An interview with BBC Newsnight
[Source]
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Also at A Piece of Monologue:
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Will Self |
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Will Self. Photo: Rex. |
What has changed in the past 30 years is that it has become impossible for the rump of the literary profession – those middling sorts (of sales, that is, not necessarily of brow) – to earn a reasonable living simply by writing books. The abolition of the net book agreement in the 1980s heralded two simultaneous developments: a vertiginous integration of book distribution and retailing, and a simultaneous collapse in the formerly steep-sided pyramid of critical authority. To put it bluntly: the punters would no longer buy what they were told to buy by literary types, and in any case, there were no longer cosy little bookshops in which they could order these recommendations. As for writers, whose earnings had been artificially maintained by a price cartel, there were only a few options available: the time-honoured promenade of Grub Street, some altogether non-literary job, or an ignominious – and often soul-destroying – retreat into silence.
The advent of the web, and a generation for whom free creative content is – quite literally – a given, has only intensified these pressures; but actually for the duration of my career, if you wanted to make a success of being a literary novelist (a synonym for not especially high-selling) you’ve had to be willing to work very hard indeed at publicising and presenting your own work to the public. And a key part of that publicising and presenting has been the reading of your works aloud. In the early 1990s when I began publishing, the standard literary tour consisted of doing a circuit of chain bookshops – Waterstones and latterly Borders – and reading to whoever bothered to pitch up. The author’s presence in provincial towns was designed to stimulate local media attention, and so units were shifted. [Read More]
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W. G. Sebald. Photograph: Ulf Anderson |
WG Sebald, who died in a car crash in 2001, was an inspired essayist, quite as much as he was a novelist; indeed, I often think of his most achieved fictions – Austerlitz, and The Emigrants – as writing that tests the limits of both forms, blending them together at their margins with a kind of vaporous diffusion of their creator’s lucidity, so entirely are the invented and the real fused together. This essay on the last years of Jean-Jacques Rousseau’s life exhibits all of Sebald’s strengths as a writer – and all of his strange, gnomic, secretive foibles. Ostensibly a straightforward account of Rousseau’s exiled wanderings, it begins with his first glimpse, in 1965, of the Ile Saint Pierre in Switzerland, where Rousseau spent the first period of his stateless exile, and where he claimed – in his Reveries of a Solitary Walker – that he was happier than he had been anywhere else. [Read More]To read James Woods, Iain Sinclair and Robert Macfarlane on Sebald, visit Guardian Review here.
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Extreme Metaphors: Interviews with J. G. Ballard 1967-2008 |
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Olivetti Lettera 22 typewriter |
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Will Self |
“He’s quite antagonistic, he’s completely up himself and he uses all these long words,” says Will Self when tentatively asked what people think of him. As descriptions of his own public persona go, it’s one most would struggle to argue with. “That’s fine, it doesn’t bother me,” he says with a smile. “They can think what they want.”Also at A Piece of Monologue:
That conspiratorial smirk nods to the fact that – from the moment he arrives at the appointed Soho café, wheeling a folding bicycle and trying to procure a chair outside – Will Self isn’t what you expect. The intellectually imposing writer and professional curmudgeon we’ve heard about mostly fails to materialise during ShortList’s hour-long interview. He’s funny, friendly and, whisper it, quite nice.
“People can’t assimilate that,” explains the 50-year-old, cramming a roll-up into a plastic cigarette holder. “The idea of light comedy and heavy literature bamboozles [them] because they want you to be one thing or another. It annoys people. But that’s all right.” [Read More]
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Will Self at the London Review Bookshop, 6 September 2012 |
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Notes and Letters |
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Teju Cole |
Increasingly, novels are praised for how much of the culture they manage to include. Open City is entirely contemporary and worldly and it includes a great deal. What are the possibilities and pitfalls of literary inclusiveness?
In a sense, Open City is a kind of Wunderkammer, one of those little rooms assembled with bric-a-brac by Renaissance scholars. I don’t mean it as a term of praise: these cabinets of curiousities contained specific sorts of objects – maps, skulls (as memento mori), works of art, stuffed animals, natural history samples, and books – and Open City actually contains many of the same sort of objects. So, I don’t think it’s as simple as literary inclusiveness. That phrase, in fact, brings to mind David Foster Wallace, Jonathan Franzen, and Dave Eggers. They are keen to include and, in fact, itemize the present in all its gaudy multiplicity. My own literary interest is more about excavating the past, or sensing the past inside the present. This requires all kinds of exclusions and sleights of hand. There’s an admittedly antiquarian flavor to it, even though there’s enough of the present included to lull the reader. So, for a book set in 2006, Open City evades certain markers, while it embraces certain others. Julius doesn’t use a smartphone, and he doesn’t discuss contemporary US politics in any fine detail. [Read More]
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Will Self writing in Liverpool's (now demolished) Linosa Close tower block during the Further Up In The Air project |
'“I think I felt oppressed by the distractions of digital media and longed for a certain level of clarity and simplicity that the typewriter afforded,” he says. “The internet is of no relevance at all to the business of writing fiction directly, which is about expressing certain kinds of verities that are only found through observation and introspection. It’s an incredibly powerful tool and you’d be stupid not to use it, but it’s a distraction in the actual business of writing.”Also at A Piece of Monologue:
[...]
As a former addict, Will Self is acutely aware of the internet’s potential power to lure users into cul-de-sacs of distraction. “It fulfils the criteria of addiction, which is obsessive mental content connected to compulsive action,” he says. “The machine itself seems like a paradigm of the addictive state. I can see it as something that needs to be put down the way an alcoholic puts down drink.”' [Read More]
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Photograph: Nick Papadimitriou. Source. |
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Nick Papadimitriou. Image: BBC Newsnight |
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Nick Papadimitriou |
A mostly crap scrap of the neither-here-nor-there London exurbia is the subject of Nick Papadimitriou's wonder Scarp. Through decades of walks from his council flat just inside the hellish ring of the north circular, he has fallen deeply for the low bumps of the 17-mile north Middlesex/south Hertfordshire escarpment. Here he is almost on common ground and up against the capital's modern saints of dystopic psychogeography: the master of the meaningful roundabout JG Ballard (Concrete Island), and the leggy pair of Will Self (Walking to Hollywood) and Iain Sinclair (whose M25 – in London Orbital – is the unspoken tarmac hedge to Papadimitriou's ambition and stride to the north of his scarp). There are a host of others too – a proper ministry of silly walks – but Papadimitriou is his own man.Also at A Piece of Monologue:
His methodology might be bonkers but it is very engaging. Years of study and dreaming in the spare bedroom of his flat have given birth to a series of fantastic journeys – trips, more like – through the ages of the scarp and into and out of its living and its dead, its creatures and plants, its buildings and routeways, its residents and its passers-by. The whole shebang is channelled into what Papadimitriou calls "deep topography". But the loopy incredibility of all this is redeemed by his indomitable playfulness. That he is relaxed about taking his own character along with him on his walks also helps a lot. He is good fun. [Read More]
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Will Self. Photograph: David A. Selby |
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Design: Rhys Tranter |
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Will Self, 'Kafka's Wound: A Digital Essay' |
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Will Self |