This is my new site!!! I have absolutely no idea how to use word press, so just trying to work it out as I go along. It turned out you have to pay if you want some colour or anything remotely nice on it. Hopefully it will get me going again. But I wouldn’t bet too much money on it.
I thought I’d start by updating on the fun we’ve had this week at the library. The band Everything Everything colonised Manchester Library with theatre, comedy, music and literature, all exploring the theme of chaos to order. Above is Josie Long, who performed on Tuesday to a full audience. I’d got my a ticket last minute and was confused between Josephine and Josie Long, and was expecting her to start singing. But she didn’t. Instead, she was very, very funny. She has managed to convince most of the audience to help her stop Farage winning a seat in her hometown. Her plan is to by organise thousands of people to move there for the election, and then all vote Green. But don’t tell the Green candidate, mind. No, let her think she will lose again, and have a lovely surprise. Then we can all leave afterwards.
Emma Jane Unsworth was the writer in residence, terrorising people in the cafe each lunch time by reading Frank O’Hara poems, appearing on Radio 6, which was recorded there today, and organising the Manchester Fiction Showcase. I was in that one, with Chris Killen, reading from his second novel, as well as Kerry Wilkinson, children and crime writer from Preston. None of us had met him before but he has about fifteen books in the pipeline. Kerry gave a powerpoint (who doesn’t like a powerpoint?) on the writing process and chaos prior to publishing, including email exchanges with his agent. Chris Killen was profound on the meaningless of existence. I read an excerpt from my new novel. It’s the bit I’ve read a couple of times this summer but tbh the rest of my novel is a bloody mess. I had another bit to read on being a communist but I paused, and thought ‘I could just get off this damn stage right now’. The event had overrun a bit and this was all the excuse I needed. Emma read from her new novel. A brilliantly witty teenage girl. Can’t wait to read more.
That’s me reading, my face looking kind of angry. Photos when reading always look pretty bloody weird.
Last night Josephine presented ‘Celluloid History Films’. Songs composed to films produced by Kim May from footage from North West Films Archive. The films were of working class people at the beginning of the century having fun, on days out to Blackpool, dancing and generally finding a bit of chaos in very ordered lives. I can’t quite describe how beautiful they were. Utterly spellbinding. As soon as the first song began I started crying. But then I cry at most dog videos on youtube. Here you can see one of the images, but they were also projected onto two of the walls. I think Josephine is going to perform them elsewhere. Just thinking of it makes me teary….
For National Libraries Day I read at Meadows Library in Maghull, Sefton. With the closures and threats of closures, Meadows seems to have taken a novel approach – unless more libraries are doing this? – they are based in a leisure complex. The building is open plan and on the left is a swimming pool and on the right is the library. You can see people swimming while looking at the books. It’s not a quiet library. There’s a TV screen playing a music channel and from somewhere I could hear the pump and beat of an aerobics class. But the library was a community and social space, and not cut off.The librarian said that the library and the leisure centre supported each other. But they had been hit by other cuts. There had been a drop in children coming to the library since free swimming had been stopped.
As a child I loved libraries. So did my mother. We were members of quite a few: Eccles Library, Hope Library, Height Library, occasionally Swinton library. Going to the library was a family day out. My mother was – is a big reader. But we don’t go much anymore because she is dependent on others taking her, and others, like me, aren’t always reliable. So we tend to buy books in bulk from Waterstones.
This reading was a family day out as my folks chauffered me there. I’d checked the library was accessible (I get really angry about places not being accessible). What I liked about this event was that it wasn’t in a secluded room at the back of the building, but in the middle of the library space on the first floor. The doors were closed so we weren’t disturbed by people going to the gym, but we weren’t hidden away either.
I was worried about reading ‘Crystal Night’. I wasn’t sure whether the audience was expecting a story about the discovery of nuclear fission, and I didn’t want to blind them with science, but they seemed to really enjoy it; there was a lively discussion, which continued after the event had finished. I told them that when I wrote the story I had had a moment of feeling I understood the experiments, but now I’d forgotten what the hell it all meant. The science and explanations in the story had been down to James Sumner’s excellent input and Ra Page’s equally excellent editorial help. But what I had also been interested in was Lise Meitner’s experiences fleeing Germany in 1938. Her story resonated with other stories I was writing in The War Tour about refugees and the effects of war. She was, of course, very fortunate to be whisked out of Berlin by Neils Bohr and Dirk Coster, but she was a woman who had overcome the barriers of gender to become one of the few renowned female scientists at the time, and then had her position at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Chemistry taken from her. What also fascinated me was how she was at once sidelined by history (alone in Stockholm and pushed outside of the discovery of fission) and also absolutely central to world events.
When I was writing the story I thought of giving a bigger picture of her life and perhaps including what happened afterards – Hiroshima and Nagosaki and Otto Hahn being awarded the Nobel. But I wanted to stay in that moment in history – the beginning of 1939 when WWII was yet to begin and she wasn’t aware of the devastating possibilities of nuclear fission, and though I hope I didn’t reduce the story to a clichéd eureka, for Lise Meitner there was a moment when these were ‘beautiful results'(to quote one of her letters).