Showing posts with label libraries. Show all posts
Showing posts with label libraries. Show all posts

Wednesday, 17 February 2021

DOOMED

So.

It was a little over a year ago that I decided to find a purpose for this blog. With that in mind, I started The Reading the Library Challenge, with the stated aim to read one book per letter of the alphabet from our general shelves in the library.

2020 did not cooperate, y'all.

Instead of 26 books, I managed the grand total of 8. Which, y'know, isn't too bad when you consider there's a pandemic and the world is generally on fire. (Also I was reading other things as well.)

This is still a project that I'd like to pursue, because many of the issues I raised (I don't read widely enough, I am comfortable in my comfort zone, there are whole swathes of authors I've never read) are still relevant. With that in mind:

Let us continue reading the library.

I believe we got up to the I-shelves, so I immediately went to this book, which has caught my eye several times while I've been shelving:

The copy we own also has the following disclaimer on the cover: "WARNING: This book may restore your faith in human nature", which honestly nearly put me off the whole business. I'm quite glad I read it anyway, because it's really very good. And worryingly topical.

PLOT SPOILERS TO FOLLOW

An investment banker, who specialises in short trading (which, conveniently, we all learned about recently due to the Gamestop saga), accidentally predicts the end of the world by a deadly flu pandemic, and flees to a tiny Cornish village. He swims off into the sea but is rescued from drowning by a whale. The village take him (and the whale) into their hearts.

So, yeah, weirdly topical. There's also a passing reference to buying shares in AstraZeneca.

It's interesting to read this sort of book while living through a genuine pandemic, to see where the author's predictions go awry (for example, in the book, the UK Government shut the borders as soon as the first cases of the deadly virus appear) (*satirical laugh*).

It's also difficult to categorise, because it's a fairly realistic, straight-forward story, but with an added element of Mystery Whale Syndrome. It is, however, nice to read peri-apocalypic fiction which isn't constant doom and gloom and people being horrid to each other. I'm not sure I'd go so far as to say it restored my faith in human nature, but it was a nice, fun story, which stayed just on the correct side of pretentiousness.

Now, off I go into the J-shelves, in search of more treasure. Wish me luck.

Monday, 22 June 2020

Reading the Library returns!

It feels like a heck of a long time ago that I started this reading challenge. It’s weird how everything now is divided into “before lockdown” and “after lockdown”. And I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s been struggling to focus on reading (or writing, or anything) while the world is a flaming garbage fire.

But the good news is, I’m back in work now, which means I once again have access to our book collection and can restart my Reading the Library challenge. Now I just need to rediscover my ability to read for fun… (no joke, I’ve found it incredibly difficult to relax and enjoy any book during these last few months, which is upsetting on a lot of levels.)

Before the break, we’d got up to the letter E. So, in a bit of a hurry, I went and grabbed the first book in the F section that snatched my fancy:

THE BEST AWFUL by Carrie Fisher

As it turns out, it’s a sequel to POSTCARDS FROM THE EDGE, which I also haven’t read. And of course I didn’t realise it was a sequel before I started reading, because that would’ve involved me doing a modicum of research. Having said that, it didn’t really impact on my enjoyment, or lack of. Oooh, that sounded bitchy. I mean, it wasn’t terrible. I just didn’t enjoy this as much as I was expecting to – it’s pretty funny, with lots of dry humour, and fairly unflinching in it’s subject matter. If someone told me this book changed their life, I would completely understand. Sadly it just wasn’t my cup of tea.

Next up, it’s the turn of the Gs, and we’ve got this:

THE ARCANUM by Janet Gleeson

Okay, full disclosure: this was filed in the fiction section and, at first glance, it could be fiction. I was expecting some kind of historical court drama. Turns out it’s mis-shelved non-fiction, and details the history of European porcelain. I only realised this halfway through the first chapter. Yes, I’m unobservant.

Anyway, rather than picking a different book, I’m sticking with this one, because it’s a lot of fun. Apparently, the quest to turn clay into porcelain ran concurrent with the doomed attempts to turn lead into gold, and involved just as much deceit and chicanery. The whole book is full of people lying to monarchs, fleeing cities in the dead of night, selling their secrets to the highest bidder, being poisoned by terrible working conditions, and/or refusing to share their research even on their deathbeds.

I’ve probably mentioned that my favourite type of non-fiction is Obscure-Specific-Topic-Written-About-By-Someone-Who-Loves-The-Subject, with bonus points if it’s a topic I’ve never had even a passing interest in before. THE ARCANUM certainly ticks those boxes. I’ve been regaling my family with pithy anecdotes about 17th Century Poland all week (they’re notably less impressed than me, natch).

As soon as I’ve finished THE ARCANUM, it’s on to the H shelves, and I’ve already picked this:

THE TASTE OF APPLESEEDS by Katharine Hagena

(Apologies for the lack of choice in these matters, btw, but I kinda rushed in and grabbed whatever I could take, since I didn’t know how long it’d be till I’m back at work full time. Also, it must be noted, the library shelves are particularly bare right now, because just before lockdown we issued as many books as we could to our borrowers to tide them over. So, currently, more than 3,000 of our books are on loan, which equates to about 8% of our total stock, hence there’s far more space on the shelves than I’ve ever seen before. Plus we’ve been using the lockdown to weed out books that haven’t been borrowed in ages and remove them from stock. A librarian’s work is never done, and all that.)

Tuesday, 31 March 2020

[enforced pause]

Well. In terms of things I expected to derail this reading project, a worldwide pandemic was not one of them. It's never the apocalypse you expect, is it?

So, looking back to the beginning of March, approximately five hundred years ago, I was looking for something from the E-Shelves in our library. I started reading a couple of possible choices, but abandoned them after a few pages. I know, I shouldn't be judgmental, but I have almost zero-tolerance for cringe comedy, and if in the first few pages of a book there's a woman fumbling her important job interview in a way that'd make Daisy Steiner blush, then I'm out, sorrynotsorry.

Instead I picked up this:

It's a collection of short stories by Jenny Eclair, who by coincidence was on Celebrity Bake Off Stand-Up to Cancer the night before I had to choose a book. I don't normally read short stories because I have a short attention span (if I commit to a story, I need it to last for more than a dozen pages; do you have any idea how difficult it is to learn a whole new set of characters and plot ten times in a single book?) (for me anyway, I understand that this is my problem not a failing of the genre).

But I gave this a go, and it was very pleasant. Some of the stories had an unexpected mean streak in them. Others were the nice sort of distracting that you find in Women's Weekly. Overall, Jenny Eclair has a real gift for observing character and drawing you into an imaginary life in the space of a few short pages, and I enjoyed reading this. It's definitely the pick of the bunch from my random library shelves so far this year.

Speaking of which... the library is now closed, officially, so I'm at a bit of a loose end in terms of this project. I can't even get into the building to raid the shelves. Obviously, as soon as I can, I'll get back into things, but for now...

I think the best thing for me to do is tackle the (rather daunting) stack that is my to-read pile. This week I will weed out all my to-read books, put them in a big, alphabetical heap, and decide where to start with them.

Until then, everyone stay safe, take care of yourself and others, and go read. Because now more than ever, reading is fundamental.

Tuesday, 3 March 2020

noble assassins and ignoble witches

Honestly, you wait ages for a book about 17th Century court intrigue, then two show up at once.

(Having spent quite a lot of February without a car, I’ve decided the old saying about buses needs updating – in my experience they either show up when they’re supposed to, or not at all.)

This month I’ve got back into audiobooks, for a number of reasons. Firstly, I forgot to cancel my subscription to audible (I reactivate it about once a year, whenever an author I love releases an audible-exclusive book) (yes, Peter Clines, I’m looking at you) so I’ve got some free credits to use up this month. Secondly, I’ve been walking/bussing a lot more than usual due to the aforementioned lack of car, so it’s been helpful to use that time constructively. Thirdly, I hate my brain. All that time spent walking gives me far too much time to think, which doesn’t sound a bad thing unless your brain is prone to unhelpful spiralling and/or rehearsing arguments you intend to use online someday. Audiobooks are a proper godsend sometimes.

So, as well as browsing my way through the fiction section of our stacks at the library, I’ve also been perusing the audiobook selection. I’ve found I much prefer non-fiction to fiction, because it doesn’t matter so much if my concentration wanders. Specifically, I love love love gentle informative non-fiction where someone with a reassuring voice tells me about their deep affection for a particular subject. Two of my recent favourites have been SPIRALS IN TIME and THE SOUL OF AN OCTOPUS, and someone recommended BRAIDING SWEETGRASS to me, which is so definitely my thing that I’m saving chapters as a special treat for myself each day.

I also picked up an audio copy of WITCHES: A TALE OF SORCERY, SCANDAL AND SEDUCTION by Tracy Borman, because why wouldn’t I. It’s a pretty good non-fiction introduction to the witch hunts of the late 1500s / early 1600s, with a focus on one particular case involving the children of the Earl of Rutland. Since I don’t know anything at all about this period of history, I can’t vouch for how accurate all the information is, but it was entertaining enough. Although the narrator did keep putting on accents every time she quoted someone.

At the same time, I’ve been reading THE NOBLE ASSASSIN by Amanda Dickason, which is about courtly intrigue in the early 1600s and, by a fun coincidence, features some of the same characters as WITCHES. The only surviving child of the Earl of Rutland, Katherine Manners, married the Duke of Buckingham, who was the favourite of the king and crops up a fair bit in both books. It was nice to reference back and forth between the two books and learn more about the characters from each.

THE NOBLE ASSASSIN is probably the most enjoyable randomly-selected book I’ve read so far this year, although the plot meandered a little bit and the most interesting bit (a “fake” scheme to murder the prince) felt almost like a side note, slotted in when the main character got tired of mooning over poets.

Onwards, therefore, into the E-Shelves:

The letter E is much more restrained. Not 20+ shelves for them, oh no. Instead, a nice, manageable five shelves to choose from, which means for the first time this month I don’t feel overwhelmed.

After a small amount of consideration, I’ve picked shelf number 4, mostly because it contains a copy of THE BLOOD PRICE by Jon Evans, who once wrote a screenplay version of my book TERROR ISLAND and therefore holds a fond place in my heart:

But this shelf also contains almost too much choice. Now I’m not limited to just two or three authors, I’m dithering. I reckon it’s a choice between Harriet Evans (gentle romance), Pam Evans (historical romance, with dancing), or Lissa Evans (funny romance, I think? Possibly involving cats and snails?):

I’m also going to throw a wildcard into the mix: THE HORSE WHISPERER, on the basis I should probably read it at some point in my life:

While the Lissa Evans book looks like the most attractive option, I think I might’ve read something else by that author (if she’s the same Lissa Evans who wrote WED WABBIT, which she might not be) (no, I’ve not googled it, what do I look like a person who ain’t lazy). So I’ll throw it open to comments again, in case anyone has any strong opinions one way or the other. Or indeed, if there’s another gem on the shelf that I’ve overlooked.

Tuesday, 4 February 2020

busy busy busy

Before we do anything else, I need to tell you about this:

My next book has just been announced from One More Chapter, and I am quite giddy with excitement. LITTLE GIRLS TELL TALES is available for preorder now. Please do check it out.

ALSO! Me and a few friends have teamed up to make a podcast. It's called WELL RED and involves us drinking wine and chatting books. This month we're discussing FLOWERS IN THE ATTIC (the 40-year-old classic that I am ashamed to say I've never read until this year), and trying to decide which wine you should drink while reading it. If that sounds like your sort of thing, give it a listen on Anchor.fm or find us on Spotify. Ta.

Anyway, last week for Reading the Library, the book was THE GLASS LAKE by Maeve Binchy and, honestly, it was quite good.

It’s a big community-saga, following the ebb and flow of life in a small village in Ireland as people fall in love, fall out of love, fall in the lake, run away with shady men, and question whether true love is really all it’s cracked up to be. It’s got a perfect sheen of ‘real-life’ all over it – people occasionally make ridiculous decisions, things don’t always work out neatly, people have the same name as each other (I’m certain there were two Kevins), sometimes fate is cruel and random: just like in real life. This does become annoying sometimes (just like in real life) because there are loose ends which don’t fit with the story (did we really need the whole subplot about the fella who breaks into the car shop?), but that’s not really the point. This book is essentially a soap opera. You can cut it a lot of slack for that.

Plus the main(ish) character, Kit McMahon, has some wonderful moments – for example, when some boy starts telling people she slept with him, she promptly sues him for impunity her virtue, and wins. Hats off to you, missy.

Next week, we’re looking at the C-shelves:

25 of these buggers, including three that belong exclusively to Catherine Cookson.

The random number generator gives us shelf number 9:

Hmm. So it looks like my choice is Harlan Cohen or Jonathan Coe or... oh hey, what’s that?

Okay, this looks interesting. I’ve never heard of this book or this author (the inside flap says she was a scriptwriter on Shameless). Let’s give it a go then.

Monday, 27 January 2020

neat things

A bunch of neat things I found this week while withdrawing old books from the library shelves.

This pithy review, tucked into the flap of a hardback:

Secret codes, used by readers so they’d know at a glance whether or not they’d already read a certain book:

Many author pictures of Catherine Cookson, each of which made me think for a moment she was Carrie Fisher:

This wonderful sentiment in some of the ancient large print books:

And THE TINFISH RUN, published 1979, with its five full pages of issues, suggesting this copy may have been read by up to 200 people in its forty years of circulation:

Wednesday, 18 December 2019

There’s nothing like working in a library to make you realise the gaps in your education.

I started at the Mobile Family Library six months ago. It’s delightful. For my first week, there wasn’t a spare desk for me, so I had to work in the stacks, alongside 37,000 books, which was, as you can imagine, a terrible hardship.

One thing that became abundantly clear was how little I’d read. I like to think I read quite a lot, and quite widely, but here I found whole shelves of authors I’d never even heard of. A glance at the loan records showed how popular some of these authors are (anecdotally, the library used to have a copy of a Barbara Cartland novel that was loaned out over 300 times). So why haven’t I read them?

The obvious answer is a lack of time, I suppose. And, also, I am very comfortable in my comfort zone. I like reading the books I like reading. Who has time to expand their horizons when there’s so many wonderful books and authors that you’re already familiar with?

This year I turned 40, which is nice, but it brought with it a realisation that I will never read all the books I want to. Isn’t that dreadful? If there are 37,000 books in our stacks at the library, and if I could read a hundred a year, it would take... *counts on fingers* ... 370 years for me to read them all. And that’s just the books here in this one bit of the library, never mind the Family Library next door with its shelves full of YA and MG, or the Douglas Library downtown, or my own stupid house which is full to bursting with books I haven’t yet read.

If I’m fortunately enough to live to a hundred, and I keep up my reading pace, there are only 6,000 more books that I could realistically read in my lifetime.

That’s quite a sobering thought. How on earth can I narrow down which books to exclude?

I think it’s time to start being realistic about my reading habits. I should accept that I will never read Martin Amis, or Jeffrey Archer. I should come to terms with never ploughing through all of Nora Roberts’ back catalogue. I have been trying and failing to read Ulysses for twenty-five years – perhaps it’s time to give up on it?

With that in mind, I would like to announce my reading plan for 2020. I call it READING THE LIBRARY.

Here’s the deal. Every two weeks I will read one book from the fiction section of the library stack, going alphabetically by author name from A to Z. In this way I will (hopefully) read 26 books (one from each letter of the alphabet) in 2020, while leaving me plenty of space to read books from other sources as well. I will pick a shelf within each letter at random, and choose the book that interests me the most.

A selection of rules:

1. I must read one book off the chosen shelf every two weeks.
2. I will restrict myself to the “General Fiction” section of our library, which excludes Crime, Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Large Print, and Non-Fiction. If I included those shelves as well, this project would fast become unworkable.
3. Shelving is arbitrary and sometimes books get moved around or issued to other borrowers. We are a library, you know.
4. I will show a preference for authors I haven’t read over authors I have read.
5. I will show a preference for female authors and/or authors of colour (sorry not sorry).
6. Every two weeks I will post a review or an update on this blog.
7. I reserve the right to refuse to read (or continue to read) a particular book or author for any reason at all, including extremely petty reasons.

Are these rules arbitrary and restrictive and probably unfair? You betcha. There will be books and authors who get missed out, through no fault of their own. I can’t read everything.

But, hopefully, this project will help me fill in some gaps.

Check back here in the first week of January, for a random book off the “A” shelves! Who will it be??


Thursday, 3 January 2019

As usual at this time of year, imma look back over my spreadsheet for the last twelve months and provide a short breakdown of what I've been reading and why, mostly for my own amusement:

Sooooo, in 2018 I read a total of 103 books (including graphic novels but not including books I read to my son), which is the exact same number as in 2017, conveniently. Like 2017, the majority of the books were Young Adult (18 books) but that's a really sharp drop from last year, when about half the books I read were YA. Non-fiction clocked in at the next highest (16) and literary fiction surprising me with 15. I've upped my game with reading more sci-fi (11) and crime/thrillers (13), and I've had to add a separate category for feminist dystopia (4) because it's apparently a new feature of my reading pile.

Disregarding co-authored books, about 60% of what I read was written by women.

Approximately one third of the books I read were by authors I'd previously read. Which means a respectable two-thirds were from authors I'd never checked out before. From those two-thirds, the highest number (13) were chosen at random from the library. Others were recommended to me either in person or online (or by a very enthusiastic librarian), or I picked them up because they were authored by our amazingly talented local author community, or they were being discussed at our book group (hence the rise in feminist dystopian fiction). I made an extra effort to read books I considered as "classics", including three from pre-1900 (the most I've managed in any year since high school).

I'm making an effort to read ebooks (in quiet moments when I'd otherwise be trawling twitter) but I've still not renewed my dalliance with audiobooks. I've also joined Netgalley, just in case I don't have enough books.

My book resolutions this year are to read more crime/thriller, since it looks like it's my area of interest now (oh, yeah, I have news to share in a later blogpost, check back for that), and to avoid bringing more books into my house unless I have an exit strategy in place for them (because hoarding).

Friday, 9 March 2018

IWD 2018

I was very kindly invited to speak at an International Women's Day event at Douglas Library this week, along with several other waaaay more qualified people. I figured I'd use the opportunity to blather about the history of horror and the women who've helped build it.

* * *

I was attracted to writing horror because I always loved the visceral, visual nature of it. The best horror has a kind of exuberance. And people love to be scared in a safe, controlled way. It’s reassuring that you can hide the book in the freezer if it all gets too much.

I also love how horror shines a light on human nature. It exposes our fears, our neuroses, the rotten interiors we'd rather people didn't see. It does this sometimes to highlight how awful the world is and why we should be scared or angry, but at other times it shows how these things can be confronted and overcome. Books show us the inevitable terror of the world, then invite us to believe that hope, bravery, and humanity can help us fight these things (even if we won’t always win).

Like the phrase goes, fairy stories are important not because they tell us dragons exist, but because they tell us dragons can be beaten.

Fairy stories are perhaps the original horror stories. How many people get eaten, beaten, mutilated, kidnapped or cursed in our favourite children's stories? The original tellings were terrifying. They used horrifying aspects to grab the attention, but also to reinforce the lessons they preached - bad things happen to bad people. Evil actions can be defeated by good deeds.

Back in the day, these stories were passed generation to generation by word of mouth, mothers telling children. So in a sense, the very roots of horror came from women telling stories. And it's interesting to see how that continued through the centuries. Early gothic horror, originating in the 18th Century, by pioneers like Ann Radcliffe and Clara Reeve, was written for a mostly female audience. It was considered frivolous; not proper literature. Jane Austen herself referenced this fact in Northanger Abbey - her main character is a young woman who’s filled her head with gothic fiction and subsequently developed an overactive imagination. She says:

“Such is the common cant. “And what are you reading, Miss — ?” “Oh! It is only a novel!” replies the young lady, while she lays down her book with affected indifference, or momentary shame. “It is only Cecilia, or Camilla, or Belinda” […] Now, had the same young lady been engaged with a volume of the Spectator, […] how proudly would she have produced the book, and told its name.”

Into the 19th Century we got Mary Shelley and Frankenstein, one of the cornerstones of our genre. However, it's worth noting that, even then people argued that women's writing shouldn't be taken seriously. Frankenstein was published anonymously for many years. And the theory persists that Mary Shelley didn't actually write the story - it was all the work of her husband, Percy. As recently as three days ago there was an article in the Guardian that suggested Mary Shelley couldn't possibly have come up with such a story, despite, y’know, having a fascination with science in general and galvanism in particular.

So the 20th Century brought a new wave of female horror writers. The perspective they brought, of domestic, psychological horror, resonated in particular with readers at this time: the sense of something terrifying at the heart of the ordinary and everyday. Authors like Shirley Jackson and Susan Hill set the bar here. Angela Carter used the oldest fairytales weaved with social and feminist issues, to teach us that external monsters are rarely scarier than what lurks in people’s souls. The worst wolves are indeed hairy on the inside.

So, for a time, horror was a more-or-less equal opportunities genre, written and consumed by both genders.

Something appears to have shifted in the latter half of the twentieth century. The idea’s come about that horror is something of a boys’ club, and the best writers are male. The other day, an acquaintance remarked - not to me, but to someone else in this room - that women cannot write horror unless it's about sparkly vampires. Obviously I beg to differ. So how have we come to this?

Personally, I blame the 80s. The market for horror movies exploded in the late 70s into 80s. A new kind of visceral horror, slasher movies, video nasties, the infamous banned list. Certain misogynistic tropes became standard - not in all movies, obviously (hastag not all movies), but enough to call a broad trend. If I say slasher movie, we all picture the same sort of trope. Now, there's a fair overlap between those of us who love horror movies and those who read horror novels. People who watched the gore-busters of the 80s looked for literature in the same vein, and found pulp horror.

The authors writing for the pulp market were predominately male. We'll name drop Guy N Smith, Shaun Hutson, James Herbert et al. And Stephen King, of course, but you can't really include Stephen King in any statistics, because he's such an outlier he drags all your arguments askew, like a super-dark star. Neil Gaiman's the same. Anyway, around about this time, male authors have adopted the frivolous gothic novel and turned it around so now people suggest women don't have the heart or stomach for such things.

I have to say at this point, I've never found the horror community to be anything other than delightful and welcoming. No one there has ever told me I shouldn't be here, shouldn't be writing this stuff, or should be writing something more suitable to girls. The only people who’ve ever suggested that were those who dismiss the horror genre in general – I was once accused of bringing down the institution of family and marriage by writing about such grisly subjects.

But when I was growing up, about 99 percent of the authors I read were male. It made me assume horror was a boy’s game. Which suited me fine, I was a tomboy, but it was only as I grew up and learned to read more widely that I realised how skewed my worldview was. I worry at how other young women would fare if they wanted to follow the same path. Wouldn’t it just be easier to write about sparkly vampires?

As to the present day, in my opinion some of the best horror writing out there is currently happening in Young Adult. Those authors have the visceral exuberance that made me fall in love with the genre in the first place. Blending genres is very en vogue at the moment, with horror seguing into sci-fi or thriller or dystopia, as in Naomi Alderman’s recent feminist novel The Power.

People do sometimes wrinkle their nose at horror – it’s viewed as commercial, unsophisticated; entertainment not art. You’ll rarely see a horror novel shortlisted for a major prize. The same critics often wrinkle noses at YA as well – it’s for kids, it has nothing to say, it’s not proper literature. Even fans will sometimes say, oh, it’s my guilty pleasure.

Let me stop the bus there for a moment. People feel guilty way too often about stuff they love. Oh, I love Eurovision, it’s my guilty pleasure. I love the Twilight books, it’s my guilty pleasure. Like you should feel bad for the things that bring you joy. You should only consume them under a blanket, in the dark, when no one’s watching. That’s what we’re taught. We feel like people will judge us.

If we can do one thing for each other and for the upcoming generation, it’s to learn to embrace the things we love. Never feel guilty about something that genuinely makes you happy. And never make others feel bad for the things they care about. We need to support and validate other people and their (questionable) tastes in literature.

I love reading horror books, and I love writing horror books. And I’m exceptionally proud of the women who’ve paved the way for me to do this thing I love.

Thank you, please buy my book.

Thursday, 4 January 2018

book stats, everyone loves book stats

Happy New Year, and welcome to me talking about books again.

In 2017, according to Goodreads, I read 103 books (up on a total of 91 last year). I'm saying this to brag, obviously, but hopefully not to make anyone feel bad about their own acheivements - if you read five books or a hundred and fifty-five books, that's awesome. Books are awesome and we should all celebrate that they've been a part of our lives this year.

I kept a spreadsheet as well as updating Goodreads (because why wouldn't you want a spreadsheet?) and have finangled some statistics out of it:

By genre, Young Adult predominated again (39 books) although not as much as last year, with Proper Grown-Up Literary Fiction coming in second (15 books). I've been trying to read a few smart, grown-up books, mostly to prove that I can. I'm still not convinced they're better than kids' books.

Sci-fi was third, with 8 books. There's been some stellar (har) sci-fi this year.

I managed 13 Non-Fiction books (great improvement from last year) and 2 graphic novels (rather shabby effort).

By author gender, it's about 50-50 female-male, which surprised me because I deliberately try to bias my reading towards women authors. More shockingly, despite my stated promise to read more diversely, only about 15% of my 2017 reading was by authors who weren't white and/or CIS-gendered.

I'm still reading very few books on my Kindle - a grand total of 8 this year. And I seem to have gotten over my brief dalliance with audiobooks.

About a quarter of the novels I read this year were by authors I was already a fan of (or who I thought deserved another chance at converting me). Which means I tried about 75 books by authors I'd never read before. 28 were random selections from the local libraries (and a couple were direct recommendations by our lovely librarians). Another 15 were either recommended by friends or I tracked them down because of positive buzz online. Word of mouth is alive and well! Oh, and 7 books were by our visiting Litfest authors, because I need to keep my fangirling up to date.

Next year, I intend to continue discovering new authors and not understanding literary fiction. I will read more diversely, dammit. And I also intend to properly update my Goodreads account, because I've just started reading the same Douglas Coupland book for what I suspect is the third time.

Friday, 1 December 2017

karmic gifts

At this time of year, we're reminded to be nicer to others and to help those less fortunate than us. But we're also encouraged to spend way too much money on presents and food and everything else. It's an expensive time of year, and many of us (me included) stretch ourselves too thin. Under those circumstances, it's sometimes hard to think of others as much as we should.

So, here are a bunch of things you can do that take very little time (another commodity in short supply), are free or nearly-free, and can make a tangible difference to people:

Tell people about awesome places to shop
Small local businesses thrive on word of mouth recommendations. Right now, everyone is shopping, and they like buying for somewhere that's been personally recommended. Use this to your advantage and plug your favourite things, whether it's an online store, a local business, the best place to get a gingerbread latte, or a book that'd make a perfect Christmas gift. Tell people how much you love a certain shop or website. Leave recommendations on social media.

Write a review
I know all authors bang on about this, but that's because it's an amazingly helpful thing to do. Ten minutes scribbling your opinion on Amazon or Goodreads can mean the world to an author. If you like a book, please tell the world. And if you've got time, tell the author as well. An ego-boost is the gift that keeps on giving.

Visit the library
This one's a win-win. Go borrow a bunch of books and movies from your local library for the Christmas period. You get a bunch of awesome stuff to read/watch for free, and the library gets statistics to prove how valuable a resource they are to the community. Plus, authors get a few pennies under the PLR scheme every time you borrow their books (at least in the UK, although not currently in the Isle of Man) (BOOO).

Go to the Hunger Site
Next time you're online, click through to The Hunger Site and its associated sites. They use the revenue from advertising to fund various charities, so by clicking on one link, you send money to a bunch of good causes. You can do this daily, and without having to sign up to any newsletters or email lists.

Visit Change.org
Hey, the world's in a shitty state right now. What good can one person do to make things right? Well, how about telling the people in charge how you feel? If you care passionately about something, chances are someone else feels the same, and quite possibly they've started a petition to lobby the government about it. It only takes a couple of minutes to add your name to an important cause.

Give to charity shops & food banks
Time to declutter? Make a pile of old clothes and toys and take them to the charity shop. Want to clear room in your kitchen cupboards? Take a bunch of those cans and jars that you've been hording (so long as they're still in date; if they're not, maybe it's time to reign in the hording, heh?) and schlep them along to the local food bank. Food banks are also a good place to take those posh cans of cat food that you bought in bulk, which your cat then decided he didn't like. F'ing cats.

Giving time
We're all ridiculously busy right now, I know. But that means your time is an even more valuable gift to give. Can you go to the shops for a neighbour who doesn't drive? Can you pick up a prescription for your nan so she doesn't have to go out in the cold? Can you babysit for an afternoon so your friend can do their Christmas shopping without a toddler hanging onto their ankles? Half an hour of your time can make all the difference.

Being nice
Ultimately, this is what it comes down to. Kindness doesn't have to manifest in grand sweeping gestures or huge monetary donations to charity. We can all be a little nicer, a little kinder, a little more patient in our everyday lives. Remember everyone is stressed right now. Everyone's under pressure to spend, to give, to be happy. Cut everyone some slack. Be as nice as you possibly can, and demand nothing in return.

Man, this turned into a bit of a lecture, didn't it? Sorry about that.

Hope you all have a wonderful holiday season, whatever you're doing, however you celebrate. Hugs.

Wednesday, 31 May 2017

say bye-bye hair, not bye-bye library

Libraries are great; I think we can all agree on that (I hope we can, otherwise you and me may need to rethink our friendship).

The Family Library in Douglas is particularly great. It's got a wonderful selection of children's and YA books, it's super-friendly, the people there are delightful, and they're always running events for kids (and kid-like adults). For example, during half-term, they brought in visitors from the local wildlife park, and my mum-in-law met a snake:

They also run the mobile library, which provides books to people all across the Island who might otherwise not have easy access to library facilities.

(As a side-note, when I grow up I want to drive a mobile library. It's a truck full of books. I can't imagine anything better.)

Unfortunately, like so many libraries across the country in this bleak and unenlightened time, the Family Library is currently at risk of closure due to funding cuts.

So, last week, I got rid of my (rather substantial) mop of hair and we raised £125 for the library:

If you like libraries (and again, I hope you do, really I'd hate for us to fall out over this) and have a few extra pennies in your pocket, please consider flinging them at this very worthy cause, either here or via my Just Giving page.

Also, until the end of July, I'll be sending all profits on my ebooks to the Family Library, so if you fancy owning a copy of TERROR ISLAND or HOME GROUND and also contributing to a good cause, please click on through.

Wednesday, 29 March 2017

being bold for change

A few weeks ago I was kindly invited by Stacy Astill to speak at Henry Bloom Noble Library for International Women's Day, along with a fabulous collection of local authors, poets, and musicians that highlighted the huge variety of talent we've got on this island.

This year's International Women's Day was about being bold for change. So I said a few things on the subject of change, and I talked about it in terms of writing, because really I don't know much about anything else. But when I say 'writing', feel free to substitute any activity you care passionately about.

So, in terms of writing, a lot of stuff has changed over the years. The way we write, the physical process of it, has changed from pen and ink to keyboards, to mobile phones and writing software. It's never been easier, technologically speaking, for us to physically put words onto the screen.

How we're published has changed. There are more ways than ever before to get your work out there. Publishing is no longer a closed industry reliant on paper copies of books - now everyone has the option to publish their work in hardcopy, or print on demand, or ebook. You can post serialised novels on blogs. You can write interactive stories via Twitter polls. You can send your work around the world in an instant. You can ask for and receive immediate feedback from people throughout the globe. Never before have we had the chance to be read so widely.

What we write has changed. With the ability of everyone to self-publish, many old barriers have been taken down. You can write whatever you want and put it out there in the world. If you want to write a period romance with added dinosaurs - no one can tell you not to.

Who we write about is changing. Old stereotypes are being ditched (and some new ones are being created). With the upsurge in self-publishing, we've never had a better chance to create diverse characters - in terms of race, background, goals, motivations, lives, ability, everything. The world is changing and I want to believe literature is changing to reflect that.

How we read is changing. The electronic age has given us quick, immediate access to almost every book under the sun. You can buy and read the latest novels without having to leave your bed.

How we share our love of books has changed. Online sites like Amazon and Goodreads let us review our favourite books with a few simple clicks. Social media lets us connect with people who love the same novels as us - and gives us access to communicate directly with the authors we love.

But none of these are entirely positive things. There is greater diversity in books, yes, but we still have a long way to go. Look at your bookshelf and make a mental note how many main characters are non-white, or female, or differently able. Even if you believe you read diversely, you're likely to be surprised.

We may have immediate access to books via internet, but this is causing problems with piracy and the decline of the high-street bookshop. We are able to voice our opinions, but so can the vocal minority who will shout us down and tell us we're wrong to love the books we love, to defend the authors we care about, to want to see greater diversity and equality and change in what we read.

And while it might be easier to put words onto screen, the process of writing is as difficult as it's ever been. We are, and always will be, plagued with self-doubt and negativity. We question why we write, what we should write, whether we're any good, whether what we're doing will change anything. The obstacles are still the same - we all have other commitments, jobs and kids and families, and we never have enough time for the things we love doing. Some attitudes have changed, but some sadly have not, and there will always be those who'll ask, why are you writing? What's the point?

Here's what I think:

We write because we have a passion. Because we must. Because we persist.

We write to change things.

Maybe not to change the world, or opinions, or attitudes, or to make grand sweeping gestures that will benefit mankind, but because the smallest change is still a change. We can read and share diverse books. We can post reviews online. We can support our libraries and independent bookshops. Every time you buy a book, you're voting. You're telling the industry, this is what we want to read and how we want to buy. This is what we want more of. Every time you use your library card, you're telling the government, we need this resource.

Best and most of all, we can change ourselves through the positive act of creating something, or sharing something we love, or telling people about the things we care about. We can change our own opinions - the internal critic that says, how can I write when the world's such a mess? How can I write when no one will care what I say? How will this make a difference?

Change is difficult, we all know that. We're only one person. But everyone is just one person. Everyone can be bold and change something.

That's it, lecture over, please buy my books. :)

Thursday, 18 June 2015

childish things

When I was a kid, I would read just about anything put in front of me, with one exception: I never liked kids' books.

I should quantify that. I did read children's fiction that I didn't realise was aimed at kids--CS Lewis, Willard Price, Tolkien, stuff my parents read as well. The books I had no interest in were anything that dealt with the real-life, everyday stuff that young people have to deal with, like school and homework and other kids. Even now, stories with a heavy bias towards that sort of thing leave me cold. I never cared for Harry Potter, for example. Why would I want to read about a not-very-smart student and his struggles to get through school unscathed? We have enough of that in real life, thanks.

In case you haven't already guessed, I'm an idiot. For years I've assumed children's fiction (and here I'm lumping together everything up to and including Young Adult) is not what I want to read. Obviously some people like those books, but why should I bother when there are proper grown-up books to read?

Again: idiot.

I've belatedly realised my error. Frankly, not only do I feel like a wally for dismissing thousands of stories out of hand, but I'm also mad at myself for excluding all those books from my life, due to nothing more than pure snobbery.

One of our two local libraries is the Family Library in Douglas. It's a lovely place and is completely filled with children's books. And yet the "Children's" section (the bit I would've considered being for kids; the bit with the picture books, where our youngest son instinctively goes first) occupies one corner of the big room. Everything else is stuff I want to read.

It makes me a bit giddy to go in there. Where the heck do you start? For someone who's avoided Middle Grade and Young Adult books for so long, where do I jump in? In our local libraries (I'm not sure if this is standard or not), the children's sections are divided up by age range rather than genre. For adult books, I know exactly where my comfort zone is: right at the centre point between the horror, crime, and sci-fi/fantasy sections. Why would I need to go anywhere else?

But in the YA section there're none of these familiar boundaries. Everything is lumped together, horror and fantasy rubbing shoulders with gritty drama and sweeping historical epic. I'm already at a disadvantage because, a) I don't know which YA authors I like (due to my own ignorance, I'll admit), and b) I don't read back-cover blurbs. So, much of the time I'm choosing at random. I like this cover, I recognise this name, this illustrator is amazing, I saw someone reading this on the bus... it's a whole new thing for me.

Obviously I haven't loved everything I've read at random, but I'm having a pretty good success rate so far, and I've discovered a bunch of authors who I absolutely love. None of whom I would've ever read if I'd kept thumbing my nose at "kids' books".

I suspect I sound like one of those people who suddenly realise they can get internet on their phones, when else everyone in the world has known for years, but I don't care. I'm having a blast. When was the last time I was so excited to be in a library? Oh, right, when I was a kid. Gotcha.