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Competition No 3785

Set by John Crick, 9 June

In the spirit of Aga sagas and chick lit, we asked for new genres, with either explanations or excerpts.

Report by Ms de Meaner

Some great ideas. Two of you came up with the "hovel novel" (the other being David Coke, a new entrant), but I felt David Barton's excerpt hit the spot. A tenner for each of the winners. Best is Ian Birchall, who also gets the vouchers.

The critical derision that greeted the latest wave of thick lit publications has not prevented the phenomenon making inroads into the lucrative "university reading-list" market. Judge for yourself.

Up Yourself or What?

When a rich guy comes into the hood, lots of bitches' mammas try to fix him up with them. Everybody knows that except the rich guy.

"Hey, Daddy B," said his lady one day, "have you heard that the top-dollar condo has gone at last?"

Daddy replied that he done not.

"Man, but it is," Lady rapped back. "For DJ Janice has just been over and gi' me the news, man."

Daddy B stayed cool.

"Don't you want to know who's got it?" cried his lady, losing it.

"You gotta tell me; I gotta listen."

That was a wrap.

Jack Walsh

Saga sagas . . . Dealing with the emotional turbulence of the over-fifties. Refreshingly honest about flown-the-nest-syndrome, hot flushes, elderly male adolescent regression, supermarket-aisle loitering, senior moments, coupon clipping. Full of sympathetic characters who view their own impending mortality with wry amusement. Sex features - but not always fully realised.

John O'Byrne

Hovel novels . . . "By 'eck," screamed Lizzie, as Tom tottered into the shack, "'ave you drunk your wages? All fourteen and thruppence?"

Six pairs of terrified eyes peeked out from under the threadbare sheet.

"There'll be nowt but nettle soup this week," warned Nelly, the eldest . . .

Monocle chronicles . . . Can't imagine what Dickie will do with his mornings now he has taken on a kennel man. His Lordship will start granting himself the luxury of long lie-ins, though, as old habits die hard, it is quite conceivable that he will maintain the observational discipline of daybreak outings on a solo basis, if only to keep his sound eye in . . .

David Barton

Dominating this autumn's list is friction fiction. Inspired by the freak success of a novel about Goldbach's hypothesis, these novels deal with eccentric obsessives trying to build perpetual motion machines by eliminating friction. Five have been nominated for the Booker Prize. But how original are they really? Take this extract:

. . . Bridget talked about her day - shopping, dieting, lunchtime drinking, casual sex - but he wasn't really listening, just manipulating the wheels of the device on his workbench. When she stopped, he said: "Divide x3 - yx2 + 47 by x5 - pi r2. If it comes to 1, I've cracked it. Today I got it to 1.003."

She looked at his balding head, his thick-rimmed glasses, his shabby jacket and old-fashioned shirt. How could she take him to Arabella's party?

Ian Birchall

Lager sagas . . . Vomit slid slowly down the fridge door as Wayne groped his way through the kitchen searching for the toilet. "Shorry," he said to no one in particular.

"Sho you should be, you druffen pig," his girlfriend smiled, and made as if to kiss him, but stopped short as she puked down his shirt.

R J Pickles

Cat lit . . . I don't know how I put up with it, I really don't. Monday morning. My litter tray is a reeking crap mountain and no one's fed me since Saturday. Hopefully I schmooze Mummy's stilettos, but she kicks me, yelling: "Bugger! Not NOW, Dostoevsky, I'm late for my Brazilian. Nanny, feed the sodding cat . . ."

Gabrielle de Pauw

Fit lit . . . Novels about the complex relationships between bright young twentysomethings in which exciting new workout routines are cunningly woven into the plot. Recent bestsellers include The Thirty-Nine Steps a Minute and Pilates in Penzance.

Paul Brummell

Widow lit . . . Grief had turned her hair quite golden. In the six months since she unexpectedly became a widow, Veronica had discovered that 57 was a splendid age - especially if one could pass for several years younger. Gerald had timed things perfectly, expiring two weeks before retirement. She felt nothing but an enormous sense of relief and gratitude. Relief that she would not have to put up with him all day. Gratitude that she qualified for the enormous sum Bagleys paid out to spouses . . .

Lisbeth Rake

No 3788 Set by John Crick

So . . . Royal Mail is to terminate its mail trains. We'd like an elegy to this event or a salute to newer forms of communication. "This is the e-mail crossing the border . . ."

Verses by 11 July (to appear in issue dated 21 July). E-mail: comp@newstatesman.co.uk

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