Maverick House

Digital books

2009-06-29T07:00:00.001-07:00

All the talks and discussions about the Google Book settlement and Scribd, who are trying to digitize millions of books to make them available on the internet, got me thinking about my idea of a book. I have always been a book lover, and there are certain book series I have been collecting for a long time. It is a wonderful feeling to see the complete series of a book standing on my shelf. I also have a thing for first editions of books, the older the better. I like being able to stand in front of my book case to choose a book I haven’t read in a while.
Now there are a lot of people who read their books on the computer or on their e-reader. They just buy this book as a file online. Granted, you can save a lot of space when you have all your books as files. But personally, I cannot imagine reading a book on a screen. I spend too much time on the computer anyway. Also, laptops and e-readers are quite expensive, and I wouldn’t want to take either of them with me on a holiday. On the beach they could easily get damaged by sun, water or sand. And certainly they would hold more of an attraction to steal than your paperback book. There are also some places where you should not turn on some electrical devices, like in hospitals or in planes during take-off and landing. You have to be careful about that, too.
I might be a bit sentimental when it comes to that, but a book to me is still something I can touch, hold in my hand, take with me everywhere and put onto my bookshelf.

I understand the need to digitize very old books though. There are a lot of great books that aren’t available anymore nowadays. And there are also a few books without an existing copyright holder. To have these books on the Internet does make sense.
But other than that I prefer having a real book. And I have been talking to a couple of people who share my ideas. One of them said she likes reading a book while taking a bath. Now that would be really difficult if you have your book only as a file.

I am interested what you guys out there think, though. If you want to share you views, feel free to do so.

So long, Susanne

Being a foreigner

2009-06-02T01:40:00.000-07:00

A while ago I have read one of our books, “Farang”, by author Dr Iain Corness. He fell in love with Thailand during a holiday there and moved there permanently in 1997. Since then he has experienced numerous strange things. In a hilarious way Corness describes the differences between our western culture and the Thai culture. From dangerous animals inhabiting the kitchen, building work that takes months and months, the weirdest laws to the ritual of moving into a new house – everything is different in Thailand. Based on his experiences a new book by the author will be published this year, which I can’t wait to read.

Although Ireland and Germany may not be as different as Germany and Thailand would be, after nearly three months of living here I have come across things that are typical, so it seems, for Ireland. For example, the Irish seem to love to talk about the weather. It’s not important if the topic has been discussed with a person, if the day brings a change it will be discussed again. I think it’s just wonderful how much time one can talk about the weather here before getting bored. Another thing I have come across is the Barber shops. In Germany men and women nearly always go to the same hairdresser. I haven’t seen a hairdresser only for either men or women. Imagine my surprise when I realised that at least two hairdressers in my village are “prohibited” to me.

Other than that I think there are not too many differences between Ireland and Germany. We certainly both suffer from the economy at the moment! Anyway, I am excited about the new book, “Farang: The Sequel” coming out soon, as it helps me to see how easy it is for me to live in Ireland. I am sure that living in Thailand or, in fact, in any Asian country, would be far more difficult and certainly very different.

That’s it from me,

so long, Susanne

The seasons and reading

2009-05-11T02:43:00.000-07:00

A lot of people say that their reading habits change with the seasons. One of my friends for example reads much more when the days get shorter and darker. With the first snow she basically caves herself in beneath five or six thick blankets, lights a couple of candles, makes herself a cup of hot chocolate and starts reading.
Others though read a lot more books in the summer time, lying on a blanket in the grass, letting the sun shine on their faces. They feel that reading is a way to pass the time one spends outside.
And there are those who normally don’t read much at all but will always have one or two books in their hand luggage when they are on a holiday. After all, if you still have time at the airport, what better way than to spend it in a book store?

Strangely to me it doesn’t really matter what the weather is like at the moment or which season it is. I can (and want to) read all the time. Whether it’s snowy, rainy, sunny, windy, cloudy…. Who cares?
Nothing much whatsoever has a lot on influence on my reading.

Except for money maybe. If I have a lot of money to spend freely, which doesn’t happen too often, I just can’t resist the force of attraction book stores hold for me. That can be pretty bad, especially when, in the week afterwards, I realize I would really need that money I had spent in the bookstore. Too late.

So I guess the amount of books we read can be influenced by lots and lots of things. If there is anybody out there not influenced by anything, please let me know.

So long, Susanne

Conflict

2009-04-17T05:43:00.001-07:00

The recent protests in Bangkok got me thinking about our forthcoming book, Conflict by Nelson Rand, which is going to be published next month. Rand has lived in Southeast Asia for over ten years, and Conflict is about the secret wars which are taking place Thailand, Burma, Cambodia, Vietnam and Laos.

I was impressed by his ideas and his motivation to go to remote and highly dangerous areas in order to talk to the people involved in the conflicts of Southeast Asia. In his book Rand tells the stories of the conflicts and their background, and it is shocking to realise that the world seems to have forgotten or is basically ignoring the struggles of so many people.

But Rand’s book also made me realise that there are two sides to every conflict. Rand is an excellent reporter, who outlines the conflicts in an impartial manner, helping to give the reader an understanding of why these battles are taking place.

Which brings me back to how things are in Thailand at the moment? Some of our friends who live there have written to us, saying that even though certain areas have been inflicted by riots and battles, you can find people celebrating the Thai New Year, drinking and dancing just around the corner from the protesters. In cities with millions of people, a couple of thousand protestors can get lost pretty fast. Nearly everybody is carrying on as normal.

This can also be the face of a conflict – what is perceived as normal life goes on while riots rage around the corner.

If you are interested in learning more about the struggles in countries like Laos, Vietnam, Burma, Thailand and Cambodia, read our new book “Conflict”, which will give you a great insight into some of the world’s forgotten wars.
Even if you are planning to go straight to the beach in Phuket to chill out for two weeks, it’s worth knowing what is happening in the countries surrounding you.

See our website http://www.maverickhouse.com for more details.

So long, Susanne

Easter Holiday

2009-04-09T01:45:00.000-07:00

In my family in Germany there are only a few people who are religious. For them Easter holiday means going to church, having special church events and get-togethers. For the rest of my family, including me, the religious meaning of the Easter holiday isn't that relevant.

For us, the Easter holiday is all about getting together with our family. For years we have been meeting on Good Friday, early in the morning, for a hike. Each year another part of the family organizes the hike, where we'll have lunch, which route we will take.... As a child I loved these hikes because all my aunts would buy little presents, like chocolate bunnies, for the children and then hide them somewhere in the forest for us to search. Now I am a bit too old for that, but I still love the Easter hikes, they are part of our family tradition and I always get to see my family.

This year I am here in Ireland and can't take part in our Easter hike, so I'll be going to the Wicklow Mountains and hike there, see something of the beautiful green island. And the rest of the time?

Well, I guess I'll just catch up on some reading, because that's also what free days are for, right? And maybe I'll find a chocolate bunny somewhere...

The connection between movies and books

2009-04-01T05:51:00.000-07:00

I have just discovered that the book "The reader" by German law professor and author Bernhard Schlink has hit the Bestseller-Lists of Books USA Today.

The award-winning novel was published in 1995 in Germany and two years later, having been translated into english, in the United States. So that was 12 years ago. Why is it in the Bestseller-Lists now?

The answer is the film adaption of 2008, which was extremely well received and was nominated for five Academy Awards, of which it won one. It also received 10 other prizes and was nominated for 23 more. With Ralph Fiennes and Kate Winslet in the main roles, the film already has become a hit.

So it is no wonder that a lot of people seem to discover the book, on which the movie is based, only now. I think that was the same with the Harry Potter movies. Many children, and not only children, started reading the book only after having seen the movie.

All in all I don't believe this to be a bad thing, for if the movies get the people to read again or read more, why complain?

Cats and Dogs

2009-03-27T02:59:00.001-07:00

I don't know how it is here in Ireland, but in Germany there seems to be some kind of pet-owner-movement. Everywhere you look new books about all kinds of pets just spring up like mushrooms.

Here you can buy the book by a pretty famous german comedian, Ralf Schmitz, about living with his 23 year-old cat Minka. His book is subtitled "Dogs have owners, cats have employees". In his book Schmitz talks about how to get your cat through adolescence, what to do when he/she is hungry, how to organize that your cat does not disturb your love life.....

The author Hauke Brost however wrote a book called "111 reasons to love dogs". Being himself the owner of big dogs, he obviously wanted to share his feelings. This book isn't meant to be some kind of guideline for dog owners or wanna-be owners, but its 111 reasons are funny and may help you to get over something your dog just did.

And it's not just books: A new movie has come to the cinemas worldwide, called "Marley and Me". This movie is about a family who got Marley, a golden Labrador, when he was still a pup, and shows how life has developed in this family.

So it seems to me that pets got back their popularity, and even though people around the world don't have as much money as they used to have, I'm sure only a few want to abandon the idea of having a pet. I hope that this development won't stop, because let's face it:

Pets cost money, they can be nerve-racking, they might smash your most beloved possessions

- but they are still darn cute!

What about...?

2009-03-19T09:37:00.000-07:00

“No, that’s not available, I’m sorry…”
I don’t know how many times I have heard that sentence. Or something very similar.
You see, I am from Germany. And I love books. The only problem is, hearing about great new books or reading about the latest bestsellers on the internet is usually the first step to misery. I tend to have this unreal idea of getting every book I’d like to read in this globalized world, where a guy from Laos chats with you and tells you the best way to get from Germany to Peru via China.

But then I go to a couple of well-known German websites, type in the name of the book or the author, and get – nothing. Not available. Never heard of it. What?

Well, by now I really should know the reality. But naïve as I am, I think I’ll just try a book shop then. With all the qualified staff there, should be no problem to find the book in no time. Only just after popping the big question the truth is revealed. This girl standing in front of me, her nameplate shining like it’s the first time she’s wearing it, doesn’t know the first thing about books or authors or even about how to use the big computer thingy in front of her. After half an hour of pure agony, torn between the impulse of either slapping the girl or starting to cry, I leave.

You’d think I’ve learned my lesson after trying this for uncountable times. I haven’t.
The terrible truth is, even if you don’t care whether a book is in German or in English, you still can’t read it. Unless you order it on a British website, for example. But for me personally, that’s just too expensive.

I found a solution though: Ignore the news about great books. Turn blind and deaf temporarily. But does that really solve the problem?

To all German bookstores: Please consider all these people who are isolated from the rest of the publishing world!

Light relief from the lady known as Angel

2008-11-19T06:49:00.000-08:00

Dressed as an angel, a petite blonde Australian woman flitted about the auditorium, hugging participants and lecturing about the healing power of love and laughter. Australia's Susan Aldous prescribes laughter as the best medicine. Called the Angel of Bang Kwang, she is a ray of sunshine for underprivileged Thais - from inmates at a maximum security prison to women and children in shelters, writes Tibor Krausz in the Sydney Morning Herald.

At a recent symposium in Bangkok, hundreds of health-care professionals from across Thailand were treated to an unusual spectacle. Dressed as an angel, a petite blonde Australian woman flitted about the auditorium, hugging participants and lecturing them about the healing power of love and laughter.
Susan Aldous wore a white chiffon costume, with fluffy wings and a sequined tiara - a clumsy mixture, as she puts it, of Snow White and Bridal Best circa Word War II.

Yet the outfit wasn't simply a publicity gimmick.
Melbourne-born Aldous is widely known in Thailand as the Angel of Bang Kwang. She has earnt the epithet with her dedicated volunteer work with inmates - many of them serving life sentences for drug offences - at the notorious maximum-security prison outside Bangkok, where she is friends with prisoners and guards alike.
But she does so much more.
Invited to act as titular mascot for a Thai national hospital institution, the high-school drop-out was at the symposium to teach doctors and nurses about humanised health care.
Her credentials: decades-long devotion to helping the needy, the neglected and the down-and-out at countless hospital wards, women's shelters, refugee camps, or anywhere else she can find them.
"My past is my PhD in this work. In the course of my work I've been called an angel but I've never [been asked] to dress up as one," she laughs.
A few days later, Aldous demonstrates her modus operandi.
During her weekly visit to a women's shelter on the outskirts of Bangkok, she waves to a group of women - battered wives, rape victims, single mothers - unwinding in the shelter's shady yard. Children mob her. Some have been rescued from sexual exploitation or sweatshop-style slavery. Between hugs, Aldous hands them toys and chocolates - two each so they can donate one to a sibling or friend.
"This way they learn they never lose by giving, if only a smile or a helping hand," she explains before proceeding with an English lesson for them.
On weekends in Bangkok, Aldous also holds birthing and laughing yoga classes for expectant mothers and has parties for residents. Recently, as part of her drama therapy sessions, she staged a play with several battered children at the shelter to emphasise an anti-violence message. The children performed to popular acclaim at Thailand's National Human Rights Commission.
"Sister is so kind to us. No one else cares about us," says Oy, an emaciated woman at the shelter who has AIDS. Her 13-year-old son is cared for in a Buddhist monastery but she doesn't tell her family where she is, so as not to brand them with the stigma of her disease.

The two women hug, tears in their eyes. Momentarily, though, Aldous begins joking with Oy in fluent Thai and they both laugh, in line with Aldous's philosophy that laughter is the best medicine.
Everywhere else Aldous goes, from crowded cells to hospital wards, her bubbly, instant camaraderie seems infectious.
"She's relit my beacon," says Martin Zweiback, a Hollywood producer who met Aldous by chance during a holiday in Thailand. He credits her compassion and buoyant optimism with his revitalised will to live after his wife's death from cancer three years ago.
"I felt my life was over," he says. "Then I watched Susan going about the slums of Bangkok with a shining spirit and a bright smile. I saw her hugging a double murderer with such compassion. But forgive me for drifting into Pollyanna land as there's nothing Pollyanna about Susan."
A single mother with no income, Aldous, 47, lives hand-to-mouth in a small rented apartment with her 17-year-old daughter near Bang Kwang. She is a youthful, pretty sprightly woman who wears hand-me-down clothes and backpacker-style trinkets. Aldous lives on kerbside meals and walks a lot to save on bus fares. Her Thai neighbours often slip money in envelopes under her door.
"What do I need?" she says. "I'm 31 years down the road with [humanitarian volunteer work] but I haven't yet missed a meal." A born-again Christian, she still has in her some of the hellraiser she once was.
An orphan raised by foster parents in an upper-middle class part of Melbourne, Aldous became a rebel in her early teens. Dropping out of school, she was, at times, a spaced-out flower child with bird bones and feathers dangling from ears (Mary Poppins on crack, she jokes); a skinhead biker in military fatigues; and a proto-punk complete with tattoos, safety-pin piercings and shaved eyebrows.
She was nicknamed "Petrol Head" for sniffing petrol, glue and aerosols. She'd slash herself with razor blades.
"I was angry at the world and rebelled at a predictable life in the suburbs," she says.
Burnt out and jaded, she thought of suicide. Then in Melbourne's red-light district, St Kilda, she encountered Christian aid workers, one of whom suggested: "If you're going to throw your life away, why don't you instead give it away?" "Compassion has been my drug of choice ever since," Aldous says.
While volunteering as a welfare worker in South-East Asian slums and prisons, she arrived in Thailand in 1985 on a nine-day visit - and has never left. She has just launched a campaign to raise awareness of gender issues in Thailand, where spousal abuse of women is still widespread. As part of this drive, Aldous has also submerged herself in the marginalised world of the country's renowned third gender - ladyboys, as transvestites and transsexuals are known locally.

As a frequent visitor to Bangkok's Boys Town, a gay strip with rowdy bars and transvestite shows, she counsels ladyboys, warning them against prostitution and drug abuse.
She has just published a book of interviews with ladyboys, to provide a view past the stereotypes.
"Susan touches a lot of lives," says her Thai co-author, Pornchai Sereemongkonpol. "At first I was suspicious of her motives, then you see the way she treats people and how they light up at the sight of her."
Last month a popular Thai television series featured Aldous in a two-part program. It drew an overwhelming response from viewers, who called in from around the country to thank Aldous for her charity works and to offer support for her projects. "Everywhere I go, people now recognise me," she says. "They come up to me and say, 'You're Susan.' They shake my hand, thank me or give me free water and yoghurt to keep me going."
Yet Aldous is not basking in her fame. She has started visiting a school for disadvantaged children to teach English and give them books, toys and sport equipment, which she collects with help from friends and grateful former proteges.
A close friend and a helpful ally at Bwang Kwang is Chavoret Jaruboon, who was Thailand's chief executioner until recently.
"The inmates call us the angel and the devil," Chavoret laughs.
Aldous, though, rejects the angel moniker and says: "I'm not a little-goody-two-shoes, or a saint. I just believe that a smile and a kind word can change lives. They've changed mine."Source: The Sun-Herald

a former buffalo herder becomes a ladyboy prostitute

2008-07-25T03:09:00.000-07:00

A fellow go-go dancer once told me that I needed to create a new name for myself, something feminine that would be easy on foreigners’ ears. ‘Mali’ is what I came up with. It means jasmine, a little white flower with a sweet scent. I was hoping the dainty word would add to my charm and take me one step further from the buffalo herder I used to be.
I’m a prostitute, but not a victim. If you entered the bar where I work, you would see ‘real’ women—worn-out, stretch-marked mothers weary of men and of life. And then you would see me: smiling, vivacious, positively shining with the joy of being a woman, even if I have to hide my genitalia to be one.
One of my earliest recollections is of my mother bringing me to live with my grandparents and a collection of aunts before I was six years old. To me, they are my real family. I don’t know who my father is, but it doesn’t bother me in the least. I vaguely remember that my mother had short hair, and wore a shirt and pants, unlike other women who had long hair, and wore sleeveless blouses and colourful sarongs. When I asked my grandmother (my ya) why my mae looked so different from other women she said that Mae wanted me to have a father figure. But Mae wasn’t around enough to instil masculinity in me; she was living with a female partner and pouring her time and energy into that relationship.
People sometimes ask me what made me what I am today. Growing up with no father and a mostly absent lesbian mother would be the easy answer, but I honestly don’t blame them. I was born to be a ladyboy just as sure as I was born in poverty-stricken Isan. There, in the northeast region of Thailand, my family have been farmers for many generations. If I’d had any masculinity to begin with, I was certainly given every opportunity to develop it. My family trained me to become a farmer and do manly things, but I showed my femininity from an early age. While other boys used banana stalks as imaginary horses, I tore the leaves into strips and wore them as a skirt. As far back as I can remember, friends and neighbours have called me a kathoey, and I willingly accepted the label. I can’t imagine a different identity.

Heroin found me even though I didn't want it to!

2008-05-08T07:53:00.000-07:00

If anyone had told me when I was a child that I would end up a heroin addict, I would have laughed at them. You see, sport was my thrill. Football was how I got a rush. I was one of the best footballers in my area — better than all of the girls except for my sister Olivia, and certainly better than most of the blokes. Olivia and I would race home after school to change into our track suits so we could go down to the playground. I was always in goal and Olivia would lash the balls at me as fast as bullets. She was definitely the best footballer in the area, and we played football every single day as children. She’snow an international player on the Irish team.
I come from a working-class background, but I didn’t have a bad start in life. I had a structured childhood with set times for everything. I sometimes look back and wonder why I’ve led the life I have. I have to be honest and say I don’t have many answers for you. I don’t know where I lost myself but I know I did. I still wonder about the decisions I made, or if they were decisions at all. Was I even given choices about my life? I’m still tryingto figure that one out but I know one thing for sure. When I was young I never said to myself, ‘I want to be a drug addict when I grow up.’

Heroin wasn’t something that I planned to do. The drug was something that crossed my path. I never went looking for it and I don’t believe it came looking for me. My drug addiction was something that just happened. You have probably heard people say they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. I think I was one of those people.

by Julie O'Toole, author of 'Heroin; a true story of drug addiction, hope and triumph ...'.
For more see www.maverickhouse.com

Paradise with a twist

2008-02-29T03:14:00.000-08:00

WHAT SPRINGS TO mind when you think of Barbados?Is it the warm tropical climate, the golden sands, or the clear blue ocean? Or is it the cool, laid back attitude and friendliness of the people? If you were asked to think of a single word to describe the island,most people would say the same thing: Paradise.

Over 500,000 people visit Barbados every year, and almost half of those are from the UK and Ireland. Most come back having enjoyed the holiday of a lifetime. Few, thankfully, get to see the truth behind the postcard image of this place; fewer still get to tell the tale. But those unlucky enough to fall foul of the law as I did are left in no doubt—this is far from heaven. Corruption, squalor, poverty, crime: they all raise their ugly heads in this place, and though I deserved to be sent to prison for a crime I should not have committed, nobody deserves to have their human rights taken away, and nobody should be forced to endure the horrors of that place where I spent more than three years of my life.

Yes, I have made mistakes, and I have paid for them, but I very nearly paid for them with my life, as I struggled to overcome disease, violence, and a fullblown riot in a place where there is one rule for the haves and another for the have-nots, where conditions are horrendous, and where there is no distinction between a murderer and a pickpocket.I have looked back over my life in an effort to understand where and why I went wrong, and I have come to realise many things about myself. Some things will remain unanswered for me—there are some things I will never know—but one thing I do know is that I never want to go back to prison, and I never want to go back to Barbados.

You might consider it Paradise, but I consider it Hell.

Extracted from Terry Donaldson's book, Hell in Barbados. Published February 2008 and available now.

Misery memoirs don't take holidays

2008-01-03T02:29:00.001-08:00

I arrived at my desk on the second of January to find that a mere 114 emails had made their way to me over the festive period. Not too bad, considering I had resisted checking them over the holiday period, and I was gone for 10 days.

Then I noticed that someone had tried to Skype me during the holidays. I was astounded to see that someone had attempted to call me on 25th December.
Who would call me on Christmas day, I wondered. As much as I love publishing, and love my job, I prefer to be receiving different types of calls at Christmas.
It could only be the Bangkok office, where they don’t celebrate Christmas. In fact, it’s hard to persuade the editor there, Pornchai, to even take a day off.
What was so urgent? He had just received copies of Miss Bangkok, our latest piece of non-fiction from our Thai office, and simply couldn’t wait to tell me how great it was.

And I must concur! I got my copies today, and it is a fantastic book. The beautiful cover belies the tragic story that lies within. Bua is a prostitute, working in the infamous red-light district of Patpong. Unfortunately, this is one book that doesn’t have a neat, happy ending. She remains in prostitution, and is still living with her violent husband. There has been a great deal of coverage about misery memoirs of late – all of it cynical; but this book is different. The money that Bua will make from the book sales really will empower her to change her life. I hope it will also change readers’ perceptions of Thai prostitutes too.
Bua admits in the book that she still dreams of a ‘farang’(foreigner) who will rescue her from prostitution, but in reality, the best way to rescue her from prostitution and poverty would be to buy her book. Sometimes, it's the little things that make the biggest difference.

Jean, Publisher.

A Christmas Carol

2007-12-19T08:45:00.000-08:00

Dedicated to the corporate Scrooges who have hijacked much of the book trade.

Deck the shelves with celebrity folly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.
Tis the season when booksellers are jolly,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Pile ’em high and sell ’em cheap,
Fa la la, la la la, la la la.
Returns are what we publishers will reap,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

See their greedy grins before us,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Strike the tills and join the chorus,
Fa la la la la, la la la la

Hail the age of commodification,
Fa la la la la, la la la la
Driving poor publishers to starvation,
Fa la la la la, la la la la.

Gert - Publicist

Editors — A Breed Apart…

2007-12-14T01:45:00.000-08:00

We may walk upright, require three square meals a day and bear a striking physical resemblance to our fellow mankind, but don’t be fooled by these superficial attributes, editors are, in my opinion, a breed apart.

I’m not suggesting that we are superheroes, or freaks of nature, or anything like that, but we do possess certain traits that tend to attract funny glances from our peers and have the potential to empty a room in record-breaking time. It is a basic prerequisite of a job as an editor that you are at least a little neurotic; the misplacement of a comma or the omission of a full stop can assume an Armageddon-like magnitude capable of reducing even the strongest of editors to a blubbering mess. But it is these finer details that have the power to transform a good piece of writing into a masterpiece.

These neuroses can be a double-edged sword. On the one hand the gnawing terror of putting a comma wrong, if you’ll pardon the pun, is what makes us good at our jobs. But on the other hand, there is only so much time you can spend deliberating over the capitalisation of a certain word, or trying to decipher an anagram-like sentence, before you begin to feel like shaking your fist at the tedium of it all. But that’s only on the rare bad days. Mostly editors take great pleasure in correcting punctuation and tweaking the flow of language—with each uncovered error feeling like a small personal triumph. Sadly this sense of triumph is lost on many of our peers. I have been known to point out errors in restaurant menus when dining with friends, proudly indicating where a double space has accidentally been inserted between words, or an apostrophe has been misplaced—which completely changes the meaning of the word, or so I try and explain to my completely disinterested dinner guests. A long silence usually ensues, with conversation struggling to recover from the blow I have apparently just dealt it. Perhaps such details may seem trivial to many but that is exactly why editors are so important. If we didn’t lie awake pondering the great mysteries and complexities of language, then who would?

The saying, ‘Behind every great man, there is a great woman’, applies in equal measure to authors and their editors. Next to a pen and paper (or a laptop rather), an editor is oftentimes an author’s most valuable tool. Editors are the mechanics of language—undervalued linguaphiles whose mission in life is to add oil to creaky joints and bring a body of text to life.

- Bridgette, Editor

The Word Made Flesh

2007-12-11T08:17:00.000-08:00

There is a book on my shelves that I have never read but will never throw out. It is a schoolbook edition of Silas Marner from the early part of the 20th century. I’d already read the story in my own textbook by the time I acquired it, and had no especial fondness for the characters. Nevertheless, I had to have this book. The cloth of its hardback cover is worn to a delightful softness, and the weight of the book is perfectly proportioned to its size. I still sometimes take the book from the shelves just to let it rest in my hand. Then I might open the book and finger the slightly yellowed pages, imagining that all its readers have handled it this tenderly (though knowing what I do of school children, I doubt this to be the case). Silas Marner was the first book I loved purely for its physicality.

With this in mind I read of the projected success of ebook readers like Kindle and iLiad, and I can only give a noncommittal shrug. As a fairly frequent traveller (who can never remember to redeem her miles), I can imagine the advantages of packing a whole library in the space of just one book. What I can’t imagine is reading The Hobbit via anything other than my 1960s edition with Tolkien smoking a pipe on the back and a thumb-sized tear on the front cover, exactly where my thumb goes when I open the book.

Isn’t a book an incarnated idea—‘the word made flesh to dwell among us’? And shouldn’t that flesh be clothed appropriately? No tawdry covers for my favourite books, please. Make them like my copy of The Grass is Singing, its white cover interrupted with a few spikey blades of grass, looking ever so grassy, I could swear they really were singing. Let the pages be grainy and inviting and not too white, and most of all let the text be worthy of its trappings.

For all my friends this Christmas, and for you, I wish good stories, wrapped in suitable covers, that feel just right in your hands.
- Jessica, Editor

A brief encounter

2007-12-07T03:50:00.000-08:00

Author Nicola Pierce on meeting the subject of her new book:

The first thing that struck me about Bua was how young she looked — about ten years younger than her actual age. I met her at the office of Maverick House Publishers in Bangkok where she arrives every evening at 7pm to be interviewed by Pornchai, the Thai researcher and editor. She stays for an hour, after first clocking in, and then must go to Patpong to get ready for the evening’s work. However, if a client needs her at 7pm she attends to him, cancelling us at the last minute, as he is her priority.
She’s tiny, with big brown eyes, prominent cheekbones, shoulder-length brown hair and has the most beautiful smile. Always shy at first it takes her a while to get going but once she does she is ready to laugh softly and make self-deprecating remarks about herself and her life. Not that there’s much to laugh about. She’s the mother of three children, the common-law wife of an unemployed wife-beater and a go-go dancer — she also needs to sell her body, at the very least, once a week to supplement her monthly income. It’s alright for me to sit there and stare at her, wondering how she does it but she doesn’t have the luxury of wondering, she just has to get on with it.
There are people ready here to help her do something else but she’s not ready yet to make a plan. The husband hasn’t beaten her in two months because she pretended that she rang a women’s centre who will take her and the kids away to a secret place if he hits her again. Last night she turned up with a badly bruised upper lip and started to cry when Pornchai asked her about it. I assumed it was the husband but no, she was beaten up in Patpong by a mafia-woman she borrowed money from a few years reviously. The woman’s henchmen surrounded the scene to prevent two western men, or anyone else, from intervening.
Pornchai took me to the bar where she worked. It was 10pm on a hot Wednesday night and we had to weave our way in and out of the crowds of tourists and hawkers selling their wares. There are also the noisy hustlers waving their price lists to entice you into their bar, promising sex shows and cheap drink. These shows take place upstairs and are performed by the less than perfect looking girls – once the girls begins to sag or put on weight they are demoted to the sex shows which they can’t afford to refuse or else they are simply fired. Bua works downstairs and talks vaguely about getting out of the industry before she gets too old.
Entering the bar was like crashing a party that was waiting to get started. The atmosphere was full of anticipation and there weren’t many customers yet. Really bad, and too loud, dance music greets you before you’re over the threshold. Immediately you’re warmly greeted by a waitress who leads you to a table to take your order. When Pornchai tried to ask for a soft drink he was effortlessly persuaded to buy a more expensive beverage. She checked back with us every few minutes, with the pretence of wiping down the table, picking up our bottles to see how much we had left and whether it was time to ‘suggest’ we buy another one. It was the friendliest place I’ve been in since my arrival in Bangkok, everywhere you looked a staff member was beaming in our direction as if they had been waiting especially for us. Of course when it became apparent that we were going to sit over one drink and just look at the girls without wanting to buy one the smiles dimmed just a little.
The narrow stage is surrounded by the bar which takes up most of the room. There’s no doubt about it the girls are absolutely gorgeous. About 30 or so young, slim, bikini-clad girls moved monotonously from side to side, alternating between hugging their steel poles and just holding them. Even if they wanted to dance properly there isn’t enough room, so they give up trying and simply stand there waiting to attract a buyer. In fact, some girls were sitting by the wall, moodily staring at the stage, waiting until some space was freed up. I was surprised to see one tall girl wearing a pair of glasses but you have to be able to see if a man is looking at you in particular in order to approach him at the break to either seduce him into buying lots of drinks – or just plain seduce him. You are constantly in competition with the other beauties beside you.
I’m not going to waste time here talking about my opinion of the sex industry. I hated it — no surprise there — but this is Bua’s book. She was delighted to see us and came over to clink our beer bottles, welcoming me, with some pride, to where she worked and introducing me to her best friend. She was a little drunk as she needs to drink to be confident enough to get up on stage. The make-up made her look even younger again. I have to say that nobody looked like they hated what they were doing. The girls appear to be great friends and greeted each other fondly, grabbing a few minutes of excited chat when the mamasan’s (the manager) back was turned. We could have been in a staff canteen anywhere except that most of them looked too young to be working. Two or three descended on a couple of middle-aged Japanese guys and they looked to be having a great laugh with one another in between massaging and flirting with the men. About ten minutes later the guys left with one of the girls, she was dressed in her own clothes and no longer smiling and laughing. The light seemed to go out of their eyes once a man had made his choice. Two tables down from us a girl was having her bare back stroked by a guy who was probably 30 years older than her. Bua’s colleagues melted away to find someone else and she was left staring into space, looking neither right nor left. The fun part was over. Bua was now on the stage and could see I wasn’t comfortable, I caught her eye and she shrugged as if to say, ‘Welcome to my world.’

- Miss Bangkok by Bua Boonmee and Nicola Pierce will be published by Maverick House in Asia (December 2007) and in Ireland and the United Kingdom (January 2008).

The role of books in our school curriculum

2007-11-30T03:33:00.000-08:00

At school we are only expected to read a novel for the exams. Our class read To Kill a Mocking Bird by Harper Lee. This was so we could learn the importance of racial equality.

In second year we also read The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night Time. This book really got people in my class reading as it was funny, interesting and well written. Everyone enjoyed reading it.

However, there are not enough books in school to promote reading. The only book that’s on the course is the one for the actual exam, and it tends to be very academic, even boring.

I think that more books like Heroin (Maverick House, 2006) should be used in my school and other schools across the country. They should give us books that we can enjoy reading and can learn something from.

This year I’m in Transition Year and there is more free time, both during and after school, to read. My year head told our class to bring our own books to read when we have a free class. This is a great opportunity to get pupils reading. However, I appear to be the only one grasping the opportunity. Is this because most of my class mates were never really encouraged to read in the first place?

Perhaps, if it had been done earlier there would be more of us reading today. Even so, I think there is still a chance. By introducing more exciting, interesting, closer-to-home books, such as Heroin, the numbers of teenagers reading will rise. This way we will both be encouraged to read and to stay off drugs.

by Rebecca-Rose (15), Ireland

My experience with the Mavericks

2007-11-23T07:48:00.000-08:00

Ever since I was seven I knew I wanted to be an author. It started when my mother was reading a magazine and I looked over her shoulder to see what she was reading. And suddenly, after seven years of illiteracy, I read out the whole article word perfect, and found out that I had a reading ability of a 12-year-old. After that I spent day and night thinking up stories in my head, and I still do till this day…..

So, nine years later, when I found out that I got into Transition Year, and would be doing work experience, I knew I wanted to do something to do with writing or books. So when Mom told me that she knew someone who owns a publishing company and asked me if I wanted to do work experience there, I instantly said yes.

So here I am on my last day with Maverick House Publishers. I really enjoyed my time here and really felt part of the team, instead of just a third wheel. I thought that everyone was friendly and made me feel welcome. Everybody took the time out to teach me as much as they could about publishing. This really meant a lot to me as they probably had better things to do than teaching a teenager. It was much appreciated.

I now feel that I can be a better writer after all the tips they have given me, even if only in English class.

I don’t know if I will actually take up publishing, or even writing, but this experience was still invaluable. I hope I will be able to take everything I have learnt from here and really apply it to my writing.

So thank you to everyone at Maverick House for putting up with me and giving me this fantastic opportunity. You have all been great; every moment was a pleasure and I will miss you all.

Thank you once again,

Rebecca-Rose Santamaria

Musings from a book fair

2007-11-20T02:44:00.000-08:00

Frankfurt Book Fair (2007) - After days of trying to keep up as our editorial director wheeled and dealed with distributors, publishers and sales agents from around the world, I finally got a chance to explore some of the thousands of exhibitions at the world’s biggest book fair.

I stumbled across a hall reserved exclusively for children’s books, and I was amazed by the extravaganza of colour, gimmicks and packaging on display.

Under the influence of coffee and orange juice (or should I say kaffee and orangesaft), my bitter inner child awoke as he realised how deprived he had been. I don’t remember my middle-class parents spending a baht on fancy activity books with stickers, magnets and sound effects; they only bought textbooks for school.

Yes, they did value education; however, to them, education did not include fun or bright packaging.

The hall was full of adults making deals and drinking wine in the fairy-tale setting. Standing there made me realise, business and profit aside, how important books are in shaping young minds, and I was particularly pleased to come across a book about a young girl named Camille, whose series of illustrated tales were a language unknown to me. From what I could gather, the book recounts how she befriends a black classmate, playing seesaw with him. In return for her hospitality, the boy offers Camille a candy. A lovely little story, isn’t it?

Perhaps children’s books shouldn’t be called children’s books, but rather books produced by adults for children. Then again, it is our obligation to teach children new things we weren’t taught when we were young, for the world is ever changing. (Perhaps the next mum-and-cub polar bear tale should include a thing or two about the effects of global warming?)

In contrast to the happy-go-lucky themes found in children’s books, most grown-up books are damn serious: genocide, wa, etc. Plus their pages are full of small letters. Boriiiing!

The contrast between adult’s books and children’s made me wonder: if everyone had read Camille’s story, would the world be a better place by now? I believe books are meant to educate readers’ souls and minds. How do we then go from decades to centuries without any real progress? The world seems to be a darker place with each passing day. After who-knows-how many years of passing on our mistakes and virtues from generation to generation through literature, shouldn’t we be making progress? Or are we just innately violent and cruel, no matter how many books we read?

-Pornchai S

Misery ink

2007-10-26T09:07:00.000-07:00

Danuta Kean’s stinging attack on the publishers of so-called ‘misery memoirs' (Daily Mail, 10 November) reeks of hypocrisy. Surely, even she must see the incredibly irony in launching this quixotic attack against ‘sensationalism’ from her lofty moral high-ground at the Daily Mail – a paper often criticised for it’s bigoted agenda.

Kean writes:

'Rather than inspire, [misery memoirs] risk titillating with the intimate detail they provide: members of religious cults rape young girls, fathers rape sons. '

Perhaps, Kean would like to confine subjects such as child abuse to the closet?

Had she done her homework, she would also know that 'inspirational memoirs', are mostly read by women, and often people who have suffered abuse or domestic violence themselves.

The world is an ugly place, Danuta...

Let us know what you think?

A strange, strange land...

2007-09-19T01:20:00.000-07:00

The author of Farang, Dr Iain Corness, chats to Thailand's PM TV about a reincarnated squid, his date with a fortune teller and one of the few countries where you can still get run over by a shop!

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Confessions of a maverick

2007-09-03T01:11:00.000-07:00

"Do engineering," said my school careers officer – so I enrolled for Medicine. I was 17 years old and that young man was already showing signs of being a maverick.

In my third year we were given ID cards stamped with "to be carried at all times on University property," so I tore mine up. When questioned by the Dean I replied simply "I know who I am, so I don't need one." Being a maverick earned me a severe reprimand, but I didn't carry an ID card for the rest of the course.

Returning from the UK to Australia with my shiny new medical degree I immediately went motor racing. "Son, doctors don't go motor racing," said my father. "Sorry, Dad, but this one does."

My refusal to fit into the accepted mold has seen me open a photography studio and score a contract to do the Australian equivalent of the famed Pirelli calendar. That maverick nature had me open up the first Thai fast food restaurant in Brisbane, and import a Tuk-Tuk from Bangkok as a promo item. Of course I also drove it to my medical practice as well. The patients loved it. The police did not. If it were a car, where were the seat belts? "Attached to the canvas roof? Come on, officer." If it were a motorcycle, where was my helmet? "At home."

A maverick never conforms.

So it was not by accident that I tentatively sent my outline for a book to publishers called Maverick House. One maverick can recognize another. In fact a house full of mavericks.
So for all the mavericks out there, do whatever you want to be doing. And resist all attempts at classifying you. Me? I'm just an ordinary doctor who races cars, photographs ladies and oversees a damn fine Tom Yum Goong!

- Dr Ian Corness, auhor of Farang: Thailand through the eyes of an ex-pat

Trapped in No-Man's-Land

2007-08-24T01:42:00.000-07:00

I am Paula Grieg. I have three children and no stretchmarks. Therein lies the story of my life; a life of inner conflicts and contradictions. My early life, childhood and adolescence were spent in Germany, a country to which I am now bound only by memories, since almost all my family there have vanished.

Before I reluctantly left Germany for a new life in Ireland, I first became aware of my gender ambiguity, though at the time I had no clear idea what this meant or where it would lead. In Ireland I fell in love, married and started a family; those same dearly loved three children. My career took off and I built an existence. Those who looked on might have thought I had it all, but everything I built always stood on shaky foundations, because at the very heart of it I was not who I seemed to be.

Progressively I realised that I needed to acknowledge my true self or I would never find peace within myself. But that personal inner peace came at a high price—the disintegration of family, the loss of friends, home, career and status, and once more, emigration.

Both my career and my thirst for knowledge of other places and other peoples have led me through five continents and more than 50 countries. They have given me a broad and tolerant outlook on diversity in every sense, while my life in two genders has given me unusual personal insights available to few. But it is also true that the more I travelled, the more I have become displaced and lost all sense of home.

My biography No-Man's-Land is the telling of an unusual story, the writing of which helped me to make sense of my life and the telling of which will hopefully help to reduce barriers by helping others to understand the challenges faced by transsexuals and to realise that transsexuals can and do lead normal lives.

I remain hopeful though that there is another chapter yet to be written, entitled, ‘The Leaving of No-Man’s-Land,’ where through finding love once more I will also find that elusive sense of home and belonging, and can then look back at my life with a new perspective.

- Paula Grieg

Blood in the sand

2007-08-17T07:29:00.000-07:00

As we stood together in Darfur’s golden sand, the stark reality hit us squarely over the head: the Sahara is rolling slowly southward. The desert is advancing, rendering access to basic resources such as land and water a matter of life or death. If you have access to those resourcesor the support of those in political power, you survive. When there is no democracy, no peaceful way of accessing power, then in Sudan, as in so many other places around the world,
people pick up guns to win back their rights.In Darfur, the government of Sudan armed that country’s far deadlier version of the Ku Klux Klan, the Janjaweed, a mixed bag of bandits and racist ideologues whose ethnic cleansing of all non-Arab people is mostly motivated by the desire to take over land and steal livestock. John has talked with young Janjaweed recruits. They felt they had no economic alternative. These were the same feelings of the young members of the militias that committed the genocide in Rwanda. Cynical leaders can exploit economic destitution and desperation, and like macabre, racist piedpipers lead people right over the moral cliff.Since achieving independence from Great Britain in 1956, Sudan has been a country at war with itself. The genocide in Darfur is only the latest in a series of horrific conflicts. Sudan’s civil wars unfold in a depressingly familiar pattern. The Khartoum government’s counterinsurgency strategy has nearly always begun with killing and displacement on a massive scale. When the international community starts to take notice and the spotlight shines on government atrocities, the regime then scales back the military assault and the chess game begins. They manipulate ethnic dynamics, sowing internal divisions within the opposition. They manipulateAmerican, European, and African diplomats, buying time through disingenuous negotiation to gain the upper hand on the battlefield. And they manipulate humanitarian assistance, hiding behind the iron curtain of state sovereignty to deny humanitarians access to territory where vulnerable civilians need help.The ruling National Islamic Front (known today as the National Congress Party) has taken state-sponsored brutality to extraordinary levels, but the systematic hoarding of wealth and power by elites in Khartoum and the endless violent campaign to silence a deprived and angry population have deep historical roots.
- Don Cheadle and John Prendergast, authors of Not on Our Watch