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Island

January 21, 2021 /

At 15:45 tomorrow my story ‘Island’ will be the Short Works afternoon reading on Radio 4. The story will of course be available to listen to on the BBC Sounds app afterwards.

Radio 4 has been a mainstay of my cultural life since the age of ten, and seeing my name in the Radio Times feels like a significant moment, so I hope everyone who listens to it enjoys the story!

‘Island’ had something of an interesting genesis. The story’s main character, Janet, was the protagonist of an earlier version of my current work-in-progress. As many of you will know by now, I tend to discard vast tracts of material in the course of writing a novel, but as I have always stressed, no part of that process is a waste of time. Janet, and ‘Island’, are proof of that. It’s such a thrill to know she is around still, that her life on the page continues.

My huge thanks to producer Eilidh McCreadie, who commissioned ‘Island’, and to Alexandra Mathie for her beautiful reading.

Girls Against God

November 12, 2020 /

Late last month I happened to be reading an interview/conversation between the American writer Alexandra Kleeman (author of You Too Can Have a Body Like Mine) and the Norwegian writer and musician Jenny Hval, whose second novel Girls Against God has just been published. Both writers share an interest in transgression, in breaking down genre boundaries and in the idea of literary experimentation. It’s a fascinating piece, and one I found resonated with me a lot, most especially their discussion of how the radical-experimental space in writing has tended to be colonised by men. Helen de Witt in particular has written brilliantly about this, as of course has Rachel Cusk.

My own interest in fragmented narratives, in narratives that push beyond ‘story’ to examine not only the urge to record but also our relationship as both readers and writers with words on a page and especially in our current reality the value of words as resistance, protest, the proposition of counter-realities has become all-consuming of late. This obsession with narrative structures, with the purpose and meaning of the written word has resulted in notable and repeated upheavals in my work-in-progress as well as a renewed focus on and fascination with writers whom I perceive as sharing these ideals – writers whose engagement with language itself is relentless and searching.

The challenge of being a woman in such spaces is a matter of particular fascination and sometimes vexation. With this in mind, I have decided I would like to spend some of this winter exploring works by women writers that I see as radical and/or transgressive. Two years ago I read a series of such works one after the other: Ann Quin’s Berg, Eley Williams’s Attrib, Gwendoline Riley’s First Love, Break.up by Joanna Walsh, Milkman by Anna Burns, All My Puny Sorrows by Miriam Toews, Caroline’s Bikini by Kirsty Gunn, Exposure by Olivia Sudjic and Hell by Kathryn Davis. The effect of encountering these works so closely together, as a concentrated block of ideas, was profoundly energising and remains a touchstone experience, not just in and of itself but for the inspiration it provided, the example set: this is what is possible.

Trying to process this experience, to persuade it to bear fruit – that is the tricky bit. It is also the most exciting part of the work I am attempting to do. I thought it might be useful and interesting to share my thoughts on some of works I am finding most relevant, engaging and challenging at the moment, to discover them on the page, to set down my impressions as they are being gathered. In honour of the interview that inspired it, I am going to call this project Girls Against God, though we may well find as many girls who are pro god as anti. I am not going to set myself a strict timetable for posting, nor even a specific day, though I am hoping to put up something new for you to read roughly once a week.

I plan to start next week sometime with Girls Against God itself. In the meantime, let me commend to you Jenny Hval’s stunning album The Practice of Love, which seems to tie into everything she says in the interview with energy and grace.

When words do not suffice

November 9, 2020 /

Like everyone else, I have spent much of the past week being exhausted by the American presidential election. I didn’t get a proper night’s sleep until Saturday, and still feel on edge because of the dishonourable and disreputable behaviour of much of the Republican party. Seemingly there are those who will continue to give lip service to what they know are lies (because they, unlike Trump himself, are not morons) because it seems politically expedient to do so. When they do, as seems inevitable, begin to peel off in droves, this will not be through any sense of personal honour or desire to uphold the democratic process, but because they fear the damage that might accrue to their own careers through sticking their colours to the burning mast of a despot in the twilight of his reign. 

This for me does not compute. For me, the worst aspects of Trump have not been his personal loathsomeness, his inane generalisations, his total inability to form any kind of political argument, his racism or his misogyny or his financial malpractice (vile though they all are) but the fact that he has been enabled as President of the United States to stand on a world stage, making statements that are known to be lies by all of those around him and yet still stand unchallenged by the bulk of the party he claims to represent (he doesn’t, as they all know, but that’s a longer argument). I despise him, I loathe his politics but his attempt to dismantle democracy and to erode the infrastructure of democracy has been, for me, an existential horror that outflanks any and all partisan considerations. And this is still going on. There are still those – again, American citizens with intelligence and decades-long political experience – who seem prepared to support him in what now amounts to a toddler’s tantrum, no thought for what is best for their fellow citizens or for the constitution whose ideals they are sworn to serve. These people are more dangerous even than Trump because they know what they’re doing. Seriously, they should go away and read their Hannah Arendt. Personally I won’t breathe easy until he is actually out of the White House.

This past week has been enervating and at certain moments thrilling, a week that has included along with the tension the headiest moments of relief and thanksgiving. There is such a long way to go but this is a hugely important step, for all of us, all over the world. One of the worst aspects of Trump’s ‘presidency’ has been the way his attitudes and actions have been a green light for demagogues, racists and climate deniers everywhere, producing a hothouse environment for hate, intolerance and social division not seen for a century.

Joe Biden and Kamala Harris are fine people, whose ambitions for their term in office – healing, inclusion, rebuilding and hope – are the only valid reasons to be in politics, basically. May they flourish and prosper.

Assessing The Evidence

October 15, 2020 /

One of the harsher effects of lockdown for writers has been the narrowing of opportunities to come out of our studies and meet with people – with each other, and also with readers. We’ve all done our best with Skype and Zoom, and the ingenuity and enthusiasm of booksellers and events organisers in making the most of the tools at their disposal has been incalculable. We all know by now though that online meetings are not the same, and even as we enjoy catching glimpses of one another across the internet, there’s nothing like coming together in person to celebrate the announcement of a prize shortlist, the launch of a new novel or simply to compare notes on what we’ve all been reading lately.

This privation has been especially difficult for authors who have had books scheduled to be published in 2020. Even under normal circumstances, there’s a significant gap between completing work on a novel and sending it out into the world. Having to wait an extra six months or even a year before their work sees the light of day has been deeply discouraging. For those writers whose novels have been released this year, there is the sadness of not being able to participate in book festivals, conventions, and all the other events that would normally mark a novel’s rite of passage. As we re-enter a heightened state of lockdown, even the opportunity of celebrating quietly at home with friends has been pushed into an indefinite future. Which makes it all the more necessary for us to gather the resources we do have: to read, to celebrate and talk about the books we love.

Christopher Priest’s new novel THE EVIDENCE is published today. This is Chris’s sixteenth novel to date, which is achievement enough in itself. It is also a fantastically inventive, original and unexpected novel, a true delight to read. The Evidence brings us into the company of Todd Fremde, a crime writer who has been invited to give a lecture at a university some two days’ travel from his home island – for yes, this is a Dream Archipelago novel like no other. On arrival in the icy outpost of Dearth City, Todd finds himself with more than dreary weather to contend with as he is drawn rapidly into a situation that seems increasingly to resemble the plot of one of his own police procedurals.

As Todd struggles to make sense of what is going on around him, he begins to examine the activity of crime writing itself: why are we addicted to it, and what does it actually have to say about the nature of crime? The Evidence is a funny, thought-provoking, thoroughly entertaining book, a crime novel that undermines itself at every turn whilst retaining and honouring all the elements of mystery that make detective stories so satisfying.

I love this book, and I know you will, too. In fact I would go so far as to say it’s a novel that’s perfectly timed to bring some much needed joy and humour to our reading lives. If you’ve never read Priest before, The Evidence might be exactly the right place to start.

Ruby Resplendent!

October 6, 2020 /

Today sees the UK publication of the brand new Titan edition of my book Ruby, formerly known as Stardust: the Ruby Castle Stories. (US readers will have to wait a week or two for this release but have no fear, copies are on their way.)

Ruby is a cycle of stories centred around the figure of Ruby Castle, a horror movie actor who ends up in prison following the murder of a lover. Through a series of shifting glimpses, we learn not only Ruby’s story but the stories and intertwined fates of those in her orbit. There’s a circus story, an alternate-Russia story with cosmonauts, an island horror story, a full-on piece of folk horror – in fact you could almost call Ruby a journey through the weird.

This new edition, which has been thoroughly revised and re-edited, also contains an extra story I wrote specifically to celebrate the book’s reissue and that I hope casts extra light on the fate and character of Ruby herself.

This book is very dear to me, for many reasons. I felt deep personal involvement in the stories at the time I was writing them, and the process of reappraising and revising them for new readers has been a real pleasure, offering many moments of surprise and recognition as I renewed my acquaintance with the varied cast of characters.

There’s a distinctly autumnal feel to Ruby – something about carnival in general, I think – and this October publication date feels particularly appropriate. So here’s to Ruby, at large in the world – I hope you grow to love her as much as I do. Huge thanks to Gary Budden, whose idea this was, and to Cath Trechman and the amazing team at Titan who brought the project to fruition.

Hark, hark, the Clarke!

June 19, 2020 /

Given the extraordinary circumstances, I think we can all forgive the Clarke Award for running a little late this year. The shortlist is usually announced in May, but with the lockdown coming into force more or less exactly when we would normally expect to see the submissions list being published (and Clarke season thus officially open), the schedule has been knocked somewhat off-kilter. (I’m sure the Zoom meetings have been numerous and legendary.) But with bookshops in England opening their doors again this week, there is the possibility that an actual Clarke Award ceremony might be able to go ahead in some form. And whatever happens with regard to the announcement, we can at least be sure the books are on bookshops’ shelves and available to buy. All of which adds up to one great thing, or rather two: the Clarke Award shortlist and the submissions list have just gone live.

The Clarke Award shortlist for 2020 is as follows:

– The City in the Middle of the Night  – Charlie Jane Anders

– The Light Brigade – Kameron Hurley

– A Memory Called Empire – Arkady Martine

– The Old Drift – Namwali Serpell

– Cage of Souls – Adrian Tchaikovsky

– The Last Astronaut – David Wellington

My first reaction was one of pleasure at seeing Namwali Serpell’s The Old Drift on the list as it a) looks outstanding and b) happens to be on my to-read list anyway. I have heard good things about Arkady Martine’s A Memory Called Empire, and I enjoyed Charlie Jane Anders’s debut All The Birds in the Sky, so I’ll be interested to see where her follow-up takes me. The other three books have interesting premises and it’ll be fascinating to see what new insights these authors can bring to tried-and-tested tropes. I’m planning to read and blog the whole shortlist between now and the announcement of this year’s winner in September, so we’ll find out together.

I’m also going to be trying something of a different approach in my reading and reviewing of this shortlist. For the getting-on-for-two-decades I’ve been taking an active interest in the Clarke Award, I’ve tended to judge the shortlists against my own expectations and preferences. (I think this is something we all do, regardless of whether we choose to put those judgements into print.) This year, I intend to judge each of the shortlisted titles against itself: what is the author trying to do, how well has the author succeeded, and what does their book have to say about science fiction now?

This is going to be fun.

I couldn’t leave things there though, could I? “In past years we’ve opted to publish the submissions list in advance of the announcement of our official shortlist, but 2020 is far from a normal year, and with apologies to those in the science fiction community who enjoy the conversation and debate that our submissions list can generate, we have opted to publish this year in conjunction with the reveal of our six shortlisted books.” explains the award’s director Tom Hunter in the statement that accompanies the announcement. “We plan to announce the winner in September 2020, with a final date to be confirmed soon, and in the meantime I invite everyone to think of themselves as Clarke Award judge for a moment and ask, ‘if it were up to me, which 6 books would I choose and why?'”

How could I resist? In accepting Tom’s invitation, I have gone one further and, I hope, added extra value. Having spent some time going over the submissions list, I noted a couple of surprising omissions, books that, for whatever reason, were not submitted (Tim Maughan’s Infinite Detail most inexplicably, but also Cynan Jones’s Stillicide and Jesse Ball’s The Divers’ Game, which I was particularly pleased to see cropping up earlier this week on the Neukom Award shortlist alongside Matt Hill’s articulate and innovative Zero Bomb). Of the 122 books that were submitted, many are excellent – so excellent I found it impossible to decide on a personal shortlist without whittling them down. So in order to make things easier for myself, I first selected a putative longlist – a Booker’s Dozen:

My Name is Monster by Katie Hale (Canongate)

Zero Bomb by M. T. Hill (Titan)

Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James (Hamish Hamilton)

Always North by Vicki Jarrett (Unsung Stories)

The Migration by Helen Marshall (Titan)

Ness by Robert Mcfarlane and Stanley Donwood (Hamish Hamilton)

Do You Dream of Terra-Two by Temi Oh (Simon & Schuster)

From the Wreck by Jane Rawson (Picador)

The Old Drift by Namwali Serpell (Hogarth)

Doggerland by Ben Smith (4th Estate)

Dead Astronauts by Jeff VanderMeer (4th Estate)

Plume by Will Wiles (4th Estate)

Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson (Cape)

(NB: I would almost certainly have included and possibly shortlisted Yoko Ogawa’s elegantly understated The Memory Police, were it not for the fact that this novel was actually first published in its original Japanese in 1994, and it seems odd to me to have a book that is a quarter of a century old competing against brand new works. This is not Ogawa’s fault, of course, and I would urge anyone who has not yet discovered her work to do so as soon as possible. The Memory Police reminds me potently of Karin Tidbeck’s Amatka, which has been one of my favourite science fiction novels of the past decade.)

I like this longlist. I think it showcases a wide array of themes and approaches, which taken together offer a genuine insight into the power and diversity of speculative fiction now, and I can’t help feeling sorry that only one of these titles made it to the official shortlist.

The problem and the fascination with any judging process is that it is so personal. Part of what I love about the Clarke Award is the perennial questions it throws up: what is best, what is science fiction, should a shortlist be reflective (this is where the field is at) or provocative (this is where the field should be at)? Anyone who follows my criticism will know I tend heavily towards the latter end of the opinion spectrum: I firmly believe that an award like the Clarke should promote works that push the genre envelope, that offer a radical interpretation of the term ‘science fiction’, that it should be more than just a popularity contest (we have the Hugos for that) or a ramshackle assemblage of the judges’ ‘favourite’ books. A shortlist should have definition, it should say something about the field other than ‘these books all came out last year and we enjoyed reading them.’

I would never assume that my criteria are correct, simply that they are mine, they have been consistently mine, and that I continue to stand by them. With all these things in mind, my personal preferred Clarke shortlist for 2020 would be as follows:

Black Leopard, Red Wolf by Marlon James – because I need this in my life. I have not read the whole of this book yet – it’s massive! – but I love James’s writing so much and the scope of Black Leopard is epic. ‘But it’s fantasy!’ I hear the purists cry. You say fantasy, I say alternate world.

The Migration by Helen Marshall – because Marshall’s approach to the post-apocalyptic novel is powerful and timely (pandemics, climate change), because I love the way she makes use of realworld historical material (the Black Death), and because her writing and characterisation, as always, is so beautifully achieved.

From the Wreck by Jane Rawson – because this is probably the book I’m most disappointed not to see on the actual shortlist. I think the blend of realworld family history and science fiction is incredible and because this book and this author deserve more readers.

The Old Drift by Namwali Serpell – because the premise of this book sounds fascinating, the writing looks astounding and I can’t wait to read it.

Dead Astronauts by Jeff VanderMeer – because it is one of the boldest and most impassioned novels of 2019 and its difficulty is part of its magic. This is truly an important text, one of the most arresting and original treatments of the theme of climate change that has yet been written.

Frankissstein by Jeanette Winterson – because it is striking, allusive, experimental – and Frankensteinian. Also because I think Winterson has written enough speculative fiction now for ‘people’ to stop referring to her as a tourist and to start discussing her contribution as the vital thing it is.

So there they are, my cards on the table. I may actually blog Black Leopard, Red Wolf alongside the official shortlist because I can’t think of a better time to get back to reading it (if not now, when?) Either way, my Clarke-related posts should not get in the way of Weird Wednesdays, although you may see a Clarke book being the subject of a Weird Wednesday every now and then, when I get pressed for time. The main thing is that the Clarke, as ever, should continue to provide an essential focus for discussion and reflection on the landscape of science fiction as we perceive it in the current moment. On that promise, I think we can safely say it has already delivered.

Ruby – cover reveal!

February 27, 2020 /

Truly delighted to reveal Julia Lloyd’s exquisite cover design for Ruby, published by Titan Books on the 8th of September.

Ruby is the brand new title of the brand new edition of Stardust, previously published in 2013 by PS Publishing. The all-new Ruby has been revised and expanded to include a new story that will reveal new insights and information about the book’s mysterious title character.

Ruby Castle is a film actor, famous for her roles in horror cinema, made infamous for murdering her lover in a jealous rage. The stories in this book illuminate her life and times from different angles, forming a multifaceted portrait of an extraordinary woman.

It has been a joy to return to this manuscript, to spend time with Ruby again, to bring to the text a new incisiveness and clarity. Writing the extra story was the icing on the cake! In the years since Ruby first stepped into the spotlight, I feel I’ve come to understand her better, and I hope I’ve been able to reflect this in the revised text.

Julia’s cover art captures the drama and tragedy of Ruby’s story to an uncanny degree. I’m thrilled with it, and looking forward to introducing Ruby to a wider audience later in the year!

Folio Prize shortlist

February 26, 2020 /

Each time this shortlist gets announced, I find myself wondering why the Rathbones Folio Prize isn’t given more attention. Is it because the award was founded as a riposte to the Booker, or rather to the Booker’s sporadic tendency to succumb to popular pressure (and I’m sure we can all find examples) around which novels or which kind of novels should be considered? Is the Folio Prize’s unabashed pursuit of literary excellence seen as unfashionable or – and I can’t believe I’m using this word – elitist? Or is it something as banal as the prize organisers not being massively clued up on publicity? (Or not having a massive publicity budget?) Whatever it is, it’s a shame, because the Folio Prize has produced some of the most consistently interesting shortlists year on year.

The 2020 selection is better even than usual. Fiona Benson’s Vertigo and Ghost is a masterpiece. There can be no questioning that fact, no suggestion that the use of the word masterpiece is yet another instance of book world hype. Vertigo and Ghost will be being read in a hundred years’ time and hopefully long after. It’s won prizes already but it absolutely deserves this further accolade. Ben Lerner is so good it’s fashionable to hate him now. After having read the whole of the Adam Gordon trilogy virtually back-to-back towards the end of last year, I’ve been wondering whether Lerner will get the Booker nod, hoping of course that he will, preparing to feel unsurprised if he doesn’t. All the better then to see his third novel The Topeka School featuring here. (And yes of course the book can be criticised, but only at the level where you know you’re nitpicking. Lerner’s writing – his thought process – is so advanced that it doesn’t matter about the nitpicks, which I guess is what the Folio Prize is all about.)

How lovely to see Laura Cumming’s beautifully written investigative memoir On Chapel Sands recognised. Cumming’s art criticism is so consistently excellent and On Chapel Sands is a joy: understated, refined, powerful. It’s not had enough attention, in my view, and so my heart leaped when I saw it on the Folio shortlist. James Lasdun is another underappreciated writer. I read his memoir Give Me Everything You Have last year, and found it an uncomfortable book to read on many levels, yet once again the writing is so good, the approach so thoughtful and self-questioning, that it’s worth the discomfort, and shouldn’t all literature aim to be this self-exposing? I’m hoping Lasdun will find more readers as a result of this overdue recognition for a major prize.

I’ve not read Grand Union yet, but I did read two of Zadie Smith’s essay collections last year and found such joy in them. Smith is one of our most assured writers, no doubt about it, but – like Lasdun – she is also one of our most reflective and self-questioning. The piece in which Smith explores her decision to keep away from social media (because she believes it is essential that a writer retain the ‘freedom to be wrong’) should be read and at least considered by every writer. As with Lerner, Smith has to an extent reaped the anti-rewards of literary fame, which has meant a tailing-off of engaged interest in what she is actually writing. This shortlisting will hopefully encourage a generous measure of re-engagement.

Valeria Luiselli’s Lost Children Archive. What can I say, except that it was a source of sadness and frustration to me, to see this important, formally innovative, searching novel dropped from both the Booker and the Women’s Prize at longlist stage last year (the Women’s Prize decision especially had me grinding my teeth). This fact alone might place Luiselli as my favourite for winning the Folio but we shall see. I have only read part of Constellations so far but the form of the book, the quality of thought and writing, makes Sinead Gleeson’s shortlisting a no-brainer and I’ll make sure I absorb her book in full before the year is out. Similarly, the Folio shortlisting for Azadeh Moaveni’s Guest House for Young Widows has put it back on my radar. Given the often-appalling discourse around Muslim women, not to mention the appalling (and illegal) treatment of Shamima Begum (could our government please remember that Begum was a child when she left Britain??? What she must have been through since can scarcely be imagined by those who have taken the decision to leave her stateless – that’s if they even tried) I would consider Moaveni’s book essential reading for everyone, now.

The Folio Prize shortlist is diverse in every sense of the word. It is also profound, and thoughtful, and interesting. If there is one quality – literary excellence aside – that could be said to unite these eight books it is that of being ruminative, of inviting a personal response. This desire, this ability, this courage to look inward even as we look outward, to make the political personal, is an approach I would hope to see more of on every prize list and it is inspiring, and a source of solace, to see it here.

2020 Folio prize shortlist

Guest House for Young Widows by Azadeh Moaveni

The Topeka School by Ben Lerner

Vertigo & Ghost by Fiona Benson

Victory by James Lasdun

On Chapel Sands by Laura Cumming

Constellations by Sinéad Gleeson

Lost Children Archive by Valeria Luiselli

Grand Union by Zadie Smith

The Dollmaker: AMA

November 4, 2019 /

Just to let you know that I’ll be doing a Reddit AMA this evening, 8 pm UK time, so do feel free to drop by and ask me questions about The Dollmaker, my upcoming novel The Good Neighbours and anything else you can think of relating to books and writing. Looking forward to you joining me at eight!

Andrew’s in America!

October 15, 2019 /

The Dollmaker is published in the US today – excuse me while I gloat over the fantastic (and creepy) cover art:

Huge thanks to Judith Gurewich and the whole incredible team at Other Press for steering Andrew on his journey across the Atlantic.

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