The Pen Pusher

Poetry in Motion

2009-06-30T20:50:00.003+01:00

News reaches us, via an envelope I just found down the back of a drawer, of an interesting event happening at the moment at London's Fan Museum (the existence of which is in itself is a discovery for me), in the shape of an exhibition called Poetry in Motion. I quote:

The first of its kind, an exhibition of fans from two private collections, on show at The Fan Museum from 9th June until 4th October 2009, will display fans together with complementary poems.

The theme for the exhibition was inspired by the Chinese custom of combining poetry with painting, and fan paintings in particular, from as early as the 4th century. The unique art of the poets, painters and craftsmen included in this exhibition beautifully complement and enhance each other: an illustration on a fan is poetically translated whilst the poetry illustrates the fan. Poems inscribed by 12th century Chinese Emperors onto silk fans will be included in the exhibition.

There are also more recent fans such as the one inscribed with a satirical poem by the existentialist Jean Cocteau, the fan painted by Pierre-Auguste Renoir, and others by Miró and Pissarro. Other rare exhibits are the fan which once belonged to a Polynesian Chief and the brass fan of a priestess. Stunning fans made in the Fabergé workshop, intricately carved mother-of-pearl, ivory and tortoiseshell, as well as jewelled fans, will add to the splendour of the exhibition.

Several of the fans have a royal provenance, such as the wedding fan worn by a Queen of Spain who married for love aged 17, became pregnant and died within a year of her marriage. Others, like the fan depicting the surrender of Highlanders to the Duke of Cumberland after the Battle of Culloden in 1746, commemorate historical events.

The poems chosen for this remarkable exhibition range from the humorous to the poignant and reflect either the life of the original owner, the historical event or picture depicted on the fan, or indeed wider and sometimes concealed messages or meanings.

Concurrent with the exhibition, The Fan Museum will be holding a competition with cash prizes totalling £1,000. Visitors will be provided with poems to match to the fans on display. The museum will donate the proceeds from the sale of these poems to the Alzheimers’ Research Trust.

This sounds just the sort of quirky attraction that London should cherish (see also: all planetariums, Sir John Soames Museum, Dickens House etc), and, in the current heatwave, you might be interested to discover that, as well as all those cooling fans, there's a shady Japanese garden on offer.

The Fan Museum
12 Croom Hill
Greenwich
London SE10 8ER
0208 305 1441
www.fan-museum.org

From the Isle of Arran

2009-05-20T09:52:00.002+01:00

Comes an invitation for entries for this year's McLellan Poetry Award for poems in Scots and English. The first prize is £1,000, with five additional cash prizes (including one for the best poem in Scots - which almost suggests they're not expecting one to win outright to me, but I'm probably wrong; however, if you are proficient in that language, then it might be an additional reason to enter!).

Now in its fifth year, the competition began as a purely local affair on the Isle of Arran under the auspices of the McLellan Festival to celebrate the work of local poet, short-story writer and playwright Robert McLellan, who wrote almost exclusively in Scots. Entries, however, are invited "in all varieties of Scots and in English," to be judged in a single category, and may be on any subject whatsoever. Chair of judges is Robert Crawford, Professor of Modern Scottish Literature at the University of St Andrews, who writes in both English and Scots - his most recent collection, "Full Volume" was shortlisted for the T S Eliot Prize in 2008.

Please visit the festival website at www.mclellanawards.co.uk for full competition rules, and to submit work (which can also be done by post)

The Six Books You'll Meet in Heaven

2009-04-13T19:16:00.002+01:00

My friend Ali recently sent me a list of the nation's favourite books, as compiled by the BBC as part of its Big Read programme. Apparently, the average person will have read six. I was smug to discover I'd read 68 - but then outraged to discover she'd got through nearly 80, something I attribute to a greater interest in fantasy (I started the Hobbit a few times at my mother's insistence, but never got any further, and Harry Potter leaves me cold. Give me Malory Towers any day if we're talking children's fiction. Or the excellent Michelle Magorian, as represented here).

Pleased to see A Suitable Boy, one of my favourite books in there, and unsuprised to see another, Mrs Dalloway, left out. But no Tom's Midnight Garden? Shame.

1. The Lord of the Rings, JRR Tolkien
2. Pride and Prejudice, Jane Austen
3. His Dark Materials, Philip Pullman
4. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, Douglas Adams
5. Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, JK Rowling
6. To Kill a Mockingbird, Harper Lee
7. Winnie the Pooh, AA Milne
8. Nineteen Eighty-Four, George Orwell
9. The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, CS Lewis
10. Jane Eyre, Charlotte Brontë
11. Catch-22, Joseph Heller
12. Wuthering Heights, Emily Brontë
13. Birdsong, Sebastian Faulks
14. Rebecca, Daphne du Maurier
15. The Catcher in the Rye, JD Salinger
16. The Wind in the Willows, Kenneth Grahame
17. Great Expectations, Charles Dickens
18. Little Women, Louisa May Alcott
19. Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernieres
20. War and Peace, Leo Tolstoy
21. Gone with the Wind, Margaret Mitchell
22. Harry Potter And The Philosopher's Stone, JK Rowling
23. Harry Potter And The Chamber Of Secrets, JK Rowling
24. Harry Potter And The Prisoner Of Azkaban, JK Rowling
25. The Hobbit, JRR Tolkien
26. Tess Of The D'Urbervilles, Thomas Hardy
27. Middlemarch, George Eliot
28. A Prayer For Owen Meany, John Irving
29. The Grapes Of Wrath, John Steinbeck
30. Alice's Adventures In Wonderland, Lewis Carroll
31. The Story Of Tracy Beaker, Jacqueline Wilson
32. One Hundred Years Of Solitude, Gabriel García Márquez
33. The Pillars Of The Earth, Ken Follett
34. David Copperfield, Charles Dickens
35. Charlie And The Chocolate Factory, Roald Dahl
36. Treasure Island, Robert Louis Stevenson
37. A Town Like Alice, Nevil Shute
38. Persuasion, Jane Austen
39. Dune, Frank Herbert
40. Emma, Jane Austen
41. Anne Of Green Gables, LM Montgomery
42. Watership Down, Richard Adams
43. The Great Gatsby, F Scott Fitzgerald
44. The Count Of Monte Cristo, Alexandre Dumas
45. Brideshead Revisited, Evelyn Waugh
46. Animal Farm, George Orwell
47. A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens
48. Far From The Madding Crowd, Thomas Hardy
49. Goodnight Mister Tom, Michelle Magorian
50. The Shell Seekers, Rosamunde Pilcher
51. The Secret Garden, Frances Hodgson Burnett
52. Of Mice And Men, John Steinbeck
53. The Stand, Stephen King
54. Anna Karenina, Leo Tolstoy
55. A Suitable Boy, Vikram Seth
56. The BFG, Roald Dahl
57. Swallows And Amazons, Arthur Ransome
58. Black Beauty, Anna Sewell
59. Artemis Fowl, Eoin Colfer
60. Crime And Punishment, Fyodor Dostoyevsky
61. Noughts And Crosses, Malorie Blackman
62. Memoirs Of A Geisha, Arthur Golden
63. A Tale Of Two Cities, Charles Dickens
64. The Thorn Birds, Colleen McCollough
65. Mort, Terry Pratchett
66. The Magic Faraway Tree, Enid Blyton
67. The Magus, John Fowles
68. Good Omens, Terry Pratchett and Neil Gaiman
69. Guards! Guards!, Terry Pratchett
70. Lord Of The Flies, William Golding
71. Perfume, Patrick Süskind
72. The Ragged Trousered Philanthropists, Robert Tressell
73. Night Watch, Terry Pratchett
74. Matilda, Roald Dahl
75. Bridget Jones's Diary, Helen Fielding
76. The Secret History, Donna Tartt
77. The Woman In White, Wilkie Collins
78. Ulysses, James Joyce
79. Bleak House, Charles Dickens
80. Double Act, Jacqueline Wilson
81. The Twits, Roald Dahl
82. I Capture The Castle, Dodie Smith
83. Holes, Louis Sachar
84. Gormenghast, Mervyn Peake
85. The God Of Small Things, Arundhati Roy
86. Vicky Angel, Jacqueline Wilson
87. Brave New World, Aldous Huxley
88. Cold Comfort Farm, Stella Gibbons
89. Magician, Raymond E Feist
90. On The Road, Jack Kerouac
91. The Godfather, Mario Puzo
92. The Clan Of The Cave Bear, Jean M Auel
93. The Colour Of Magic, Terry Pratchett
94. The Alchemist, Paulo Coelho
95. Katherine, Anya Seton
96. Kane And Abel, Jeffrey Archer
97. Love In The Time Of Cholera, Gabriel García Márquez
98. Girls In Love, Jacqueline Wilson
99. The Princess Diaries, Meg Cabot
100. Midnight's Children, Salman Rushdie

Singapore Fling

2009-04-04T18:47:00.002+01:00

I hope those of you who came to our relaunch party last week had fun: we certainly did thanks to the readers who very generously gave up their evenings to perform, and the crowd who went so generously mad for prizes that included a genuine Silver Jubilee paintset, and some tomato seeds. I was gratified to see at one point, from my squinting vista on the stage, that people were crammed almost down the stairs, so thank you to everyone who made the effort to come down, we really appreciate your support (and we hope you like the swanky new format of the magazine).

Still reeling from the Betsey Trotwood's excellent Montepulciano d'Abruzzo, I flew off to Singapore on Saturday morning, and finally managed to get into the copy of Revolutionary Road that I bought on impulse after seeing the queue for cinema tickets one Orange Wednesday - the thought of standing for 15 minutes with nothing to read was just too much, frankly. I've been flying quite a lot recently (which I know is wrong, but now is really not the time to be quitting one's job in the name of nobility), and the Kate/Leo film seems to be on with every airline, but of course I had to steer clear for fear of spoiling the book (luckily Singapore Air had a great selection of Bollywood hits to keep me entertained). It really is very good, so far: brilliantly observed and perceptive about the sad little minutiae of a life, atmospheric, almost better than the Updike I've just finished. One night in the tropics, we were discussing how films are so often far less than the books they are based upon - the only examples we could come up with of occasions where the films were possibly superior were A Clockwork Orange and The Shawshank Redemption. Obviously I don't know yet whether the Titanic couple have pulled it off this time - but if anyone can offer any further examples of great films from so-so books, let me know.

Pen Pusher 12 in Published Excitement!

2009-03-24T19:32:00.004Z

I've just received a couple of pictures of the new issue from Anna, which has made me quite excited about the relaunch party on Thursday evening - it looks brilliant (as you can see for yourself), and I can assure you that it reads even better. The party should be good fun; we've a plethora of readers, from the usual (but no less dear) suspects such as self-styled Cockney Hellraiser Tim Wells (of Rising fame) to songwriter poet John Hegley and TS Eliot-prize winning poet Hugo Williams, plus a Generation Game-type quiz (in terms of the prizes at least, and if you can equate a jar of pickled eggs with a brand new dishwasher) and the editorial team merrily exposing their awkward inarticulacy at every turn. If we could twitter our bits, trust us, we would. Anyway, details here, all welcome, (free!) copies of the new issue will be available:

From 7pm on Thursday 26th March 2009

Where:
Upstairs at the Betsey Trotwood
56 Farringdon Road
London EC1R 3BL
(for map please click here)

Who:
Readings from Hugo Williams, John Hegley, Helen Mort, Joe Dunthorne, Heather Phillipson, Jeremy Worman, Tim Wells, & Kate Kilalea + Mistah Brown will be playing great tunes until 1am.

Rash mass purchasing

2009-02-20T23:01:00.000Z

Off to Bulgaria tomorrow – and my old friend the Guardian Review hasn’t disappointed on the reading matter front. Just last Saturday, by some miracle of serendipity, it featured a review of a memoir of the country by one of its children. Street Without a Name, by Kapka Kassabova, fits the bill perfectly: not too political, but blessedly lacking a ridiculous conceit (see Round Ireland with Fridge, and all its bastard offspring). So excited was I to order it in time to read on the plane, that I threw all caution to the wind and slipped in another book reviewed on the same page, The Perfect Waiter. It’s very rare that I purchase a brand new book for myself (thanks to the mounting pile of jumble sale/charity shop purchases in the spare room) so this is a special treat, smacking slightly of decadence. I’ll let you know how it pans out. (Updike is my back-up choice, by the way. Arnold Bennett took longer than I imagined.)

Unqualified Obituary

2009-01-28T11:21:00.005Z

Somehow, now John Updike is dead, I feel a compulsion to read him. The obituaries just make his work sound so damn good, in a way that the books themselves never have – I once seriously considered him for some light vacation reading at university and rejected the Rabbit novels in favour of the entire works of Iris Murdoch (at the time, recently deceased herself), and picked up one of his books at a village fete a couple of years ago, knowing, as someone interested in the idea of the Great American Novel, I ought to at least give him a go, but the blurbs never really grabbed me.

The Guardian makes him sound just my sort of thing though (sprawling suburban dramas, forensic examination of the minutiae of human existence – although saying that, one of the few novels I have ever given up on was AM Holmes’ Music for Torching, which I just couldn’t for the life of me engage with) so once I’ve dispatched my current reading (the tail end of Vikram Seth’s excellent Two Lives, which had been languishing on the shelf for at least a year before I picked it up, nearish Updike actually, and Arnold Bennett’s Anna of the Five Towns) I shall jump on the Updike bandwagon and qualify myself to offer a – belated – judgement of my own. The BBC London report on Sadie Jones’ Costa First Book award-winning The Outcast made it sound rather good too, so I’ve got my work cut out for me it seems.

A literary breakfast

2008-10-17T11:04:00.002+01:00

A couple of months ago, I discovered Arnold Bennett through a brilliant audiobook of the Old Wives’ Tale (see below). I loved his sharp ear for dialogue, his eye for the smallest detail – and the characters, well, I still think of them occasionally now. His talent for spinning an utterly absorbing narrative from commonplace events knocked my uber-critical socks off. So when I was taken out to breakfast at the Wolseley on Piccadilly yesterday by a PR, and saw Omelette Arnold Bennett on the menu, I felt it only right to pay homage.

The story behind the name is as delicious as the dish itself. The author wrote his last novel, Imperial Palace, while resident at the Savoy (on which the hotel in the book is based) and during his stay, the kitchen became so proficient at producing his breakfast of choice that they put it on the menu under his name. The Savoy itself is currently closed for refurbishment, but I have subsequently read that the Wolseley’s version is reckoned to even surpass theirs, so I’m pleased to have ordered it. However, I struggle to believe that the novelist can have eaten much else but the omelettes if the existing photos are to be believed. He looks almost cadaverous, whereas his creation left me feeling slightly sick until early evening.

The Omelette Arnold Bennett is so extremely rich it comes in a dish, rather than on a plate. Basically, it’s a smoked haddock omelette smothered (and here the word is appropriate) in a rich cream and cheese sauce and briefly gratinated. Even I had to leave some of the sauce (I suspected was a whiff of truffle in there somewhere too, but I can’t confirm that, so perhaps I was just being paranoid). I might try making one myself, and going a bit easy on the cheese aspect, but then again, I might just go back to his books. They definitely didn’t make me feel queasy.

Prezza Lacks Punch

2008-09-03T19:55:00.003+01:00

Today I received a singularly useless, but quietly intriguing press release. Travelodge has published a list of the top 10 most commonly abandoned books in its hotel rooms this year, and top of the list is our former deputy prime minister's elegantly titled memoir, "Prezza: Pulling No Punches". Not a big surprise that: I imaging most readers, after flicking frantically through for mention of that infamous punch, as well as the grisly details of the passionate affair, will have tossed the book aside like a greasy bone in the aftermath of a spare-rib binge, but I do think it unfair that he beat Russell Brand's nauseating "My Booky Wook" - at least Prescott has a long, and interesting career to ramble about. Many of the books included hold a similar lack of long-term charm for me: I can only imagine books like Piers Morgan's autobiography or Ben Elton's :"Blind Faith" were heavily hyped beyond their probable worth, and some people simply gave up with them. Ian McEwan's "On Chesil Beach" came in at number nine, which did puzzle me though - given it is so short, I can only assume that readers finished it in one sitting, as I did, and found themselves so depressed by the experience that they couldn't muster the heart to take the book with them.

I don't think I have never knowingly abandoned a book: my equivalent is sending them to charity shops, which, despite the fact I know in my heart of hearts that it would be better, and greener, for them to be recycled in this way, rather than gathering dust in the over-crowded guest room, happens very seldom. Occasionally I do a purge of the shelves to make room for new acquisitions, and recent disappearances have included a novel by Eddie Izzard that a kind friend brought me as a present (couldn't fancy it), a luridly coloured Tracy Cox sex manual that was also a (hilarious) present from friends during my teenage years (and which I regret to say I think I took to the church book stall absentmindedly. Sorry Father) and "The Time Traveller's Wife" which, despite the alluring title (if I could have one wish, it would be time travel) proved impossible for me to get into. Are all keen readers such inveterate hoarders, or do the rest of you smugly post every finished book on bookcrossing for others to enjoy, and set off to Oxfam in search of the next occupant of your bedside table?

Two new discoveries

2008-08-13T17:58:00.003+01:00

You'd think there might be more than two in three months, but there we are.

Number one: "The Old Wives' Tale", by Arnold Bennett, available for free on librivox.org. I enjoyed the first book I downloaded from this site ("North and South"), but this is even better, given it seems, so far, to be read by just one person, and a very accomplished reader at that, one Andy Minter. I have just googled him, wondering whether he might be a resting actor or similar, and discovered that, according to his website, he is actually a retired gentleman from Hertfordshire whose other interests include vintage cars and his garden. Anyway, he is excellent: measured, warm and with an astonishing array of convincing accents at his disposal, from ageing French courtesan to Staffordshire labourer. If you haven't yet discovered the joy of free audiobook downloads, this is a great one to start with.

Number two: Bookthrift in South Kensington. I went in to drop off some of our magazines on the recommendation of one of this issue's contributors, Jenny Kingsley, and ended up spending £40 on two bags of books from a history of Austerity Britain to the Leiths Baking Bible and Simon Gray's The Smoking Diaries, all significantly reduced - and I got 45 minutes of browsing for free. There's a particularly good selection of art and history, and I heard the staff tell one customer they didn't have a sport section, which makes me like it even more.

Calling all non-doms

2008-05-20T14:26:00.005+01:00

Well, first of all, thanks to everyone who has chipped in so far in our new Sponsor a Page campaign: we only launched it on Friday last, and we’re already covered for more than 11,000 pages of the next issue (only another 51,400 to go!), so we’re rather pleased about that (who knows, maybe we’ll even be able to eat this month). If you’ve somehow managed to avoid our begging letters, there’s more information here: www.penpushermagazine.co.uk/donate

We’re hoping for some media coverage to attract the attention of any billionaires looking to indulge themselves with a little literary philanthropy (well, you never know), but the lovely folks at The Guardian have beat us to it:

“Palmer's jibe about the economic expediencies of book production - literally cutting corners with one book to make the pages of another - is something that still rings true even in the age of the blogosphere. Ask the plucky folk at Pen Pusher magazine. Running a literary journal has always been a bit of a bouquet of barbed wire. But continually turning out a free print version of a literary journal today - ouch! Having established the magazine as a home for "those of you who are interested in words, writing, writers' lives, literary history, philosophy and the odd bit of silliness" in 2006, the financial reality of producing a free magazine of this ilk is beginning to bite. Turned down for an Arts Council grant because of "insufficient priority" (if someone - anyone - can decipher Arts Council speak for me, I will eat my blog), Pen Pusher's editors have gone back to the page. Literally. Rather than whingeing on about the unfairness of it all, Pen Pusher is hoping to raise enough to continue publishing by asking supporters to sponsor a page at tuppence a go. Having done the maths it looks like a feasible option - each edition has a print-run totalling 62,400 pages which adds up to £1,248 in total. Let's face it, there are a lot of two pence pieces in the world and there are far worst ways to spend a penny.”

Let’s hope JK Rowling’s reading …

Audiobooks for cheapskates

2008-03-25T14:37:00.004Z

Long time no write I know, but this is worth the wait. A couple of months ago (in fact, round about the same time I last updated this blog, come to think of it) I finally got round to investigating the availability of audiobooks to brighten my trudge to work, and my slightly sprightlier trudge on the treadmill at the gym, and the slightly mesmeric activity of kneading dough on the rare occasions that I actually bother to make bread, which always seem to coincide with an Archers omnibus. Much to my delight, I found the whole of Vanity Fair on iTunes for free, thanks to the University of South Florida, and despite the (at first irritating) mispronunciations of various places and names (Berkeley Square is perhaps understandable, but I only realised that the enticing sounding “Voss Hall” that Becky and Amelia visit was actually Vauxhall when I was moved to research it, and as for the cla-RAY that Jose is so fond of swigging … but I digress. It is free, and I am grateful) it has entertained me for many long weeks and runs. However, although I have tried to ration myself, the grains of sand are running out for my friends in Russell Square, and so I eagerly logged on to iTunes to find out what else USF had to offer me. Sadly, mostly American classics, it turns out, which I already ploughed through during my US Literature paper. I despaired. I denied myself updates on the situation of the lovely Amelia, I pondered whether I could afford £30 for a reading of War and Peace. And finally I did a Google search for free audiobooks. Praise be, I discovered LibriVox (mission statement: “To make all books in the public domain available, for free, in audio format on the internet.” ) They have a VAST, and increasing number of out of copyright titles available to download, completely free of charge, so I’ve got the first three chapters of Mrs Gaskell’s North and South to look forward to. If I remember, I might even let you know how I get on. And they’re always looking for volunteer readers (all you need is a recordable MP3 player), so if you fancy yourself a bard …

Party ON!

2008-01-28T20:18:00.000Z

If you didn't make it through the flimsy portals of the Pen Pusher Caravan on Thursday evening, the photos are now up on our website for your sniggering delight. From novelists to luminaries of the food and drink world, students to equity traders, we all had a jolly good time (well, at least I think we did. It must have been the unusual lack of posh yet melancholy gin, ditched in favour of common as muck beer, much to Hape's distress). Thanks to all for coming ... and let us know your thoughts on PP8's striking new look and even more striking content.

My Old Man, Said Follow the Van ...

2008-01-22T22:56:00.000Z

Cor blimey guv'nor - it's issue eight! Come and join us at the caravan at Barrio North on the Essex Road, N1 to celebrate, Thursday, 24th January from 7pm, or pick up an issue next week and delve deep into the intimate memoirs of saucy Anaïs Nin, find out what John Hegley's favourite jam is, and make a bit of noise about the London Library.

A Happy New Year From Pen Pusher

2008-01-02T19:53:00.000Z

So - what will 2008 (our third year!) bring? Well, the new issue is currently with our selfless and excellent sub, the lovely Helen, so that should be with us before the month is out, if the printers smile upon us. We're applying to the Arts Council for a little hard cash to help develop the website (our dream includes resources for budding writers, forums where people can discuss their work and that of others, and bags more stories, poems and features) and to fund professional distribution, so we can become a Proper Magazine. Plus we hope to pop up at a few more literary festivals (and you never know, I might even make one this year if you're bored of Hape and Anna's sweet faces).

In other news, I had a bumper crop of Mass Observation-related books for Christmas. Nella Last's diary (that which Victoria Wood based her dramatisation on), "Betty's Wartime Diary" and, most excitingly, an original 1939 Penguin publication from the Mass Observers (which advertises the forthcoming "Why Hitler is Dangerous" in the flyleaf). Bliss. Plus "The Inheritance of Loss", as reviewed in Pen Pusher, which I am already racing through. AND I found "On Chesil Beach" at half price while taking Alistair Campbell's Diaries back (my pa already had them), and Kerry Katona's memoirs for 25p on the bookshelf at the back of the church, so I'm thrifty too.

No, you're not dreaming, this is a new post

2007-12-02T15:40:00.000Z

By popular demand, at least from within the Pen Pusher camp, the blog is back. Illness, overwork (did you know that 147 cases of death by overwork were recorded in Japan last year?) and sheer idleness (people can die from that too) have all contributed to its long absence, so enjoy it while you can - you never know when this deadly combination might strike again.

This week I have been thinking a lot about Christmas Books, it finally being Advent, a time to take stock of one' s life, perform acts of penitence and indulge in an orgy of panicky consumerism and binge drinking in preparation for the Christmas feast. The Guardian has published its annual collection of titles recommended by literary celebrities - Jonathan Franzen suggests The Peanuts Treasury, Antonia Fraser the memoirs of the Duke de Saint Simon, Seamus Heaney PV Glob's The Bog People, all pleasingly esoteric choices, none of which will appeal to any of the people I need to find presents for. From these to suggestions like "Dad will love John Grisham's new one!!!" (my family refuses to fit many of the holes necessary to render the less personalised buyer's guides useful - no one ever seems to say "Dad will love this book on Provencale rock fish cookery!!!"), I'm mildly at my wits end contemplating a trip to Foyles to rake through the shelves of things that aren't on promotion in the hope of finding the perfect book. Last year I bought everything secondhand at the book market on the South Bank, which meant that some people were shoehorned into their gifts, but which left me enough money to make them all some sloe gin to accompany their new dog-eared paperbacks. This year, I'm holding out for a couple of spare hours in an empty bookshop, albeit one that is neither overheated nor replacing its usual stock with 10,000 novelty "gift" books with vaguely rude titles.

That's another thing - who on earth invented the gift book? If you wouldn't buy something for yourself, why inflict it on someone else? I would quite happily shell out for some examples, like the ever dependable Schott's Almanac, which is the best thing to hit the bathroom since the flushing water closet, enabling you to come back to the dinner table armed with an array of fascinating facts guaranteed to kill all other conversation deader than the roast turkey, but can a guide for "naughty girls" by Tara Palmer Tompkinson really do anything but prompt the recipient to sell all their worldly goods and run away to join Medicins Sans Frontieres' work wherever neither you or Tara are sure to find them? Lazy publishing, lazy present buying. Perfect for me then ...

PP Seven Launch Party

2007-10-03T20:49:00.000+01:00

A new season has swept into town, and that can only mean one thing: a brand new issue of Pen Pusher. In deference to the weather, Number Seven is a bumper fiction and poetry extravaganza: just the thing to curl up with in front of the electric two-bar, and to celebrate, we're having a bowling party! Only joking, actually we're having a party at a pub called The Bowler in Bowling Green Lane: white slacks optional. So if the inclement conditions have knocked you for six, come and join us from 7pm on Thursday, 18th October for fizz, nibbles and erudite chit-chat.

The Bowler
32 Bowling Green Lane (just off the Farringdon Road)
London EC1R 0BJ

Nearest tubes: Farringdon 5 mins
Angel 10 mins
Chancery Lane 15 mins

Small Wonder

2007-09-17T13:56:00.000+01:00

Apologies for our absence from what is, I believe, occasionally known somewhat mystifyingly as "the blogosphere" - that is, if any of you have missed us (sob). We have been collectively busy wading through the inundation of submissions for the next issue (out mid-October), and variously feeling the love in Ibiza, getting cross in Kos, and fishing for mackerel off Lyme Regis. Still, the leaves are dropping like flies (although the flies still seems to be around and biting my ankles of an evening), and it is time to settle back and think of things more literary than the airport format paperback. First up, the Small Wonder Short Story Festival in East Sussex this week - 19th to the 23rd September. William Trevor called last year's the best literary festival he's ever been to, and 2007's programme includes everything from practical workshops with the likes of Esther Freud and the Open University, readings from Fay Weldon, Monica Ali and Colm Tóibín, talks and discussions (one of which is going to be recorded for PP favourite Radio 4) and the National Short Story Prize award (I think). Anway, it all looks terrific fun - we're going to be there on Saturday (well, I'm not, but the other two, more diligent, are, for which I am quite jealous) so come down and say hello if you're tempted by an away-day in Lewes ...

Just call me Terry [Eagleton, that is]

2007-08-06T14:40:00.000+01:00

Somehow, this blog has so far resisted all mention of the awesome power that is The Book of the Face. Now I’m not going to wax lyrical about its potential for pleasurable light stalking, or forming groups to chat about the various merits of different sorts of biscuits or the turgid prose of JK Rowling – but it does have an intriguing little feature amongst all the useless add-ons that clutter up the screen (build your own aquarium, throw a sheep at someone, that sort of rubbish): a personal book review function. So people logging on to my page to covertly smirk at photographs of me on the beach can also find out that I’ve just powered through 'Le Grand Meaulnes' and am currently easing myself into my very first Margaret Drabble. It forces you to give books a mark out of five, which leaves me giving everything a judicious three (except Naipaul’s 'A Turn in the South', which merited four), and leaves you sounding a wee bit pompous, admittedly, but basically it’s a great way to show off how clever you are to all and sundry. Well, serves them right for looking, doesn’t it?

Sunday Sunday Here Again ...

2007-07-27T11:51:00.000+01:00

The weather’s looking predictably bletcherous on Sunday so, if you’re tired of endless re-runs of Grand Designs on E4, why not get down with the cool kids and come and see us at the Publish And Be Damned annual fair in Shoreditch? Last year’s event (our very first) was a jolly affair, stuffed full of bijou little publications from around the country, from wordy affairs like our own fair mag to huge arty creations overflowing with etchings of crows and the like; very sociable and a great place to pick up a piece of the new David Shrigley … as well as make us look even more popular (and pick up a copy of issue six, if you haven’t already got one). For more details, check out www.publishandbedamned.org.uk …

On the trail of Mr Holmes

2007-07-15T20:14:00.000+01:00

Having finally finished VS Naipaul's excellent A Turn in the South, last week I allowed myself a little light relief in the form of a Sherlock Holmes box set I purchased at some absurd knock-down price at WH Smith in Edinburgh last Christmas while the rest of my family were busy trying to exchange their presents. After taking a couple of months to finish VS, as the state of the paperback will testify (my handbag is a dangerous place), I zipped through two in as many days: A Study in Scarlet and The Sign of Four. Their modest size made them ideal fodder for a trip on the number 19 at rush hour, although, not having read a detective novel for some time, I kept rushing ahead through important chunks of Holmesian logic and missing details entirely.

Gulping down two in succession reminded me of something I noticed during my degree: if one overdoses on any writer, however skilfull, instead of reading their work at decent intervals, as it was published, then one starts to pick up on little literary tics and repeated devices which, although perfectly innocuous on their own, begin to become a bit of a bore en masse. Obviously Conan Dolyle wished to remind his readers afresh each time of Holmes' amazing powers of logical deduction, and found it convenient to employ Watson as a Doubting Thomas figure in this regard, but reading about this testing process even twice spoiled my enjoyment of it a little. So I shall give CD a break for a month or so for fairness' sake, despite wishing to plunge in anew tomorrow morning.

The Self-Styled Water Poet

2007-07-02T13:24:00.000+01:00

The next Pen Pusher party, to mark the launch of the auspicious issue six, is at a public house called The Water Poet, in Spitalfields. Basically, we were seduced by the name (and a certain someone's claim that it was, as a rule, "full of brasses" - and not of the horsey sort neither), but in my never-ending quest for knowledge, and a desire to entice people in with literary trivia, I decided to find out more about this fella.

According to my old mucker Wikipedia, John Taylor (1578-1653) was, by profession, a Thames waterman, meaning that he ferried people across the river in the days before the Millenium bridge. In his spare time, and perhaps during many hours gazing out upon the murky waves, he wrote verse, often by subscription, a method which is wonderfully at odds with the modern idea of the artist as independent from the commercial world - he'd propose an idea, and if he gathered enough advance subscriptions, he'd write it. His work seems to have mainly dwelt upon Watermen's Issues, like their dispute with the theatres when they all moved across to the north bank in 1612, depriving the ferrymen of traffic (I can't remember why they relocated - anyone?), but he also produced the wonderful sounding 'The Pennylesse Pilgrimage; or, the Moneylesse Perambulation of John Taylor, alias the Kings Magesties Water-Poet; How He TRAVAILED on Foot from London to Edenborough in Scotland, Not Carrying any Money To or Fro, Neither Begging, Borrowing, or Asking Meate, Drinke, or Lodging' in 1618, for which he had over sixteen hundred subscribers.

I leave you with this piece. The title, I think, is self-explanatory - Thos Parr is alleged to have lived to the ripe old age of 152. According my in-depth research, the old goat attributed his longevity to a vegetarian diet, and an affair to celebrate his centenary, which produced an illegitimate kid.

The Olde, Olde, very Olde Man; or The Age and Long Life of Thomas Parr

Good wholesome labour was his exercise,
Down with the lamb, and with the lark would rise:
In mire and toiling sweat he spent the day,
And to his team he whistled time away:
The cock his night-clock, and till day was done,
His watch and chief sun-dial was the sun.
He was of old Pythagoras' opinion,
That green cheese was most wholesome with an onion;
Coarse meslin bread, and for his daily swig,
Milk, butter-milk, and water, whey and whig:
Sometimes metheglin, and by fortune happy,
He sometimes sipped a cup of ale most nappy,
Cycler or perry, when he did repair
T' Whitson ale, wake, wedding, or a fair;
Or when in Christmas-time he was a guest
At his good landlord's house amongst the rest:
Else he had little leisure-time to waste,
Or at the ale-house huff-cap ale to taste;
His physic was good butter, which the soil
Of Salop yields, more sweet than candy oil;
And garlick he esteemed above the rate
Of Venice treacle, or best mithridate.
He entertained no gout, no ache he felt,
The air was good and temperate where he dwelt;
While mavisses and sweet-tongued nightingales
Did chant him roundelays and madrigals.
Thus living within bounds of nature's laws,
Of his long-lasting life may be some cause.

Sundowners in Hongkers

2007-06-22T11:39:00.000+01:00

While you've all been enjoying your footloose and fancy free weeks at work (some of you must work, right?) I have been polishing that lustrous pearl in the feathered cap of the Orient, Hong Kong in the hope that it may reveal to me wonderous tales of the Mystic East suitable for blogging. In almost absurd humidity too. You can all buy me an appropriately glamorous cocktail at the next PP party to thank me if you wish (although I do only drink those topped with nitrogen foam now).

HK is not what I would describe as a literary city. Bookshops are relatively rare (it seems entirely probable there may be more Louis Vuitton stores than bookshops) and the only ones I've seen people reading are in comic form (not to say these aren't Literature, but it shows a certain narrowness of taste). I asked my old friend A, who works for the South China Morning Post out here, and entertained me every week for three years with his essays on fellatio metaphors in the Pearl poet and so on back in our heady student days, about the "literary scene" (forgive me, I had knocked back a fair few Sidecars by this point, it being Ladies Night). "Simple" he replied. "There isn't one." In fact, he seemed quite concerned that the lack of a cultural scene would ultimately prevent Hong Kong from ever being the world city the government boasts it already is. A city cannot live by finance alone. He did, however, mention a trend amongst HK authors for identity-crisis fiction ("am I Chinese, am I American ... or am I just a Hong Konger?" type of thing), and recommended a writer named Xu Xi, who I hope to hunt down at some point.

This afternoon, still reeling from this revelation (and perhaps Ladies Night), I popped into Dymocks, a chain of English language bookshops, and, along with Jan Morris's excellent book on the handover, purchased a book of letters from Hong Kong spanning the ten years before it returned to Chinese hands, "Watching the Flag Come Down" by a former expat and women's historian and activist, and "Being Eurasian: Memories Across Racial Divides", which looks absolutely fascinating, and far less dryly academic than the title suggests. And a card with pugs on for good measure.

Fame at last. In Hungary.

2007-06-15T14:03:00.000+01:00

Lovely young author, bon viveur and general friend of PP, Iain Hollingshead (long term readers may recall we interviewed him way back in issue two to mark the publication of his debut novel, 'Twentysomething'. More fickle visitors can read the piece here) has been in contact to inform us that our razor-sharp brand of literary criticism has gone GLOBAL. 'Twentysomething' has just been translated in Hungarian, and, on its lurid jacket, 'Douazeci si ceva' features a quote from your very own favourite pundits, sandwiched between the thoughts of the Evening Standard and The Bookseller. 'Cartea asta e atat de buna, incat iti vine sa-ti dai palme ca nu te-ai gandit tu primul s-o scrii' we trumpet, whatever that means. (www.humanitas.ro)

Elsewhere, another friend of the mag, the delightful Helen, has been busy with a super-duper modern publication of her own, the Champagne Socialist. She writes:

Champagnesocialist.co.uk has just been updated with a selection of COMPLETELY TRUE FACTS. However, it needs your help to become even better. I'm looking for articles/short fiction of 1,000 - 2,000 words and reviews of 600 words to beef it up.

Have you written anything you'd like recorded on the internet? Had an idea that's too controversial/trifling for a 'proper' publication? Then look no further than Champagne Socialist. All the news that fits, we print!

Check the site out - it's ace.

I'm still reeling ...

2007-06-08T12:26:00.000+01:00

... from the experience of hearing my name on Radio 4 last night. Anna did us proud with a remarkably collected, articulate explanation (I would surely have descended into high pitched giggles) of why exactly we've started a print journal in an increasingly electronic world, and why we think the world needs more people like us (or, perhaps, why the world needs more people willing to sponsor and support us). I'll try and get a transcript up at some point, but in the meantime, here's the link:

http://www.bbc.co.uk/radio4/arts/frontrow

Click on Thursday's programme, and fast forward to 22.24 minutes in, unless you're interested in Keith Allen and the Royal Festival Hall (which you might quite reasonably be). I don't think it will be up for long though, so hurry!