Pleasant Tally Monday

Well, the votes are tallied, and the winner has been announced: Derek Landy’s SKULDUGGERY PLEASANT has won the ‘Irish Book of the Decade’ award. No mean feat, when you consider that the novel was up against the likes of John Banville, John Connolly, Anne Enright and Sebastian Barry, to name but a few. And pretty damn amazing, to be frank about it, when you consider that Landy’s novel is a YA title featuring a dead / skeletal private eye. A hat-tip to Irish Publishing News for the nod …

THE GHOSTS Of Christmas Presents

It’s been a terrific year for Stuart Neville. Superb reviews of his debut novel, THE TWELVE (aka THE GHOSTS OF BELFAST); interviewing James Ellroy at the Belfast Waterfront; and last weekend – in case you missed it – a lovely write up from Marilyn Stasio in the New York Times, in which TGOB was the lead review. All of which is very nice indeed, but then Stuart is a very nice bloke indeed, as you’ll see for yourself in this video interview with Keith Rawson. Roll it there, Collette …
  And while we’re on the subject of nice blokes, there was a marvellous turn-out for Alan Glynn’s WINTERLAND launch at Dubray Books last Tuesday night, which was cunningly timed to coincide with the official turning on of the Christmas lights on Grafton Street. Among the writerly types in attendance were Declan Hughes, Peter Murphy, Professor Ian Ross, Cormac Millar, Ava McCarthy, Critical Mick and John Boyne, and at least one Booker Prize winner, Anne Enright. Which goes to show how highly regarded Alan Glynn is across the writing spectrum, and deservedly so, because WINTERLAND is a wonderful novel.
  Anyway, you may well be wondering about Christmas gifts at this point. For the reader in your life, you could do a hell of a lot worse than give them THE GHOSTS OF BELFAST or WINTERLAND. Or, better still, both. They’re both beautifully written novels that are page-turning thrillers, but they also do what the best crime writing does: they remind us who we really are and how we live now.
  Incidentally, in a very good week for Irish writing, hearty congratulations to Colum McCann for scooping the National Book Award for LET THE GREAT WORLD SPIN.
  Finally, and in contradiction to erroneous information provided here by yours truly, it appears that my latest opus, THE BIG EMPTY, has only gone out for consideration to publishers this week – last Monday, to be precise. I really should pay more attention to such things, but I was under the impression that the book was already under consideration. This is both good news and bad news: good in the sense that the book is still a live grenade, in a manner of speaking, and bad in the sense that the waiting begins all over again. And, given the fact that editors generally have an already existing pile of submissions to work their way through, and that it’s already more than halfway through November, there’s a good chance that we won’t hear how it’s faring until well into the New Year.
  It is, of course, the hope that kills you in the end, but as all three regular readers of this blog will know, I last week went public with my decision to quit writing. So I feel curiously detached from THE BIG EMPTY – although there’s a strong possibility that I feel that way because it’s by far my most personal piece of writing to date, and I’m simply steeling myself against the inevitable rejection letters (hey, not everyone’s going to like it, or love it enough to publish it; that’s just the way things work). Having said all that, I wouldn’t be human if I wasn’t feeling just the tiniest frisson of anticipation, or trepidation: in effect, I’ve submitted my baby to a beauty contest, and she’s now at the mercy of factors beyond my control, and depending on the kindness of strangers.
  As for the story, it’s a Harry Rigby private eye tale, a sequel to EIGHTBALL BOOGIE, of which the ever-generous Ken Bruen had this to say on its publication:

“I have seen the future of Irish crime fiction and it’s called Declan Burke. Here is talent writ large – mesmerizing, literate, smart and gripping. If there is such an animal as the literary crime novel, then this is it. But as a compelling crime novel, it is so far ahead of anything being produced, that at last my hopes for crime fiction are renewed. I can’t wait to read his next novel.”

  For what it’s worth, I think that THE BIG EMPTY is a better book than EIGHTBALL BOOGIE – but then, I would say that. The fact of the matter is that, when it comes to THE BIG EMPTY, my opinion no longer matters. To belabour the baby metaphor, I’ve done all I can to prepare her for the big, bad world, and can do nothing more to protect her from its harsh realities. All I can do is pray she gets a fair hearing and is treated kindly. Here’s hoping.
  If some kind soul does pick it up, then it would actually jibe quite well with last week’s decision, given that there are another two Harry Rigby novels already written, the rewriting / redrafting of which would allow me to keep my hand in at writing, without requiring the full-time commitment I’d have to make to write a new novel from scratch. In a perfect world, that would be the perfect scenario – although you don’t need me to tell you that neither you, I nor Harry Rigby lives in a perfect world. Anyway, upward and onward: bon voyage, THE BIG EMPTY, and a fair wind …

“Ya Wanna Do It Here Or Down The Station, Punk?”: Ed O’Loughlin

Yep, it’s rubber-hose time, folks: a rapid-fire Q&A for those shifty-looking usual suspects ...

What crime novel would you most like to have written?
THE BIG SLEEP by Raymond Chandler.

What fictional character would you most like to have been?
Mr Kurtz.

Who do you read for guilty pleasures?
Viz comics.

Most satisfying writing moment?
The joke which only you get, and which you subsequently, regretfully, cut out of the final draft.

The best Irish crime novel is …?
DRACULA by Bram Stoker.

What Irish crime novel would make a great movie?
THE THIRD POLICEMAN by Flann O’Brien.

Worst / best thing about being a writer?
Don’t know yet – I’m still new.

The pitch for your next book is …?
The desperate race to retrieve a weapons-grade washing machine from inside a near-future dystopia.

Who are you reading right now?
Anne Enright.

God appears and says you can only write OR read. Which would it be?
Write – if God appears to you, you’re a prophet, and prophets make top dollar in the self-help market.

The three best words to describe your own writing are …?
Online discounts available.

Ed O’Loughlin’s debut novel is NOT UNTRUE & NOT UNKIND

Brought To Book(er): A Disgruntled Reader Speaks

It’s always nice to get a comment or two, but Crimefic (of the rather wonderful It’s A Crime! Or A Mystery! interweb yokeybus) took the concept into a whole new realm when offering her two cents on the Man Booker Prize post below. And, given that it’s longer, smarter and far more passionate that the usual tripe we serve up, we thought it only right to repeat it in full. To wit:

“Not to detract from or devalue Anne Enright’s [pictured right, the attractive lady in the middle] win – I have not read anything on the Booker shortlist for this year - but I do think the Booker proved itself to be lacking any real excitement this year. It’s almost like “welcome and have some champagne” but the bottles had been opened 24 hrs before ... Perhaps the comments of the chairman of the judges and literary newspaper hacks served to add some fire to proceedings, but all in all it was a damp squib that caught little of readers’ imaginations and attention. Sometimes the death knell croaks and I suspect the Booker prize has faced that this year. I hope the organisers take the time to perform some navel gazing and revisit what it’s all about. Perhaps a clearer statement on objective and eligibility criteria will result. Booksellers seem hell-bent on “commercial” these days; courting and cosseting celeb authors and their ghosts. This all seems a divergence from supporting literary talent. Then the Booker embraces one or two best-selling lit authors, plus a band of what can only be described as the “obscure”. The latter may be really good and worth the promotion of being on the long or short lists, but it’s hard to be hungry for these when that’s the only balance on the lists. Mark Lawson has written an article indicating that the Booker is about pushing the spotlight onto the less known, but you won’t read that on Booker’s own web pages. Then there’s the lack of crime fiction (annually, ad infinitum). Is it so hard to cut the mustard if you write in that genre? Not sure who to chuck the accountability tag at here – the organisers, judges or the publishers who submit the novels for consideration – but there’s a group of people out there who miss the sailing of the RORO ferry every year. And hidden within the cargo on that celebratory ferry are many gems of damn good writing and storytelling. Because it’s perceived as contraband it deserves to remain outside the scope of this prize? Come on Booker, get real and broaden your horizons. The tastes of the reading public should be reflected too. They ain’t all bad, you know! Finally, am I the only one to wonder occasionally at the choice of the judges? (A question not based on this year alone, I emphasise.) That’s another area I think they should revisit. And when they present biographies of what they perceive to be “the great and the good” for those put on a pedestal for judging purposes, they might like to add why these judges qualify in the reading arena. The Booker now seems to diverge from annual event of excitement to small fry exhibit with big prize … They really need to reconnect with the reading public for next year’s round. Otherwise, I suspect, the death knell will croak again.”

Is Crimefic right or wrong? Have you enjoyed any of the Booker’s shortlist nominees this year? Have you even heard of the Booker bunfight? Pray tell, people …

Booker, Danno II: This Time It’s Personal

Spare Me The Eloquence: Declan Burke On … The Booker Prize Winner

What a difference a week makes. Sales of THE GATHERING jumped by almost 900% in the week following Anne Enright’s Booker prize win, up from 649 copies one week to 5,481 the next. Better still, the controversy over whether it was the best book in the competition or only snuck up on the inside as a result of a split vote meant Enright managed to win the sympathy vote along with a big fat cheque. I bought a copy, but only because my wife’s book group had picked THE GATHERING as next month’s excuse to polish off a few bottles of Shiraz. Will I be reading it when she’s finished? Nope. The rave reviews put me off. Practically every one of them purrs about how wonderful a writer Enright is, a fabulous stylist, an elegant wordsmith, and all that jazz. Practically none of them mention the story, which is apparently about a dysfunctional Irish family with some class of a sex abuse scandal lurking in the cupboard along with the skeletons. Now, if I want to read words in their best order, I’ll read poetry. But I don’t. When I read I like a rollicking good story, something that’ll pull me in so deep that I can’t hear the iPod of the loony behind me on the 46A, who has ‘The Final Countdown’ cranked up to 11 at eight-thirty in the morning. Besides, a lot of the reaction to the book reckoned that Enright’s win would be an inspiration to Irish literary women. Which is (a) sexist to men, (b) condescending to women, and (c) ignorant of all the brilliant women writers already out there. There’s a fantastic range of new talents in the crime fiction genre alone, and collectively they offer a bewildering diversity of story types. Tana French writes from a first-person male perspective in her police procedural INTO THE WOODS. Cora Harrison writes historical novels set in the 15th century, featuring a female Brehon judge. Arlene Hunt takes on the classic private eye style, but gives it a Moonlighting twist with her male-and-female partnership. Claire Kilroy’s novels, the latest of which is TENDERWIRE, are literary thrillers. Ingrid Black’s THE JUDAS HEART was published last week, the latest in a series of post-feminist thrillers starring an ex-FBI agent on the mean streets of Dublin. KT McCaffrey writes a cracking series featuring investigative reporter Emma Boylan, even though ‘KT’ is actually a bloke. Fine writers one and all, but with this in common – their reviews concentrate on their ability to tell a story, not their flair for a poetic phrase. Good luck to Anne Enright, and hearty congrats on her big win, but she’s too good a writer for me.

This article was first published in the Evening Herald

Booker, Danno

It’s far from crime fiction Anne Enright (right) was reared, but it’d be entirely remiss of us not to mention the fact that her fourth novel, THE GATHERING, scooped the Man Booker prize last night. Quoth the Irish Times:

In what the judges said was a tight decision, Enright’s “powerful, uncomfortable and even at times angry book” saw off the competition from highly fancied works by Ian McEwan and New Zealander Lloyd Jones … Chairman of the panel of judges Howard Davies said it had been a very close decision but at the end the judges came to have enormous respect for her “emotionally-charged novel of family life” and came to “appreciate its careful structure and character development”. McEwan’s ON CHESIL BEACH and Jones’s MISTER PIP had been joint favourites to secure the €72,000 (£50,000) prize.

Fabulous stuff. The last Irish Booker prize winner, John Banville in 2005, immediately turned to crime fiction, penning CHRISTINE FALLS (the follow-up, THE SILVER SWAN, is due early next month). Can we expect Enright to follow suit? Only time, that notoriously doity rat, will tell …