Anything you fancy? (part of import week)

The long list for The Orange Prize for fiction 2009 has been released today:

http://www.orangeprize.co.uk/show/feature/orange-prize-2009-longlist

I have to confess to not having read any of them; I'm having a manly man reading year and enjoying the pleasures of David Peace and Philip Hensher. I'm not sure I could tell a woman's writing from a man's in a blind practical criticism taste test, but when I know it's a male or female author, I think I'm expecting something different from each one.

In an interesting bout of literary sycnronicity, The Man Booker International Prize also released its long list today. Unlike the standard Booker this prize is awarded for continual success in the field of fiction, rather than one novel in particular. Unexpectedly the Booker heavyweight that is Peter Carey features, but, more oddly, James Kelman gets a nomination. Kelman unexpectedly won the prize in 1994 with How Late it Was, How Late; Julia Neuberger allegedly stormed off the panel when the book was chosen as the winner. Her brief but pithy assesment was: "Frankly, it's crap."

I've actually read this book and I enjoyed it for its experiemntation in form (stream of consciousness) and particularly for its use of Scots in a literary context. I didn't expect anyone else to like it, which begs the question why was he nominated? This year's Costa winner Sebastian Barry's the Secret Scripture was announced with what could only be described as embarassment, chair of the panel Matthew Parris admitted no one liked the ending and described it as' flawed'. Rather odd, for a winner. Perhaps I should pen a deeply flawed, confused novel with an unsatisfactory coinclusion and wait for the shiny medals to roll in. If they don't have chocolate centres, I'll send them back.

Thinks: I always associate Booker with cash and carry, can't seem to shake it.

Disappointing library text follows hilarius eye-catching headline (part of import week)

It's raining women at the British Library!

While all around the library world serious book boffins were indulging in War and Peace readathons, and children were sepending their £1 book tokens on tales of fairies and tipper-trucks, the good people of the BL were encouraging us to indulge in short-lived couplings and exploring each other's likes and disikes between the covers.

The BL's amusing (or bemusing) contribution to World Book Day: speed dating. No, no, no, not trying to identify the true age of a rare book, consulting only the title page and with a cursory glance at the binding, in 30 seconds or less. Speed dating, matchmaking and lovely literary fun at the BL; not what you'd expect from a premier research library, but I'm sad I missed the shenanigans which, I expect ended happily ever after.

http://www.bl.uk/news/2009/pressrelease20090302.html

Bravo, BL!

Perhaps I can persuade the UL to produce heart-shaped cheese scones for Valentines Day...

Public lending right: Richard and Judy skew results? (part of import week)

I was very happy to see that Janet and Allan Ahlberg are still in the top ten borrowed books from public libraries in the UK. For those of you not in the know, the Public Lending Right provides a small payment to authors each time their book is borrowed, 6p per loan up to a maximum of around £6.5K I think.

The lending stats for last year saw the top three positions going to the same authors as last year: James Patterson, Jaqueline Wilson and Daisy Meadows; Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows was the most borrowed individual item. I always find it heartening to see so many childrens authors in the top 10, I think it counters the usual news stories of obese children whose fingers are too fat to play their PS3s.

Here are the charts in full:

http://www.plr.uk.com/mediaCentre/mostBorrowedAuthors/mostBorrowedAuthors.htm

The Indy has an interesting article on the value of cooperative writing/ fiction factory farming:

http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/news/the-author-of-choice-for-britains-library-borrowers-779792.html

The article of the day for me has to be about Richard and Judy's Book Club recommendations. It seems the good folk of the South are lapping up their chioces, whereas the Northerners content themselves with hot romance and gripping crime yarns. Any article in which Stuart Maconie describes the nation's favourite/ most loathed sofa-sitting couple as "the greatest arbiters of literary taste since F. R. Leavis", is certainly worth a read.

http://entertainment.timesonline.co.uk/tol/arts_and_entertainment/books/article5671940.ece

I used to have Latin seminars in the old kitchens of the original English Faculty building in Cambridge. There used to be a rumour that every creak, rumble, and bump was the ghost of F. R. Leavis turning in his grave about how underappreciated he had been, and, no doubt, how critically unaware the current batch of undergraduates were. If he reads the Times then I expect the English Faculty will be a-creakin' and a-groanin' all morning with the power of this unfortunate uneven juxtaposition. Who needs Richard and Judy when you could have Frank and Queenie, now there's daytime TV I would pay to see.

UL's fame scuppered by hot dog stand (part of import week)

The results of this year's Unshelved Pimp my Bookcart have just been announced. Alas, the Trolleybus, lovingly crafted by librarians from the UL didn't win; the accolade went instead to a trolley, or 'bookcart' disguised as a hotdog stand. The Trolleybus had wit, attention to detail, classification in-jokes and a the Queen as a driver: the hot dog stand had sauce. Meh.

My new year's resolution may be to learn how to weld.

Winners are here:

http://www.unshelved.com/PimpMyBookcart/2008/

Our small but imperfectly formed offering :

http://www.unshelved.com/PimpMyBookcart/cart.aspx?cart=359

You'll never believe this (part of import week)

Okay, so each time I begin this story I choose to open it with: "you'll never believe this," and each recipient dutifully closes the anecdote with the expected : "you were right, I don't believe it."

Here goes, anyway, you'll never believe this. Yesterday, Sunday brunch, eating things that are bad for me, but locally sourced and organic, therefore good for me in a bad way. A chilled atmosphere of cuddles, radio and poached eggs was suddenly shattered when the cat wanders in through the french doors, screws her eyes up against the sunlight, opens her mouth and speaks.

I look at Rachel, she looks at me. We were inches away from her when it happened. The cat definitely spoke.

Now some cats may speak; Noodle doesn't. She makes a variety of cat specific noises: miaows, purrs, hisses, sneezes on occasion; she has never yet spoken.

Hypothetically, I would have expected, if you'd asked before yesterday, that if she were to speak then she would have spoken in her regular high pitched cat voice. But this utterance was marked by its heavy baritone character; it was Noodle on forty a day, as if Nat King Cole was speaking through the cat from beyond the grave.

So Rachel and I proposed a number of conclusions as the small cat looked at us and our bewildered expressions.

1) The cat is possessed.
2) There was a ventriloquist somewhere in the house.
3) We were experiencing a group hallucination and / or a critical loss of plot.
4) The cat actually spoke.
5) The cat ate something that spoke.

Which is when the next thing happened, which for me is the most important part. Noodle suddenly swallowed, cocked an eyebrow and calmly ambled out into the back garden and chundered next to the lavender bush. In cat fashion, she speedily raked some loose soil and moss over it.

Now I have seen and dealt with Noodle puke before. She has no qualms about throwing up in front of you or your guests, often while you are eating dinner; she never, ever cleans up after herself either. So what did she throw up? My bet was a frog but it could as easily have been a miniature Nat King Cole. As you'd expect, I didn't rush out with a trowel to check.

Crunchy leaves

So spent last weekend in Durham with the girl, we had a good look around and spent Sunday afternoon in the botanical gardens. This time of the year is one of my favourites, the leaves are turning yellow and red and the air has some bite to it. It was brilliant to spend the afternoon walking arm in arm through copious leafage with the girl. No one knew who we were and we weren't worried about being spotted. There is a certain excitement to being in a slightly secret relationship, but it does take its toll, mostly because I'm a bit useless at it. I've got one of those faces that can't hold back a secret and I can't lie, can manage a bit of havering, but I can't do an out and out lie. We're going to a party this evening as well and I know how likely I am to just louse everything up by saying or possibly even doing the wrong thing.

But anyway, Durham, beautiful, and hilly thank God. I love Cambridge but the flatness of the fens is soul destroying sometimes; if you're born and bred in the hills you just can't do without them. We went to the Cathedral where one window just bathed the stone in brilliant purple light; there was this real sense of peace to the place, even though it was busy. The Colleges don't look like Oxbridge Colleges, which I found a little weird. I'm not sure what they look like, mebbe like little estates or perhaps like a school. The front bulding of St Mary's definately looked like a baby version of my primary school, though without all the fences and security bars- I did grow up in a rough bit of Scotland mind.

View from the 'bridge:

• Don't go shopping on a Saturday afternoon, under any circumstances.
  
• Try and see 'Once' if it s still on at your local cinema, or even a cinema 400 miles away. And see it with someone you love; its the cinematic equivalent of hot chocolate.
  
• The good Lord has spared the region of East Anglia from the storm surge this weekend; I wonder what our end of the bargain is?
  

Purple sky

The sky outside is the most brilliant shade of purple. I don't know what that indicates but it is incredibly gothic, especially with the architecture here. Back to work after a few days off, missed the girl terribly. We're off to Durham this weekend; looking forward to seeing hills again.

View from the 'bridge

• A punch to the shoulder hurts more than a punch in the jaw for some reason.
  
• A cup of Earl Grey makes just about everything better.
  
• The ducks at Trinity don't like apple pies.