I see that someone has finally woken up to the lamentable state of editing and proof reading in book publishing nowadays. Time was, and not too long ago, when you would be shocked to find errors of spelling, syntax, grammar and fact in a book from a reputable publisher. Not any more, though - indeed, you're almost surprised when you don't find them.
To give but one out of thousands of examples, recently I read on the back jacket of a novel from an English publisher a commendation from a well known Irish writer which contained two grammatical howlers in the space of five lines. This illiterate blurb, I reflected, was not just written by a much praised novelist but was also scrutinised by the staff of a famous publishing house before being given prominence and permanence in large type.
How does this happen? The reasons are alarming but simple. Most publishers these days are out to make a quick killing, and the more unscrupulous among them don't care if their authors are illiterate or not. Worse, they don't care if their own editing staff are illiterate or not, and thus wouldn't think of investing in editors with genuine expertise and standards - that would take money, which they would much rather spend on packaging and marketing.
The only person who suffers is the reader, but the reader has already been persuaded by the packaging and marketing departments to buy the book, and anyway after a while he or she will surrender to the cynical carelessness of publishers and - will also come to disregard such trifling matters as grammar, syntax and accuracy - or even not to know the difference.
That's a gloomy scenario, but it's inevitable when authors who don't know the basics of writing are being edited by people who don't know them, either. In the mad scramble for the money that can be made from books, both by the writers and by the publishers, a culture of carelessness is being created that insults the reader before it becomes the wearily accepted norm.
So I'm pleased to see that in Britain the Society of Freelance Editors and Proofreaders has set up a Standards in Publishing Forum. The main emphasis is on proper training for copy editors, and perhaps this will have some effect.
It might, if the publishers can be persuaded that it makes commercial sense. Otherwise, we'll continue being foisted with books in which misspellings occur every page, in which grammar is considered too pedantic to be worried about and in which characters can step into a Vauxhall (as they did in Martin Amis's The Information) only to step out a few sentences later from a Ford. Ah, sure, who cares?
IT's a pity that my invitation to the 25th American Ireland Fund Literary Award obviously went astray, because I would certainly like to have been among those honouring this year's recipient, Michael Longley.
This superb Irish poet received his $15,000 award at Wednesday night's reception in Belfield's O'Reilly Hall, and - among those present were Ireland Funds chairman, Dr A.J.F. O'Reilly, the Fund's national president, Loretta Brennan Glucksman, and Shane O'Neill, son of Thomas F. O'Neill of New York and Florida, whose family instituted the award in 1971. "Ireland," Mr O'Neill said at the reception, "has produced more literature per capita than any other country, and my family is proud to help in continuing that tradition."
To celebrate the 25 years, Peter Fallon of Gallery Press has brought out a jubilee book, The Flight Path, which features work from Seamus Heaney, Derek Mahon, John Banville, Eavan Boland, Aidan Higgins and all the other past winners. It's a special edition, however, and is not available in bookshops.
YET while editors obviously need training, I'm not sure if this country needs any more creative writers, and I'm certainly not a believer in creative writing workshops - if you're a real writer, your tutor is yourself; if you're not, nobody should delude you into imagining otherwise.
Still, who am I to puncture your fantasies? And perhaps some mute, ingorious Patricia Scanlan will find vibrant voice at next week's five day workshop in creative writing at the Irish Writers' Centre. Starting on Monday and for a mere £100, Greg Delanty will give you the low down on poetry and Gerry Beirnewill teach you all you need to know about fiction but were afraid to ask.
Mr Beirne's impressive credentials include a Master of Fine Arts Degree in Creative Writing from Eastern Washington University, and he has formerly taught a creative writing workshop at Spokane County Prison, no less. He'll begin next week's course with "a discussion of the various prose forms - the short story, the novella, the novel", and I'm sure he'll be saying a lot more than that one is short, the next is longer and the third is even longer again.
For his part, Mr Delanty will concentrate on "the effective use of language" and "the construction of a poem", and will explore "what makes a poem". Many things, I'd imagine.
If this workshop is what you feel you always needed, you can contact the Irish Writers' Centre at 19 Parnell Square, Dublin.
LAST week I wrote about the autobiographical reminiscences of new Poolbeg novelist Mary McCarthy, and this week I've been mulling over the musings of Mary O'Donnell, which Poolbeg kindly forwarded to me along with a copy of her new book, Virgin and the Boy.
When Mary thinks about her life, she thinks in terms of exotic places. She was, she says, "a gently reared girl with Himalayas of notions", and when she got married, she "entered into it with the abandon of a herd of African wildebeest crossing the savannah despite the lions". Not just one wildebeest, mind you, a whole herd.
Still, I'd better be careful about seeming facetious here, because I don't want Mary to think me one of those "literary and critical bullies" who "flourish like deadly nightshade in any artistic community" and who can "close theatres, rubbish books or decry innovative sculpture, wherever it is found".
I'm not sure where innovative sculpture is to be found, either, but I'm glad I'm not a blinkered environmentalist or I'd be a bit worried about Mary declaring: "I like driving fast on motorways and look forward to the outer city being carved up into beautiful four leafed clovers of flyovers and access roads." Bad for the wildebeest population, if nothing else.