Rescuing writers from the "mid-list"

Fiction Uncovered gives eight novelists the recognition they deserve.

For reasons not entirely clear to me the act of reading novels had been chiselled down to two mutually exclusive disciplines. The first was digesting great and difficult works of the past as an act of compulsion; I wanted to know what secrets they might reveal. The second was a brief and largely unpleasant exposure to popular fiction – all short sentences, bad dialogue and cheap thrills. But reading the novels named as winners of the Fiction Uncovered literary award led me down a path of fresh and unexpected pleasures. I found I could have my cake and eat it too.

A precarious business, being a novelist of certain type. There are writers out there who have achieved substantial critical success and enjoy a career many others would envy, yet have somehow evaded the wider public consciousness. The industry whispers it as “mid-list”, a term that refers not to genre, subject or form, but to a habitat where their achievements do not even make them particularly famous in the literary world, let alone in mainstream cultural life. This is the landscape of Fiction Uncovered, which nominates eight books for the greater recognition they deserve.

The award is in its second year and with a panel of judges chaired by John Sutherland, Emeritus Professor of Modern English Literature at UCL, has again selected titles that not only sing of their own merits, but serve as reminders – as they did to me – of the value of reading intelligent artful books for pleasure.

Genre publishers can build intimate and lucrative relationships with fans by reaching out to long-standing communities of loyal readers. That’s not so easy with literary or “quality” fiction – the readers of which are an altogether a more disparate bunch. The decline of bookshops also means there is a need to reconnect those in search of this kind of experience with a range of fresh titles. You could say the award is a highfalutin' book club, as the writer of Lucky Bunny, one of the winners, explains. “The tough thing is to attract and keep readers,” says Jill Dawson. “I don’t obsess about sales but I do obsess over readers. It can be hard to get noticed and a project such as this is very much needed. It can introduce books about which people may have misconceptions or preconceptions and they might be pleasantly surprised.”

Lucky Bunny is one such pleasant surprise. It is the story of a criminally inclined Queenie Dove, who narrates her own rises and falls through the Blitz and postwar London. This could seem like over-familiar territory, but Dawson skillfully avoids the cockney tropes that might have dragged it down. The young Queenie is the victim, and cause, of a series of workaday tragedies and the energy of her tale lies in its dynamic shifts from exhilarated escapade to domestic horror.

“The introduction of Mum’s name into the air feels wobbly, like the flame on a birthday candle. I daren’t even answer, in case my breath blows it out.”

Queenie’s voice feels authentic but also sparkles with burnished rhetoric and although the convincing historical scaffolding is impressive, Dawson has achieved something more than an engaging period piece. Queenie has a brain and heart through which we can explore profound questions about how environment, family and circumstance can shape the psychology – and therefore destiny – of an individual.

My Former Heart by Cressida Connolly covers a similar historical period as Lucky Bunny but follows the lives of three generations of middle-class women who find, in their own distinct ways, a second version of love. Unlike the eviscerating candour of its fellow winner this is gentler in tone, though that does not mean it sacrifices any emotional honesty. It has a mesmeric quality as each character is swept along and every drama, every “event”, is not a point of punctuation but a ripple, merely following the last and preceding the next.

Another outstanding winner is Two Cows And A Vanful Of Smoke by Peter Benson, a well established novelist who knows the value of Fiction Uncovered to his work and the industry. “One of the great things about it is that it’s not a competition – it’s a celebration,” says Benson. “The literary world is no different to any other - the news tends to be dominated by money, scandal, personal spats and hype - and sometimes it’s easy to forget what lies at the heart of what we do. Good books. Fiction Uncovered recognises this.”

Two Cows mixes Somerset drifters, corrupt police and stolen cannabis, but the real magic – literally – of the book is in its evocation of a mystical English countryside. As Elliot tries to extricate himself from the tangle of stupid friends, gangsters and angry farmers, the land itself speaks on every page. Elliot (learning from his domestic mystical mum) reads messages in the flights of buzzards and the eyes of forest animals while the trees warn of danger. The prose twists and rolls like a vine creeping over a medieval brick wall.

“I was angry now, angry and fierce, like a fish with a hook in its eye. A bush on fire. The bird with a vole in its beak … I crossed roads without looking, barged past old women with shopping trolleys, kicked at stones I saw I the gutter. Panic, fear, trouble – they’d all gone.”

This Is Life by Dan Rhodes and The Light Of Amsterdam by David Park both send an ensemble in search of some new purpose in the panorama of a European city. This is Life flirts with magical realism in Paris and walks on a precarious ridge of whimsy – that it manages to avoid the dangers of this high-wire act shows the author’s skill. The characters skip around a world where love at first sight is as much part of their daily routine as the morning espresso. It is a butterfly of a book and one that desperately wants to be, and probably should be, a film.

The Light Of Amsterdam is thicket-dense with the interior workings of characters on the brink of discovery and/or breakdown. The names of the three main travellers from Belfast to the Dutch city, Alan, Karen and Marion, sound like old testament siblings, tormented by fate and tested by God. It is three worlds of intense solipsism, though the occasionally overbearing narration is tempered with empathy for the hurt that the little things in life can inflict and for how those little things, if left unattended, can grow in silence and darkness into monsters. No matter how frustrating Karen’s psychological pecking seems, the news her daughter reveals in Amsterdam is a moment that lingers in the memory. Both titles survive and thrive through the episodic switch from one character to another, which prevents This Is Life from flying away in the breeze and The Light Amsterdam from sinking into quicksand.

Another demonstration of the range of the award is the two titles which come closest to that of genre writing. Hit And Run by Doug Johnstone blends a modern crime thriller set in Edinburgh with a touch of Dostoyevsky, as a reporter falls further and further into a personal Hades of his own making. It’s a book of breakneck pace, even if the hardboiled dialogue sometimes jars with its modern setting. Completely different, though sharing their more specialised status, is Susanna Jones’s When Nights Were Cold. Also a thriller of a kind, it plays with a survivor's unreliable memory of an Edwardian mountaineering expedition that went horribly wrong. The “coldness”, in its many forms, is superbly evoked by Jones and she plays on familiar notions of Suffragettes and imperial adventurers to create an unsettling saga.

Finally, the ambition – and success – of Fiction Uncovered is best illustrated by the title that, at first sight, least deserves to be on the winner’s list. Crushed Mexican Spiders by Tibor Fischer is a tiny volume of only two short stories. Crushed Mexican Spiders itself is a decent mix of Kafka and Lovecraft in modern Brixton in which the villain is the city of London itself, but the other story, Possibly Forty Ships, is quite magnificent.

A man (it’s up the reader to guess who) under threat of torture tells his eyewitness account the Trojan War and his “truth” about Achilles, Odysseus and Helen. Not only does it crackle with playful classical allusions, but its humour – “They marry Menelaus off to a very minor princess so ugly she has to sneak up on a fig tree to pick the fruit” – contains barbs of cynical, word weary wisdom that are both provocative and strangely moving. It has more depth and breadth than many novels 40 times its size. It is also the kind of unexpected thrill that fulfils the promise of this particular award. For me, this really was fiction, uncovered.

Fiction Uncovered FM will run from Foyles Charing Cross Road, London, from 20 – 23 June 2012. The pop-up radio station will be dedicated to celebrating fiction. A full list of the 2012 winners can be found here.

@geochesterton

The eight nominated authors for Fiction Uncovered 2012 (Photo: Alicia Canter)

You can follow George on Twitter as @geochesterton.

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Are celebrities deliberately messing up their award show performances?

How the "accidental" tumble came to dominate awards season.

The first thing I saw about last night’s Brit awards is that during Katy Perry’s performance of her new single “Chained to the Rhythm” a dancer – dressed as a house – fell off the stage.

This housing crisis is the most meme-able and memorable moment of the entire awards ceremony, but not because it’s anything new. The house follows in the (tumbling) footsteps of Madonna, who in 2015 fell over on the Brits’ stage after a dancer stood on her giant, flowing cape.

If it seems strange that some of the world’s biggest and best known artists are prone to hiring clumsy back-up dancers, it should. Since I’m-so-normal-in-my-$4m-Dior-dress Jennifer Lawrence fell over at the Oscars in 2013, there has been a spate of televised celebrity mishaps.

In 2014, normal-oh-so-normal J Law decided to take another Oscars tumble. In 2015, Perry’s back-up dancer at the Super Bowl, Left Shark, shot to meme fame for its clumsy and out-of-time dance moves. This New Year’s, Mariah Carey gave a self-described “mess” of a performance.

So is this just a coincidence? After all, celebrities have always had live performance mishaps, the most famous being Justin Timberlake exposing Janet Jackson’s breast during the 2004 Super Bowl. But in the late Tens, thanks to social media, mishaps have become the fastest and easiest way to get talked about. After all, when’s the last time anyone on Twitter recommended a mainstream celebrity’s performance because it was “so very touching and good”?

The proof is in the numbers. Left Shark’s dance moves helped 2015 to become the most Tweeted about Super Bowl ever, with numbers dropping dramatically in 2016 (where Coldplay had no mishap other than their continued existence). Tweets and statuses are one thing, of course, and money is another. After her 2015 performance, Perry started selling Left Shark merchandise in her official online store. Mishaps are profitable in more ways than one.

Social media has therefore revolutionised the celebrity mishap, but so too have the phones from which we post our updates. The fact more of us take our smartphones to live shows means that the public can catch mishaps that might traditionally have been brushed under the rug (or cape). It was an audience member, after all, that caught Perry’s falling house on camera.

Short of a shark/house whistle blower, however, there is no definitive proof of this new celebrity conspiracy theory. Yet when it is known that marketers deliberately outrage consumers to drum up publicity, we have to wonder what PR teams wouldn’t do? A small tumble, after all, is a small price to pay to reach new heights. 

Amelia Tait is a technology and digital culture writer at the New Statesman.