The story so far: I'm a writer based in Canterbury, UK. My first novel, a technothriller called Déjà Vu, was published to critical acclaim in 2005. This blog shoots the writerly breeze on upcoming projects, marketing, and anything else writing-related that springs to mind.
[Photo copyright (c) Mimika Cooney 2004.] I'm a British writer who recently published his first book to critical acclaim. As well as being a writer, I'm an Associate Lecturer in psychological research methods at the Open University, an Associate Tutor at Canterbury Christ Church University and Psychology Section Editor for Intute, a UK higher education information and research service. Say howdy via ian_hocking (at) uk2.net.
In a few short hours' time, my girlfriend and I will be moving to Canterbury. Sad to leave Exeter, but we'll see what exciting things happen in Kent. Thanks to BT - who could teach ninjas a thing or two about stealth - I won't have a phone (and thus Internet) for a longish time at the new address, so blog posting will be fairly infrequent. And if you email me, my reply might be delayed.
A little background first. Neil Ayres - author, friend of this blog, and cyber-henchman for the Blue Pootle - is about to launch an online venture that may (or may not be) a magazine devoted to magical realism and/or light fantasy. Neil has asked me to contribute an article based on my interview with David Mitchell (which is available from here).
I often have conversations with non-British people about Britain, and one of the things they comment on - somewhat apologetically - is that things in this country don't seem to work very well. I'm quite proud to be British, and I'd rather not hear these things, but, damn it, they're basically true. Why? Not sure, but the smart money is on the tendency of British people to avoid conflict and rarely complain.One of the most common questions I get about my first novel, Déjà Vu, is, What was it like working with Denzel Washington? Ah, he was lovely. (In case my humour is lost on you, Déjà Vu the movie and Déjà Vu the book are two separate and unrelated entities.) The second most common question is, How much money do you make from it? Answer: not a penny. Though the book got some very positive reviews, it never had a presence in any of the high street shops, and the odds were pretty much stacked against it, despite my radio and TV (YorkTV - ah, what a morning) appearances...or perhaps because of.
Constant readers might recall, from a post earlier this year, that the original publisher of Déjà Vu, The UKA Press, were going to discontinue publishing the book because of cash flow problems. Well, that did indeed come to pass. Déjà Vu went out-of-print in March of this year. So is Déjà Vu dead in the water? Not quite.
It looks like Amazon US has one copy left - held by International Books of Maryland, USA, who are asking $92 for it - despite the language being listed as Spanish. Over at Amazon UK, someone (from the US, bizarrely) is selling a used copy - repeat, used - for £248.71. Unless you're a collector who thinks that the first edition will increase in value from this already-astronomical figure, you'd be much better off downloading the audio podcast, which is unabridged and free.
That's a good question. John Jarrold, my agent, seems confident, but the wheels of publishing turn slow. Back in January, one publisher expressed an interest in bringing out a second edition...but that was January, and nothing has happened since. Meanwhile, I'm completing Flashback, so anybody who wants to find out what happened to Saskia at the end of the first book will soon have their curiosity satiated. Well, I say 'soon'...
In the first year of secondary school, it was my habit, with some friends, to visit the library during our lunch break and read. Nothing terribly erudite - mostly Doctor Who, for me. But, one day, I noticed the chap opposite reading something called Flowers for Algernon. What a dumb title, I thought. My book was called the talons of Weng-Chiang, which I guess showed him. Afterwards, I asked him about the book and he said - a little defensively - it was very good. The book, he claimed, was based on A Clockwork Orange. Now, I'd heard of A Clockwork Orange; it was a Stanley Kubrick film laced with so much sex and violence that it had been banned by the Queen. Suddenly, 'Flowers for Algernon' didn't seem like such a wimpy book after all. But then a second friend corrected the first. The film of A Clockwork Orange had been adapted from the book of the same name. This one was different. So I forgot all about the book and it's girly title.
About twenty years later, I've just finished it. And damn if this isn't one of the best science fiction works I've ever read. There are better books, I'm sure. But as an example of the potential of science fiction - of the heights the genre can reach - this book is one in a million. Daniel Keyes, I tip my hat, sir.
Charlie is a retarded (to use the 1966-era term) adult who volunteers to be the subject in an extraordinary piece of psychological research. He will undergo brain surgery and subliminal re-programming in hope that his IQ - currently 68 - can be doubled. (Shades of A Clockwork Orange right there, I guess.) The procedure has already been performed on a laboratory mouse called Algernon. This mighty mouse can learn much faster than his conspecifics, and even beats Charlie in early maze-escaping tasks.
The book is written in a diary format that purports to be Charlie's first-person 'progris riport'. As the report develops, Charlie blooms into an intelligent human being, coming to realise that the people he had regarded as friends in his life (spent mostly as a cleaner in a bakery) were making fun of him. His regular Freudian therapy sessions reveal, too, deep-seated psychological trauma rooted a rejection by his mother and the struggle between his identity as a 'retard' in a world created and run by 'normal people'.
Soon, Charlie starts to ponder the world of 'normal' people as he becomes, briefly, 'normal' himself - before surpassing them all to master second languages, mathematics, economics, and any other field of endeavour he turns his attention towards. A dislocation occurs between his present self - an erudite, cynical and lonely man - and his past self - a naive, unintelligent, happy person. Who owns his new identity? Is it governed by the scientists who gave it to him? Is it his own? How can it be his own when he feels schizophrenically dissociated from his previous life, the 'real' Charlie?
In time, the experimental nature of the intelligence treatment, together with the increasingly erratic behaviour of Algernon, puts a limit on Charlie's new life. Soon he will revert to previous self. Will that mean a death, or a return to what is right and God-given?
In sum, this is a great work of American literature. It works simultaneously on a number of levels. It made me consider scientific ethics to a greater degree than I ever have before. And it's a whirlwind of a story. The scene in which Charlie decides to 'kidnap' Algernon from the podium of a scientific conference and run away had me punching the air. And the last lines put a tear in my eye. Why aren't all books like this one? Why aren't mine?
