Willies now make up the bulk of the passengers on the East Coast trains that leave Edinburgh Waverley almost every half-hour. Photo: Getty
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Charting the rise of the new Willies

There are more people than ever who work in London but live in Edinburgh.

Everyone needs a Willie – that was Margaret Thatcher’s naive remark about how much she depended on her deputy Willie Whitelaw to keep her government out of trouble. Thirty-odd years later, the word has taken on a new connotation north of the border. A “Willie” is someone who “works in London [but] lives in Edinburgh” and their number is increasing.

The collapse of RBS and HBOS, two large banks headquartered in Edinburgh, as well as the economic downturn, has led to an increase in the numbers of people doing a 400-mile commute twice, or sometimes more, every week. After the takeover of NatWest by RBS in 2000 and the 2001 merger of Halifax and the Bank of Scotland, there was a significant transfer north of high-powered bankers. In 2008, many of them disappeared – some to admire their redundancy cheques; others back to London.

Willies now often make up the bulk of the passengers on the frequent early-morning flights from Edinburgh to London, as well as the East Coast trains that leave Edinburgh Waverley almost every half-hour and do the journey to King’s Cross in as little as four hours. The trains back on Thursday or Friday nights are like parties, the long-distance commuters celebrating the journey home with champagne and smoked salmon. Most have paid £229 for an East Coast Scottish executive return ticket, which gives them first-class travel and food.

Needless to say, it’s easier for single people such as Ed James. He was an RBS IT expert whose job moved from the bank’s Edinburgh headquarters to London in 2012. He began to commute each week from Drem, 20 miles east of Edinburgh. At first, he would take a taxi to Edinburgh Airport and then a flight to London City. As a long-time fan of police thrillers, he began trying his hand at writing them. James would start writing at 5.30am on Mondays in the taxi to the airport and would carry on as soon as he got through airport security; he continued writing all the way to his office as he travelled by plane, DLR and Tube. He says his editor could tell which bits he’d written in the taxi and which on a plane.

After three or four months of commuting by air, James, who describes himself as “comfortably built”, switched to travelling by train, which gave him more room and four hours to focus on writing. His ebooks, featuring DC Scott Cullen, proved so lucrative that he is now a full-time novelist. He says he is delighted with his new life, which he admits would never have begun if it wasn’t for his commute.

Some working mothers are also Willies. Jayne-Anne Gadhia is the chief executive of Virgin Money and one of the most influential people in the British banking sector. She lives in Edinburgh but mostly works in London. Gadhia, who reportedly earned more than £1m last year, regularly gets up at 3am to catch the 5.40am train out of Waverley, arriving at King’s Cross just in time for a 10am meeting. Gadhia is married with a 12-year-old daughter and insists she’d rather live in Edinburgh than commute daily from the Home Counties. She is fortunate that her parents live with her and can help with childcare.

The old Norman Tebbit exhortation to “get on your bike” to find employment works for Willies – but it helps if you can travel first class and have someone at home to hold the fort. I didn’t find any two-Willie households.

Alan Cochrane presents “Rise of the Willies” on BBC Radio 4 on 19 May at 11am

This article first appeared in the 14 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, Why empires fall

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How “cli-fi” novels humanise the science of climate change

The paradox is that the harder climate-fiction novels try, the less effective they are.

When the Paris UN Climate Change Conference begins at the end of November, the world’s leaders will review the climate framework agreed in Rio in 1992. For well over 20 years, the world has not just been thinking and talking about climate change, it has also been writing and reading about it, in blogs, newspapers, magazines – and in novels.

Climate change fiction is now a recognisable literary phenomenon replete with its own nickname: “cli-fi”. The term was coined in 2007 by Taiwan-based blogger Dan Bloom. Since then, its use has spread: it was even tweeted by Margaret Atwood in 2013:

It is not a genre in the accepted scholarly sense, since it lacks the plot formulas or stylistic conventions that tend to define genres (such as science fiction or the western). However, it does name a remarkable recent literary and publishing trend.

A 21st-century phenomenon?

Putting a number to this phenomenon depends, partly, on how one defines cli-fi. How much of a novel has to be devoted to climate change before it is considered cli-fi? Should we restrict the term to novels about man-made global warming? (If we don’t, we should remember that narratives about global climatic change are as old as The Epic of Gilgamesh and the Biblical story of the flood.) If we define cli-fi as fictional treatments of climate change caused by human activity in terms of setting, theme or plot – and accept there will be grey areas in the extent of this treatment – a conservative estimate would put the all-time number of cli-fi novels at 150 and growing. This is the figure put forward by Adam Trexler, who has worked with me to survey the development of cli-fi.

This definition also gives us a start date for cli-fi’s history. While planetary climatic change occurs in much 20th-century science fiction, it is only after growing scientific awareness of specifically man-made, carbon-induced climate change in the 1960s and 1970s that novels on this subject emerged. The first is Arthur Herzog’s Heat in 1976, followed by George Turner’s The Sun and the Summer (published in the US as Drowning Towers) in 1987.

At the turn of this century, Maggie Gee and TC Boyle were among the first mainstream authors to publish climate change novels. In this century, we can count Atwood, Michael Crichton, Barbara Kingsolver, Ian McEwan, Kim Stanley Robinson, Ilija Trojanow and Jeanette Winterson as major authors who have written about climate change. The past five years have given us notable examples of cli-fi by emerging authors, such as Steven Amsterdam, Edan Lepucki, Jane Rawson, Nathaniel Rich and Antti Tuomainen.

Creative challenges

Cli-fi is all the more noteworthy considering the creative challenge posed by climate change. First, there is the problem of scale – spatial and temporal. Climate change affects the entire planet and all its species – and concerns the end of this planet as we know it. Novels, by contrast, conventionally concern the actions of individual protagonists and/or, sometimes, small communities.

Added to this is the networked nature of climate change: in physical terms, the climate is a large, complex system whose effects are difficult to model. In socio-cultural terms, solutions require intergovernmental agreement – just what COP21 intends – and various top-down and bottom-up transformations. Finally, there exists the difficulty of translating scientific information, with all its predictive uncertainty, into something both accurate and interesting to the average reader.

Still, cli-fi writers have adopted a range of strategies to engage their readers. Many cli-fi novels could be classified as dystopian, post-apocalyptic or, indeed, both – depicting nightmarish societies triggered by sometimes catastrophic climate events. A future world is one effective way of narrating the planetary condition of climate change.

Some novelists are also careful to underpin their scenarios with rigorous climatic predictions and, in this way, translate science fact into a fictional setting. Kingsolver, who trained as an ecologist, is the best example of this – and Atwood and Robinson are also known for their attempts at making their speculations scientifically plausible. Also, cli-fi novels, particularly those set in the present day or very near future rather than in a dystopian future, tend to show the political or psychological dimensions of living with climate change. Readers can identify with protagonists. To some extent, the global community is represented in fictional everymen or everywomen. Or, often, it is through such characters that science is humanised and its role in combating climate change better understood.

Can cli-fi lead to change?

Could cli-fi affect how we think and act on climate change? The paradox is that the harder cli-fi tries, the less effective it is. Many writers want to inspire change, not insist on it: the line between literature and propaganda is one that most novelists respect. Literature invites us to inhabit other worlds and live other lives. Cli-fi at its best lets us travel to climate-changed worlds, to strive there alongside others and then to return armed with that experience.

In Paris, the UN will seek a global agreement on climate action for the first time in more than 20 years. There is plenty of climate change fiction out there to help provide the mental and psychological space to consider that action.

The Conversation

Adeline Johns-Putra, Reader in English Literature, University of Surrey

This article was originally published on The Conversation. Read the original article.