Oh to be in England

Further to my review of Match Point - and it has been interesting to note that the most spirited defense that anybody can muster of it is "I can't remember that I was so appalled" - I watched The Social Network last night, which is a far far far far far far far do re mi far far better film. EXCEPT for five minutes in which the excellent meathead twins row at the Henley regatta, and then attend a reception afterwards. Women are loitering in gigantic frothy hats, a string quartet is playing something blandly Mozartian, so you know you MUST be in England because all we ever do is go to receptions with big hats and string quartets, and an elderly English man claims that his daughter is "majoring in French literature" at Cambridge University. FAIL. DOUBLE FAIL. Seriously, if you're Aaron Sorkin, how difficult is it to get a British person to read one page of your script?

I am going to organise a field trip for notable American screenwriters to take a tour of the UK. I will show them around myself. Who's in?

Match [what is the] Point [?]

Last night I saw something which I just HAD to share with the group.

Now I've seen some bad movies in my time. I have sat through the remake of The Wicker Man, in which Nicolas Cage beats up a cult of lesbian beekeepers whilst dressed as a bear. The scars may never heal from enduring, as an impressionable teen, Heartbreak Hotel, in which a teenage Charlie Schlatter kidnaps Elvis in order to cheer up his mum (Elvis goes on to redecorate his house in the style of Graceland, and propel him to victory in the high school Battle of the Bands.) I have even seen the Mariah Carey vanity flick Glitter, notable for Ms Carey only being filmed from the 'good' side of her face, for the appearance of Max Beasley as a sexy xylophone player, and for both of them being acted off the screen by a cat. Last night, though, I saw the actual worst film I have ever seen in my life, and that film was Match Point.

This Woody Allen-penned and -directed thriller (OK and here we're running into trouble already. Would you rush to see a Michael Bay-penned and -directed romcom?) is set in the kind of London someone who has never been to England might come up with if his only source material was one Nancy Mitford novel and Wimbledon (the tournament, not the movie). All the characters have come straight out of the 1930s, with the exception of Paul Kaye, who briefly plays an estate agent from a 1970s Two Ronnies sketch. It is saying something when a Paul Kaye Two Ronnies cameo is the most up-to-date character in your 2005 movie. Back in the lead roles, Jonathan Rhys Meyers (apparently heavily medicated and struggling to produce even one convincing emotion from his arsenal of two or three) plays a retired tennis ace, allegedly a poor Irish boy but with an accent that could not just cut glass but create an entire crystal sculpture, who falls in love with (or seeks to financially exploit? unclear from JRM's "performance") sweet, dim but rich Emily Mortimer (hiding behind fringe, palpably embarrassed) but can't resist bonking Scarlet Johanssen (and at some point we should really open the debate: despite being sexy beyond previously existing human measurements, can she actually act? Those in favour: evidence please). If I tell you that his chat up line is "What's a beautiful American ping pong player doing mingling with the British upper classes?" you might get some idea, but you might also think that the line is supposed to be funny and IT ISN'T. IT'S A RED HOT SEXY CHAT UP SCENE. (Scarlet Johanssen has just beaten Mark Gatiss at ping pong, and one of the tangential pleasures of this unspeakable movie is seeing the parade of middling-league Brit stars who were SO EXCITED to be working with Woody Allen until they saw the script. So just as you think you might be suffocated into a coma of awfulness, it's Rupert Penry-Jones as a louche tennis pro! It's James Nesbitt as a mysteriously astute police officer!)

Tragic consequences ensue, but not before JRM has screwed ScarJo in a cornfield in the rain - SO English, just like all my summer holidays - and by candlelight, dousing her in baby oil as snow gently falls outside, and in an exciting bondage scenario where she blindfolds him with his tie and rips off all his clothes, pausing only to have a duscussion about the relative merits of cheese versus peanut butter as mousetrap bait with her elderly neighbour. At the time, you will be thinking WTF, little realising that the cheese vs peanut butter debate is of devastating importance later on. Sex with ScarJo begins to wane when she is transformed in the latter part of the film into a bitching, demanding harpy, constantly screeching WHEN ARE YOU GOING TO LEAVE HER while drinking from an assortment of seltzer bottles that I got freakishly obsessed by. WHO DRINKS THAT MUCH SELTZER? Meanwhile, back home, Emily Mortimer is desperate to get knocked up, pointing out, not unreasonably, that she wants three kids while she's young, but that this should not be a problem for a man with such a powerful serve. Clearly, either the wife or the mistress must go. But which? And how? And what will the consequences be?

Gentle reader, let me tell you. The consequences will be that people will die, and after people have died they will reappear and have a philosophical conversation with JRM who will quote Sophocles at them, and at that point you will be hit by the realisation that OH MY GOD, THIS FILM IS A HOMAGE TO CRIME AND PUNISHMENT. THAT'S WHY JRM WAS READING CRIME AND PUNISHMENT AT THE BEGINNING. BECAUSE WOODY ALLEN THINKS THAT THE TWO ARE LARGELY THE SAME, EXCEPT THAT CRIME AND PUNISHMENT COULD HAVE BEEN IMPROVED BY RASKOLNIKOV BONING SCARLET JOHANSSEN IN A CORNFIELD IN THE RAIN.

In Joe Queenan's excellent odyssey into American pop culture 'America', he coins the term 'scheissenbedauern' to describe "the disappointment one feels when exposed to something that is not nearly as bad as one hoped it would be." Watching this movie is the opposite of that feeling. Match Point is a perfect storm of terrible, the kind of terrible which can only be achieved when a hugely talented writer director assembles a hugely talented cast - well OK, but it does have Penelope Wilton in it - to make a film based on one of the greatest novels ever written and IT IS RAINING SHIT.

Of course, I cannot recommend highly enough that you see it.

Book Swaps a Go Go

There is a veritable embarrassment of book swaps going on this month, all for your entertainment. Are you embarrassed? I know I am.

First up is on Thursday 3rd Feb (ie THIS THURSDAY) at the London Review Bookshop, Bury Place, 7pm. My co-host for the occasion will be Robbie Hudson, as Scott is otherwise engaged, and our guests are Will Fiennes, author of 'The Snow Geese' and 'The Music Room' - books of beauty and elegance - and Nikesh Shukla, author of Coconut Unlimited - a book of laughter and rap music - which is not to say it isn't beautiful and elegant too. Please book your ticket here as it will almost certainly sell out. £6 or free if you bring a home baked cake.

Thursday 10th Feb, at the LSE, 4th Floor Cafe, 6pm. Scott Pack will be back on co-hosting duties, and our guests are Sarah Salway, who as well as being a fantastic author (of 'Something Beginning With' amongst other books) is the LSE's writer in residence, and Matt Beaumont, whose book 'e' is reputed to be excellent, as I would know if the publisher had sent it to me yet - fear not, there is still time. Details here, tickets are FREE, don't bring cake - it's a licensing issue, but not to worry, cake will be available from the cafe - and unswapped books will be collected for Read International, a charity which provides books to schools in Uganda and Tanzania.

Thursday 17th Feb, at the Fire Station in Windsor, 7.45pm. Back on home turf. You will be rewarded by co-host Scott and guests Sara Manning, author of the funny and poignant 'You Don't Have To Say You Love Me', Jess Ruston, our very first guest making a triumphant return to promote her new novel 'To Touch The Stars'. Usual Windsor rules - £5 to get in, or free with a home-baked cake.

And indeed I didn't need to tell you ANY of this, as I could have just directed you to our fabulous new website which has been made for us by Michael Harpur, our right-hand and probably left-hand man in Windsor, who does EVERYTHING for us bar sitting on the stage swapping the books himself. He is brilliant. So is the website, which aside from details of all the events has podcasts which you can listen to if you can't make it (if you are lazy, or live in Canada, or trapped under heavy furniture.)

Hope to see you at one of the book swaps this month.

NEWSFLASH

In 'PROPERLY EXCITING NEWS' news I can ALMOST EXCLUSIVELY at the same time as my co-writer Robert Hudson REVEAL that our Napoleonic-era military gay horse romance epistolatory series WAR HORSES OF LETTERS has been commissioned for a four part series, broadcasting on Radio Four later this year. I wasn't joking about this being PROPERLY EXCITING. I am PROPERLY EXCITED.

Blog playlist: first memories

What's the first pop song you remember? Not the first one you remember liking, just the first one you remember. Mine is Video Killed the Radio Star. Released in 1979: I was three. Even if I hadn't just looked that up, I know it must have been a long time ago because I remember being really worried about the radio star being killed, and also finding the video dead scary, even if it wasn't a MURDERER. I hadn't watched the video in years, so I dug it up on YouTube to see precisely how scary it is:



OH NO! WHAT IS THE SPARKLY LADY DOING IN THE PLASTIC TUBE? WHY CAN'T SHE GET OUT? WHY IS EVERYBODY DRESSED AS THE FUTURE? WHY DOES THE WASHING MACHINE KEEP EXPLODING? (Eagle eyes may have spotted that the washing machine is not, in fact, a washing machine but a large radio with a round speaker, which makes a little more sense.)

It isn't very scary.

Remind me one day to do a blog about music lyrics that I took literally when I was very small. (Why are the words of the prophets written on the subway wall? I don't know what prophets are but I'm going to assume they're some kind of graffiti artist.) Meanwhile, please put your own first musical memories in the comments. I am steeling myself to deal with some of you being VERY young and remembering things that I danced to at university.

For UK readers, first memories playlist can be listened to here.

Jackson's Way

Last night, feeling moribund and in serious need of motivation, I went to see celebrity motivational speaker Chris John Jackson and learned about Jackson's Way, a guide to revolutionising your life by doing things which are completely pointless. And now my life is changed FOREVER!

Oh OK. This is only sort of true. Actually I really was feeling moribund and seriously in need of motivation, but Chris John Jackson is the fictional creation of Will Adamsdale, and Jackson's Way is a comedy show which won the Perrier back in 2004 and is belatedly touring London on a 26-date "Jacksathon".

And it is brilliant. The peril of writing about a show like this is the less you know before you arrive the better. But to give you some idea: Adamsdale - a lovably bonkers stage presence reminiscent of Mork-era Robin Williams (there may be doubters out there but for me this is praise indeed) - is charm itself as Jackson. He bounds with energy and contagious enthusiasm as he unfolds his technique, which starts off pleasingly silly and builds through a series of logical leaps to end up in a place which is utterly insane. As he demonstrates through use of slides, there is a lot of pointless stuff out there, and you will explore more of it than you might have imagined. You will find yourself swept along to dream up your own Jacktions (maybe even complex Jacktions, if you reach level 3 or 4) and contemplate the joy of Moving Things. Meanwhile Jackson himself is tugged at by demons (what is the mystery of his brother Travis? Has he just become the gimmicky "towel guy"? And will he ever be entirely accepted by the doubting self-help community, who think is technique is kinda samey?) - but he always bounces back with puppyish glee.

The show convinces utterly as a self-help talkshopinar (that's talk / workshop / seminar, of course) complete with powerpoint presentation, meaningless jargon, endless acronyms and audience participation of the most surreal and least humiliating type. I was alarmed that some of it veered dangerously close to actual exercises that I teach to my creative writing class (what is the opposite of a lampshade?) - maybe I've had an inner Jackson all this time. And the weird thing is that although it's utter hokum, I came to the end of the show feeling genuinely motivated to do something completely pointless. So I swapped two identical programmes on two identical seats for one another, and felt strangely satisfied. And now my life is changed, ah, temporarily. [punches air] Achieved!

More details and tour dates here - it's selling out so book now. I really can't recommend this highly enough.

Blog playlist: update

Playlist coming together nicely, thank you everyone. You can listen to it here. It is a very mixed bag, which is a good thing, although the person who emailed me to suggest James Blunt should be ashamed. You know who you are. I have put it in because I am a good blogger, and I listened to five seconds of it just in case. It is an abomination. (There are also some suggested songs missing or performed by the wrong artists, but that's just where Spotify has not obliged.)

Now if one of you would be kind enough to get dumped so we can test the efficacy of the mix, that would be most obliging. Thanks in advance. Remember you're doing it for the greater good.

Blog playlist: break up songs

So we're all agreed that David Tennant is mine. (No need to respond; it isn't a question.) In which case: what is he doing marrying and having a baby with somebody else? It just doesn't make any sense. Unless... he's playing hard to get. That must be it. It's all a passive aggressive act designed to get my attention. Look how he's deliberately chosen somebody who looks nothing like me:



Stop being so obvious, Tennant.

Fine. As I sorrowfully cross David Tennant off the 'famous men I am unlikely ever to get off with' list and add him to the 'famous men I am extremely unlikely ever to get off with' list, I will be listening to my favourite break up songs in my lonely bedroom, crying over the DVD cover from 'Casanova'. Which is where you come in, helpful readers! Yes, in an exciting new music feature which does not have the day of the week in the title - clever me!! - I will suggest a theme, you will all contribute (yes you will) and then I will make a Spotify playlist which everyone can listen to as long as they live in the UK and have Spotify. The rest of you: too bad.

This is my favourite break up song:



"Your lies won't leave me alone, you used to say you loved me. Did you?... I got your message on the phone*, I hung on every single line. Told me what we had was only business, hurt me so bad I had to sit down with the sickness."

*Legal note: I have never received a phone message from David Tennant.

(It's off 'I Am Shelby Lynne', which is a perfect album.)

Over to you. The finished playlist will be here: http://open.spotify.com/user/strugglingauthor/playlist/5MTIXj47ukZ2EECnGa6ske

Novel covers: a gripe

Today I am mostly: irritated by book marketing. As in patronising, gendered, and belittling of women's work.

Let's examine a case study: 'The Sorrows of an American' by Siri Hustvedt. This is an important, elegant, intelligent literary novel whose scope includes the Scandinavian immigrant experience in early 20th Century America, the uses and limitations of psychoanalysis, stalking in its many forms, the love and silences between parents and children and brothers and sisters, art, photography, the cult of literary personality, and the ache of grief that comes with the loss of a parent or partner. It is brilliant, as is the other novel of hers I have read, 'What I Loved'. I have no idea why Siri Hustvedt is not on all those 'Great American novelist' lists with the likes of Philip Roth and Jonathan Franzen.

Here is the jacket of The Sorrows of an American:



Pretty. Maybe slightly sinister, given facelessness of girl, and the serpentine seething at the bottom of her dress. Quite appealing.

But I don't think you'd guess from this cover that the narrator of the book is a tall, forty-something male Norwegian psychologist mourning the death of his father.

But wait! There are some female characters in the book! Maybe it is one of them? narrator's love interest - who is black, and has short hair? No. His sister - a serious academic writer, just shy of fifty, given to smart suits? No. His elderly mother? No. The strange, reclusive old lady who holds a secret about his father's past? No. The friendly, overweight undertaker who favours elasticated slacks? No.

No, it's just a pretty, or at least slim and flowing-haired, girl in a slightly strange but pretty dress who bears no relation to the novel whatsoever. But women like books with girls in pretty dresses on the front don't they? So it doesn't really matter, as long as women buy it?

Any more ideas as to why why Hustvedt isn't taken seriously as a great American novelist?

Hour for Good - please vote today

Today's post is a copy and paste regarding my friend Robyn's excellent Hour for Good campaign. I've cunningly changed all the "I"s to "she"s. You'd never have known if I hadn't told you. I am honest like that. I also took the liberty of putting end of today in capitals. Voting closes END OF TODAY. AT THE END. OF TODAY. Anyway, here we go -

Imagine we could get the world's smartest people working on the world's biggest problems.

This is possible - and not at sometime in the future but this year.

Hour for Good's mission is to get employees in the world's biggest companies to each spend one hour a week working for a social enterprise, of their choice, that's tackling one of the world's biggest problems.

It's a modest figure, but if just 10% of people in the world's top 500 companies spent 1 hour a week working for a social enterprise, it would release 100,000,000 hours a year!

The idea came out of a question Bill Gates posted on Facebook. He tweeted afterwards that he liked the idea. Since then some great companies have said they're interested and Robyn is working on creating a non-profit organisation, Hour for Good, to make it happen.

If you like the idea, please help Robyn, in just 1 minute, by voting for her video in a competition get a place at Davos. This will give Robyn an opportunity to raise the idea with heads of companies and non-profit leaders.

Voting is at http://www.youtube.com/thedavosquestion (you can find the video by searching for "hour" in the bottom right search box)

Voting closes END OF TODAY, 13th January.

Every vote really matters as the competition is pretty heated. Robyn's video quickly - and bizarrely - had more negative votes than it had views, so it seems people are getting their friends to vote down videos without even watching them. (NB, please don't do this!)

Thank you!