PUBLISHING:Reading a book by a debut or otherwise unknown author can be like taking part in a blind wine-tasting: you might love what you try – or be glad to be able to spit it out, writes ARMINTA WALLACE
THERE SEEM TO BE two opposing impulses in the human psyche: the lure of the unknown and the fear of the unknown. When it comes to debut novels the latter often wins out over the former – making us reluctant to pick up such books at all, let alone fork out the full hardback price for an encounter with a writer whose name is unfamiliar. Hence our tendency to wait for the judges of such awards as the Costa, or the Guardianfirst-book prize, to read for us and narrow the selection down to shortlists and near-misses.
For anyone who’s still in love with the book as artefact, however – and there are plenty of us about – there’s little to compare with the experience of opening a novel by a first-time writer and launching right in. It’s like stepping from a train into a town you’ve never visited before. Or doing a blind wine-tasting. You might love it. On the other hand, you might be glad to be able to spit it out.
In the spirit of the blind wine-taster I pulled three proof copies from the cupboard at the books department and got stuck into the first 20 pages of each. The first, ML Stedman's The Light Between Oceans,will be published by Doubleday in April. The author is an international consultant on business writing.
The book begins in 1926 on a remote island off Western Australia, where a lighthouse- keeper and his wife find a baby girl washed up in a dinghy, accompanied by the body of a man. The style is simple, the setting immediately vivid and the moral tension ratcheted up by the discovery that the lighthouse-keeper’s wife has lost a child of her own and is desperate for a baby. Read on, read on, whispers a voice in my head – but it’s time to pick up the next volume.
The cover of Narcopolis, by Jeet Thayil – published by Faber and Faber next month – makes me want to put it promptly down again. Purple, pink and turquoise, with a Buddhism-meets-hippy feel and a retro typeface, it gives me the heebie-jeebies for some reason. The seven-page, single-sentence, drug-soaked prologue isn't an easy read – but things pick up considerably with the introduction of Dimple (or Zeenat), a prostitute in 1970s Bombay who reads everything from Catholic theology for non-Christians to a true-crime magazine called Sex Detective.
Thayil is a performance poet, songwriter and guitarist, so he’ll presumably be well able to manage this feverish, multistranded narrative. Whether he’ll be able to bring me with him is another matter – though the title of the second chapter, “Rumi On Pimps”, has me sneakily turning on to page 22 and beyond.
For the moment, though, it's on to debut novel number three. Tell the Wolves I'm Home, by Carol Rifka Brunt, who was born in New York but lives in the UK, is published by Pan Macmillan in June. The cover, a green-and-black depiction of a city skyline – New York's? – floating above a forest in which two female figures are seated, is emblazoned with the confident declaration that this book will be "the word-of-mouth bestseller of 2012".
It is, according to its own blurbs, “a strong prize contender and the perfect reading group book”. An odd combination, to say the least. But one thing becomes clear on page one. It isn’t about wolves. After a tiny twinge of disappointment – I’d read anything about wolves – the opening sentence works its magic. “My sister, Greta, and I were having our portrait painted by our uncle Finn that afternoon because he knew he was dying.”
The much-loved uncle – a fan of Mozart and movies as well as a successful painter – it emerges, has Aids. His sister, the mother of the girls in the portrait, doesn’t approve of the portrait-before-he-dies idea. It’s a bit macabre – and anyway, it’s too far to drive her daughters from Westchester into Manhattan for the sittings.
She crossed her arms over her chest, looked right into Finn’s bird-blue eyes, and told him it was just hard to find the time these days.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
That’s what broke her.
That’s what got me hooked – and I’m not alone. Printed inside the front cover is a letter from Jenny Geras, the editorial director of fiction at Pan Macmillan. She was, she reports, pretty sure she wanted to publish this book by the time she’d reached the end of that same first paragraph. “The narrator June has the most wonderful voice,” Geras explains, “simultaneously innocent and wise, and her story about finding hope and making sense of her life after the loss of a loved one is a story that so many readers will relate to.”
Well, let’s hope so. Publishers, after all, have to take a guess at what readers will relate to, and they often get it wrong. And besides, it’s unfair – even ridiculous – to judge a book by its first paragraph, or even its first 20 pages. By the final 20 pages of my chosen three novels, my initial impression could well be reversed.
Not only that, but having chosen these three at random, would I have been better off with another three altogether? Noughties, perhaps, by Ben Masters (Hamish Hamilton, next month), whose protagonist goes on the razzle for his last night at college? Or Austin Ratner's The Jump Artist(Viking, July), about a real-life photographer, Philippe Halsman, who was convicted of murder? Or You Came Back, by Christopher Coake (Viking, June), the tale of a house haunted by the ghost of the central character's son?
In the end it's not the subject matter of a novel that matters. It's the way it's written; and no amount of prepublicity can prejudge the reader's reaction to that. Even the eminent judges of competitions such as the Costa or the Guardianfirst-book award have to open the book at page one and set off on that voyage of exploration. Every single time. So why not trust your lure-of-the-unknown instincts, pick up a book by a writer you've never heard of and give it a go? You might hate it. On the other hand, you just might bag yourself a gem.
Luke Williams
Author of The Echo Chamber,just published in paperback by Penguin Books, £7.99
The Echo Chamberis the story of Evie Steppman, who was born two months late – but with an extraordinary ability to hear things. It moves from Nigeria in the 1950s to the US two decades later and, finally, to Scotland. The author grew up in Fife and now divides his time between Edinburgh and London. The book won the Saltire Society's Scottish First Book of the Year award in November.
Luke, what made you choose this story?
When I was a kid I had the idea – probably because no one paid me any attention – that I had this secret power. So I went around, not spying, but aurally spying on people. I’m interested in the distinction between the written word and oral storytelling. To have my protagonist think in terms of sound instantly gave me a big tension in the book; she’s having to write down her story because she’s going deaf.
What kind of research did you do for the book?
I talked to doctors because Evie is born a few months late – and that has happened, although it’s very, very, very unusual. And I listened to the stories done by the Bristol museum’s big oral-history project.
Didn’t you study with WG Sebald at the University of East Anglia? Did he leave a mark on your writing style?
Absolutely. It was the second, and tragically the last, year he taught there. I was incredibly lucky to get him. I remember him saying that there should always be a ghostly presence in fiction. He didn’t explain it too much, but I took it to mean not active spookinesss or the supernatural but more that fiction should have a kind of other-worldly presence in there too. And I really took a lot from that.
Emily Gillmor Murphy
Author of You & I, to be published by Transworld Ireland in June
Emily, you’re 21 and in your final year at University College Dublin. Some young people would argue that the novel form has passed its sell-by date. Would you agree?
No. I’ve always loved reading novels. I was the nerdy kid in the corner when everyone else was watching TV, wrapped up in my Harry Potters and my Northern Lights. There’s nothing better than a hard copy in front of you. I have so many books at home; even in my bathroom there are about 30 books stacked next to my bath.
What made you choose this story?
It’s about people who are just starting in college. It’s a time of life that everyone goes through but isn’t written about that much; you’re not a teenager and you’re not an adult, but you’re thrown into this world where you have to deal with issues that you’re not prepared for. My characters are massively flawed, and when they fall in love they don’t know how to handle it at all. I wanted to write about that and to deal with issues such as mental illness and lack of money and recession and even social classes, which do exist even though we pretend they don’t.
Your book has been described as Cruel Intentionsmeets Prep. How do you feel about labels: young writer, teen fiction, chick lit?
I don’t think my novel really fits into any of those categories. I don’t think any novel does. At the same time, I wouldn’t be insulted to be put in a genre, because all those genres are incredibly successful. So I wouldn’t be too worried. But it has no genre; at least, I hope it doesn’t.
Will you write another novel now?
I’ve already started. It’s about showjumping, which I also know quite well, and, again, I want to reveal what it’s really like. A lot of people think it’s about excess and money and all that, but it’s not: it’s quite poor and grotty.
Eowyn Ivey
Author of The Snow Child, to be published by Headline Review next month, £14.99
The Snow Childis set in 1920s Alaska. Life is tough for Jack and Mabel on their remote farm, but, in a light-hearted moment during the season's first snowfall, they build a child out of snow. The next morning their effigy has vanished – but they catch sight of a blonde figure running through the trees. Inspired by the classic Russian fairy tale of the Snow Maiden, the novel has been chosen as BBC Radio 4's Book at Bedtime for April.
Eowyn, do you really live in Alaska and work in a bookshop called Fireside Books?
Yes, I do. My parents came up here when I was probably three or four years old, so some of the day-to-day aspects of the book are very much based on my own life. We live in a rural area and we try to live a somewhat self-sufficient life. All of that helped form the novel.
Where does your name come from?
My mom was a Tolkien fan, and named me after the character from The Lord of the Rings. In the past people would say, “Oh; is it Irish? Is it Celtic?” And I would just nod my head. Since the movies came out, more and more people recognise it.
What made you choose this story?
I was working on a completely different novel – had been working on it for about five years – and one day I was working in the shop, shelving fairy tales, and came across what was really just a little children’s version of the Snow Maiden story. It really did fire up my imagination. What struck me about it was that it was so much a part of my own landscape. I mean, I love fairy tales – but theyre never set in a place like Alaska. But as I was reading I thought, Oh my gosh, this could happen here.
Have you, as your protagonists do in the book, really eaten black bear and lynx?
Yes. The vast majority of our meat is meat that we hunt ourselves – so I have eaten some very exotic game.
