Lessons Learned

Back in Norway where I'm making a priority of blogging; easily done when the alternatives are emptying suitcases, cleaning away dead flies and dust, washing laundry, and emailing the car hire company that over-charged us (thrice) for car seats.

As you can see from the photo, I managed to make an impression on Kamila Shamsie despite my certainty that I wouldn't have the gumption to speak to her. It went like this.

I was shunted up to the front of the audience - which wasn't very big - and so had a false sense of security as I couldn't see the people behind me. No, contrary to what I might sometimes tell my children, I don't in fact have eyes in the back of my head. I just need them.

After the authors read, questions were invited by the curator, Colm Toibin. I was a bit embarrassed by a series of questions about being a Muslim which didn't seem very relevant to Ms Shamsie or her book (What do you think of the conception of Muslims in the west?!!!!), and so false bravery, and a sense of lets get the discussion back on track prompted me to raise my hand.

I'd like to ask a techinical question please,' I said. Ms Shamsie looked relieved to have the disussion steered away from religious generalizations and stereotyping and said 'Great!'

I asked her why she had chosen to tell her story from so many points of view; she frequently changes the point of view of her characters while they are mid-conversation. This is quite unusual these days with most - not all, most - writers keeping different characters' head spaces to seperate chapters or at least separate paragraphs of a novel. When I pointed this out there was this murmuring of 'that's not true!' from several people behind me, while the author was agreeing with me. It was really disconcerting to be disagreed with en masse in such a way; to say I was taken aback is an understatement. I was very upset. Poor sensitive little me.

Anyway, it was a week ago. I'm well over it-obviously. But when I went to have my copy of 'Burnt Shadows' signed, Ms Shamsie said, 'You must be a writer,'; I guess the naysayers in the audience were not and didn't really get what I was talking about with changes of narrative point of view. It didn't make me feel much better to know this but it was very nice of her to write such a nice note in my book. So I learned two things that day: I need to develop a much, much thicker skin, and when standing beside Colm Toibin in purple suede peep-toe ankle boots, I feel very, very tall.

Kilkenny Literary Visitors

We’re currently on our annual summer holidays in Ireland during which the kids get their thrice annual hair cuts (3 for the price of 1 in Norway), I have salon-smooth hair for two weeks, and my husband uses my brother’s old mountain bike to cycle from Kilkenny to Carlow every second day as part of his Birkebeiner race training.

The best thing about coming here in August is Kilkenny Arts Festival. Not only does this offer lots of street entertainment for the kids but it also brings some great writers to the city to plug their wares giving me the opportunity to hang out with literary types. Well sit on a plastic chair in the audience in front of them for an hour then queue up and get my book signed.

Next week I’m going to readings by 2009 Orange Prize short-listed Kamila Shamsie, 2009 Booker long-listed Colm Toibin (who curates the literary events at the festival) and a newcomer Peter Murphy who has written a great book called ‘John the Revelator’. Last year I got to meet and have books signed by Sebastian Barry and Anne Enright. I told the latter that I wished I could write like her. ‘You should write like yourself,’ she replied kindly. ‘No, I’d much rather write like you!’ I gushed. Yes, I’m sure she was impressed. To Mr Barry I must have come across as an even bigger twat. He asked me what I was doing in Norway. ‘My husband is in gas,’ I said. Yep. Am really hoping to keep the head this year and keep the idiocy to a minimum. Maybe I'll mention my own writerly leanings. Ask an intelligent question from the audience in front of everyone. Neither of these scenarios is likely as all the events are too early in the day to calm nerves with a drink without smelling like an alcoholic. Still, I can fantasise about becoming Colm Toibin's newest best friend for another eight days, about chatting with Ms Shamsie on the merits of multi-point of view narratives for just two more, and then it'll be back to the barren literary landscape of Norway where such fantasies don't even exist.

I'll let you know how I get on.

Kilkenny-bound

If someone had told me 20 years ago that my destination of choice for summer holidays would be Kilkenny, I’d have told them to sod off. No way! I mean I knew that I wouldn’t be living in the town of my birth when I ‘grew up’, but I didn’t anticipate that I’d become so attached to it in my, er, prime. But here we are, finally, about to head off to the sometimes sunny south-east of Ireland (as the temperature hits 30 here in Oslo) for our fourth consecutive summer trip.
So here's to three weeks of shopping in decent supermarkets; this is particularily ironic given that I wasn't in fact ever allowed to set foot in a supermarket in Kilkenny until my father sold his grocery store when I was in my early twenties (someone might have seen me and inferred from my presence that a supermarket was better than Leahy's Minimarket - or something like that!).
More important than quality retail experiences, is seeing my parents (free babysitting), cheap booze, cheaper everything, reading loads of lovely newspapers, and catching up with many old friends. The kids love to rediscover their toys – Santa usually visits them in Kilkenny, while the retired grocer always puts Santa to shame with his generosity.
Of course, looking back I realise that I wasn't running away from Kilkenny, but from my dad's darn business, which I loathed beyond reason. That shop defined my relationship to everything; family, friends, aquaintances, myself and my home town.
But that's a story for another day (or memoir :-))
Here's to dry weather, and if the thermometer hits 20 or above, that'll be a bonus.

OMG!!!! As I am stuck in the house with three people, only one of whom can read, and she isn’t into anything more challenging than Clarice Bean, I have got to get this out of my system before I explode with excitement. Someone reading has got to appreciate this.

I deliberately chose to stay in Kilkenny a week longer than my husband this year so that I could be there for at least some of Kilkenny Arts Festival, in the hope that some literary stars might turn up for me to drool over. For once, my gamble paid off. I’ve just bought a ticket to attend an event with none other than the woman herself, the star supreme, Anne Enright (with Patrick McGrath). As if that isn't enough literary titillation for one week, I also bought two tickets to see Sebastian Barry; he’s appearing on a Friday night so I figure I might find someone, maybe my mother, to come with me (not that I don't have other friends, of course). I’ll lure her with a promise of great people-watching opportunities - she's a Maeve Binchey fan, nuff said - and a chance to dress up. To top it all off, I’ve got theatre tickets for Snow White and a Canadian circus for the girls, who will be thrilled, making it excellent bribery bait throughout our holiday.

I'm already wondering what I'll wear - to the literary events, not the circus.

Please, please, don't let me get shingles!!!!! (see previous post if you're wondering what the hell that means).