In honour of Jamaica’s 50th year of independence celebrations today, and my countrymen Usain Bolt and Yohan Blake’s exploits last night – and also because I’m still not getting around to much blogging of my own – here’s what an Olympic-class reader thought of John Crow’s Devil by the Jamaican writer Marlon James. Amazing how it fills my heart with joy to know that someone loved a book I thought they’d love.
All posts by Stephanie Saulter
Jamaica: divine retribution
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on August 6, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/08/06/jamaica-divine-retribution-a-year-of-reading-the-world/
Thoughts on Nabokov’s ‘Lolita’
For once it’s easy to choose Goodreads 5-star rating for a book, given that the rollover reminds us this means ‘it was amazing’ rather than the 4-star ‘I really liked it.’ Lolita was amazing. I’m not sure I really liked it. I’m very glad I read it. I doubt I’ll ever read it again.
I suppose the most astonishing, and uncomfortable, single aspect of a generally astonishing and uncomfortable book is that for 350+ pages it locates us squarely inside the mind, the emotions, the urges and the actions of what must surely be one of the most venal, vainglorious, pathetically evil characters in all of literature. Humbert Humbert is intelligent, educated, witty and eloquent, and as such his confession/memoir, delivered through the veil of his own justifications and excuses, is shockingly seductive. In the course of our time with him we find ourselves laughing at his jokes, agreeing with his assessments, recognising his dilemmas. When his true nature shines through – and this is a negative shine, as it were, chinks of purest black in the light, bright armour of his self-aggrandisement – the pure horror of it is so overwhelming that it is, paradoxically, easier to ignore than to focus on. We don’t want to go there. We don’t want to comprehend what those flashes of unvarnished truth tell us is really happening to Lolita. His endless expositions of undying love and amused observations on the idiosyncrasies of early adolescence are so much easier to bear. And because he is unable even at the end, when the horror he has wrought can finally no longer be concealed even from himself, to acknowledge that his Lolita was never more than an innocent victim, and he never less than the most guilty of predators, he remains, for me at least, irredeemable.
Because in some ways his greatest crime is this: Lolita is never a person to him, never an entity in her own right, never a being entitled to any rights. She exists only in relation to him. He defines her nature, implicitly, in terms of his own reactions to her. The notion that he might be, indeed should be, completely incidental to her is not one he can countenance. And the greatest tragedy of the book is that because he never challenges, never wants to challenge, his own duplicitous perception, he makes of it a reality. Lolita is, in the end, what he has made her, and no more. We are unable to know her except as he has known her. Her life is truncated by his understanding of it.
It’s easy to see why Lolita is on virtually every best-book list since the middle of the 20th century. It deserves to be there. It’s a book that should be read, and talked about, and thought about. Should it be enjoyed? Well yes, for its mastery if not its subject matter. Nabokov’s achievement is superlative. The style and structure of the thing, the framing devices and concatenation of tales, the pearls of prose, the characterisations, the sheer thrust and power of the narrative, are literally breathtaking. Readers talk about being transported, and it is a book that is deeply moving in every sense. For a writer it is an awe-inspiring work, an intensely difficult story to pull off in the purely technical sense made to look easy by the sheer lyrical bravura of the author. There is much for us later generations of wordsmiths to learn here – and be intimidated by.
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on July 26, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/07/26/thoughts-on-nabokovs-lolita/
Gemsigns it is, and a really cool cover
Now that I’ve caught up on my sleep and had a natter with the neighbours about the appalling weather, some news! I pitched up at my publisher’s office on Tuesday and was whisked away to lunch by the lovely Jo Fletcher herself, with my agent and Jo’s editorial assistant and publicity director in tow. I knew I was going to get an update on how the cover art was coming along; I didn’t know they were going to whip out, oh a dozen or so, iterations of the cover of my book!
Complete with title: we’re all really happy with Gemsigns (so kudos to editorial assistant Nicola Budd for the typo that turned it from just ‘okay’ into ‘ooh, cool!’ There are some very good accidents in life.) Complete with my name, obviously, but I still had a moment of shock seeing it there, a thrill up the spine, a sense of surreality. Blimey. I did that.
The cover itself was also a surprise; it wasn’t what I was expecting, although I don’t know what I was expecting. I’d had a rant early on about how repetitive cover art gets, especially in the SFF world; I do not want to bring yet another bloodied hero with a broken broadsword on a blasted battlefield into the house, nor am I any longer intrigued by sleek spaceships illuminated by lasers/phasers/whatever against a backdrop of endless night. Not that any of those visual tropes could even remotely be applied to Gemsigns, but I didn’t want it to be bland and noncommittal either. Give me something that looks designed, I said, something striking, something different.
Boy, did they ever.
All the versions were variations of the same basic idea. Four or five I discarded immediately, to sighs of relief; I just disliked them, the professionals had already judged them a bit too YA. It took a few seconds longer to discard the next round, and the next, as the distinctions became more subtle; but in very short order we were down to The One. Which is hard, and alluring, and mysterious, and doesn’t look like anything else I’ve seen in quite some time.
Oh, and red. It’s very red.
The picture I took with my phone has been resoundingly approved by friends, but I can’t share it here just yet. Once the required tweaks are made (slightly heavier lines on the title font, a little more shading here, a little less there) and the final final version is approved, bright shiny PDFs will be dispatched for posting. I can’t wait.
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on July 15, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/07/15/gemsigns-it-is-and-a-really-cool-cover/
Going away to go back
So I’m back home in the damp greenness that is Devon, recovering from a full-on few days in London. There’ve been (at least) two changes in my response to the city since I moved to the country. One is that I’m in love with London again, the way I used to be, before the soul-destroying, tedium-spiked-with-aggro of the daily commute wore that early infatuation out of me. This is the reaction I’d hoped for, and to tell the truth expected; it was one of the reasons I moved out in the first place, to reclaim the pleasure of going in. Another is the rather more startling realisation that three or four fully scheduled big-city days and nights are exhausting. I didn’t notice when my life was like that week in, week out. I only knew that I was bloody tired. A lot.
As I am now, though the long drive in endless rain probably has as much to do with that as five days of insufficient sleep. No complaints about the big city itself, full once again of magic and mystery and the boundless energy of eight million lives. It welcomed me back, gave me a proper workout and sent me home with lots of book-related news, which I promise to share just as soon as … zzz.
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on July 14, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/07/14/going-away-to-go-back/
Angst and the second book
It’s been a month since I said I’d try to post at least a couple of times a month. Heigh-ho. There’s one rash promise scuppered a-borning.
The book is going well, I think. I probably won’t know for sure for another month or so, when I can see if where the opening I’ve constructed is taking me is where I intended to be. Or is even remotely interesting. (I assure you that these are quite distinct, though hopefully not mutually exclusive outcomes.)
I keep thinking it’s harder than the first book, although looking back that one certainly didn’t feel easy at the time. But it is a technical challenge of a different order entirely. I have to reintroduce a world and characters that I’ve already established in Gemsigns, in sufficient detail to orient new readers and to remind those for whom some time may pass between books; but not in so much detail that I am essentially repeating huge chunks of Gemsigns. I have to try and preserve at least some of the secrets of Gemsigns, so that this book doesn’t entirely spoil that one for those who may come to this first.
Some of those secrets so fundamentally inform what happens next – what I’m writing now – that I can’t post excerpts without undermining the pleasure that I hope you, my potential, prospective readers, will get from Gemsigns. I’m meeting with my publishers in a few weeks, and I’ll talk to them about posting a few extracts from Gemsigns now and then. Which, in addition to hopefully generating interest and feedback, will also boost my blog output with little or no extra effort on my part.
Yes, I know that is a completely self-serving and cheeky reason, but don’t beat me up too badly. Please. I was novel-writing until 1 o’clock this morning, and I suspect I may not have had enough coffee.
(Progress report: 20,000+ words, chapters 1-6 complete, plus another long-ish and crucial scene which will go … somewhere. Soon. All major and most minor characters – some of whom are new to this book – have been introduced; plots and sub-plots are up and running. Fairly happy with the prose, although I do have to watch out for seepage: I read a Philip Pullman novel a few weeks ago and for a moment I too was writing retro Victoriana; then an Iain Banks novel and suddenly there was a fair bit of existential angst; now GK Chesterton and an invasion of Edwardian rhetoric. The good news is I can spot and block it pretty quickly. But it is interesting.)
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on June 17, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/06/17/angst-and-the-second-book/
Writing, not blogging
It feels faintly ridiculous to write a blog post about not writing more blog posts, but that’s what this is. I’m working on my second novel, and I tend not to read or write much of anything else when I’m in that mode. I guess I turn into even more of a recluse than usual: an intellectual hermit, sealed into my own little bubble of creation. When I was writing Gemsigns last year I’d go days without talking to another soul.
I suspect this isn’t all that healthy, so I’m going to make an effort not to become entirely uncommunicative. There’s also the little matter of the editorial, production and promotional processes leading up to the publication of Gemsigns next March. Indeed, I’m lucky that I do have another book to write by then (manuscript due in April), otherwise I think I’d be completely distracted by what’s already happening and what’s to come. As it is I can’t help feeling a little stunned by something like this. Thank you, Jo Fletcher Books. It makes me feel … it makes me feel … well, wonderful. And like I’ve got to really make sure the second book lives up to the first.
So if you notice me not writing here, rest assured it’s because I’m writing elsewhere. I’ll try to pop in at least every couple of weeks to let you know how I’m getting on, wrestle out loud with literary problems, and share any other news and views. I may post a bit more often to my Facebook page; I’d be chuffed to bits if the people who like this one liked that one as well.
(Oh, and in case anyone’s interested: not counting the reams of notes, character sketches, random phrases and lines of dialogue, the word count for the new book currently stands at 4,800. That’s Chapter 1, most of Chapter 2, and a crucial scene that will form the core of Chapter 3. Given that the target is roughly 100,000+ words and 30-ish chapters, it’s still very early days.)
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on May 17, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/05/17/writing-not-blogging/
World Book Night: one amazing story
World Book Night is well under way. I did my bit early, taking my two dozen copies of Good Omens to the local college where library staff had assured me that the student population were not, in fact, regular readers beyond what was necessary for coursework. So I expected it to be a bit of a struggle. But in the end it wasn’t; I teamed up with a fellow giver, and, armed with free books and lots of chocolate, she got them to spend time with a delusional shopaholic while I persuaded them that the end of the world, as imagined by Messrs. Pratchett and Gaiman, is incredibly funny. I left a couple of young guys already nose-deep in their books, and came home happy.
But I am left with a sneaking suspicion that it may have been too easy. I’m delighted to have shared the books where I shared them – it’s true that no one we spoke to had read either book before, and I doubt that many of them are avid readers in general. But I don’t think the books they got today are likely to change their lives. The same can’t be said for another giver, whose story was posted on the WBN blog. I won’t steal her thunder; please click the link to read. All I’ll say is that it’s left me with a lump in my throat and a tear in my eye.
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on April 23, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/04/23/world-book-night-one-amazing-story/
Book Review – Religion for Atheists by Alain de Botton
This review was originally published on Goodreads.
It would be easy to pick apart Alain de Botton’s manifesto on the usefulness of religion, and indeed I’m left wishing that he had not left quite so many obvious holes through which grenades can easily be lobbed. In his generally insightful analysis of the benefits a secular society (or more specifically, secular citizens) can achieve by appropriating the mechanisms and approaches of religion, he often writes ‘down’ to his fellow nonbelievers, as though we were not just occasionally but always bereft of structure, guidance and certainty about how to live our lives well. He limits his examples to the rituals and traditions of Christianity, Judaism and Buddhism, ignoring the juggernaut that is Islamic culture as well as the less globally prominent, but no less socially significant practices of the Hindu, Shinto and animist religions. He doesn’t seem to acknowledge (maybe, as a lifelong atheist, he isn’t acutely aware of the fact) that religions and the religious often fail to live up to their own declared ideals and can be just as petty, grandiose, directionless and poorly grounded as the rest of us. And he virtually ignores some of the aspects of human existence that religion does deal with particularly well, such as loss and grief, in favour of a focus on more nebulous characteristics like tenderness and pessimism.
Nevertheless this is a good book, and you should read it.
Why? Because for all its omissions of fact and lapses in rigour, de Botton is onto something here. He takes as his starting point a shared presumption that no religions are true – this is a book for atheists and agnostics, not believers – but argues that religion, as a human artefact still in use after tens of thousands of years, must be getting some things right.
He examines this premise by looking at how religion structures and lends weight to our sense of community, our approach to education, the transformative powers of art and architecture, and the institutionalisation of core precepts and plans. Religion, by being about more than just the individual, confers a sense of perspective and (paradoxically perhaps) longevity. Ritual and repetition are useful constructs to help us both contemplate and internalise the lessons we learn as we go through life, and to become better people along the way.
The central thrust of his argument is that the structures of religion help us transmute knowledge into wisdom, collected facts into considered purpose, individual effort into shared endeavour, and beauty into transcendence – and if we reject those structures, simply because they are religious in origin, we lose a significant portion of our own cultural and social heritage. So he posits an appropriation of religion’s structured, ritualised approach to the business of living into the secular sphere where, devoid of superstition, it can still meet our many and varied emotional and organisational needs.
You may argue that we don’t need this structure, that your sense of self and community and purpose are just fine, thank you, and that the last two centuries’ shift towards more individualistic, morally relative, non-judgemental societies is just as it should be. I for one have no wish to turn back the clock; I cherish my individual freedom and right to self-determination, society’s growing intolerance of intolerance, and the breadth of thought, daring and ambition that is the birthright of the 21st century. But it is also true that in our headlong rush into the future we are in danger of dismissing the totality of social structures and cultural mores of the past as being of no value or relevance. This would be a mistake. De Botton deserves credit for trying to start a rational conversation about how to take the best bits with us.
Posted by Stephanie Saulter on March 23, 2012
https://stephaniesaulter.com/2012/03/23/book-review-religion-for-atheists-by-alain-de-botton/





