Recently it was posited that “TV companies with shrinking audiences want to give their viewers something they already know about, but I honestly believe they underestimate the public. People will happily adopt something new if it’s properly produced”. This is absolutely correct, with the stumbling point of ‘economics’ and ‘business sense’ in its way to fruition in what’s sometimes called “the real world“¹

Part of the problem of TV/Movie/Book Production is that there’s a sort of Bourgeois mind set of those responsible for the selection of styles/content that ‘what the Proletariat of Viewers want/need to watch is “more of the same”’ so we get that. If you haven’t seen so much Pride & Prejudice that you’re ready to punch the next person wearing a bonnet, or vicar in a quaint round hat [illustration; below, right], then that’s fine.

However, when the concept of “new” and/or “different” is suggested to anyone with the power to sign a cheque, the terror begins to form in their soul. Those words mean “change” which leads to “brave” which then arrives at “risk”. When trying to make money, “risk” is never a good word. “Safe” is something one wants to use when describing results, as it’s a business that produces TV programmes, films, and books.

Suggest “Horror/Suspense” and the gamble implied may as well have “Lottery Win” and “Roulette” attached to it, and don’t bother to sit down in the lobby when dropping off your proposal; just leave it on the desk and there’s the door. In the UK especially, this genre² is viewed with disdain, mostly due to the arguably crap production quality of the films made by Hammer Films and Amicus Productions. There is also a heavy association with the “slasher film” in North America that does no good for the stories of Edgar Allan Poe, Arthur Conan Doyle, and the un-known authors of the Pahlavi Persian work Hazar Afsan (literally translated as “Thousand Tales”); all of those being creators of works under the umbrella term of ‘horror fiction’.

Pardon me whilst I step around that particular Hobby Horse of Horror of mine, briefly adding only that I was among those who confused “horror” with “blood & gore” (akin to mixing-up ‘sensually stimulating’ with ‘pornography’).

So… where was I?

Ah yes: ‘new’ v ‘guaranteed’.

The question of whether or not something ‘new’ is desired isn’t principally an artistic one, it’s one primarily of economics. When a theatre company’s Artistic Director selects scripts to be staged during a season, they’ve got to balance the shows which are probably not going to draw the walk-up crowds (Chinese folk tales of the 11^th Dynasty adapted to reduce the call for shadow puppets, for instance) and the shows that will attract people wandering by the venue (heart-warming tale of Christmas in a small town where citizens rally around to aide the local who’s always been helpful to them over the years, say). As altruistic as one can be about these things, no matter how well performed and clearly interpreted a show might be, no matter how well-placed the adverts are, no matter the glowing quality of the reviews, people will not automatically show-up to watch great theatre that’s out of the ordinary. Yes, more people will attend if it’s incredible than if it’s not, but you won’t have as much of a block-buster as if you’ve got a well-known title on the marquee.

The same holds true for TV, movies, and books. Agatha Christie, Charles Dickens, and Star Wars³ sell due to ‘brand recognition’ no matter how high the quality of the output might be. As good as all three are, their brilliance is shown through the aspect of their works being both well-crafted as well as popular. That ‘double-whammie’ is what sets them apart, not solely their quality. Fawlty Towers is another, although not really something on the same literary or budgetary level as the others.

There is also the category of things which are inspired in their creation, but either aren’t ‘popular’, bits aren’t too well done technically, and are the object of fanatical devotion by a small group of people; creations with a ‘cult following’. Examples of the ‘genius, if only we could sort out what it means’ material are The Prisoner [title card; below, left], early Doctor Who, and Space: 1999. We recently watched the full set of The Prisoner, as we’d not seen all of it, and certainly not anywhere close to being in order. There’s a plethora of moments to ‘spot the painted backdrop’, ‘spot the wires pulling things along’, and ‘spot the “background actor” having their voice dubbed-in’. Computer Generated Animation and so on were a long way in the future. That said, it was written with skill (frequently by McGoohan himself), and the acting/editing/photography/music were all perfectly suited for each other so its whole is a thing of beauty. At the time of its original presentation, the shows were sufficiently confusing to viewers that the second batch of episodes were cancelled in favour of one Finalé to wrap things up (with warning of only two or three weeks). This, sadly, proves the contention that ‘people mostly want something they already know.

So… how much do you want – no, ‘need’ is better – to make that painting, write that story, stage that play, or film that script? That’s the question. Money isn’t supposed to be part of it, you see.

Which is bollocks.

It’s possible to have both, but it is nowhere close to being as easy as doing something similar to something already being done. Let’s face it, even opting for ‘the familiar’ isn’t a walk in the park. It’s a lot of bloody hard work to produce a TV show/movie/book/play.

Meanwhile the “different” is reduced to the creative territory peopled by those who can best take a risk: those of us who have nothing left to lose.

What’s your passion? What is the thing which you must do to calm the desire in your soul? What must be accomplished in order to fulfil your creative potential?

Now… what are you going to do in order to get the thing done?

Answers on a postcard, please.

1. something one avoids experiencing through a combination of prescription medicine, copious amounts of alcohol, and a small Cuban girl named “Juanita” [BACK]
2. oddly referred to as ‘genre fiction’; no idea how that actually identifies which genre being discussed, yet it does [BACK]
3. the original trilogy, not that rubbish of “Episodes 1 – 3″! Eugh! [BACK]

It’s not often that a review appears here, but as this book seems unlikely to appear in a North American edition, or any other, in the foreseeable future, let’s have give it the exposure and analysis it deserves, for the sake of “The Future Generations” if nothing else.

While not entirely linear, Paperboy follows Christopher Fowler through his formative years, beginning with mid-1960 to less than a decade later when he moved into his own flat, at the insistence of his Mother. The years between then and the present are concertina-ed into a few pages mostly focusing on Mr. Fowler’s development as a writer of tales, a self-described “mid-lister” – entirely skipping over his efforts as pop-singer/song-writer, cinema promoter, James Bond stand-in, and artist’s model for a Batman villain – as well as interaction with the Father whose emotional turmoil caused those he loved so very much grief; emotional turmoil which was itself caused by the inevitable conflict between human nature’s need for expression and a societal repression of those same expressions.

Bill Fowler, the author’s father, is chief among those within the pages whom one can view incorrectly as ‘uncaring’ or even ‘destructive’ toward those around him. One must remember that Bill was part of the last group of people for whom instincts were something to be not just ignored, but repressed and eliminated. This was the only option provided by ‘Civilized Society’ as behaviour deemed acceptable. Trouble was something to be avoided, rather than viewed as a challenge to overcome or deal with. ‘Have a scotch, sit by the fire, and keep your mouth shut’ was the nearest thing to therapy available at that time (which would have been fine had the individual not been sitting by the fire alone). Were things particularly bad, you were declared ‘too far gone’ and then sent to Bedlam until you died, probably more of shame than any other malady.

During the 1960s, people ‘did the best they could’ to get though their day with whatever financial or occupational position they had; and mutual support was far more prevalent, likely due to understanding that if everyone helped each other get through a rough patch, things were better for everyone. Something which is important to remember is that ‘community’ was something more highly valued then than it is now. Dinner with relatives on holidays, constant contact with one’s neighbours, each day brought news and fellowship with people and was more therapeutic than any number of appointments with either a doctor or priest. This difference in society, and the way that individuals interacted, is best expressed by the author:

Everyone tries the best they can, some people don’t fit together, but generally it gets sorted out in the end – I’m always amazed by people who need a third party (therapists) to sort out their lives for them. It never really happened in England. Everyone just went to the pub or had a cup of tea to forget about their problems. There’s a very good support system here in the sense that people like to get involved – although I think it’s getting less as I get older (friends dropping off one by one).

It is altogether simple to read about Mr. Fowler’s paternal grandmother and dismiss her as “a crotchety, old, perfectionist, control freak” and entirely miss the fact that not only was she able to raise children through a depression, then a devastating war, and then the equally devastating post-war condition of at least a decade of rationing on all but a few items. To do this at all is considerable. To do so successfully requires the skills of an accountant who is both infinitely patient and in full command of ESP. Certainly, her approach to social interaction left a bit to be desired by her relatives, but no one can really understand what influences others’ behaviour patterns, even if they happen to have grown-up at the same time in the same street. That said, the extreme behaviour of individuals such as Mr. Fowler’s Grandmother is bound to both affect and effect those with whom she came in contact, and the spreading of hatred – hatred of others or selves – is forgiveable only after time and distance; usually accompanied with an appreciation of their gifts, however small or infrequent they might have been experienced.

Many of those under fifty have had similar experiences to Mr. Fowler’s as they grew-up, especially those of WASP origin: conversation and references to anyone ‘different’ were filled with euphemisms. I recall someone in a local restaurant suffering from severe autism being referred to as ‘in a bad way’; even after Prime Minister Trudeau declared that “the Government has no place in the bedrooms of the nation”, certain males were described as ‘a confirmed bachelor’; and mental health wasn’t at all discussed, beyond some occasionally being termed ‘withdrawn’ instead of ‘living with depression’, or a very shame-filled declaration that someone had “suffered a Nervous Breakdown”. This attitude toward any personal state, or mental health in general, thankfully improved over the most recent three decades as self-awareness, medication, therapeutic techniques, and realistic approaches to life and love’s many forms became better understood. Those of us who have benefited greatest from these advances can only guess at what life might be like had their individual character traits been either un-treated, not respected or blasted out of existence by ‘cultural re-programming’. The path taken through life by anyone of an artistic nature is difficult enough without adding ‘shame’, isolation, or intolerance to the matter.

As incomprehensible as it seems to us now, people hugging their children – never mind telling them that they were loved — was not something which was done. It’s no wonder then, than when concern for one’s offspring turned to worry, then to fretting, then frustration, that the logical conclusion would be violence as a manifestation of that original interest in the well-being of others. It’s this predicament that Mr. Fowler witnessed, not just in the behaviour of his father, but also the effect it had upon himself, his Mother, and his Brother. All of the family – Bill Fowler included – coped admirably using nothing more than their own mental resources.

The book is not filled with tear-stained examples of ‘this is why we don’t act like that any more’, however; as helpful as that illustrative material is when taken as such. When in the midst of it, no child will think to themselves ‘goodness, if only we had socialised mental health programmes, my parents would be so much better!’ Well, granted, the teen-agers of the 1990s probably did…

Right from the outset, the reader is immersed in wonderfully humour-filled descriptions of a life filled with Hancock’s Half-Hour (wherein the GLBT community was given the stereotypical voice of “I’m Julian and this is ‘my friend’ Sandy”), the importance of comic book heroes being true to their character forms, an improving sense of others his own age accepting and supporting others no matter who they happened to be, the sensuous frisson of fear delivered by the horror films of Hammer Productions, the increasingly racially desegregated populace, a number of musical influences, and the author’s joyful discover of libraries (the first of which surely formed the base for one appearing late-on in the “Bryant & May” series of mysteries). All of this contributes directly to the inevitable conclusion of selecting ‘writing’ as the last to which Mr. Fowler has chained himself to so successfully. We know it must end this way — his vast output as an author makes this abundantly clear – but the manner in which he arrived at his ultimate destination is none the less fascinating in the examination of it.

Yet, more than anything, one acquires an understanding of what it takes to create a writer from whole cloth. Simply to say ‘it’s hard work’ or ‘you just feel the need to write’ is hardly enough to put the matter into words, albeit entirely correct. Page 295 of Paperboy finds the following explanation of how the drive to be a writer – a really good writer – creates a yearning in someone in order to accomplish it; whatever the cost may be:

The author, as photographed by Mr. Martin Butterworth

Novels, I was told by one publisher who had rejected my work, were commodities sold like tins of biscuits, and the sweeter the taste, the more you could sell. But to me, the most important thing was that they had to contain fresh ingredients, not recycled ideas from other people. I realized now that my mother had been trying to tell me this for years; I had simply not been listening to her.¹

Still, I had delayed. I had been afraid to try, and risk failure. I remembered my father angrily snapping off the volume dial on his transistor radio while listening to Movie-Go-Round because an actor had said that performing required an act of courage. Courage, said Bill, was still working on the roads at sixty-five, spreading tar even though you knew it was giving you lung cancer, as his own father had done. Courage wasn’t mincing about on a stage or fiddling with a pen.

But in a way that Bill could never understand, it was. For years I was sure that if I failed as a writer, there would be nothing else left for me. If I could not achieve the one thing in life I tried hardest to do, it would be tough living with the loss of my dreams. How many people set out to change their worlds, only to find themselves in a state of perpetual downward revision and disappointment?

The events told in this book ring all the right bells to provide both an entertaining read, as well as a view of the life of a gifted writer. One reads about the encountering of an obstacle with a feeling of sorrow for the boy, and then a resultant triumphal cheer as the same obstacle is overcome. To not only be interested by an autobiography, but to care about its events and those experiencing them, is something altogether too rarely seen. While avoiding the easy choice of only including the happy sort of ‘and then I read…’ events, this memoir stands as both a microcosm of London in the last century both holy and profane, as well as a damned good way to have the reader appreciate just what ‘being a writer’ is all about.

It is unreservedly that Paperboy is set upon the shelf with both reverence and an intention to re-read it at some point soon. Equally unreservedly I shall state that this book was well-written, readable, and very enjoyable. You’ll do well to locate a copy in the library, or perhaps order a copy directly from an English book dealer.

Paperboy (A Memoir) by Christopher Fowler; PP 304, ISBN: 978−0−385615−5−70; published in 2009 by Doubleday, a imprint of Transworld Publishers, London, W5; a Random House Group Company.

Thanks to the genius which is Mari Adkins, I checked out this post here: “[publishing] The banal evil of the Google copyright settlement | jlake.com”.

Apparently the Google plan of putting every book in the world on-line is cleared to happen, and all writers (or their estates) who do not wish their work(s) to be available to everyone without charge have a little under two months to state their objection in writing. If they do not do so, they have no legal right to control of their writing.

All over the world there is the sound of authors saying “Eh? How’s that again? Isn’t this completely opposite to anything that’s ever been agreed?” The answer to that is ‘yes, it certainly is, but it’s too late now.’

For a dose of “the new reality”, let’s try this on for size, shall we?

The real problem, the evil here, is the notion now being put into practice that a copyright license can be asserted by a third party in the absence of the copyright holder specifically forbidding it.

All through modern copyright history until now, a licensor seeking a sub-right was required to negotiate with the copyright holder before exploiting that license. No differently from a tenant seeking to rent a property is required to negotiate with the landlord before they move in.

As of now, I no longer control the sub-rights to my copyright. Under the terms that Google and the Authors Guild have set up, anyone who wants to make a commercial use of them can do so. It’s up to me to notice, to be aware, and to take steps to defend my copyright. If I don’t, well, too bad for me.

And if you don’t think Hollywood lawyers aren’t already all over this, you’re dreadfully naïve.

Have a read through the article for the complete run-down, especially you authors, as this will have an effect on everything you’ve ever written or will write ever again.

And I’m working on the long-mentioned post about my last day in London right now, so that’ll be here tomorrow. No really, it will! I swear!

None of you care do you…? Well, alright, my mother will, but that hardly counts, does it?

Last week we discussed titles of books which were purported to be those considered by the BBC ‘100 books you ought to read if you were an informed person’. Since then, the source of that list has been questioned as being the BBC, and in fact may be some sort of list come up with by someone who thought to themselves ‘damn it, people ought to read these, you know!’

Whoever came up with the list — and go here for that post — there’s no denying that there’s some damned fine writing there. ‘Damned fine’ meaning: well written; full of imaginative plot points, rammed through with ‘thinky’ material for the reader’s consideration.

Would you think that it’s also a list with a whole bunch of seditious and banned titles? Oh yes; it really is!

25^th anniversary poster

This is “Freedom to Read Week” in the Dominion of Canada [see poster, right], and this 25^th year of the event is just as thought-provoking as one would expect it was when it was begun a quarter of a century ago.

Of the titles on the list of last week, here’s a list of the authors or titles that have come under the wrath of those desirous of limiting the ability of others in choosing what they pour into their brains through their eye-balls, and why (all information taken from the list available on the Freedom to Read site on this page: freedomtoread.ca/censorship_in_canada/challenged_books.asp):

• J.K. Rowling: Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone, Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban
  • 2000 — The Durham (ON) Board of Education received numerous complaints about the immensely popular Harry Potter books being read in classrooms throughout the board’s schools. A school board official said that the complaints came from fundamentalist Christian parents.
  • Cause of objection — As is the case in at least 19 states of the U.S. and other parts of Canada, parents were concerned that Harry Potter is engaged in wizardry, witchcraft, and magic-making, and that these activities are inappropriate for young readers.
  • Update — After listening to the complaints, the administration decided to withdraw the books from classroom use but left them in school libraries where they would be available for book reports. One board member said she had wanted the books to be withdrawn completely from the schools; another member said the board had never been asked to decide the issue, so the books’ withdrawal amounted to censorship. Several months later, after a raucous public meeting, the board rescinded its decision to remove the books. However, in other jurisdictions teachers have been asked not to use the books in the classroom. This is said to have occurred in a school in Corner Brook (NF) and in Rockwood Public School in Pembroke (ON). In 2002, the Niagara (ON) District School Board turned down a parent’s request for the removal of the books from area schools. The parent said the books contained violence and promoted a religion (Wicca) which is against the law in Ontario schools. She said that she had not read the books.
• Harper Lee: To Kill a Mockingbird
  • 2002 — Black parents and teachers in Yarmouth, Digby, and Shelburne (NS) objected to this novel, Barbara Smucker’s Underground to Canada, and John Ball’s In the Heat of the Night. The director of education of the Tri-County school board ordered the withdrawal of the three books pending a ruling by the board, but his order was rescinded at a board meeting and the books were restored. In 1993, a school principal in Hamilton (ON) removed the novel from the core reading list for Grade 10 after a complaint from a parent. In 1991, a black community group called PRUDE (Pride of Race, Unity and Dignity through Education) asked Saint John (NB) School District 20 to withdraw this book and Huckleberry Finn from reading lists.
  • Cause of objection — The novel, which contains the word “nigger,” might cause black students to be mocked because of racial stereotyping.
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The BBC believes most people will have only read 6 of the 100 books here. How do your reading habits stack up? Hopefully better than that pathetic number claimed by the BBC. Although that estimation of the UK’s collective inteligence might explain some of their programming choices. [ahem]

Instructions: Look at the list and put an ‘x’ after those you have read. Let’s give it a go, shall we?

1. Pride and Prejudice — Jane Austen
2. The Lord of the Rings — JRR Tolkien [X]
3. Jane Eyre — Charlotte Brontë
4. The “Harry Potter” series — JK Rowling [X]
5. To Kill a Mockingbird — Harper Lee [X]
6. The Bible — Various [X]
7. Wuthering Heights — Emily Brontë
8. Nineteen Eighty Four — George Orwell [X]; when you graduate from high school in the title year, you find all sorts of assignments in English 12 making you read it whether you like it or not
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