A while back, on the Thursday night Twitter chat-fest we call South Pacific Book Chat (#spbkchat), the topic was New Zealand literature, and I was cast in the unusual position of a mute bystander, having only read works by Katherine Mansfield (exquisite short stories, poignant and thought provoking) and Lynley Dodd (Hairy Maclarey from Donaldson's Dairy).
The one name that came up again and again was Janet Frame, so I decided to check her out and was lucky enough to receive a copy of The Daylight and the Dust, a collection of Frame's short stories, from the lovely Golda at Random House Australia. Of course, then I had a nasty bout of RSI and a flare-up of my old back issues too, which made both reading and writing (typing) rather difficult - not to mention painful. Consider this a belated repayment of my literary and blogging debts :)
*****
The Daylight and The Dust is a selection of Frame's short stories, gleaned from her various collections, ranging from the early 1950s to the end of her life. There is a staggering variety in the selection, with serious, thought-provoking psychological tales brushing shoulders with whimsical childhood memories and ultra-short stories which are over almost before you've realised you're reading them. Several of the stories are set in London, and this colonial view of life in the mother country reminded me a little of V.S. Naipaul's short fiction, written around the same time. Of course, as a Kiwi writer, it's rather obvious to say that Frame's writing is influenced by Mansfield (I'm not sure anyone from New Zealand could write short stories without sensing her shadow looming heavy in the background), but there is a definite similarity in some of the themes covered.
One example of this is The Tea Cup, a story about a woman sharing lodgings and tentatively trying to create a connection with a male fellow lodger. The subtle desperation exuding from the poor, lonely woman reminded me of several of Mansfield's eternal spinster characters, wonderful women destined to live and die alone, unloved. The idea is also helped by Frame's light, airy style, with both the language and the events of the story appearing at first to be quite trivial while masking great sadness and inner torment.
Another story touching on a sense of unfulfilment (if that's a word!) is The Triumph of Poetry - one of the longer stories in the book -, which follows a man from his very successful school days through his moderately successful life, always reminding the reader of the hero's failure to become a real poet, life having got in the way. Despite the character's apparent professional and personal happiness, Frame skilfully weaves an air of unhappiness between the lines, leaving the reader with the sense of what might have been.
One of the interesting features of this book was the number of very short stories, ludicrously brief in some cases. One, the title story, barely reached two hundred words (and I have to say that it wasn't one of my favourites...), and there were several others which were a little over a page long. However, even in some of these shorter efforts, there was some wonderful writing. In Dossy, a story taking up just under two pages of very uncluttered text, the little girl featured goes from being a Queen bee to an envious poor girl to a doomed orphan in the space of a few hundred words (and three differing viewpoints) - a wonderful achievement.
In fact, several of the more memorable stories centre on childhood, Frame evoking nostalgic memories of long, lazy holidays long forgotten. However, for the adult reader, there are often darker undertones lurking beneath the surface, saving the tales from becoming mere descriptive passages and turning them into something a little more interesting. Good examples of this include The Reservoir, a story about children daring to break an unspoken taboo, and Swans, where a family (sans father) go on a curiously bleak day trip to the beach. These stories are both familiar and yet slightly unnerving, leaving the reader with a sense of more happening than meets the eye, which (of course) is how good writing should be...
The Daylight and The Dust is a nice introduction to an obviously talented writer, but it is a little like an appetiser before the main meal. I'm more of a Victorian pot-boiler man than a short-story afficionado, and these stories have merely whetted my appetite for something a little lengthier. So, to finish up today, I'll turn the spotlight back on my audience and ask: have you read any of Frame's novels? What would you recommend?
I'd be very interested to hear your opinions :)
*****
P.S. As I began to write this review, I flicked over to Twitter (as you do) and, after following a few interesting tweets and links, I found something which brings a certain symmetry and serendipity to my post. Apparently, Tim Jones (an NZ Science-Fiction Writer and a regular at the aforementioned #spbkchat event) was awarded a prize this week (and well done to him for that!). Which one, you ask? Well, would you believe it was the Janet Frame Memorial Award for Literature? Life, sometimes, truly is stranger than fiction. And nicer :)
It's time to add my contribution to Tanabata's Hello Japan! event for November, and this month it's a little meme with a few Japan-based questions - saa, ikimashoo~ :)
My favourite Japanese city is Nara because you get all the temples of Kyoto without the ugly buildings (and with added deer!).
The best Japanese book I've read this year is The Oxford Book of Japanese Short Stories - a wonderful introduction to J-Lit for anyone interested in this area.
What Japanese author(s) or book(s) have you enjoyed that you would highly recommend to others?
Let's try Yukio Mishima, Natsume Soseki, Jun'ichiro Tanizaki and (of course) Haruki Murakami :) - I will be moving on to the two Japanese Nobel laureates, Yasunari Kawabata and Kenzaburo Oe, in 2011, so that list will undoubtedly grow longer...
What is something Japanese that you'd like to try but haven't yet had the chance?
Alas, I never got to attend the Sumo or make it to Koshien for a Hanshin Tigers' game during my time in Japan :(
You're planning to visit Japan next year. Money is not a concern. What is on the top of your list of things you most want to do?
See above :) Also, I spent most of my time in Japan in Kansai, with one fleeting visit to Kanto, so I would like to skip Honshu and visit the other main islands - a bit of time in Kyushu, Hokkaido and Shikoku (plus a few days on the beach on Okinawa!) would be great! Not sure I could stomach Will Ferguson's Japanese journey though...
***Thanks to Tanabata for organising this mini-challenge: why don't you all join in next time and learn more about Japan?***
Today, I'll be discussing another trio of books in my desperate (and unnecessary) attempt to get back up to date with my blog, reviewing a rare (for me) non-fiction book, a French magical realism novel and yet another slice of Japanese literature - allons-y...
*****
A Short History of Philosophy is a textbook I read a while back, in preparation for helping students studying an Art & Design theory unit at work. I am no longer working there, so it probably wasn't the best use of my work time, but it was extremely interesting all the same. Reading about the long line of Western philosophers, starting with the Greek greats (Socrates, Aristotle, Plato) through to Bertrand Russell in the twentieth century was fascinating stuff; however, a month or so after the fact, I'd be hard pressed to remember more than a few names and ideas (which is thoroughly depressing).
One thing I do remember though is my favourite philosopher, Diogenes the Cynic. Why is he my favourite? Well, in addition to living on the streets and being fairly dismissive about adhering to the conventions of polite society (and hygiene), he was also responsible for one of the best disses in history. When Alexander the Great, one of his admirers, came to visit him and asked whether he could do anything for him, Diogenes replied "Yes, you can get out of my daylight." As well as being extremely profound, it also showed a lot of balls: if the ruler of the known world showed up on my doorstep (or gutter), I think I'd probably be a tad more respectful...
*****
A good while back, I was dropping off some old clothes at the local second-hand shop when I noticed a book in German on the shelf by the counter. I'd never heard of it, but it was only $1 (and, in pre-Book Depository times, finding anything in German in Melbourne was nothing short of a miracle), so I decided to take it home - where I soon realised that it was actually a German translation of a French novel (which I am now reviewing in English...).
Der Erlkönig (Le Roi des Aulnes or The Alder King, translated from French to German by Hellmut Waller) is a Goncourt Prize-winning novel by French writer Michel Tournier. The title comes from a Nordic myth, turned into a poem by Goethe, about a fairy king who pursues a man across the moors to steal his child from his grasp. This story, set just prior to, and then during, World War II, appears to have little to do with the title at first; however, as the story unfolds, the parallels become very clear.
Abel Tiffauges is a rather unusual person, a clumsy, lonely giant of a man, living in Paris in the late 1930s, who gets into serious trouble with the law after spending more time than he should with some local children. Set free to join the war effort, he begins a gradual drift eastwards across Europe, firstly as a soldier, then as a prisoner of war and finally as a civillian helper in Germany. He becomes a collector of creatures, from carrier pigeons to dogs, until finally he achieves his dream and becomes a hunter of children, seeking suitable young boys for a German military school: to the parents in the area, his tall, menacing figure becomes one with the legendary Erlking...
This book is a wonderful example of magical realism, with Tiffauges seeming both larger than life and somewhat apart from it, a spectral observer of the European war. Tournier draws from a dazzling variety of sources ranging from Greek myths to European fairy tales and introduces real people (such as Hermann Goering) to complete his rich tapestry of a novel. At the end, we are no wiser as to Tiffauges' fate as he heads deeper into the east, but the journey was definitely worth it. If you like slightly unusual, magical novels (à la Murakami or Garcia Marquez), Tournier is certainly worth a read - but maybe try him in English (or French) instead!
*****
And finally, we come to my third book today and the companion piece to The Key, also translated by Howard Hibbett, Diary of a Mad Old Man. As well as having an absolutely superb title, this book is another of Jun'ichiro Tanizaki's looks at the seedy sexual underbelly of polite Japanese society.
This time our protagonist is Utsugi, a prototypical grumpy old man if ever there was one, who attempts to ease the aches and pains of growing older by lusting after Satsuko, his daughter-in-law. With each diary entry (probably the reason these two Tanizaki works were joined in one volume), the old man's obsession grows, causing trouble for the rest of his long-suffering family; predictably, Satsuko is portrayed as being slightly less than innocent, only too willing to use the old man's attention to serve her own interests.
For the first half of this book, I would have to say that I was a little disappointed. If The Key was a poor imitation of Quicksand, it appeared that Diary... was going to be a mediocre imitation of The Key. The plots were similar, the diary format was the same, and the idea of the seductive outsider was beginning to grate. However, Tanizaki turns it around in the second half, moving the story away from a story of obsession and into a study of the effects of old age, focusing the microscope on Utsugi rather than Satsuko (which comes as a nice change). When the obligatory twist ending comes, it's actually very different to what's expected, leaving the reader with a satisfyingly melancholy resolution.
All in all, an interesting read, but I think I'll lay off the Tanizaki for a while. Individually, I'm sure all of his books are a wonderful read; however, having looked at brief descriptions of some of his other famous works (Naomi, Some Prefer Nettles), I get the feeling that I would be experiencing severe déjà vu were I to dive into his novels again in the near future. Besides, there are so many other Japanese authors whose books I am yet to sample - so little time (sigh!)...
Well, I was planning to plough through all my neglected reviews before moving on to new books, but as Robbie Burns pointed out, the best-laid plans of mice and men do, indeed, gang aft agley (especially when it comes to blogging - although I don't know many rodent reviewers myself). Anyway, I finished a book yesterday and decided that I had to talk about it, and when that happens, you just have to grit your teeth, hit the keyboard, and hope that your body holds out; here goes...
*****
The book which brought on this spontaneous bout of blogging is another novel by the father of Japanese literature, Natsume Soseki. Translated by Meredith McKinney, Kusamakura (previously translated as The Three-Cornered World) means 'grass pillow' and is a short novel which is the epitome of what people imagine Japanese literature to be. The main idea of the novel - you couldn't really call it a plot - is of an artist travelling through the wilds of Kyushu at the start of the twentieth century and staying at a hot springs inn while searching for inspiration for a picture. He comes across Nami, the owner's daughter, and... that's pretty much it. If you're looking for complications, you are definitely in the wrong place.
You see, Kusamakura, as with many Japanese novels, is more about the path than the destination. While reading it, the expression 'poetry in prose' continually crossed my mind, and Natsume himself actually described this book (a sort of bridge between his humorous early works and his later, more serious, efforts) as a 'haiku novel' - which probably says more about the book than I could ever tell you ;) It consists of thirteen short chapters, each around ten to twelve pages long, and I read it as it should be read, taking one chapter at a time, savouring the words, putting it to one side, and then coming back for another slice later. This is a book for enjoying, not rushing.
The concepts expressed in the book revolve around a few central ideas: the examination of what an artist actually is and what they need to do to live artistically; the contrast between natural rural life and the fevered city existence most people have become accustomed to; and, more allegorically, the difference between the past and the present, East and West. Soseki's unnamed protagonist is more than happy to just find the nearest rock and drink in the scenery as he ponders these mysteries, gazing into the distance and musing on the challenges of poetry and painting.
This could get rather repetitive and mind-numbing in the hands of a lesser writer, but Natsume has a subtle and timely sense of humour, allowing his main character to laugh quietly at himself and prevent the thinking from becoming navel-gazing. When his hero spends a page wondering what has happened to the other occupants of the inn, imagining them lost at sea in an impenetrable mist, or magically transformed into ethereal spirits, the final sentence of the paragraph:
"Whatever may be the case, it certainly is quiet" p.64, Penguin Classics (2008)
pulls us back to the real world with a thud!
One idea I loved was his musing that you don't actually have to create anything to be an artist. Simply removing oneself consciously from worldly troubles and being able to appreciate nature's artistic qualities requires an artistic temperament; the actual work of art is simply the culmination of this idea (as a lazy writer, I find this idea far too tempting!). Of course, on a sunny day, relaxing in the mountains (or lounging on the sofa), it's best not to overanalyse these things. As Natsume himself says:
"To think is to sink into error." p.43
Another point where I am fully in agreement with the writer and his creation is where he discusses the delights of tea (no coffee for me or the characters in Kusamakura!):
"Tea is in fact a marvellous drink. To those who spurn it on the grounds of insomnia, I say that it's better to be deprived of sleep than of tea." p.87
As you can tell from all these quotes I've provided (something I rarely take the pains to do), I loved this book. It's less a novel or novella, and more a tract about living life artistically, the Tao of Kusamakura if you will. I'm sure someone with a bit more energy than myself could create a new religion from Natsume's whimsical musings (and I'm sure it would be a good one), but that would actually defeat the object of removing oneself from daily life.
I'll finish today with a perfect example of how this book can constantly throw up surprises. After going away for a stroll in the garden, I came back to read Chapter 9 - only to realise on completing it that it was actually Chapter 10... When I eventually got around to reading the real Chapter 9, our fearless protagonist was conversing with Nami and explaining his method of reading novels, dipping into the book wherever he saw fit and reading a few pages with no context. When challenged as to the logic of this method, he replies:
"If you say you have to start at the beginning, that means you have to read to the end." p.95
And that is what Kusamakura is all about...
After a horrible bout of RSI and/or nasty neck pain (which made it very painful to both type and read), I am slowly getting back to fairly normal health - yay :) So, it's time to catch you up with a little of what I have managed to read recently: slowly...
*****
Of course, it's good to start the way you mean to go on, so my first mini-review will be a slating of Henry James' The Wings of the Dove. Yes, yes, he's very clever, wonderful psychological treatment etc etc, but Henry James is everything that non-readers imagine classic literature to be - impenetrable, over-wordy, meandering and (most importantly) completely up itself. I've tried with Mr. James, I really have, and there were times where I thought I was glimpsing the good in his writing; however, these few moments of enjoyment were drowned in the sludge of words and lack of momentum. The story? Sick rich girl has money, and everyone else wants it (but never actually says it of course). Apologies to all James fans, but it's three strikes and out for old Henry - I just don't like his style...
*****
Now someone whose style suits me a little better is Jun'ichiro Tanizaki, and after reading the wonderful Quicksand, I immediately snapped up a two-book edition on the Book Depository, the first of which was The Key (translated by Howard Hibbet). This is a he-says-she-says novel with a difference as it is entirely constructed of extracts from the diaries of a man and his wife. The extracts show the somewhat perverse turn their marriage takes when the husband decides to spice up their sex life with some rather unorthodox measures. While both the husband and wife become aware of their spouse's diary, both strongly deny that they would ever actually look inside, thus violating their partner's privacy, but how much can we trust what they are telling us - and who are they really writing their diaries for?
The Key is another wonderful, slow-burning, sexually-charged story, and the idea is an intriguing one. However, it's not as good as Quicksand and suffers a tad in comparison The ending is definitely very similar, and it does appear to run out of steam a little, surprising for what is a fairly slim book. I would also warn potential readers that it does contain a storyline that is actually quite shocking to... Look, I'm getting onto very dodgy moral ground here, and I don't want to start any kind of cultural debate, so I'll tread lightly and just say that many people will find some of the actions the husband takes ever-so-slightly disturbing. Let's move on...
*****
Now, I do love a bit of Dostoyevsky, and Devils (translated by the famous Constance Garnett) is a lot more than a bit of Dostoyevsky. Another rolling epic tale, it depicts events in a small rural town where a group of young anarchists is stirring up the locals, confusing the authorities and preparing for a particularly unspeakable crime. It's based on a real event, and the novel is every bit as good as some of his more famous works, another wonderful combination of tight plotting, psychological suspense and well-written crucial scenes.
It's funny though that when people talk about Dostoyevsky, it's always as a brooding, masterful writer, someone who writes books to be waded through, akin to walking across a vast river of treacle, yet his books are often a joy to read. As well as being real page turners, his novels can contain wonderful scenes of humour - yes, Dostoyevsky is funny! The first part of Devils is especially amusing, culminating in a meeting where about a dozen of the main characters meet under unexpected and confusing circumstances, reminiscent more of Oscar Wilde than Tolstoy. Of course, with the subject matter being what it is, things do take a turn for the more serious later, but never let it be said that Dostoyevsky neglected the lighter side of the art of literature...
*****
So that's the first of my mini-catch-up pieces; there'll be more to come when I can bring myself to return to the computer. Forgive the brevity and the shallowness of the reviews - hopefully there's something there to make it all worthwhile :)
hiatus noun /haɪˈeɪ.təs/ [C usually singular] formal -
a short pause in which nothing happens or is said, or a space where something is missing.
Which leads me to my short announcement that health issues (RSI-type stuff) have led to a temporary halt to proceedings at Tony's Reading List - mainly because I have trouble typing and reading :(
Hope to be back soon...
After the whirlwind madness that was BBAW 2010, where I spent my time preaching of the virtues of reading translated (mostly Japanese) literature, it's actually quite relaxing to settle back into my usual blogging routine with a review post about... Japanese literature. Plus ça change...
*****
After having passed myself off as an expert in the field, it was a little disconcerting to realise that the thirty-something Japanese books gathering dust on the allotted shelves in my study were written by a mere seven different writers - seven! While I realise that this may be one or two (or seven) more than a lot of bloggers, it does undermine my authority a little and needs to be addressed as soon as possible. Which is where today's book came in very handy...
The Oxford Book of Japanese Short Stories is a wonderful collection which I first spotted in the campus bookshop a while back. Being reluctant to spend over $30 on it, however, I trotted off back to my desk and my trusty PC, where I quickly found it for about $14 on the Book Depository. A click of my fingers mouse, and it was winging its way over to my doorstep. Brilliant :)
The book contains thirty-five short stories by thirty-five of the best Japanese writers of the past century, increasing my source of potential classics by 500% in a matter of 440 pages. There were stories from some of my old favourites (Yukio Mishima, Haruki Murakami, Natsume Soseki, Kobo Abe), from famous writers I'd heard of but never encountered in print before (Yasunari Kawabata, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Kenzaburo Oe, Shusaku Endo), and from writers I never knew existed (Naoya Shiga, Ango Sakaguchi, Masahiko Shimada). The book is edited, and introduced by, Theodore 'Ted' Goossen (a famous scholar and translator of Japanese literature), and his excellent introduction, giving an overview of 'five generations' of modern Japanese writers and 'five legacies' (or areas) of Japanese short-story writing, is just as valuable for the reader as the stories themselves.
It would be impossible to review all of the stories in one, easily-digestible post, so I have decided to choose my top five stories, deliberately excluding any by writers whose works I have already read. This list is, of course, highly subjective, and by excluding all of the female writers featured, I may be letting myself in for a little criticism; nevertheless, these were my favourites :)
5 - The Bears of Nametoko by Kenji Miyazawa
A story of a hunter living in the mountains and making a living by shooting bears and selling their pelts in the village below. Far from being a merciless slaughterer, he and his dog appear to live in near harmony with the bears, as shown by the melancholy ending.
4 - In the Forest, Under Cherries in Full Bloom by Ango Sakaguchi
One of the most chilling and supernatural stories in the book, this story about a bandit who kills a man and takes his wife to be his own is both tense and grotesque. One thing's for sure - you'll never think the same way about cherry-blossom viewing again...
3 - Prize Stock by Kenzaburo Oe
By far the longest story of the collection, this forty-page tale, seen through the eyes of a child, recounts the events which unfold when a small Japanese village captures an American airman. A well-crafted tale of humanity, and a lack of it.
2 - The Izu Dancer by Yasunari Kawabata
The first of Japan's two Nobel laureates in literature (Oe was the second), Kawabata evokes everything that foreigners love about this country's writing in a sumptuous, twenty-page walk through mountainous terrain and small villages in the company of a student from Tokyo and a family group of wandering entertainers.
1 - In a Grove - Ryunosuke Akutagawa
An absolute classic of Japanese writing. A murder, seven accounts, seven conflicting stories - one amazing piece of writing. This story was adapted by Akira Kurosawa for the big-screen (Rashomon).
Have you guessed yet that I love this book? This is a must-have item for anyone interested in Japanese literature: for novices, it provides a useful starting point, from which you can follow your interests and tastes; for readers (like me) who have already tried a variety of writers, it helps you to widen your view a little and decide which author to look at next. And yes, that's exactly what happened - I am currently waiting for a book by Kenzaburo Oe to arrive, and I have two new Kawabata editions on advance purchase (which will be late Christmas presents by the time they land on my doorstep!).
*****
Unfortunately, that's where I'll have to leave you for the moment - while you go off and get your credit card details ready, I need to go and look at getting some new, double-reinforced bookshelves. There's always a downside...
Friday already, and it's time for my BBAW 2010 wrap-up post. In some ways, the five days have flown past; in others, it's been an exhausting experience! In this final post, I'd just like toreview the week, consider what I've learned and lay out some future plans for my blogging, formed in the crucible of the BBAW furnace!
*****
Although my blog has been around since the start of 2009, it's not one of the most popular sites out there, and I have tended to move languidly around in a fairly limited circle of bloggers, gradually extending that circle at each rotation. This week, therefore, has seen a quantum leap in both the number of blogs I have visited and the number of visitors my own quiet little corner of the blogosphere has been lucky enough to receive. I'm not sure that the mutual admiration will last in all cases much beyond the end of the week; however, I'm sure a little will have rubbed off on both sides, and there'll be some lasting relationships in both directions.
This week has seen me post every day on (or close to) the BBAW topics: on Monday, I recommended a couple of my favourite bloggers; on Tuesday, I interviewed Jenners, a blogger who was new to me (and vice-versa!); on Wednesday, I talked about how a recommendation led to my reading a novel by blog; and yesterday, I got up into my pulpit and preached to the masses about translated literature! I'd like to extend a special thanks to Jenners for her participation and help with Tuesday's interview posts; having a more popular and mainstream blogger as a partner probably helped more people find their way here than would otherwise have been the case - and she was very nice about it all too, despite my comments about vampires and e-books ;)
Over the course of the week, while evaluating other blogs and receiving comments about my site and the posts contained herein, I have also had time to reflect on Tony's Reading List and to think about what my blog actually means to me. One thing the many kind comments have brought home to me is that I do what I do well; that is, I review a range of classical, translated and German-language literature, and I pretty much stop there apart from the (very) occasional comment piece. It's what makes me stand out a little, even if it's what makes me hard to find in the first place, as oxymoronic as that may sound! In short, there's no point in moving my tastes towards those of the wider market as there are thousands of bloggers out there who can, and do, achieve this much more successfully than I ever could.
The recognition has also made me realise that I enjoy writing the posts and that I want to keep up my blog, as difficult and time consuming as that can be at times. If I need to improve my time management a little (and avoid chasing my tail with attempts to secure free books from publishers), then a little simplification is all that's needed - well, that and curtailing the urge to recheck my dashboard for comments seventy-three times a day...
So what, specifically, does this mean for the blog for the coming year? Well, firstly, that I want to continue with it (something we should never take for granted - bloggers can lose their desire to post and review at any time!). Secondly, that I will continue to concentrate on my strengths and avoid following trends just so that I can play with the cool kids. There are plenty of sites where people can read reviews of Mockingjay - there aren't that many where people can read reviews of Billard um Halbzehn or Der Besuch der Alten Dame, so I should continue to fulfil my community service role ;) Thirdly, I really need to work on my time management. This means cutting down on time-wasting activities (such as checking on comments...), and planning how I'm going to spend my time before I actually get to the computer. Sadly, as much as this pains me, it may also mean that I need to give up on the concept of reviewing every single book I read, in favour of reviews on my favourite books along with some more regular, alternative types of posts.
This last point is probably where my blog falls down a little. In my desire to review books, I have neglected the peripheral activities which make the blog attractive to others and keep the visitors coming. My reviews have tended to come down at irregular intervals without warning, like new literary versions of The Ten Commandments (Thou shalt read Quicksand forthwith!), which is fine for some readers, but probably puts others off. Therefore, I plan to make a few small changes to make the site a little more user-friendly: monthly wrap-ups (if I can find the time), tabs at the top of the home page (if I can work out how to do it on Blogger!) and a stronger, permanent logo at the top of the page to strengthen my identity (if I can do it without disrupting the look of the blog).
Finally, in what has turned into a bit of a manifesto, I'll talk about the wider role I and my blog play in the literary blogosphere. Last night's South Pacific Book Chat on Twitter (#spbkchat) focused on raising your blog's profile, and the main message to come out of it (apart from a need for closer links to publishers in our area of the world) was a desire for some more events for our region. Perhaps we can all soon start a meme, or a book club, and move towards establishing an event such as BBAW for Asia-Pacific book bloggers. Who knows, maybe one day we'll have an actual face-to-face catch up somewhere too! But that might be looking a little too far into the future...
That then is what the next year holds for me and my blog. I hope some of you have managed to stick it out to the end of the week (and the end of my lengthy diatribe!). A big thanks to all of you book bloggers out there and especially to the organisers, overseers of an event which must be incredibly time-consuming to pull together: congratulations on a job well done :) All that remains to be said is that I hope to 'see' you all around soon... oh, and let's do it all again next year :)
One of my big themes this week, and one that I was unaware would be a theme until I started writing all these posts, is the importance of variety and diversity in the blogosphere. I have been heartened to see that there are a few like-minded souls out there, blogging on less mainstream fare and content to cater for the few, rather than the many, exposing little-known books and authors to the eyes of the select group who occasionally drop by these back streets of Lit City, content to leave the bright lights of the glitzy blogs behind for a while.
As well as encouraging the promotion of niche literature in general, I am keen in particular to espouse the reading and reviewing of foreign-language fiction, in my case German, French, Japanese and (to a lesser extent) Russian novels. If there is one criticism I would level at blogging in general, it is that it can concentrate on contemporary American and British literature at the expense of classic and foreign-language works, a focus that can only be bad for the medium as a whole. Just as more multi-cultural cities (hopefully!) means a more vibrant and tolerant society, a broader focus in your reading can open your mind to different ways of thinking, similar to the effect of learning a foreign language (and much easier and cheaper!).
Some of you may have heard of Dan Holloway, blogger, writer (Songs from the Other Side of the Wall), indie publisher and general all-round polymath (although I prefer polylit - a much more book friendly expression). Well, earlier this year I noticed he was following a blog which was about to start publishing a novel on a daily basis - which was actually a fairly apt medium as the book was written in the form of a diary... The book is Thaw by English writer Fiona Robyn and is the tale of a thirty-something woman coming up to her birthday and wondering whether she can carry on with her life.
I won't go into the plot now (you can read my review here if you'd like); I'd rather concentrate on the format instead as it's something I find fascinating. While the traditional form of publishing is far from dead, the explosion of new forms of media and technology means that people have many more opportunities to get their work out there. Using a blog to expose a book (particularly one so suited to serialisation as this one) to the unsuspecting world is a wonderful idea, and one that many people, I'm sure, will be quick to follow.
But what are the advantages of this type of marketing? Doesn't it just mean at the end of the day that you are giving away your work for free? I'm sure the above-mentioned Mr. Holloway could come up with a million good reasons why this is not the case, but I'll just say that book exposure by blog is a great way for non-superstar writers to make a wider audience aware of their work and, perhaps, to gain more free publicity from people like... well. me! While I may not have bought this or any other of Fiona's books (I enjoyed Thaw, but it's not my usual kind of book), this is the second or third time that I have mentioned it in the course of my blogging, and if even only a few people do this, then the number of people exposed to the book will gradually mount up.
So, once again, thanks to Dan for the tip, Fiona for the book, and the blogosphere for making the whole thing a friendly community experience; hopefully many more aspiring authors will give blog serialisation a go. You never know - I may even try it myself one day :)
