No, I Haven't Gone Away

No, I haven't gone away...

Not yet, anyway.

Here's the thing. I had given up on blogging but I have been working hard at my writing, studying English Literature and Creative Writing, and yes, writing a lot.

So I thought I might take a moment to update you, maybe see if I can find a few more readers on here, maybe even sell a book or two.

There, I said it.

The life of the obscure short story writer - and a sometimes self-published one at that - is delightful but you do want folks to read your stuff, and actually there are some who want to. But it is difficult reaching people. It is hard to get published and harder still to publicize what you have written.

Enough whining.

This is to let you know that I am going to try to post more regularly and that I am considring posting some of my unpublished fiction.

Feedback on that ideas is welcome.

Meantime, here are two links to get things rolling.

'A Timne for Every Matter' is on Page 49 of theApril-June 2017 Sentinel Literary Quarterly. Free read. Enjoy.

A Time For Every Matter

'A Crack in Everything' is my first book of short stories, a couple had been published previously but most are fresh pieces. Not free, but worth the £7.99, or whatever the comparable amount in the currency you live with. If you are not keen on Amazon, your local book store can order it for you. Go on, I dare you. Some have found it moving, others perhaps troubling. My favourite review: 'Bought it. Read it. Like it.' Love it. Enjoy.

A Crack in Everything

Happy reading.

Blackheath Canuck 

Reading Between the Whines

People keep asking at our local, ‘How was your year?’ I put them off, then go check the list, the one that’s going to remind me how my year was.  

It’s not exactly Big Bang science but somehow the list of books I have read in a given year tells me a lot about the year itself. So, perusing the list for 2014 (yes I’m a bit obsessive compulsive) I am reminded that I have indeed had a good year, in reading, and in real life. And, as they say, the line between is, well, pretty much non-existent.

There were, of course, Questions of Travel (Elizabeth Bishop) in 2014 as I was without a passport while Her Majesty (the Queen, that is) poured over my 39-page documentation to gain leave to remain one of The Lonely Londoners (Sam Selvon). It was refused first time and I was told I could get out, appeal or re-apply. Thanks to a smart lawyer I re-applied and here I remain Where the Air is Sweet (Tasneem Jamal), instead of joining the queue of The Emigrants (W. G. Sebald) headed out on some Journey by Moonlight (Anton Szerb). Of course, we did take some trips to new places: Japan (see Murakami), New Zealand (see Marshall), Hong Kong (see the money) and Portugal (see the sun shine). I had, as always, Cuba in Mind (Marian Finn Dominguez), and managed to get there with the good bookish Rev. MacKinnon, where he had to listen to All My Puny Sorrows (Miriam Toews). It looks like we better get back on our jet skis again soon or it will go all capitalism now that The Honorary Gentleman (Sebastian Barry) President Obama has begun to unveil The Lie (Helen Dunmore) of U.S. foreign policy. However, The Thing About December (Donal Ryan) promises is that they can take Light Years (James Salter) to become reality and in the meantime a lot of Unspeakable Things (Laurie Penny) can happen. Time will tell if it takes us From Conflict to Communion (Lutheran-Roman Catholic Commission on Unity). But as for me, I will always be Red or Dead (David Peace). I got to Canada too to see the darlings and spent a few hours in Switzerland working, but compared to Mrs. H.’s travels mine were World Light (Haldor Laxness). I kept searching my atlas for Boyhood Island (Karl Ove Knausgaard) but think perhaps they’ve been Burning Boats (Owen Marshall) and I’ll never find the place. I’d likely get lost and have to make up some South Sea Tales (Robert Louis Stevenson) or poems like Always Dalkey, Always the Sea (Bernie Kenny). Anyways, I’m like The Railway Man (Eric Lomax), more of a landlubber.

I did enhance my position in 2014 as A Man in Love (Karl Ove Knausgaard) with Mrs. H., of course, but also with football. I am firmly one of The Charlton Men (Paul Breen) keeping alive The Fight for The Valley (Rick Everitt), though as I look at the Championship table (that would be the standings for North Americans) just now I fear we may be Falling out of Time (David Grossman), The Pity (Judith Palmer), but the worst that can be said for the Athletics is that they are Beautiful Losers (Leonard Cohen).

I took courses: on Romantics and Victorians (Watson and Towheed), On Poetry (Glyn Maxwell) on The Twentieth Century (Haslam and Asbee), on Reputations (Elaine Moohan) and on How to Preside at Holy Communion (Charles Read). There’s a story there if you want to ask me. We didn’t get marks but I think the instructor would have given me The Sign of Four (Arthur Conan Doyle), or less. I kept up with Facebook, otherwise I would have no idea how The Children Act (Ian McEwan). I read the papers (red tops excluded) to catch up on the latest Crime and Punishment (Fyodor Dostoevsky). I made some new friends like Colorless Tskuru Tazaki (Hiruki Mirakami), Doctor Faustus (Christopher Marlowe), Lila (Marilynne Robinson), The World’s Wife (Carol Ann Duffy), The Prince of Tides (Pat Conroy), the Saints of the Shadow Bible (Ian Rankin), The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (Rebecca Skloot), Dubliners (James Joyce), Casanova in Venice (Kildare Dobbs), Mendelssohn is on the Roof (Jiri Weil), and caught up with old friend, Updike (Adam Begley), and new animals, The Faber Book of Beasts (Paul Muldoon).

I wrote a bit for profit and scratched some lines of poetry for loss and to Rattle the Hatches (Young Foyle Poets), climbed Wuthering Heights (Emily Brontë), felt The Spinning Heart (Donal Ryan) while Dancing at Lughnasa (Brian Friel) and living with Mrs. H. in The House of Mirth (Edith Wharton). Fortunately, this year there wasn’t A Death in the Family (Karl Ove Knausgaard) except on the page though we were reminded of the deaths of millions through the Poetry of the First World War (Marcus Clapham) at the centenary of its bloody beginnings.

I read alone or with Mrs. H., but also shared books with our brilliant book group, whose Anglo American Mr. Warren loans me pamphlets I can’t understand, makes me feel like I’m in The Grass Arena (John Healy), whatever that is, then in the pub he goes all witty, making Remarks on Frazer’s Golden Bough (Ludwig Wittgenstein), when all I want is to sit in my favourite corner with A Book of Silence (Sara Maitland).

All that aside, you must read 1) Lila by Marilynne Robinson – powerful, beautiful, best fiction in English that I know of. Set aside time for 2) Karl Ove Knausgaard’s three-volume tome My Struggle, all of which I read in 2014, it matters not whether you call it fiction or memoir, it’s just bloody good. Go find Sara Maitland’s 3) A Book of Silence too, if you are open to the contemplative and prepared to be surprised.  

For fellow (or sister OCDs), the full list is below.

Read well in 2015.

*  The Immortal Life Of Henrietta Lacks, Rebecca Skloot (9 January)

*   Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë (28 January)

*    The Sign of Four, Arthur Conan Doyle (5 February)

*    The Prince of Tides, Pat Conroy, (20 February)

*    The Spinning Heart, Donal Ryan (22 February)

*    The Grass Arena, John Healy (24 February)

*    Saints of the Shadow Bible, Ian Rankin (26 February)

*    Dubliners, James Joyce (10 March)

*    South Sea Tales, Robert Louis Stevenson, (15 March)

 * Romantics and Victorians, Nicola J. Watson and Shafquat Towheed (17 March)

*  The Thing About December, Donal Ryan (23 March)

* On Poetry, Glyn Maxwell (27 March)

*  Cuba In Mind, Maria Finn Dominguez (30 March)

*  The Lonely Londoners, Sam Selvon (7 April)

*  Casanova in Venice: A Raunchy Rhyme, Kildare Dobbs (8 April)

*  Questions of Travel, Elizabeth Bishop (14 April)

*  A Death in the Family, Karl Ove Knausgaard (17 April)

*  Falling Out of Time, David Grossman (18 April)

*  A Man in Love, Karl Ove Knausgaard (22 April)

*  The Emigrants, W. G. Sebald (23 April)

*  The Twentieth Century, Sara Haslam and Sue Asbee (24 April)

*  Boyhood Island, Karl Ove Knausgaard (5May)

*  Dancing at Lughnasa, Brian Friel (6 May)

*  The Lie, Helen Dunmore (14 May)

*  Updike, Adam Begley (5 June
*  The Charlton Men, Paul Breen (7 June)

*  The House of Mirth, Edith Wharton (17 June)

*  Mendelssohn is on the Roof, Jiri Weil (29 June)

*  Rattle the Hatches, Young Foyle Poets (1 July)

*  The Railway Man, Eric Lomax (7 July)

*  Battle for The Valley, Rick Everitt (13 July)

*  Remarks on Frazer’s Golden Bough, Ludwig Wittgenstein (14 July)

*  All My Puny Sorrows, Miriam Toews (20 July)

*  The World’s Wife, Carol Anne Duffy (30 July)

*  Crime and Punishment, Fyodor Dostoevsky (3 August)

*  How to Preside at Holy Communion, Charles Read (5 August)

*  Unspeakable Things, Laurie Penny (19 August)

*  Red or Dead, David Peace (2 September)

*  Where The Air Is Sweet, Tasneem Jamal (21 September)

*  The Children Act, Ian McEwan (28 September)

*  Colorless Tskuru Tazaki And His Years of Pilgrimage, Hiruki Mirakami, (14 October)

*  Doctor Faustus, Christopher Marlowe (22 October)

*  Lila, Marilynne Robinson (28 October)

*  From Conflict to Communion, Lutheran-Roman Catholic Commission on Unity (3 November)

*  Journey by Moonlight, Antal Szerb (3 November)

*  World Light, Haldor Laxness (26 November)

*  Light Years, James Salter (30 November)

*  Burning Boats: Seventeen New Zealand Short Stories, Owen Marshall (3 December)

*  The Faber Book of Beasts, Paul Muldoon (11 December)

*  The Honorary Gentleman, Sebastian Barry (15 December)

*  Always Dalkey, Always the Sea, Bernie Kenny (24 December)

*  The Pity, Judith Palmer (24 December)

*  Beautiful Losers, Leonard Cohen (24 December)

*  Poetry of the First World War, Marcus Clapham (27 December)

*  A Book of Silence, Sara Maitland (31 December)

*  Reputations, Elaine Moohan (31 December)

Lal (Mary Marchant)

They say there is a time for tears
But pray don’t make my leaving one
I’ve had my share of frights and fears
Still, as God knows, I’ve had good fun

You know I left that emerald land
Amid the second bloody war
But found joy holding Richard’s hand
And now it’s love forever more

I coaxed new babies from the womb
Nursed young and old back to good health
Don’t cry for me, don’t put on gloom
Family and friends, you've been my wealth

A hole in one along the way
The bowls have kept me on the straight
And now I rest above earth’s fray
Holding on to my handsome mate

I breathe in heaven’s clear fresh air
And walk without my wooden cane
You’d love the way the saints here share
These glory days will never wane

It’s been a gift to know you all
And I hope you have found me true
So til you get the final call
Be sure and leave a gentle hue.

(21 May 2012, London)

What are you reading?

Whether it’s in those all too infrequent transatlantic telephone calls with my children, during the meetings of our quixotic Blackheath Writers’ Group, or in the clipped conversations between pints of Bombardier in the Dacre Arms pub - that is the essential question.
What are you reading?

Or, what’s important to you? What’s inspiring you? What’s changing you? As Alberto Manguel writes, “I believe that we are, at the core, reading animals and that the art of reading, in its broadest sense, defines our species.”

What are you reading?

A few years ago while browsing in a bookstore in Paris with two committed bibliophiles, we came across a journal designed to list the books you have read during the year. We loved the idea but for some reason none of us bought one. Ever since then I have promised myself I would chart my reading journey for a year to remind myself of where I had been.

I finally got around to doing this in 2011, and as I look back there is little wonder why it was such a good year for me.

I have experienced the exhilaration of freedom (Jonathan Franzen), the unsentimental joy of family (Colm Toibin), the rhythm of love (Carol Ann Duffy) and the tranquility of home (Marilynne Robinson). I have also plumbed the depths of war and peace (Leo Tolstoy), suffered through complaints (Ian Rankin), spent time far from the madding crowd (Thomas Hardy) and sometimes muttered "so much for that" (Lionel Shriver).

I have rambled (Mark Thomas), run (David Grossman), waltzed (Anne Enright), travelled on Green Dolphin Street (Sebastian Faulks), searched for Gilead (David G. Hallman) and restored myself with tea (Sophie Dahl).

Along the way I plunged deep into smut (Alan Bennett), endured the occasional idiot (Fyodor Dostoyevsky) and enjoyed other people’s money (Justin Cartwright) but I did learn 23 things they don’t tell you about capitalism (Ha-joon Chang).

As the year wound down I got the sense of an ending (Julian Barnes) and felt I was at the point of departure (Robin Cook). It was time for a homecoming (Bernhard Schlink).

Sorry, I got carried away. But it gives you a sense of the breadth of the adventures available, even when we don't wander far from novels. Perhaps more important were the discoveries and re-discoveries.

Parts of Franzen’s Freedom absolutely dazzle so it was great to encounter him again as a Christmas gift. The Stranger’s Child by Allan Hollinghurst was the sumptuous feast I expected. Price be damned, I went out and purchased the hardback as soon as it was on the bookshelves of Waterstones.

Marilynne Robinson was a new and incredible discovery. Certainly Home was the very best book I read in 2011, a moving look at family and reconciliation that is rich in theological and political insight.


And the Land Lay Still by James Robertson was an engrossing immersion into the politics and art worlds of Scotland that began with a lucky quick pick at Heathrow Airport. Julian Barnes’ The Sense of an Ending was wise and witty and I was happy to finally read him along with Howard Jacobson’s baffling yet engrossing The Finkler Question.


But the real find for me last year was a beautiful book by Mary Rose Donnelly, titled Great Village, a graceful story about family, community and poetry in Nova Scotia that made me weep, and then quickly hand it on across the pillows.

(In case you are interested: 42 books read – 32 novels, three books of short stories, three books of poetry, four books of non-fiction. I can send the list if you get in touch.)

What are you reading?

What A Riot

This afternoon my partner went into Blackheath, our comfortable little village in Lewisham Borough in southeast London.

Shopkeepers were in quite a state because there were rumours that 300 youngsters were making their way through nearby Greenwich Park on their way here to smash their way through our few posh stores. They were closing up, boarding up, hunkering down. Normally you could dismiss that kind of rumour. But not now. Last night there was a chopper overhead when I went to the shop to get some last minute things for supper; you could smell the smoke from fires in Lewisham. We saw it on the television too. Some shops were hit in Blackheath last night.

After three nights of rioting in many poor parts of London, the midlands and the north of the UK, it's hard to dismiss any such talk. There has been looting, fires have been set, police have been attacked, property damaged, firefighters have been kept from doing what they do best - put out fires. A man was killed last night in Dartford. Ordinary folks are nervous, angry even; football matches have been cancelled; my writers' group probably won't meet tonight.

And our Tory Prime Minister has returned from his Tuscan villa to take command. The London mayor gets back to London later today. Bless.

The shooting of a young black man by police last week sparked the whole thing off, though it is clear this has now taken on a life of its own. Why? No one really knows. Tories and Lib Dems condemn the violence on the streets. Well done. Opposition Labour politicians have been careful not to draw a line between the massive cuts in the social safety net at a time when state-owned banks pay their people obscene sums. As one put it, "The cuts don't make you a criminal."

Okay, but what does? I am not convinced that all these youngsters have been criminals all along. Some, yes. I am more convinced that their current greed for looted goods and lust for fire and taste for blood is rooted in a hopelessness that says, "What the fuck, we don't matter." As one youngster put it: "Now you are paying attention to us." Added another: "We're going after the rich."

The latter comment is telling. There is a huge gap between the rich and the poor in this country and the gap is widest among the young and the black.

They don't have jobs; they don't have apprenticeships; their school fees have been tripled; housing is only for the rich; centres helping them find jobs have closed; the police pull them over and harass them because of the colour of their skin or their age. The kind of life most of us aspire to is out of their reach. Tell me that doesn't have an effect.

On top of that, some of their political leaders have been found fixing their expenses; the police have beaten up legitimate protestors on other occasions and have themselves been accused of accepting gifts from the gutter press for sharing information. The right-wing media has been accused of hacking into people's phones. Corporate greed runs amuck as top firms and their CEOs squirm their way out of paying taxes that might help keep schools and hospitals afloat. Drug and food companies are advising the government on how to run the National Health Service and Tory donors wait breathlessly for their chance to take over the whole enterprise. Such an example, we set.

Why not riot? Why not, indeed.

Well, because it's not helping. And it ain't right.

I condemn the violence on our streets; I also condemn the violent systems we adhere to that keep so much wealth and power in so few hands; I condemn political violence, police violence, corporate violence. Sorry, but I do draw a line.

Not that it excuses the youngsters. You can resist without the destroying your communities and your own futures. Get a grip.

*

"What would you do if you were in charge?" my partner put it to me as we pondered the possibility that our academic discussions on the riots might come knocking on our front door. Or worse. The truth is, I don't know.

There's talk today of more police on the streets, more liberal use of the baton, rubber bullets, the army, water cannons. Please, God, no.

I have to say there has been some attempt on the part of the media to show that there are many communities trying to make a difference just now - cleaning the streets, holding interfaith peace vigils, finding housing for those hit by fires and other property damage.

Maybe that's what we need - a love and peace riot. Starting in our own hearts and moving to our families, to our neighbours. Maybe then we can learn to share the grief, the wealth, the work, the responsibility.

If not, we are certainly on the eve of destruction.

A Walk in the Park

We took a walk in the park on Saturday, along with about 500,000 other families, trade unionists, students, teachers, nurses, public servants and ordinary working folks. I am not a member of a union these days, but my sister walker is. We wanted to walk with our neighbours. Many carried placards decrying the brutal cutting of public services in the United Kingdom. Our communities are losing libraries, hospital services, policing, support for the poor and sick, and many other services. Many of the walkers will feel the pain of the cuts worse than we will. We are okay, actually, though our beloved local library will be closed and replaced with a skeleton service run by volunteers. That's bad enough but let's hope they don't want to run hospitals or police services like that. I wouldn't put it past them. The coalition government seems to think it is payback time. They want to turn services like hospitals and schools over to their corporate friends who have been supporting the Lib Dem and Conservative parties for a long time. I kid you not. They say we have too much debt. I say any debt is too much but if my family was in debt I wouldn't cut it all at once and starve the kids. Wouldn you? And they ignore the fact that much of the debt comes from stupid wars, unpaid taxes by the elite and big corporations and the banks, which set off the current spate of depressing economic woes. They call all these cuts and favours to business the Big Society. They say we are all in it together and everyone has to feel the pain. The shameless right-wing media in this country supports the big lie. We took a walk in the park on Saturday to remind them we know they are lying. They think we're done now, we've had our walk. They're wrong. Pay heed. The Big Society Library doors shut so Blackheath Village mourns the Big Society.

An Open Letter to Caroline Lucas, Leader, UK Green Party

Dear Caroline Lucas:

Please vote against the United Kingdom's involvement in the attacks on Libya in Parliament today. I know that it is difficult to resist the rhetoric out of Downing Street, Washington, Paris and even Ottawa, as well as the cheerleading from the media and the so-called experts. I am a pacifist and oppose war as a solution to any problem. I know most people are not and I understand that reality. But it is already clear that the so-called no fly zone is just an excuse to bring regime change and protect Libyan oil for our use. Already ordinary Libyans have been hit by the coalition's brutal assaults. Soon the coalition will find a way to rationalize ground troops, and while we know the situation is different from Iraq or Afghanistan, there are dangers of a similar long and bloody campaign. Gaddafi needs to be opposed in every way possible (arms embargoes, economic embargoes, tough diplomacy) up to the point of violence. Instead, we are helping to re-create a martyr and hero. There are many places in the world that need intervention (Congo, Bahrain, Yemen) and it is therefore curious to me that the UK has so quickly jumped into this already horrific fray, which we will only make worse. I would love to think it is our great humanitarian concern for the Libyan people that motivates us. But I fear it has more to do with the oil we lust after and the need for Mr. Cameron and Mr. Clegg to divert attention from the disastrous programme of privatising the social welfare system in this country, which is the envy of much of the world. You have a mandate as head of the Green Party to say and do something different. Please oppose the war in Libya in Parliament today.

John P. Asling