Tag Archives: Helen Moffett

A literary weekend in Prince Albert

By the time we arrived in Prince Albert, Helen Moffett and I knew we would be publishing a book together. Put two writers in a car, let them travel for four hours through an inspiring landscape, and that is what happens. We drove into the town as the sky burst into crimson flames of sunset. I have never visited before, but when the Leesfees offered us slots on their beautifully curated programme, I jumped at the opportunity to experience the festival that I had been hearing wonderful things about for years.

I have said it before and I will repeat it many times: for readers literary festivals are fantastic opportunities for discovering new authors and interacting with the ones they love; for writers these events offer the possibility of engaging with their fans and introducing their work to new audiences, of course – it is a two-way process after all (a shout out to Ingrid Wolfaardt, Henry Welman and Azille Coetzee – it was lovely to meet you in person!). But for authors festivals are also great for socialising with colleagues: one feels less alone, more inspired, and often such events are the beginning of extraordinary literary projects and journeys. As a publisher now, every time I travel with Karavan Press authors, I get to know them and their craft a little bit more and my gratitude towards them deepens along the way.

Dawn Garisch, Melissa A. Volker and her husband Rick (no doubt Melissa’s greatest fan – he spoke about seeing someone read A Fractured Land at the Lazy Lizard festival café with the same enthusiasm as about the Springbok win!) booked us a table at The Olive Branch that first evening. The food was so delicious and the entire staff so friendly that Helen was ready to propose marriage to the talented chef.

The next day for breakfast, we ended up at the Lazy Lizard headquarters and accidentally bumped into Sally Andrew of Tannie Maria fame. She promptly offered to read us a passage from her latest novel, which features the Lazy Lizard and its famous Full Monty Breakfast as well as the even more famous Apple Pie. Helen and I tucked in while Sally read to us: a surreal literary experience if there ever was one.

Our blood was green and gold that day, but Sally and Fred Khumalo dutifully went off to entertain their Leesfees audiences while I marched off to find the nearest gin bar and cheered and cried with the rest of the crowd gathered there. Oh Captain, our Captain!

High on emotions, I had the enormous pleasure of interviewing Dawn and Melissa about “seeing things differently” next. This was the theme of the festival and these two incredibly talented authors allowed us a glimpse into their imaginations and their literary lives as they aim to entertain their readers while remaining true to their principles of caring about others and the planet we all share.

The next day, I also had the opportunity to talk about environmental themes and the reality of our extremely wasteful and destructive ways with Helen. What I love about her approach to these highly topical concerns is her can-do attitude. Helen does not make her readers despair, she empowers us and encourages to do things differently, with more care and compassion. A true inspiration. And she is so funny, too!

No wonder all her books were sold out within minutes after the talk. The booksellers at the festival, Rosemary and Carmen of Bargain Books George, did a stellar job at getting our books to Prince Albert, but even they could not predict how popular Helen’s little books of environmental wisdom would turn out to be.

Whenever I present at a festival myself or interview authors, I always try to attend other events as a reader. In the morning of the first day, Dawn and I went to listen to Joanne Jowell and Miché Solomon speak to Vanessa Botha about Miché’s remarkable story as told to Joanne in Zephany: Two Mothers, One Daughter. And in the evening, we listened to Helen, Annette Snyckers and Archie Swanson read their poetry. It was the perfect way to end the day. Beauty and calm descended as the poets treated us to a literary feast.

I also attended Jan van Tonder’s talk at the festival. He was interviewed by Pieter Hugo. I love listening to Afrikaans and this was my way of indulging in the language a little bit again. What made the occasion truly special were the accompanying memories. When I first visited André in Cape Town in May 2005, on the day after my arrival he drove me to Oudtshoorn to introduce me to his dear friends, Marina and Gerrit. I met Jan during the visit, too. Two years later, in 2007, we all gathered in Stilbaai and watched the Rugby World Cup final together. Jan reminded me of the occasion when we spoke after the talk and said: “When I saw you in André’s Springbok shirt earlier in the day, I thought it a good omen for the final.” Indeed, both times Jan and I were in the same place for the final, the Boks won. I think we should plan something for 2023 together!

I can’t wait until Jan’s latest novel is translated into English. It sounded like something I would love to read. I will never forget his Roepman / Stargazer.

There was time to relax and to celebrate. Prince Albert welcomed us all with open arms. The organisers of the festival deserve medals for all their fantastic work. Thank you to Linda Jaquet and the Leesfees team! Our hosts were kind in providing us with the most beautiful places to stay. The audiences were attentive and generous. I already promised myself that I will be there for the next Leesfees in whatever capacity: as publisher, writer, interviewer or reader. And next time, on the way there or back, Helen and I are planning a longer visit at Matjiesfontein. There was only time for lunch and the celebratory springbok burger on this trip.

When we visit again, Helen promised to play the piano in the bar of the Lord Milner Hotel! And we might have a book to launch…

 

Review: Wise About Waste – 150+ Ways to Help the Planet by Helen Moffett

WiseAboutWasteThere is nothing to be done. We are coming too late to the party, allowing doom and gloom to persist. It’s easier to remain in a state of stupor than to take up the torch of an eco-warrior. Looking around, you will be forgiven for thinking that the war is already lost anyway. And there is no doubt about it: we are the bad guys on the wrong side of history. We are destroying our environments with ignorant dedication at a mind-boggling speed. The results are undeniable and crushing.

After her book on water conservation, 101 Water Wise Ways, published at the height of the water crisis when Day Zero was looming large in Cape Town, Helen Moffett turned to tackling the most pressing issues involved in waste reduction. She does not deny that the situation globally is precarious, to say the least, but once again Moffett approaches the challenge with a can-do attitude and a dose of healthy humour, no matter what the odds.

Wise About Waste: 150+ Ways to Help the Planet will make you feel empowered and arm you with numerous practical tips that don’t necessarily take a fortune and around-the-clock dedication to implement. Moffett shows how to make a significant difference – to the planet and, more selfishly, to us humans – with relative ease. It’s a no-brainer: “the healthier the environment, the healthier we are.” She also urges us to think bigger and strive for change on a large scale, but it is what she proposes we do in our everyday family lives that gave me most hope.

“Resistance is NOT futile”, Moffett writes and encourages us to embrace our “inner fish” and to “swim upstream”. Becoming “wise about waste” is not always easy, but it certainly feels more attainable since I have read this book.

Wise About Waste: 150+ Ways to Help the Planet

by Helen Moffett

Bookstorm, 2019

Review first published in the Cape Times on 13 September 2019.

At the Open Book Festival 2019

It’s Open Book Festival time! Another amazing programme beckons. I am super-excited because this time, apart from launching a book as co-editor and chairing a session, I will be participating for the first time as a publisher.

1) KARINA, the PUBLISHER, at #OBF2019:

Karavan Press at OBF2019

2) KARINA, the EDITOR, at #OBF2019:

The anthology we, Joanne Hichens and I, are launching at the festival as co-editor is HAIR: Weaving and Unpicking Stories of Identity.

Hair invite FB

3) KARINA, the CHAIR, at #OBF2019:

  • SUN | 08/09 | 10-11 | HCC Workshop

FUTURE-THINKING: Duncan Brown, Helen Moffett and Aaniyah Omardien speak to me about what environmental responsibility looks like.

4) KARINA, the PUBLISHER in the audience at #OBF2019:

And these are the events at which Karavan Press author, Dawn Garisch, will be speaking about her latest novel Breaking Milk:

  • THUR | 05/09 | 16-17 | HCC Workshop

DISTRUSTING THE PRESENT: Tracey Farren, Dawn Garisch and Masande Ntshanga speak to Alex Dodd about how the dystopian present informs their work.

  • SAT | 07/09 | 16-17 | HCC Workshop

THERE IS NO TEXTBOOK: Patrick Flanery, Dawn Garisch and Julia Martin speak to Pippa Hudson about the impossibility of preparing for some events.

  • SUN | 08/09 | 12-13 | A4 Ground

GENE THERAPY: Oyinkan Braithwaite, Nicole Dennis-Benn and Dawn Garisch speak to Bonnie Mbuli about dealing with family challenges.

 

 

Review: ID – New Short Fiction from Africa, edited by Helen Moffett, Nebila Abdulmelik and Otieno Owino

ID Selfie

Helen’s ID selfie

We often open books to read stories about characters we can identify with. It is a search for sympathy and understanding. Picking up a book which actually reflects your own image back at you, however, is rather rare. But this is exactly what the latest Short Story Day Africa (SSDA) anthology, ID: New Short Fiction from Africa, does. The book’s cover is partly a mirror in which you can see fragments of your face.

Focusing on the theme of identity – whether we interpret ‘ID’ as short for one’s ‘identity document’ which can official represent you, or as one’s ‘subconscious’ in Freudian terms – the stories in this book are about “who we are” and “who we choose to be” on the African continent and in the world. The collection features the winning entries of the SSDA Prize and twenty other stories by writers from across the African continent.

The story which took the $800 top prize, All Our Lives by Tochukwu Emmanuel Okafor, sweeps us along as we follow the trials and tribulations of a group of young men drifting in and out of Nigerian cities. Sew My Mouth by Cherrie Kandie is a touching exploration of the challenges a lesbian couple experiences in urban Nairobi. In Per Annum, a stunning piece of speculative fiction, the Johannesburg-based writer Mpho Phalwane tells the story of a group of young people fighting a corrupt government to keep their memories alive. The entire anthology challenges us to know our diverse selves.

ID: New Short Fiction from Africa

Edited by Helen Moffett, Nebila Abdulmelik & Otieno Owino

Short Story Day Africa, 2018

Review first published in the Cape Times on 8 March 2019.

Sunshine in my pocket

Every New Year’s Eve local time at midnight, I tune in to my favourite radio station in Austria to hear the live ringing of the St. Stephen’s Cathedral bells in Vienna. Afterwards, they always play Strauss’s “The Blue Danube” waltz, and then usually a pop song of note. This year that song was Justin Timberlake’s “Can’t Stop the Feeling”. I’d never heard it before, but it was catchy enough to remember. When I looked it up, listened to it properly, watched the video, and read the lyrics, I could not stop dancing to it, and realised that it is the perfect song to start this year with.

Last year … should be best forgotten, at least most of it, especially the first half (ugh!). Personally all I can think of is: I survived. Fortunately more intact than I thought possible. And here I am, ready for 2017! All positive energy and smiles, or as Timberlake sings, with “that sunshine in my pocket”.

A whole sun of sunlight in my heart’s pocket, in fact.

New Year’s resolutions? Ah, you know, the usual: write a few books, win the lottery, travel the world.

In all honesty, I hardly have any plans. It’s the year I turn 40. I will publish two books. All monumental stuff, but it feels like my life should be: I am getting older. I write. I publish. I am embracing it all with great joy. What is different about this year is my involvement with PEN South Africa. I have been co-opted as a board member and will be promoting activities celebrating our inspiring literary heritage and contemporary writing.

For a while now, I have also been dreaming of founding an independent publishing house, a home to exquisite writing. This year might see its birth.

There will be literary salons, book festivals, trips – local and overseas – and lots of tennis to watch (Rafa is back!). I am looking forward to the publication of Koleka Putuma’s Collective Amnesia, Antjie Krog’s Lady Anne: A Chronicle in Verse, SSDA’s next anthology of short stories Migrations: New Short Fiction from Africa (edited by Efemia Chela, Bongani Kona and Helen Moffett), Katherine Stansfield’s Falling Creatures, Melissa Volker’s A Fractured Land, and Sarah Lotz’s next novel in which a Polish character features … I was told she gets to have some great mountaineering adventures … Or was it sex? Both, I hope. As long as she reaches the summit.

karinaI have no doubt this will be a brilliant year for books; many more exciting titles await.

I wish you all lots of health, and if not a sun, then at least a ray of sunlight in your pocket.

Let us dance.

Let’s not stop The Feeling.

Blue light at Temenos

light

How often can you shatter and remain whole?

Death. Loss. Grief.

House break-in.

Cancer scare.

Institutions breaking you down by sheer incompetence and lack of understanding.

Death, again. And again.

Car accident.

And then…         . A void, a negation of time and space, of reality. How do you describe something or someone whom you tell, repeatedly: ‘I can’t breathe. I am in unbearable pain. I feel small. I am fragile. Vulnerable. Skinless. Please do not hurt me…’ And they violate your body and soul regardless? I do not know. Perhaps some things cannot be described. Sometimes words are too good to contain this, this…          ? blue-light-too

I care about words.

Another shattering.

Another loss.

What remains are the pieces. And a life-long illness. Deal with it, Karina.

turn-withinIn a corner, with no way out, when everything seems lost, broken, incomprehensible, a tiny light might save you. Holding on to that light is not an act of bravery. It is an act of compassion. I survive because I have kind people in my life. Perhaps recognising and reaching out for that kindness is courage? I do not know. I know that the sharing, the true care of friendship, have saved me from utter despair. The women in my life. I repeat: The women in my life. I do not know what I would have done without You. I salute and cherish you!

blue-lightThe first time I travelled to Temenos in McGregor, the retreat was recommended to me by my friend Margie. She knew what I was going through and said that the beauty and silence would be good for me. I fell in love with the place. One-and-a-half years later I went back, for the beauty and the silence. It is a silence punctuated by the outrageous screams of peacocks and the reluctant striking of the church tower clock. People smile, from the distance.

breakfast-at-temenos  sirloin  bemind

You can do things, or just be. Read. Sleep. Eat well. There is a bric-a-brac shop in the middle of McGregor which sells the best olives in the country. Tebaldi’s, the restaurant at Temenos, serves delicious meals. There are donkeys. Wine estates. Dusty heat. Tarot card readers and aroma therapists. Kindness, in the place and its people. The veld. And lazy sunsets which make you believe in tomorrow. It is all right to go to bed before 8pm. To read next to the pool for hours. To start brewing coffee at 5am and drink it on the stoep of your cottage while watching the light yawn and rise in the magical garden around you. Meditate, or just sit doing nothing at Temore, The Inner Temple of the Heart, with its soothing blue light.

reading-next-to-the-pool  falling

Wherever I go, I find coins. I call them my lucky coins. In South Africa, usually, 5c or 20c; 50c if I am really lucky. When I arrived in the gardens of Temenos, I found a R2-coin next to my car. Then, a few hours later, another R2-coin next to the pool. And the next day, while I was telling this story to my friend Helen (our stays at Temenos overlapped for one day and one night) during our sunset walk in the veld – in that very moment – I found another one next to our path. I want to believe that good things are coming. That despite the insanity of reality surrounding us in these troubled times, the kindness of people will prevail.

helen-in-the-veld-at-sunset

questions-from-the-seaDuring the last McGregor Poetry Festival a poem was inscribed on the walls of Temenos, my favourite one from Stephen Symon’s stunning debut collection Questions for the Sea. What synchronicity to find it there when I was returning home last night for the Q&A at Stephen’s reading/launch at Wordsworth Books in Gardens. On the way to the Gardens Centre, I stopped at The Book Lounge to pick up a book I’d ordered earlier, only to find out about the violence in the streets outside the bookshop just hours before. Louanne and Werner spoke about lost children and fear. They cancelled the event scheduled at the bookshop for that evening. The book I was buying was a gift for my friend Louisa who recently shared the remarkable Falling by Elizabeth Jane Howard with me. I started reading it at Temenos. Uncanny is not the word… There is a collective wisdom of women out there, to tap into it, to allow it to nourish and heal you, that is what I am reaching out to.

with-resident-catI arrived at Wordsworth Books rattled, but there were good friends, cheese and wine, and poetry – subtle, soul-restoring poetry. Beauty, like light, can save you. How precious that it can be contained in words. Thank you, Stephen and Nick, for caring about words.

My words are safe. I find strength in the beauty of peahens. I love my Friends. I can’t wait to share my McGregor olives with them.

peahens

And I am very curious what R6 of luck will gift me.

coffee-in-bed

Of romance, rugby and refugees: Intertwined at the inaugural Jewish Literary Festival in Cape Town

Meg Vandermerwe, Anne Landsman, Diane Awerbuck, Helen Moffett, Karina with Nadine, and Rachel ZadokSunday, 22 May, one of those glorious winter days in Cape Town: all light and revelation. It wasn’t even 9 am, but the queue in front of the Gardens Community Centre in Hatfield Street looked overwhelming.

“Do you by any chance have a spare ticket for sale?” a woman near the entrance asked as we approached. I shook my head in confusion, and her pleading eyes moved on to the next person. My companions, the writers Helen Moffett and Diane Awerbuck, looked just as surprised as I felt. This was no rock concert, nor a sports event. We were here for the inaugural Jewish Literary Festival. We’d heard that the tickets had sold out about a week in advance, but people desperate to get into a literary festival seemed quite unusual.

We were spotted by one of the friendly volunteers assisting festival participants and visitors (the lucky ones with tickets) and ushered through the security and registering desks. The crowds inside buzzed with excitement. “Are they giving away something for free?” I wondered aloud.

The idea for the festival was born in July last year. In February the organisers – Joanne Jowell, Cindy Moritz, Viv Anstey and Gary Anstey – asked Beryl Eichenberger and Caryn Gootkin to help with the marketing. Together they reached out to a team of volunteers, secured the venue and the sponsors, and began composing a programme which would “appeal to all ages and cover a range of genres” with the aim “to promote constructive dialogue and discussion in the true spirit of Jewish life without promoting any single political or religious agenda”. From food, sports, politics, academia and journalism to fiction, poetry or memoir, the topics on offer were geared to satisfying nearly all tastes. Seven venues, 49 different events, and a palpable atmosphere of being part of something special made for a wonderful mix. There was a programme for children, but I attended only events for adults. However, I often spotted young people in the audiences, which is always heartening.

The festival opened for me with “Faribels and foibles in fiction”. Next to me in the Nelson Mandela Auditorium sat a woman crocheting, while Rachel Zadok, Rahla Xenopoulos, Marilyn Cohen de Villiers and Liesl Jobson spoke to Helen Moffett about the faribels and foibles which drive their writing. What could easily have turned out to be a light-hearted conversation quickly became a serious discussion, as an appreciative audience member commented afterwards.

In A Beautiful Family, the first novel in her Alan Silverman saga, Cohen de Villiers wrote about abuse and domestic violence to counter the myth that “it doesn’t happen to us”. She was initially scared that she would be accused of fanning the flames of antisemitism, but her work had been received with gratitude. Similarly, Zadok, Xenopoulos and Jobson are not afraid to explore mental illness in their fictional and autobiographical writings, often giving voice to experiences which would otherwise remain unnamed. Asked about how to cope with the exposure, Xenopoulos, who has written a memoir about being bipolar, said, “You owe your reader the truth. In a room, the person telling the truth, the one most vulnerable, is the one with the most power.” To which Zadok added that “there is something about owning your story”, as well as about not fearing to communicate how difficult being a writer actually is…

Continue reading: LitNet

JLF

 

 

Rambling on about books: Reacher Said Nothing by Andy Martin

PersonalIt’s not often that you get to star in a Fairytale where you are The Princess and a real Hero comes to save you, but that’s the story of my Christmas Miracle.

To say that last year was rough for me would be a bit of an understatement. Yet being a glass-half-full kind of person, I will not deny that magic and beauty did not abandon me when all else seemed lost. Both continued flowing not only from the hearts of the amazing people who love me but also from complete strangers.

One of the most magical moments of last year was encountering Jack Reacher, my Hero. Falling in love – fictional or otherwise – is a beautiful gift. When that love allows you to reclaim something as precious as reading is to me, then you let your long braid hang out the window and hope that your Knight In Mattress-Pressed Armour holds on tight. Nearly twenty books later – i.e. approximately 2 000 000 words – he still does! (In my book, that’s a miracle in itself.) I am almost finished with Personal – the last of the existing Jack Reachers for me – trying to make it last by reading only for comfort when Dragon Insomnia rears her ugly head, but soon that adventure will also come to an end and I will have to join the rest of the Reacher Creatures who are counting the days until September when Night School, Reacher No. 21, is published. As a reader, I ask myself what are all the other months in the year for? But I suppose Lee Child should be allowed to sleep at some stage. And I need to get my act together and follow Jack’s example by simply sleeping when I want to. Perhaps I must see whether headbutting works on dragons…?

Reacher Said NothingHaving become one of Jack’s greatest fans, you can imagine my excitement when I found out about the publication of Andy Martin’s Reacher Said Nothing: Lee Child and the Making of Make Me. It appeared towards the end of last year and before it became available in South Africa (still waiting for it to arrive on our shores, so that I can share it with friends who love Jack as much as I do), I tweeted about it, saying something like, “What could possibly make me happy for Christmas?”, and adding, “Karina said nothing.” At that stage, I hadn’t clicked that Andy Martin and I were actually following each other on Twitter. My friend Helen Moffett, whom I’d infected with Reacher Fever, saw my tweet, and kindly offered to get me a copy of Reacher Said Nothing as at the time she was staying in the U.S. where the book was already in the bookshops. Lo and behold, Andy Martin saw our Twitter exchange and generously offered not only to send Helen a book for me, but to sign it, get Lee Child to sign it, and to add a second signed copy for her into the parcel. There are moments in life when it is easy to believe in fairytale miracles. And this was only the beginning!

Helen received the promised gifts, but resisted the temptation to read the book until her return to South Africa in mid-December when she delivered my copy to me and we began our Christmas tandem reading of Reacher Said Nothing. And what a joy it has been! The book is everything that a Reacher fan might have wished for, and more.

Reacher Said Nothing signedReacher Said Nothing is dedicated to “all those loyal readers of Lee Child who may have bought this book by mistake” and opens with two epigraphs: a quote from James Boswell’s The Life of Samuel Johnson, and one from one of my absolute favourites, Alberto Manguel’s A History of Reading in which the author writes about the different ways of reading – for the action and characters of the story, and for the detailed exploration of the texture of the narrative. Andy Martin’s ensuing analysis of Lee Child’s creative process is both.

Martin approached Child with the idea for the project in 2014, only days before 1 September when Child traditionally begins writing his next Reacher novel. It was to be the twentieth in the series, Make Me. In an email of 22 August, Martin proposed “a kind of literary criticism but in the moment, in real time, rather than picking it up afterwards…trying to capture the very moment of creation…you would have someone (i.e. me) looking over your shoulder as you are typing the words.” Five days before the first word of Make Me appeared on Child’s computer screen, he said yes. And off they went.

Writing a book as great as Reacher wasn’t easy.

Reacher Said Nothing takes us not only behind the scenes of Make Me’s genesis, but also to the day in 1994 when Child bought the paper and pencil with which he wrote Killing Floor, the first in the Reacher series, and explores much of the before and in-between from uncertain beginnings to stratospheric success. More importantly, it throws light on the magic that happens whenever any writer picks up a pen and begins dreaming. In this respect it is as much a book for readers as for writers. When writing, Child thinks like a reader; that’s his thing. But there is no magic formula. Only a lot of doubt, hard work, and hope. Trust. And when you are lucky, a good story to tell.

Andy Martin has a great story to tell. Reacher Said Nothing itself reads like a thriller. Like a master of the genre, Martin builds up the tension to the moment when Child sits down to write the first sentence. From there, he continues about the power of storytelling – the written word’s extraordinary potentials for both, writers and readers. After all, one particular book Child read as a kid led him to the life he has today. His own books have entertained millions of readers around the world for two decades. Even though I am not particularly fond of crime fiction or thrillers, Child’s books have changed my life, and I am grateful. It is all about the “[h]ope of a hero coming to save you. Hope of becoming a hero.”

“He would have been good around the campfire, Lee – he would definitely make you forget about the wolves or the saber-tooth”, Martin writes.

Yes. And about the pain of grief…
Make Me and Reacher's Rules
From the start when I began reading Killing Floor, I recognised and was captivated by a quality in the novels that intrigued me: an attention to word choice, syntax, punctuation – a kind of poetry that I now realise is fully conscious, intentional. “It all mattered, linguistically”, Martin writes. It’s about noticing things. And to see the process unfold is fascinating. Child writes only one draft, but the meticulousness with which he constructs the narrative allows him to.

I loved the humour of Reacher Said Nothing, the banter between the two authors, and Martin’s often hilarious commentary. An early scene:

“‘It’s reverse Freudian,’ Lee said. ‘You’re on the couch and you are analyzing me.’
I said nothing.
He flexed his fingers. ‘Naturally I’m going to start, like all good writers, by…checking my email!’”

There are numerous smileys in the margins of my copy of the book. I have scribbled, underlined, single and double, all over.

Martin and his subject emerge from Reacher Said Nothing as two people who are really passionate about what they are doing, are prepared to work their fingers to the bone in pursuit of their visions, and know how to have fun while doing it: “I live in a permanent daydream. I get paid to daydream narratives”, Child says.

It pleased me no end to discover that they both eat cheese and marmalade sandwiches. And to read about “the grape in the fridge”.

Lee Child’s relationship to his fictional hero is highly interesting. Anyone who has non-existent people – I am hesitant to write – living in their heads, knows what it’s like. Creation is a thrill. All of us, readers and writers alike, are junkies.

My final verdict on Reacher Said Nothing? Allow me to quote:

“‘Outstanding,’ said Lee. He pointed out that it was one of Reacher’s favorite words.”

Completely unrelated to me, the name ‘Karina’ is mentioned in Reacher Said Nothing. It made me smile. A Karina is rumoured to appear in Andy Martin’s next book, Reacher Said Something, but that’s another story about writing about writing about writing… Another daydream.
Karina in Reacher Said Nothing
In Make Me, Reacher is concussed. “He’s rambling on about books. A bit like you,” Child says to Martin when writing the scene.

And I am about to headbutt a dragon, and live happily ever after.

To be continued…

Why Jack?

jack_reacher_the_affair
It might have been the attitude with which he left the diner. Or his ice blue eyes. Perhaps the way he had his coffee.

He arrived, as always, unexpected. Without a clue how badly he was needed.

Nobody calls him Jack. Not even his mother. But that is who he is to me.

I reached out to Killing Floor at a time in my life when everything had become difficult, including breathing. And to stay alive, I need breathing as much as I need reading. It is a matter of survival, of being who I am. In the early stages of widowhood, I had to learn everything anew. How to breathe, to sleep, to eat. To smile. I picked up books in the hope of reclaiming a little bit of myself, a sense of stability, some solace, and an escape from my unbearable new reality, but every page was a struggle. Books which would have taken me two or three days to read, lasted for long agonising weeks. I was desperate. Until I picked up Jack Reacher on a roadside, typically hitchhiking out of town.

Lee Child’s hero is 21st-century’s Mr Darcy. “All men want to be like him and all women want to fuck him,” as Reacher was introduced to another fan who related the comment to me.

But why? Ungainly tall, mostly scruffy, socially awkward, a man of few words, he is not exactly the most attractive individual out there. But his allure is undisputed. Millions of fans around the world breathlessly awaiting the publication of the next instalment in the series every September can attest to the fact.

Jack Reacher grew up as a military brat, a third-culture kid, at home everywhere and nowhere. I relate to that. We have a coffee habit and a thing for numbers in common. When we know what we want, we go for it. We don’t do regrets.
Jack1
Jack went to West Point, served thirteen years in the military police and retired in the rank of Major. Since then, he roams the American landscape (with only occasional detours abroad), a folded toothbrush in his pocket and some cash in the bank, taking on odd jobs when necessary, stepping in whenever injustice crosses his path. He has a heart of gold and an admirable integrity. He never walks away from a situation before both are satisfied.
Jack2
Killing Floor (1997), the first in the now 20-titles strong series, is breathtakingly good. I was hooked after only a few pages. The exhilaration of devouring a book again at breakneck speed came with such a relief that I immediately bought the next one, and the next, and the next (once I even ventured out into a freezing and rainy Sunday night at quarter to nine and sped like a maniac through town to Exclusive Books before they closed because I’d just finished a Reacher novel and couldn’t bear to face a night without the following in my hands). By about the third or fourth, I was telling all my friends and all strangers willing to listen about my fascination (obsession or addiction might better describe it), and my gratitude (infinite). With the Reacher books, my hunger for all kinds of reading returned to me. Back in full force, it is the only thing from my past which has pulled through the greatest loss of my life unscathed.

With the exception of the latest, Make Me (which I simply could not resist), and Worth Dying For (which I turned to when I couldn’t find a copy of 61 Hours in time), I am reading the series in the sequence of publication. I intend to trace all the Jack Reacher short stories next. And then, the long wait until next September will set in. But like Jack, I am extremely patient.

It has been interesting to see how the series and the protagonist develop, responding to technological innovations (cell phones, ATMs, WWW) as well as changing socio-political realities (for example, Gone Tomorrow’s astute post-9/11 commentary), or ageing, human vulnerabilities. As the series progresses, chapters become shorter, cliff-hangers more irresistible. The writing is great. Just great. Child switches between first- and third-person, exploiting the diverse advantages both offer (although I do prefer the former). The dialogue is crisp and intelligent. The sense of humour deliciously dry. I enjoy the feminist touches: women are treated as equals in all respects. Jack has no ‘type’: the women he falls for come from different backgrounds, and are all strong, independent characters. Descriptive passages (landscape, weather, architecture, and especially the fight choreography) are intricately balanced between fast pace, slow motion, and, at times, pure poetry.

“It was raining and grey on the western peaks, and in the east the sun was slanting down through the edge of the clouds and gleaming off the tiny threads of snow in the high gullies.”
(The Visitor)

Child can capture the essence of a character in a few phrases.

“She looked like a solid, capable woman. She was about sixty years old, maybe more, white, blunt and square, with blond hair fading slowly to yellow and grey. Plenty of old German genes in there, or Scandinavian.” (Worth Dying For)

Consider a few of the opening lines:
“I was arrested in Eno’s diner.” (Killing Floor)
“The cop climbed out of his car exactly four minutes before he got shot.” (Persuader)
“They found out about him in July and stayed angry all through August.” (Without Fail)
“Moving a guy as big as Keever wasn’t easy.” (Make Me)

I can no longer count how many people I got into Jack. Only one person was disappointed with my recommendation. All others are as addicted as I am. It has been delightful to discover which of my friends had been fans for much longer than I. I keep getting messages of thanks. We all share stories of how Jack features in our lives. To me, he has become a trusted, reliable friend. I turn to him for adventure and smart entertainment – always a bloody-good read!
Jack3
Tense, entertaining, intriguing and never predictable, the Jack Reachers thrillers belong to the best of their kind.

And! The sex is good.

To find out more, join us for Cape Town’s celebration of Jack Reacher, and get Make Me at a 20% discount on the night!
Jack invite_new
IF IN DOUBT, READ REACHER!

The magic of Open Book 2015

Helen MacdonaldSo, who else has fallen in love with Helen Macdonald during Open Book 2015 in Cape Town? H is for Hawk has been on my radar for a while, but I’ve only decided to get the book when I heard about Macdonald’s generous endorsement of Stray: An Anthology of Animal Stories and Poems, edited by Diane Awerbuck and Helen Moffett (all royalties donated to TEARS Animal Rescue). How cool is that? Macdonald showed up at the Open Book Stray Readings and stole my heart reading the passage in which she first saw and fell for Mabel, the goshawk who helped her cope during her time of bereavement. At one of her other Open Book events, Macdonald spoke about how you can’t tame grief and how sometimes you have to do mad things in order to survive it.

This was my first Open Book since André’s death. Last year, we were still mourning Nadine Gordimer – together. We’d thought that we might celebrate the tenth anniversary of our first and only public interview (at Schloss Leopoldskron in Salzburg in 2004) with an event at the festival, but André was recovering from a knee operation and did not feel up to it. We did pay tribute to Nadine: with Margie Orford, Billy Kahora and Imraan Coovadia reading from her work and sharing stories about her influence on their lives and writing. André read from his own work at another event. We attended a few others, gathering memories which all returned to me this year when I was walking around The Fugard Theatre – alone.

At the opening ceremony, Mervyn Sloman said that every year Open Book is infused with magic. How true. “You’re a magician,” someone magical in my life said to me once. Perhaps I can conjure miracles when inspiration and desire strike, but I would like to think of myself as a magician of a different kind, one who can recognise the magic of the everyday. Even when suffocating in the clutches of grief.

with SallyMagic was all over The Book Lounge and The Fugard Theatre during Open Book this year. In the stories I read preparing for the festival (discovering my love for the work of Karen Joy Fowler, Melissa de Villiers and Andrey Kurkov in the process); in the warmth of a friend’s grip around my arms at the opening ceremony; in Karen Joy Fowler’s humour; in the melody Petina Gappah sang during her interview with Lauren Beukes; in a walk in the sun between events; in Stephen Segerman’s and Craig Bartholomew Strydom’s devotion to the Sugar Man story; in Claire Robertson’s mesmerising reading voice; in seeing the first cover designs for the special edition of Flame in the Snow; in Elleke Boehmer’s, Henrietta Rose-Innes’s and Craig Higginson’s inspiring eloquence; in a dim sum lunch, a bubbly and a Glenfiddich shared with friends; in Beverly Rycroft’s moving honesty; in a friend’s sparkling eyes which could have been clouded by loss but weren’t; in the hospitality of Fugard’s Iris who with her colleagues took such great care of all of us; and, last but not least, in S.J. Naudé’s careful thoughts about our craft – the magic and beauty of it all.

with KarenI loved chairing the three events I was asked to. I loved seeing old friends and meeting new ones. I loved interacting with writers whose work has meant so much to me over the years. I loved buying books and talking about literature with people who care. I loved being asked to sign my novel. I loved feeling that I was close to returning to my own creative writing. I loved every single memory from the past. I loved making new ones.

Thank you, Mervyn, Frankie and all the other magicians at The Book Lounge.

You can’t tame grief. Grief is this creature that moves into your home when death strikes. It lurks, ready to pounce at all times, especially when you least expect it. It never leaves again. You can’t tame it, but you can tame the way you react to it. And live. And experience joy again, in a story and in your life. And smile. And appreciate the magic. That moment.
with Andrey and Andrew

(Photos: Books Live and PEN SA)