Ruby Reviews 4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster

A few months ago a friend gifted us a couple of books. She’s not a regular reader and thought she ought to try and be one, so she had bought some Booker Prize shortlisted titles in hardback. It may have been a New Year’s resolution or something, and like so many of those it fizzled out pretty quickly. Lincoln in the Bardo by George Saunders and 4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster subsequently appeared on our shelf. I was just coming off a strict diet of John Connolly’s Charlie Parker novels, by way of style research (did I mention I have a new Ger Mayes crime novel coming out myself soon?) and thought a bit of highbrow reading was in order, after all of Parker’s killing and mayhem. However, Lincoln in the Bardo defeated me within the first dozen pages. Clever as the delivery method might be in that book, I couldn’t stomach it. So I turned to the huge 4 3 2 1 by Paul Auster.

Inside the front of the hardback jacket cover, 4 3 2 1 lets the reader know what they’re taking on. Archie Ferguson is the MC and the book follows four alternative life paths from 1947 through to the late 1960s. Chapters are numbered 1.1, 1.2, 1.3, 1.4 and so on to signify which of the four Fergusons are on call and the initial 1.0 sets the background with the Russian émigré Jewish grandfather, his son Stanley and Ferguson’s mother, Rose. The parental characters also develop different life paths and are a constant feature of the book through flashback and forward. As a reader, I’m not a strong advocate of too much flashback and I dislike foreshadowing, but the author manages to use both techniques without being too invasive. Even when the certain death of some characters is foreshadowed, Auster somehow acquires the reader’s permission to do so. Perhaps that is because, knowing an individual is about to be killed off in life path A, the reader rests assured that the same individual is likely to endure in life path B, C or D. The discomfort of losing a character to which the reader has built an attachment is diminished, as they’re only one part dead.

I had thought it would be difficult to follow the four separate life paths of Ferguson. There were a few times when I wasn’t quite sure if I was in 1, 2, 3 or 4, but I didn’t succumb to the temptation of turning back to previous chapters. Instead, I trusted the author to provide enough clues and hooks to keep me on track, and Auster manages that well. As a reader, it was an enjoyable experience. As an author, I wondered how much technical work had gone into writing the book. Did he write four different 250 page novels? Did he plot all the details and timelines in advance? Were checks made to ensure the reader would intuitively know which of the four life paths were being read?

Paul Auster’s style put me in mind of John Irving, albeit with less acerbic wit. Auster’s coming of age story is threaded through with the emotional and physical rollercoasters that the first quarter-century of a life might contain. Love, abuse, disaster, romance, tragedy, sex, crime, friendship, racism, violence, success, failure, in all their shapes and colours. With Irving, the MC’s life story sometimes takes a route other than that which the reader might have preferred. With Auster’s 4 3 2 1 there is a choice of routes. The reader isn’t trapped in lengthy observation of a single trajectory. I could have eaten a little more humour than 4 3 2 1 contained, but that’s just a matter of taste. The twist in the tail, however, is quite deliciously logical.

What drives people to crime?

A brief post to say thanks to Susanne O'Leary for asking me onto her blog to explain why I chose to write crime novels like PERIL.

Read my chatter here on Susanne from Sweden's Blog

Susanne has published numerous successful fiction titles over the years with mainstream publishers and has recently made her back catalogue of chick-lit, contemporary women's fiction and historical / literary fiction available on kindle. There's an interesting article on her blog giving some insight on how well this has gone. Susanne made a recent move into crime thrillers in partnership with Ola Zaltin (of Wallander Swedish TV script fame) and their new ebook Virtual Strangers is available as an indie ebook on amazon. Virtual Strangers is about an internet chat that leads to murder. It's hot stuff, here's part of the blurb:

Two complete strangers meet on a train and agree to off their significant others. Sounds familiar? It should be, it's 'Strangers on a Train'. 60 years later, two strangers meet online. A man and a woman - Seabee and Annika - hook up on a wannabe authors' site where they flirt, banter and play around with the notion of dispatching their equally impossible partners. It's all a big literary, intertextual joke, until the weekend when both their partners actually do die in what seems to be unrelated freak accidents – or are they? Seabee and Annika find out in a hurry that cyberspace makes strange bedfellows – and if it's not he nor she who did it – then who has done the killings? The two team up to find out who has hijacked their fantasy and turned it into a bloody real-life.


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Many hands make light work! Marketing and distribution of an independent book

It's now one week since the launch of the group anthology Original Sins. I have 29 copies of the first 500 left in a box in my dining room and folks will be fighting to the death over them this weekend. Hopefully Tim will bring down another 500 from Dublin!

If this had been solely my own book then I would be umming and ahhing about where to push it, who to ask and trying to deal in advance with the inevitable rejection from bookstores, reluctantly confessing to friends and family that I had published a book and expecting the world to discover my greatness in its own time. (Case in point with PERIL, although readers love the book once they do discover it.)

However, Original Sins is a group effort and that group has every kind of character within it. We have, amongst others, journalists, marketing folk, busy bees, on the road sales types, a relative of Obama and then there's a fella who gives funny speeches. It feels like Legion in the Bible but there's no curing this multiple personality disorder, and just as well! Because the book is now in ten bookshops and available on three websites. It's appeared in four newspapers and has a radio slot planned for readings. 'Splinter launches' are scheduled at different locations e.g. nudefood café in Dungarvan, Co Waterford on May 6th (please dress appropriately because you know I will) and large quantities of wine will be consumed by authors and readers alike. I certainly need a lot of wine to read out my serial killer contribution from THE BAPTIST. No-one will leave empty handed and we'll soon be out of copies.

The book is published through NUI Maynooth's MACE imprint, which is how it has worked its way onto Amazon and Waterstones, but the rest is pure graft by the author team. Take a look:

Original Sins is available to buy at:

IN STORE

The Book Centre, 10 High Street, Kilkenny 056-7762117
The Book Centre, 25 John Roberts Square, Waterford 051-873823
The Book Centre, 5 South Main Street, Wexford 053-9123543
Barker & Jones Book Shop, 2 Poplar Square, Naas, Co. Kildare 045-856130
Maynooth University Bookshop, John Hume Building, NUIM, Maynooth, Co. Kildare 01-6285629
Dubrays Book Shop, Market Cross Shopping Centre Kilkenny 056-7752800
Stonehouse Books, MacDonagh Junction Shopping Centre, Kilkenny 056-7790780
The Blessington Book Store, Main Street, Blessington, Co. Wicklow 045-857730
The Bookworm, Liberty Square, Thurles, Co. Tipperary
Easons, Thurles Shopping Centre, Co. Tipperary
Nolan’s Book Shop, New Ross, Co. Wexford

ONLINE

NUIM shop

amazon.co.uk

Waterstones

IN PERSON

You can order copies from any of the 22 authors who will organise purchase from the distribution team.

IN LIBRARIES (lending)

Kilkenny Library

Carlow Library

Kildare Library (Naas & Newbridge)

Waterford Library

Tipperary Library

So, what's the secret to this distribution? Shamelessness. Each author might be a bit embarrassed by their own contribution and self-promotion but they firmly believe in the worthiness of the anthology contributions from the other authors. This is a highly talented bunch and each of us feels honoured in the company of the others. We have no problem promoting each other in ways that we would shy away from if solo.

So what next? I know that I should print colour handouts of PERIL and shamelessly promote it at all the anthology events, but that would be embarrassing. What if it offends? I shall wear a disguise. Wait, I already have a beard and a woman's name. Jane Alexander please post me that all-in-one body suit and Mark / Saffy I'll be ready for the blog interview in a jiffy.

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Ireland's newest anthology

I want to share with you what happened to the 22 authors of this book over the past four years. Where we’ve been and what we’ve been doing when we said we were ‘going to writing college for the weekend’. Strange events have occurred.

When we arrived here in Hogwarts as first years - young witches, wizards and muggles – we were all nervous. Did we have the magic in our quills? Professors John Dumbledore McKenna and Suzanne McGonnigle Power made everyone welcome. They soon had us flying around on our broomsticks, playing Quidditch and chasing the golden snatch around the grounds. The rigours of John’s morning register and the spiritual escape of Susanne’s talking in tongues were strange, but we believed them when they said the Philosopher’s Stone was within our hearts. He that must not be named tried to sow doubt and fear in our fledgling egos, with terrible deeds such as putting do not park here stickers on our cars, but his powers were weak. The professors had us under their protection.

Year two - some found themselves prisoners in Azkabhan, torn and tortured by Dementors. There they lost their minds and their writer’s muse. We hope they’ll escape one day to join us. Meanwhile, a fresh intake arrived here at Hogwarts and were trained in the Dark Arts. They endured new hardships, such as lack of custard cream biscuits at tea break, outbursts of writers’ zeal from John and Suzanne forgetting the matches for her candles. They began to tune in to the subliminal hypnosis of John’s reading voice and experiment using Suzanne’s powers. There were whispers of self-doubt in ears at night from he that must not be named but together the students found the Horcrux, destroyed the second beast and dreamed of walking amongst literary giants.

The third year and existing students received an invitation by owl to attend the Two Roads course. Some of them were also too weak to escape Azkabhan and they languish in agony there. The lucky ones gathered here to look down their noses at the new first years and fight over the chocolate digestives. John, weakened by frequent growing and shaving off his beard, found increased strength with the launch of a new book of magic The Space Between Us (available on amazon.com and at all good book stores). Suzanne put herself through pre-nuptial purification rituals and took us on a journey of self-discovery where we discovered...ourselves.

Year four and the final struggle with the Death Eaters of doubt commenced. Hermione Powers married her Ron and brought the powers of Angel Journey (available on amazon.com and at all good book stores) into battle on our side. Dumbledore McKenna allowed us increased playtime to perfect our spells. Our writers’ muscles became bunched with self-belief and huge with the strength of inspiration. We stood shoulder to shoulder against the dark forces and destroyed the remaining Horcruxes of self-doubt one by one. Then we poured a piece of our own souls into Original Sins (available on amazon.com, at all good book stores and also right here tonight).

The world is full of writers who will never experience the joy that publication of their work brings. Tonight, here in Hogwarts, 22 authors have made that first, vital step.

As Bill Clinthon and Barrack Omama recently said at a cocktail party, Original Sins is the best anthology the world has ever produced.

Never let fact get in the way of fiction.

Where am I? Wonderland

There’s someone living on your street. We all know the type. Their property is in perpetually immaculate condition. There are no greasy smudges, splattered bird droppings or rain stains on the windows of their house. Hedges, grass and flower beds are maintained to the point of perfection. Weeds pulled out of the driveway by hand. The adjacent public pavement brushed free of detritus. A shining car parked every day within millimetres of the same spot.

Solicitors make a steady living out of such easily provoked people, sending warning letters on their behalf to neighbours whenever an encroachment upon the rules of excellence is perceived. The cat’s paw marks repeatedly appearing on the bonnet of my car have been traced to your pet. A consistently lackadaisical approach to maintenance of your side of the fence has been noted. Such accusations are accompanied by photographic evidence and a historical log of the misdemeanours.

When we observe such people, an initial feeling of inferiority creeps up our brain stem. Then common sense begins to question where they find the time and energy to live in that picture postcard fashion. The third, and irresistible, stage is ridicule. Let us thank the gods that we, our partner and family do not resemble these compulsive individuals in any way. Further, we flaunt our individuality and freedom, if we can find an easy way. Such as allowing the front garden to grow wild, which is handy as it saves mowing the lawn. Letting our car bodywork and its number plate gradually disappear under a coat of filth, thereby saving on water consumption. No, Mr Perfect and your Stepford wife, we reject your way of life for we are too busy to address the minutiae of perfection that obsess you. We are otherwise productively engaged – watching Iceland’s Got Talent, America’s Latest Model, Total Wipeout, Come Dine with Me, anything really rather than pull those weeds from dog urine soaked cracks in the public pavement.

Now, one day, you wake early and step out into the wild flowers and waving grasses of your water meadow, looking for the cat. Adjusting your hairy dressing gown for modesty, you scratch at a weekend’s growth of leg beard and wonder when your husband will be sober enough to emerge from bedclothes that probably needed changing last week. A gentle smile plays across your sagging features, framed as they are by a few grey hairs that will take you back to the hairdresser sometime during the next few months.

Across the way Mrs. Perfect is out in her garden, using some special device to make the roses look plumper. Mr. Perfect is extracting a resistant micro-organism from the pavement with a two fingernail technique, perfected during several weeks at horticultural evening classes. All this on a Monday morning before work.

You chuckle, without malice, turn back towards the beckoning warmth of the teapot and then freeze. Something has changed in the street. Every house, except yours, mirrors that of the Perfects. The inhabitants are all out in the fresh morning air, plumping their roses and using the footpath micro-organism extraction technique. Your movement alerts them to your presence. In a Mexican wave of disdain their heads turn towards you and they sneer as one. For the first time in your life that favourite dressing gown feels shabby. A breeze blows the grey wisps of hair across your face and they catch on the sprouting strands of a chin mole that you were unaware of. Rodents scurry in the undergrowth of what is no longer a water meadow but a garden jungle. Mortification overtakes your morning glory. Nineteen perfectly trimmed and coiffed heads look down their aquiline noses at you and so do their wives. You, at house number 20, are a low life. A foreigner. Welcome. You just arrived in Switzerland.

~

I wrote this piece a year or two after spending seven years in the land of chocolate and watches. The Swiss are very appreciative of deprecatory humour and an old favourite that my Swiss friends pointed out to me is a very funny little book named Malice in Wonderland by Eugene Epstein.

On a more serious note here's another post about Switzerland.

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A confection of original sins

The April 8th launch of this anthology is the culmination of three years' work by twenty-two Irish writers. Suzanne Power and John McKenna have been our guides and mentors on the Two Roads course run by NUI Maynooth in Kilkenny. This is a paperback of 200 pages containing short stories and opening chapters of novels. The book will be available at the launch and in good bookshops throughout the South East of Ireland. (Also UK pre-order through amazon.)

Yours truly has featured with opening chapters from The Baptist and I'm a bit nervous as I have to read at the launch. Not nervous because of the showmanship (I'm karaoke king!) but because The Baptist is a bit risqué. If you plan to attend then don't be put off by that or by the 'Theology Hall' venue - there'll be wine!

Suzanne, John and the team have edited and produced a very professional anthology.

Suzanne Power is an Irish journalist and published author of several works of fiction and non-fiction. Her latest offering Angel Journey is a beautifully written book that draws you gently yet very persuasively into one woman's honest and deeply sincere journey through the realm of spirit.

John MacKenna is a playwright, broadcaster and published author of several works of short stories, fiction and non-fiction. His recent novel The Space Between Us is a disturbing and shocking story of relationships, deftly told.

A closing thought: have you taken the right road?

The Road not Taken

by Robert Frost (1874 - 1963)

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood
and sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveller, long I stood
and looked down one as far as I could
to where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
and having perhaps the better claim
because it was grassy and wanted wear;
though as for that, the passing there
had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
in leaves no feet had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less travelled by,
and that has made all the difference.



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