steepholm

Yesterday evening I went to see Geraldine McCaughrean, Gillian Cross, Sally Prue and Tim Bowler promote their latest books at Bristol Central Library - the last leg of a British-Isle-wide OUP tour. I got the time wrong and turned up early, which was no big deal except that it meant I also had to leave early, before the wine and chit-chat, so I really only got to hear the authors talk about their books, and not to interact with them.

I admire more than one of these writers (no names, no packdrill) but it strikes me as odd that McCaughrean in particular - such an interesting, original, versatile author - has received so little academic attention. If I hadn't already got involved in two of the Palgrave New Casebooks, I think I'd propose one on her. Maybe someone else will?

It may well be, of course, that her very versatility has worked against her in this respect. You never know what you're going to get when you open a new McCaughrean novel, and while for some of us this is a dazzling strength, perhaps it makes her hard to write about.

Last night she was talking about The Positively Last Performance, a book she was commissioned to write in order to celebrate the town of Margate, and particularly its Theatre Royal - which she imagines as being populated by ghosts of various eras. This sounds a little too like The Graveyard Book for comfort, I thought, and in retrospect it still does, but I forgot that for the time she was reading from it. She's a wonderful stylist, and makes Gaiman seem workmanlike by comparison (albeit a very competent workman). Also, my family-historian sense started tingling: I have relatives in Margate from the second half of the eighteenth century, just when the theatre was in its early days.

There was one thing she said, though, which both intrigued and puzzled me. She confessed that she hesitated to write about ghosts because she didn't believe in them and indeed had theological objections to belief in them. (McCaughrean is a Christian.) On one level, this seems rather odd. Surely you don't have to believe in everything you write about? Isn't that why it's called fiction? Did H. P. Lovecraft believe in Chthulhu?

Another part of me responds, of course you must believe in everything you write! If it wasn't true before, it certainly will be once you've conjured it. This is magical thinking, I know - but isn't the point that all thinking is magical, if you do it right? One of the main rules for doing it right, in my view, is that you shouldn't write against the grain of your nature. So I think McCaughrean was actually correct - although I doubt she would welcome this defence.

Somehow I've gone through life thus far without having written a paper on Margaret Mahy, but that's about to change when I give a talk on "The Librarian of Babel"* in Cambridge next month, where I'll be one of four people paying tribute to that most noble of Kiwis. So far the paper remains unwritten, but it has already expanded from its initial Big Bang moment (which sounded very much like: "SQUEEEEE!") and is forming globular galaxies of notes, with names such as Borges, Tycho Brahe and Dewey. A copy of The Catalogue of the Universe (not Mahy's book but the one her book is named after) is waiting for me at the Post Office. From this ferment, I hope, paragraphs and sentences will coagulate in due course, before springing into elliptical orbit around my brain. If you're in Cambridge, why not pop along for a viewing?

By the way, I knew Mahy had a Bristol connection on her father's side, but I've only just discovered that her grandfather grew up in an orphanage here - which, at that date, almost certainly means the Muller Orphanage, in the grounds of which I live. Having never managed to meet Mahy myself, I find this link - tenuous though it be - exceedingly cool.

* I'm trying out the new public link feature in Dropbox - can you please leave a comment if this one doesn't work for you?

I was pleased to hear of the conviction of the Winterbourne View "care workers" today, and (for my own hobby-horsical reasons) pleased too to hear the BBC Radio 4 news consistently and correctly describe the home as being "in South Gloucestershire" - even though the BBC website still refers to it simply as being "near Bristol." [ETA: Huh: PM now seems to have led a radio relapse.]

It's always interesting to hear how events are described, of course. After last year's attack by the police on Stokes Croft, and the way that the reporting of the student protests prior to that failed to match the first-hand accounts of the people I knew who were there, I've become more sensitive to the reporting of public order policing in particular. Perhaps because of this, I'm now aware of a problem increasingly faced by security forces around the world - that of being forced to fire rubber bullets into crowds of protesters. Now, don't get me wrong - it's not that they want to do it. It's not that they'd do it if there were any alternative. No, the protesters actively compel them to shoot them - or so the news agencies of the world seem to agree.

Just how can protesters force security personnel to shoot them, you ask? There are numerous methods, all equally irresistible in their effect. Sometimes it's by throwing stones:

• "Bandh supporters pelted stones at security forces at Mahadev Tilla and Harangajao. Policemen on duty were forced to fire rubber bullets to disperse the mob."

Sometimes by breaking things:

• “Police had to use rubber bullets to disperse the rowdy crowd which started to be violent and destroyed property.”

Sometimes by trying to go somewhere the security forces don't want them to go:

• "The traders claimed they were attacked without provocation, while the metro police said they had been forced to fire rubber bullets to contain traders trying to force their way into the market."

Sometimes being upset and angry is enough to oblige the helpless security forces to pull the trigger. After all, there's nothing like being hit by a rubber bullet to calm you down...

• "Mass demonstrations in Madrid turned to violence earlier this week, as police were forced to fire rubber bullets to calm the fury of the public."



• "South African police were forced to fire rubber bullets and stun grenades to break up a protest by hundreds of stadium staff unhappy at their wages."

It's clearly a widespread problem. What can be done about it?

Off to Chew Stoke today to see a man about a piano. Checking it out beforehand with Google Streetview, I was taken with this Thomas the Rhymer style allegorical junction: narrow, briar-beset Pilgrim's Way, the broad expanse of Pagan's Hill, or the bonnie road to Bristol?



There's only one decision, really.

I gave two papers over the last couple of days, one at a conference on Southwest Writing in Bristol and the other at a children's literature conference in London. They both went okay, I think, but it's let me rather tired and (oddly) about two pounds heavier. (Perhaps that's a corollary of being taken seriously by academics: "Does my gravitas look big in this?") Anyway, there were some excellent papers, including a keynote by fjm (this was at the NCRCL in Roehampton).

I also learned a good deal about the Red Book of Bath, the existence of which was news to me. This, I hasten to add, was from a medieval historian at the southwest conference, not a children's literature specialist in Roehampton, though there may well have been mention there of the Big Red Bath Book. The Red Book of Bath is one those compendious and oddly miscellaneous collections of medieval Stuff, like the Red Book of Hergest. In fact, this led to some discussion of whether it was a common thing for cities to have a 'Red Book', and whether the colour had any signification, as in the red letter days of the calendar, or even the sumptuary laws. Also, how did they even make leather red in them days? Was it particularly expensive, as with cloth?

I also heard an exasperated paper from a woman who works at a local media company about the way that Bristol specifically and the southwest in general has failed to gain a national presence, beyond the twin stereotypes of the straw-sucking yokel and Vicky Pollard. A lot of TV and films are made here, but if they're not buying into one of those two stereotypes then the Bristolness of Bristol tends to get elided. There's no southwestern soap, as there is for other English cities such as Liverpool (Brookside), Salford/Manchester (Corrie), Newcastle (Byker Grove), London (Eastenders), Yorkshire (Emmerdale), Birmingham (Crossroads, RIP), and even Chester (Hollyoaks). (I'm not sure whether Skins is very big on its Bristol setting, because I've not really watched it.) Casualty was filmed in Bristol for over 20 years, but never made a point of it: in fact, it called the city Holby, which made it very easy for production to move to Cardiff a couple of years ago. A similar thing happened with Being Human, which was pleasingly Bristolian for the first three series, but then was seduced by the Dark Side and moved to Barry. Bristol streets do a roaring trade in pretending to be London for drama series, but even something as quintessentially Bristolian as Aardman Animations doesn't set its work here: Wallace and Gromit live in Lancashire. And as for the BBC Wildlife Unit, don't get me started...

She also had a couple of stories that suggested that there's a systematic set of stereotypes that govern what kinds of programmes the BBC and others are prepared to set in this area. A radio playwright who'd written a series of plays about the Devon working class, for example, was told that they'd love to make it - if she'd only set it in Wales instead (because of course Devon doesn't have a working class, just a peasantry). And the writer of Mamma Mia - whose hand you'd think people would biting off - couldn't sell her sitcom about two canny Bristol single mums using their wits to get by, because the only places people do that kind of thing are Liverpool (copyright Carla Lane) and London (copyright John Sullivan). In Bristol, apparently, single mums just live placidly on welfare, saying "Yeah but no but yeah but". No.

Bugger - it's as I feared, and Bristol has voted for a directly elected Mayor, on a turnout of 24% (in one polling station, as low as 6%). The figures were 53.35% to 46.7% - a difference of 5,100 votes.

So far, we have no idea what powers the Mayor might be given, nor how he (or just possibly she) might be got rid of, nor much else. That's all to be decided later, apparently! But whatever the dispensation, it's now been pre-approved by the electors of Bristol - or rather, by just under 13% of them, which was enough.

So far, only Bristol has voted in favour. I'm not sure whether it was also uncoincidentally the only city where a referendum was being held but not council elections, but I wouldn't be terribly surprised.

Dozens of Bristol billboards have suddenly sprouted advertisements paid for by the Mayor of London, Transport for London, and the Olympic Committee, informing us that "Certain roads will be affected during the games".

Well, I'd guessed that, but since London is over 100 miles away and no events are being held in Bristol, does it really require an expensive advertising campaign to tell us? (Actually, that's not quite true: the Olympic torch will be snaking its way through the city at some point, but I doubt that's going to cause more disruption than, say, the annual Bristol half-marathon, the St Pauls Carnival, or the occasional protest march, all of which take place quite happily without the need for all the city's hoardings to be booked up.) Now we know where the money went...

Anyway, I was wondering just how far afield the London Olympic street closure posters had reached. Any advance on 100 miles? sheenaghpugh, are you awash with them in Shetland?

Meanwhile, I am meant to be voting soon in a referendum on whether Bristol should follow London's lead in having an elected mayor. So far, I have received no literature or canvas visits from either side, although the local paper is certainly cheerleading for the change. A couple of weeks ago it ran a lengthy piece by Michael Heseltine, urging Bristolians to seize this historic opportunity for a place at the high table of British politics, not to get left behind by the tide of history, to prove itself worth of its glorious heritage, to grab this special offer while it was still in the shops, etc. I am guessing that the same article appeared in other local papers too, with the word 'Bristol' changed for 'Sunderland', etc., because there wasn't a word in it that related to the city specifically.

As readers of this blog will know (c.f. all the reasons why it was imperative we join the Euro lest we get left behind by the tide of history, etc.) I react badly to high-pressure sales tactics, and Heseltine's piece has almost convinced me to vote No. But I'd still be interested in any actual arguments on either side, since I've heard none yet.

I also wonder, only somewhat tangentially: how many directly-elected mayors around the world are women, and is it a significantly higher or lower proportion than mayors elected by councillors (like the female mayor Bristol has now, for example)?

I suspect that most of the people on my friends list who would wish to know about this already do so, and I beg their pardons, but this is by way of a signal boost.

A celebration of the life and work of Diana Wynne Jones will be held on Sunday 22nd April, at St George's, Brandon Hill, Bristol. St George's is a rather lovely early nineteenth-century ex-church (now concert venue) in the heart of Bristol.

The doors will open at 2pm, and the event proper will begin at half past. It will feature short contributions from Diana's family and friends, editors, fellow writers, fans and others. Subject to gaining the relevant permissions, it is also hoped to show extracts from film, TV and ballet adaptations of her work, and there will be a display of photographs from her life. There will also be about five minutes of audio from her last interview, which I conducted with her in February last year.* The event will end by 5pm. (There will be an interval.)

The event is free, and open to all.

* This interview is due to appear in full in Reflections later this year.

I'd heard rumours of the "free school" in Bristol, but Beyond Westminster this morning was an eye-opener. The school is situated in Southmead, one of Bristol's more deprived areas. To give you an idea, here's the junction of its main shopping streets:



Southmead's main claims to fame are as the subject of a controversial documentary about racism on white working class estates a couple of years ago, and as the spiritual home of Little Britain's Vicki Pollard.

So the free school will be a shot in arm for the area's children - and a healthier kind than has until now been on offer at the school gates - right? After all, says, Blair King, the chairman of Governors: "We want to make sure that every child... will have the best possible standard of education."

Wrong. Because, as the programme reveals, by "every child" he actually means "every middle-class child." Mr King is quite candid about it: "Our policy and our founding principle is that 80% of the children we take on will come from BS9, the communities of Henleaze, Stoke Bishop and Westbury-on-Trym." (For those of you who don't know Bristol, these are all affluent, middle-class areas - the latter two extremely so - a mile or two from Southmead.) I don't know when keeping oiks out of the best state schools first qualified as a "principle", let alone a founding one, but under Gove's regime it apparently does.

King doesn't want to be seen as entirely exclusive, of course. He adds (and it's wonderful to hear the rise in his voice as he gets to the end, here, as if he's astonished and enchanted by his own generosity) "We also want to be as inclusive as possible and have a comprehensive intake, and that includes taking people from less privileged backgrounds, from areas like Southmead. So the remaining 20% will come from, ideally, around the school." Coo, thanks, mister.

King is also open about how the free school got off the ground in the first place. Some of the prospective pupils' mothers happened to bump into the Tory MP (at that time also prospective) at a social gathering a couple of years ago, and they cooked it up between them. So, Southmead parents, that's all you need to do! Next time you find yourself sitting at the adjacent table to your local MP at a restaurant, or are invited to the same dinner party, why not bring up the idea of a free school for your children too? All it takes is a little initiative.

The Chris Jefferies affair, that is - as blogged about previously here. Two cheers, I suppose. (Is "monster" often used as a transitive verb, though? There was no sense that his lawyer was aware that he was coining a phrase.)

In not very related matters, I'm becoming irritated all over again that the media can't make up their mind whether Winterbourne View is "in Bristol" or "near Bristol". In fact, it's in South Gloucestershire. I realise this isn't the most important facet of the story, but they've had long enough by now to get it right. If something bad had happened in Hammersmith, would they keep reporting it as being "in Chelsea" (or "near Chelsea" at best)? The odd thing is that no one ever describes J. K. Rowling (late of Winterbourne) as a Bristol author.