that it is actually an old mill; there is an industrial quality to the inside. As part of the Manchester Literature Festival, ‘up and coming artist’ Sarah Hall and Deborah Levy, whose Swimming Home was shortlisted for the Man Booker Prize, paid a visit to the Foundation to read from their latest collections of short stories.

The formal atmosphere of the event cracks nicely when Levy laughs and corrects the presenter: “I’ve written five books, not nine.” She has a frankness that seems to separate her from the audience of seemingly reserved, intellectual types.

Her latest collection of short stories Black Velvet is centred on love, loneliness and travel in Eastern European countries. She was childhood friends with my father, so at a personal level I had heard some gentle criticisms of her work – ‘pretentious’ being one of them. I disagree. Levy’s writing is such that even her most disconnected, ambiguous sentences seem to make sense. She describes London and “its tough tender girls” with vitality, and her stories have a slow metabolism to them.

By contrast, Sarah Hall is young and sharp. Many of the stories in her collection The Beautiful Indifference tell of isolated communities in the North (where she herself grew up in the ‘70s) and the violence therein. When an elderly northern man from the audience questions the authenticity of using mostly female characters in such a violent setting, she claims she is quoting from a voice just as true but constantly overlooked.

In the lively Q&A after their readings, Hall and Levy both agree that short stories are a powerful literary genre, underrated and underappreciated. It is less about the development of a plot or a character and more about catching a snapshot of a moment. “If I could take beautiful photos, I wouldn’t write short stories,” says Levy. There is something open and unsettling about a short story; the dropping of something potent without the need for an explanation.

‘I had to ring up Colin Firth and tell him he was dead’

On 13th October fans of Bridget Jones flocked to the Royal Exchange Theatre to listen to comic novelist and screenwriter Helen Fielding talk to broadcaster and journalist Miranda Sawyer about her latest novel, Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy.

Sawyer opened the event with the question that has been on everyone’s lips: Why did Helen Fielding kill Mark Darcy? “You know, I’ve never heard that question before,” Fielding joked.

The news of Mark Darcy’s death, revealed in an extract published in The Sunday Times Magazine in late September, caused a national uproar, receiving nearly as much media coverage as the Syrian crisis for a couple of weeks. “I got a terrible shock when my head popped through the letter box,” Fielding told the audience.

Fielding confessed that she was astonished that the death of a fictional character could cause such a stir. The whole country, it seemed, was in mourning, with fans flocking to express their dismay on Facebook and Twitter. One man, Fielding told the audience, even ran up to her and yelled: “You killed Mark Darcy!” “I was amazed by the fact that people cared so much,” she said.

But is it really so surprising? Since she first appeared in a column in The Independent in 1995, Bridget Jones has bumbled her way into our hearts.

Riding on the success of the column, Fielding wrote Bridget Jones’s Diary, which was published in 1996. “If I’d known so many people were going to read it, I wouldn’t have dared to write it,” she commented. The sequel, Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason, was published in 1999.

While the books were highly successful, it was the film adaptations, starring Renée Zellweger, Colin Firth and Hugh Grant, that skyrocketed Bridget Jones – and Fielding – to stardom.

Fielding wrote the screenplay for the films and had a hand in the casting. It is no secret that she created the character of Mark Darcy with Colin Firth in mind, not least because of his role as Mr Darcy in the 1995 BBC adaptation of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. So, he was an obvious choice. “I insisted on Colin Firth,” said Fielding. She did not have such a clear picture of Bridget Jones, however. “She’s the eyes I see through,” she explained. “But I think Renée Zellweger was brill,” she added. Sawyer asked if bad boy Daniel Cleaver, played by Hugh Grant, was based on anyone in particular. Fielding artfully sidestepped that question, saying: “people actually want characters to be based on them, but only if they’re attractive.”

Bridget Jones has become somewhat of an icon for single women everywhere, and by extension so has her creator. Fielding told the audience that she is regularly approached by girls eager to tell her their stories. “It’s almost like I am the pope or something,” she joked.

Many have accused Bridget Jones of not being a feminist, and Sawyer asked Fielding what she thought of that. “She’s just a person… and she laughs at things,” responded Fielding. “If we can’t laugh about ourselves as women, then we haven’t gotten very far as far as equality is concerned,” she continued. What endears Bridget Jones (the enormous panty-wearing, chardonnay swilling mess that she is) to us is her humanity and her ability to laugh at her own frailties. “She’s not the secretary of state for women,” Fielding joked.

In Bridget Jones: Mad About The Boy, Fielding wanted to explore the ways in which technology has changed dating – and life in general. Fielding confessed that she herself had gotten into social media in a big way. “I was just tweeting all the time and counting how many followers I’d got,” she told the audience. “It’s just like Googling shoes!”

Fielding was also keen to challenge stereotypes about older women. “The idea that you hit 45 and start knitting is ridiculous,” exclaimed Fielding. “Life doesn’t stop,” she said. In the latest instalment in the Bridget Jones series, Bridget Jones is in her 50s and a single mother of two. Fielding explained that she killed off Mark Darcy so that she could depict Bridget Jones as a single mother. “I had to ring up Colin Firth and tell him he was dead,” she said. “He took it like the gentleman that he is,” she added.

Despite the setbacks, Bridget Jones is still reading self-help books and looking for love, Fielding assured the audience. “Bridget’s motto is KBO, keep buggering on,” she said.

Though Fielding, also a mother of two, is keen to distance herself from her character, it is clear that she is writing about what she knows. “Everything comes from something that happened to me or someone I know,” she told the audience. “My best lines come from my mum,” she said. Fielding told the story of how her mum once responded to someone who was giving her a hard time on the phone by saying: “Listen, can you make a brioche?”

While Colin Firth was the inspiration for Mark Darcy, Fielding revealed that Bridget Jones’ latest love interest, Mr Wallaker, is more of a Daniel Craig, “with a bit of Captain Von Trap,” she added gleefully. More surprising still, Mr Wallaker was based on a teacher at her son’s school. Fielding told the audience that she had to phone him while he was bug hunting in the New Forest to ask if he minded her using his name in the book. He thought it was funny and gave her permission. What is the real Mr Walliker (Fielding only changed his name by a letter) like, asked Sawyer. “He is exactly like Daniel Craig,” Fielding responded.

As the event came to a close, Sawyer asked Fielding if she had another book in the works. “I won’t write another book unless I really have something to talk about,” Fielding responded. “But it would be fun to write about the Dalai Llama’s publicist,” she mused.