This morning, in a Starbucks — yeah, I know, that’s lame — on Charing Cross in London, I set two books free, the Bill Bryson and Maxine Swann’s Flower Children. I loved both, but I knew it was unlikely that I would re-read them. I put notes inside, saying they were looking for good homes. I finished the ARC on the plane, then made it 100 pages into Mark Billingham’s Death Message. I’ve also read a portion of The Dud Avocado. So, of seven books — three read, one started, three untouched.
My only regret is how many books I failed to buy — the new Nick Stone, the new Simon Kernick, etc. etc. etc. This isn’t the sort of blog that does blow-by-blow reports of festivals (except when I’m officially touring), but I will say that Harrogate was extraordinary. And if, in bombing around the Internet, you find allegations that I used a Southern drawl during the UK versus US crime fiction debate, and ended with a dainty curtsey, all I can say is . . . it’s all true.
Harrogate was indeed extraordinary, not least because of Laura’s drawl and curtsey. What happened was that the UK-US debate was a last-minute filler for a spot left empty because one of the main attractions didn’t show on account of the weather. Harlan Coben and I represented the US and we prepared for the debate in the same way that we outline our novels … i.e., we didn’t. Imagine our surprise when during the debate itself the moderator implied that we had a closing statement ready. We didn’t. “I ain’t doing it,” Harlan whispered to me. When the metaphoric spotlight swung our way I said, “We’ve talked about it between ourselves and our statement will be delivered by … ” (hasty search of faces in the front row) ” … Laura Lippman.” And with less than that split second’s notice Laura got up on stage and improvized a stunning four-minute tour-de-force that mixed drawls, winsomeness, threats and curtseys and tilted the whole thing our way. A woman of many, many talents for sure.
I’ve heard wonderful things about Laura’s participation at Harrogate. Only wish I could have been there to experience it for myself.
As for the notes you leave with your set free books, I think it’s a great idea. I’ve found a few books that people have set free, but so far no one has left a message behind.
I need to learn to curtsy.
I let go The Cancer Ward. I�m assuming the hero dies.
Es possible I will let go Sons and Lovers (gulp). Is that wrong?
Lee Child! Can Reacher’s Creatures be far behind? Lee, my agent spent much of the train ride back immersed in one of your books. She, like so many millions of others, is now hooked.
Lizzie! I just got your postcard from Venice. (No, Croatia never made it.) When are you coming home, gal? Are you going to be in New York around Aug. 16th? That could tip the balance in favor of a visit.
Never wrong to let go of Lawrence, IMHO. However, I have recently been shamed in my philistine’s stand on Joyce, and my refusal to read Ulysses. May have to rethink that. But not Finnegans Wake, never Finnegans Wake, although I have finally met someone who says he read the whole thing and I believe him.
Finally, a belated thanks to Kelly for telling me about Baltimore magazine. That honor almost always goes to Anne Tyler, but I had the luck to catch her in a rare fallow year, with no book out.
Laura: I tell ya, we’ll just have to see if Lee can curtsy when he comes to Sleuthfest 08 in Feb
However, I have to say, the picture in my mind of Laura curtseying, just made me laugh.
Trying to read Ulysses on your own is like trying to climb Everest without a Sherpa, Laura. See if you can find an unabridged audiobook — it’s a completely different experience when you hear it read aloud.
Other than a few choice words aimed at your fellow authors, what was going through your mind as you took the stage? That was incredible fast thinking to be able to fill four minutes with not only info, but charm and wit.
Thanks to Val McDermid’s newsletter, I found there are radio highlights from Harrogate at http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/frontrow/past_programmes.shtml (sorry, I don’t know how to make the link live) Under Listen Again at this site, click on Wednesday. I think it will be up for a week
My comment on James Joyce. I used to have an Irish Wolfhoud named Seamus. As a puppy he chewed on things. One day he was chewing on a book. It was The Dubliners by Joyce. Even he didn’t finish it!
I have a friend who is hooked on Lee Child and has given me a couple of the books. They are in the “to be read” stack which is getting larger by the day.
I’ve left books behind in hotels and on planes but have never left notes, I’ll have to do that.
Many congrats on the Anthony nomination! (You are in some very good company on that list.)
Diane,
I think what’s truly notable is that the best novel shortlist is all female.
That said . . . THE NIGHT GARDENER was, for me, the best book of 2006. Okay, George Pelecanos is a friend and I don’t read enough to have an authoritative opinion on the best of anything, other than my own reading list.
Still, it’s really lovely to be in the company of these fine women. Meanwhile, I’m available to accept awards by proxy for any nominees who can’t make it.
Lee Child writes the best thrillers being published today. I’ve read most of the Reacher books in the last year, and hold off starting a new one till I have time to truly plunge in with no distractions. They’re brilliant.
Loved hearing about Harrogate. In our local high school, they call what we used to call debate team “forensics.” One of the things you have to do in forensics is speak comfortably on a subject with no warning. Sounds like you would have gotten an “A,” Laura!
There’s simply no way to read <i>Ulysses</i> like an ordinary book, for pleasure, IMHO. If you really want to appreciate it, you’ll need a guide like <i>The Bloomsday Book</i> to help you along. I spent four weeks going through it in college, and I might have grasped ten percent of what was going on.
Like the protag in my book says, “Give me James Patterson and a six pack and I’m set for the evening.”
A six-pack! I’d be swozzled and bloated before I finished a third of the book.
I was part of the panel interview with Lee, Val and Natasha Cooper, although perhaps more reticent than usual, as I considered myself pretty outclassed by the company.
Mark Lawton, who chaired the debate so brilliantly, also did the panel interview. I realized only after the fact that he’s also appeared as himself in Extras, a show I happen to love. Probably for the best that I didn’t put it together at the time, as I’m sure I would have squealed like a fan girl.
Oh, as for what I said? I honestly don’t remember. I know I called Val “honey chile” at one point, and brought up the one odd bit of trivia at my command: Raymond Chandler, who was so proud of studying in England (a point the Brits used in their favor) always maintained that Erle Stanley Gardner was one of America’s best crime writers, much better than Hammett, Cain or MacDonald.
Later, Val’s spouse, Kelly Smith, who knows from the South, pointed out that I failed to use one of the best Southernisms of all, the wonderfully passive-aggressive “Bless her heart,” which is appended to vicious statements to make them sound nicer. As in: “He’s just not very bright. Bless his heart.”
I love “swozzled,” Laura. I’m stealing it.
If you’re really going to tackle <i>Ulysses</i>, though, better get a 1.5L of Bushmill’s and a keg of Guinness. You’ll be swozzled as hell, but I think Joyce would have wanted it that way.
Speaking of James Patterson, he’s started a YA series of thriller/fantasy novels that he calls his best stories ever. I haven’t read them, but I can attest that they held my kids in a grip not much less powerful than Harry Potter’s.
Ahhh, Ulysses.
There was a seminar back in college that, two years before I took it, was all about James Joyce. The year before I got there, it was Joyce and Beckett. The year I took it it was Joyce, Beckett, and Kafka. Because, you know, a semester seems just right for tackling Molloy, Malone Dies, The Unnameable, The Trial, Amerika, The Dubliners, Portrait of the Artist, and Ulysses.
Honestly, I loved Ulysses–but I always wonder if it was mostly pride in finishing it, rather than a true love of the text, that made me so happy.
Can I just point out that “The Dead” (from Dubliners) is one of the most beautiful short stories in existence. It was also turned into a fne film by John Huston (his last, I think). By all means, give the longer books a wide berth, but read “The Dead”.
I infuriated Alex Barclay recently by telling her that Joyce was British rather than Irish. I was teasing her of course, but it’s true – Joyce was born British (ie, before Irish independence) and refused to take Irish citizenship because he disapproved of the Republic’s puritanical streak. It cost him his life in that he had to flee Paris ahead of the German army, despite have a perforated stomach ulcer, and died in Zurich shortly afterwards.
The Dead is beautiful and the phrase “Snow was general over Ireland”* is one that has stuck in my head. I have read Dubliners and Portrait of an Artist as a Young Man, so my Joyce problem is specific to Ulysses.
I tried it again recently, while puzzling over a student’s work that was, quite deliberately, almost impossible to understand. (My student was aping Borges, but I didn’t have any Borges handy.) With a little patience, I could make it through, but I confess to being an impatient reader.
*Playing by the rules here, I quoted The Dead from memory — and, of course, didn’t get it quite right. “Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general ALL over Ireland.” I started to copy the whole passage here, but it’s a passage that demands to be experienced in context.
Ah, Laura, I’ve just gone back and reread those final paragraphs myself, and am surprised yet again by their beauty.
Gabriel imagining his way across the dark and snow covered Ireland to Michael Furey’s grave is what elevates the story from a quiet meditation on life and death to something much greater. I also think it’s something the short story can do even more successfully than the novel – suddenly take flight and leave the reader where they least expected to find themselves.