Alex Bell – fantasy author

I love politics. I love the questions and the debates and the search for a better way of doing things. I even wanted to be a politician once, and still toy with the idea even now. But I hate all the cynicism that goes with it. I really do not understand why, but people seem to take an almost hysterical glee in hating politicians. Quite frankly, I find this absurd. The vast majority of people who go into politics do so because of a desire to do some good. They are amazingly hard working people who have to work exceedingly long hours. And yet people just love to hate ‘em.

Last night, I watched Frost/Nixon:

Loved it. It’s a superb film that I would recommend to anyone with an interest in politics. Or, indeed, anyone with an interest in entertaining, thoughtful, intelligent, perceptive, films. I even forgot to drink my Heineken – that’s how gripped I was. So, this film has prompted me to write a post I’ve been meaning to do for a while – one that was originally to be titled ‘I Love Iain Duncan Smith.’ I have decided to rename the title because the above film reminded me of the fact that this modern day witch hunt against politicians is no modern thing. It did not all begin with President Bush and Prime Minister Blair (both of whom – although it is astonishingly unfashionable of me to admit – I have a great deal of respect for) – these witch hunts were going on back in Nixon’s day and, no doubt, before that as well.

What I loved so much about the film was its refusal to demonize President Nixon. It approached the Watergate issue in a balanced way that, I felt, made allowances for human failings because of the fact that Nixon was human and, therefore, imperfect, rather than suggesting Nixon was a villain and, therefore, evil. People love to look at it in black and white, but surely there is only a great big mess of grey in politics – and especially in Presidential politics.

It seems to me that politics suffers from something that I shall refer to as the Spiderman Effect. Everyone loves Spiderman at first – in the same way that people suddenly ‘love’ reality TV contestants (despite the fact that they don’t actually know them), and everyone loves a political party when it first comes to power because ‘everything will be different now’. But no matter how much Spiderman gives to the people, they will always turn against him sooner or later because even Spiderman cannot make peoples’ lives instantly perfect. That is why if any politician or political party is around for long enough, the public will always turn against him (or them) in the most vicious way imaginable, quite blind to any of their past achievements. It’s stupid nonsense, of course, like deciding you suddenly hate Spiderman, but it’s true just the same.

I often cringe to see the way the audience behaves on Question Time. I can practically see the pitchforks. When I was studying politics at college, I went to a Q and A thing in Westminster, with John Reid representing Labour, and Iain Duncan Smith (then the party leader) representing the Tories. Being 2003, Iraq was high on the agenda and, in fact, John Reid and Iain Duncan Smith were saying more or less the same thing on this issue. Imagine my astonishment, therefore, when John Reid was earnestly applauded by the audience, and Iain Duncan Smith was enthusiastically booed. Even though they were both saying the exact same thing! It was as if people were so set on disagreeing with Duncan Smith that they did not even hear what he was saying. They began to boo even before he had finished his first sentence. In fact, as soon as he came on the stage, people started jeering and holding up signs mocking the ‘quiet man’. I realised then that it didn’t actually matter what Iain Duncan Smith said to us, he was never going to receive applause. What a truly sorry state of affairs. I was ashamed to be part of such an audience. I must say, though, that he handled it all with extraordinary grace and eloquence, and even though I am a staunch Labour supporter, I was terribly impressed and wrote him an extremely gushing letter when I got home. I take my hat off to him for his patience, but I don’t think I could remain quite as cool in the presence of such dire stupidity, and would be very tempted to pull a John Prescott which, no doubt, would go down very badly indeed.

It seems that at least one out of every three ‘questions’ on Question Time is not a question at all but rather an audience member’s rant about all the things they think the government is doing wrong. And then – the cherry on top of this ridiculous cake – is that when the panellists actually debate a point of policy, they are very often maligned for ‘squabbling.’ Honestly, what an absurd choice of word. Disagreement is the entire point of a debate. It allows for the exploration of, and search for, new ideas. No matter how much people might wish it were otherwise, there are no pantomime villains in politics. If someone is after fame and riches then politics would be the very last route they would choose.

I particularly hate hearing people refer to a political leader as ‘stupid’. Take President Bush, for example. You can disagree with his policies all you like – indeed, I disagree with most of them myself, just as I would disagree with any other Republican – but to suggest that the man is stupid is nonsense. You don’t get to be the President of the United States unless you are an extremely intelligent man, and any suggestion to the contrary is an utter fantasy. Wild, emotive insults of this type only serve to give less credence to genuine criticisms.

If politicians or parties are instantly dismissed as a ‘waste of space’ then, no doubt, this makes the speaker feel very clever and superior but, let’s be honest, it is a cop out. To sneer at the efforts others make whilst making no effort yourself is a childish sort of strategy. As Charles Dickens remarks in A Christmas Carol: ‘it is always the person not in the predicament who knows what ought to have been done in it, and would unquestionably have done it too.’ I have no problem whatsoever with people disagreeing with my political views on any or all counts (indeed, I very much enjoy it if we can debate it intelligently). What I have no patience, or respect, for is this trend for politician-bashing. One that, as Frost/Nixon shows, is not a new craze, and is not likely to end any time soon. Vapid insults directed against politicians are boring to me. As Father Copleston once said: ‘If you refuse to sit down at the chess table, you cannot be checkmated.’ Genuine political debate has therefore got to be more than simply bleating in a whiny voice: ‘the politicians are doing it wrong’ – it’s got to involve some suggestion as to what would be doing it right. Repeatedly shrieking ‘burn the witch!’ will achieve nothing, and, if you’ve really got nothing more condemning to say than that, makes you look a bit of a fool. Criticise politicians by all means, but at least have the sense to do it intelligently if you want to be taken seriously. 

Maybe – just maybe - the truth is that there are no easy answers in politics, no quick fix solutions, no secret money trees growing round the back of 10 Downing Street that the PM guards jealously because he doesn’t want to pay out on health care etc. This is why the debate is so fundamental – because it is the search for the least bad way of doing things. I have found few people able to rationally discuss politics - especially at university where everyone liked to think they were against ‘the establishment’ which, to hear them, you would think had been doing things wrong for years out of pure stubbornness -  but it is a real pleasure to find the odd person who is willing to engage in genuine political debate rather than a playground-like exchange of insults.

My point in all this is that if only a few more people in the audience in Question Time would actually ask a question when they get the microphone (rather than shrieking: ‘burn the witch’), and then, once they get the response they requested, extend the politician the intellectual courtesy of accepting it as the best answer they are able to give at the time (being only human rather than Spiderman), then perhaps debate would be calmer, more rational and more productive. It never pays to hate Spiderman, after all.

This post has gone on long enough, although I’m sure I will blog about specific political issues in the future because I just find it all so interesting – like getting a little brain workout. But now, because every political rant should end on a light note, here is a snap of my Great Dane – the most beautiful dog in the entire world – getting into the Christmas spirit:

I’ll start off by saying that John and Edward Grimes are not my top favourite in the competition. That place is currently filled by Joe McElderry – I love his voice, and his demeanour, and I really hope that he wins. But I do like Jedward as performers, and I think the flak they have received in the press, and elsewhere on the internet is ridiculous and absurd. This is, after all, a TV show, and the nature of that show is that someone has to go out every week. It is therefore foolish in the extreme for people to be outraged simply because an act they preferred was voted off. Even more nonsensical is to direct that outrage towards the judges when it is, after all, the public who decides who ends up in the bottom two.

Whilst I was at university I worked in the customer complaints department of a travel agency, dealing with letters of complaint that clients wrote regarding their holidays. I read hundreds of these letters – many of which were written by the sort of person whose philosophy regarding grammar runs something along the lines of: ‘why use just one exclamation mark when you can use ten?!’ – and I came to realise that there are some people who should never, ever leave the UK, for business, pleasure, or anything else. They are simply not cut out for the trials and tribulations of travelling. Having seen some of the astonishingly vicious and emotive remarks floating round the internet regarding the X Factor, I would have to say that the same applies for talent show viewers – some people should never, ever watch any talent show of any type. If you cannot cope when your favourite act does not get through, then you should not tempt fate by watching the show. It is as simple as that.

I watch, and enjoy, the X Factor, but in the three years that I have been watching it, my favourite act has never won. This has never yet sent me into a cyber-rage, and I don’t believe it ever will, for the simple reason that, to me, the show is a pleasant diversion on a Saturday night, not the thing that consumes my entire life. It’s bad enough when people get unnecessarily upset because their favourite has not got through, but to descend into hysterics because your least favourite did get through is mean-spirited, petty and cruel. It is a real shame that people take such delight in singling out a particular act to hate in this manner. I could understand it if that act was, say, racist or sexist, or otherwise grossly bigoted in some way. I could understand it if they had committed some act of criminal violence or terrorism. But when their only offence is that their style of music is not to everyone’s tastes . . . I’ve just got to say it again: how patently absurd!

Personally, I actually preferred Lucie’s voice – in fact she was my second favourite, after Joe – but I really enjoy Jedward’s performances too, and I have a huge amount of respect for their cheerfulness and enthusiasm. To come on smiling week after week, even when the audience is booing them (and I think that behaviour is utterly outrageous) shows a tremendous amount of professionalism, and I take my hat off to them for it.

I suppose this nonsense is something that all celebrities have to put up with to some extent. When you get people attacking Steven Fry on Twitter, or hitting Leona Lewis at a book signing, you realise the sad truth of this. But I, for one, sincerely hope that the twins can rise above the blood-thirsty beast that is the Public, and go on to achieve some form of long lasting success.

END OF RANT

How great to have a blog where I can spout off about things like this. Join me next week (or whenever I get around to it) for my next cyber-rant on how much I respect Iain Duncan Smith, despite the fact that I am no Tory.

(And just in case anyone was thinking about leaving an excessively hateful comment about Jedward/their performance/their singing abilities/or whatever – don’t bother. Any such comment will very promptly be deleted by myself. This blog is to remain a malice-free cyber-zone at all times.)

Last night I was watching an old episode of Dragons’ Den and I’ve come to the conclusion that this is something I must stop doing, for the simple reason that it is just costing me too much money. As soon as I saw the Scents of Time range of perfumes, I wanted one. I mean, who wouldn’t want a recreation of the perfume Cleopatra herself wore? Or one that elegant ladies onboard the Titanic might have worn? It’s just such a cool idea. It’s unique, and it’s classy. And – as it turns out – it is ethical. 

I resolved to Google the product as soon as I’d finished the episode, but I didn’t hold out much hope of being able to order one for the simple reason that the vast majority of perfumes seem to be animal tested. The very suggestion that testing cosmetics on animals can be in any way justified is patently absurd. And – to be quite honest – disgusting. I would never buy any product from animal testing companies such as Proctor and Gamble (producers of Fairy Liquid, Head & Shoulders, Crest, Daz, Vicks, Iams, and many other household brands). I will probably blog about this in greater detail at some point but, in the meantime, more info can be found at http://www.uncaged.co.uk/pg.htm. The website states that: ‘It’s hard to think of anything more vicious than poisoning and killing animals for the sake of tinkering with cosmetics and washing powder formulations. P&G are responsible for relentless cruelty at its most calculating.’ I agree entirely, and I boycott companies such as this for the plain, simple reason that they make me sick to my stomach, and I have no wish to contribute to their already massive profits in any way whatsoever.

But, happily, there are companies out there who do not torture countless animals every year in the name of beauty (which just goes to show that those who do, do so unnecessarily). When it comes to perfume I have mostly been limited to Donna Karan – a brand I love, and who do not test their perfumes or ingredients on animals. But it’s nice to have a change every now and then. Imagine my delight, therefore, when I looked at the Scents of Time website (http://www.scentsoftime.co.uk/) and found in their FAQ’s that they do not test on animals! Yay!! I ordered a bottle of the Night Star perfume on the spot, partly because I think it’s a cool idea, and partly because I would always want to support any business that chose to be ethical in this way. Thank you very much, Mr Pybus – the Indiana Jones of the perfume industry – for not testing on animals, and for therefore enabling me to buy your products!

This is a post I have been meaning to do for a while, but never quite got round to. However I have been inspired recently by a brilliant post on a similar subject by novelist Faye L. Booth: http://fayelbooth.blogspot.com/2009/01/when-emperors-are-in-buff.html. Faye’s post is much more comprehensive than mine, but I feel the pressing need to add my twopence to this discussion.

Writing a book is a labour of love. If it wasn’t then you would never get past the first chapter before you sickened of it and threw it in the bin. When you’re first starting out, you need a tremendous amount of faith in your own novel if you’re ever going to succeed in getting it published. I firmly believe that there must be unpublished novels out there that are phenomenally good but will never be published for the simple reason that their authors just aren’t determined/bloody-minded/stubborn/arrogant enough to withstand the ego-battering onslaught of rejection letters, and to send the book out again and again until it lands on the right desk of the right editor of the right publisher at the right time.

The ‘correct’ philosophy here is to say that everyone has their own opinions yadda, yadda, yadda, and not to be too disheartened because even if some people don’t like your book, others will. I accept this, in principle. But I also believe that not only must you have faith in your own work in order to succeed, but that you must love it practically to the point of being quite arrogant about it. There is no room for modesty here, my friends. If you don’t think your book is the best thing since sliced bread then how can you expect a publisher to? If you can’t be defiantly proud of your book even when it’s being rejected left, right and centre then you’ll be in danger of giving up at the first hurdle. There are countless examples of famous books (now considered masterpieces) being sent out time and time again before someone, somewhere recognised them for what they were. 

Here I would like to direct anyone who hasn’t already seen it to go and watch Randy Pausch’s ‘Last Lecture’: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ji5_MqicxSo This lecture on achieving your childhood dreams is probably one of the most inspirational things I have ever seen in my life. One issue Dr Pausch talks about, which has stuck with me ever since I first watched the lecture, is that of brick walls. These are the hurdles and problems that anyone will face when trying to achieve their dream (whatever it may be). I think any writer can sympathise with the disappointment of a generic, single sentence rejection letter, or a witheringly negative review. But as Dr Pausch points out, the brick walls are there to give you the chance to prove how much you want something. They are there to keep the other people out, not you. They are there to stop those who only half-heartedly work towards their goals, rather than those who are utterly determined to get there even if they half kill themselves in the process. You can’t half-heartedly want to be published – you must be prepared to fight to the death for it.

I think this especially applies to writing – and trying to get published – because writing is its own reward even without publication. You can therefore, if you are so inclined, decide to write for yourself alone. You can view writing as a pleasant hobby and nothing more. You’re certainly not (with a few obvious exceptions) going to get rich and famous pursuing a writing career. So the only reason I can see for embarking on the rocky, perilous road to publication, is because you love your novel so much that having it all to yourself is simply not enough – you want other people to read it and enjoy it too. That is why hearing someone praise your book is one of the very best feelings in the world. But it is also why negative reviews are so abhorrent to a writer. If your final goal is not publication itself, but for people to enjoy your work, then getting a bad review is like falling at the last hurdle. I have now acquired a much thicker skin with regards to bad reviews, but at the beginning, when The Ninth Circle had just come out, I will admit that I found poisonous critiques of my work almost physically painful to read. And it was one of those unfortunate facts that a good review would make me feel good for about ten minutes, whereas a bad review could ruin my entire day.

Really, this is a case of: ‘If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen’ coupled with ‘if you stay out of the kitchen you won’t get burned, but you will go hungry.’ If you can’t take criticism of your books, then you’re probably better off writing for yourself alone. But if you are going to attempt publication then, in my opinion, you really do have to be an arrogant little so-and-so. You have to be able to look at rejection letters you receive from publishers – actual professionals in the industry – and think ‘you are wrong, and I am right.’ That is harder said than done. But, assuming you do not get picked up by the first publisher/agent you approach, it is necessary. You must love your book so much, that anyone who doesn’t like it must a) have bad taste, or b), be an idiot. Of course, logically you can acknowledge that this isn’t really the case because people have different literary tastes etc etc, but this is the illogical feeling you must feel with conviction when you first open that rejection letter. That way you can stick your tongue out at it, rip it up into little pieces, throw them in the fire and firmly tell yourself that clearly this commissioning editor is an utter fool who has just lost their publisher an awful lot of money by passing up on your masterpiece. Ahem.

But – and this is the tricky part – you somehow have to counter-balance that arrogance with some degree of humility, especially if you are fortunate enough to get any kind of professional feedback. I’ve been extremely lucky with my editors, both at Gollancz and at Headline, in that they have both vastly improved my books with their comments and advice. It’s no use clinging to the idea that your book is perfect and cannot be improved. That’s taking the whole arrogant thing just too far.

Ultimately, readers and reviewers are entitled to their own opinions, and I would never begrudge someone for disliking one of my books. No book, no matter how wonderful, is going to appeal to everyone. Even geniuses like Terry Pratchett and J K Rowling are not universally adored by every reader in the world. You cannot do more than love your own book absolutely, and trust to the fact that, eventually, it will find its way to the people who are meant to read it.

My point, then, is that I am extremely arrogant when it comes to my books, and I ain’t sorry for it because the fact is that I couldn’t have got here if I wasn’t. But, at the same time, I would hope that I’d always be humble enough to acknowledge that nothing I write will ever be perfect. I would always strive to make my new book just a little bit better than the last one. And for that reason, I am certainly going to listen very carefully to anything any editor, reviewer or reader says to me about my books – i.e. I will pull the little pieces out of the fire, paste them back together, and read the letter/review/rejection again later when I can be calm and professional about it. If I still don’t agree with what’s been said then I will throw the letter back into the fire, and leave the damn thing there for good.

Recently I have been thinking about this question of gender in relation to authors – and science fiction authors in particular. I’ve read that J.K. Rowling was asked to use her initials rather than her actual name because her publisher was worried that teenage boys might not pick up a book that had been written by a woman. This seems a bit mad to me. I would never be influenced to buy – or not buy – a book, based purely on the author’s gender.

Having said that, I do remember being quite disappointed when reading the marvellous Falco books in my teens to discover that Lindsey Davis was a woman. Since her first person narrator was male, I think I was sort of hoping that Lindsey Davis was, in fact, Marcus Didius Falco, and that when I looked him up online there would be a dashingly handsome author photo that I could drool over. I found that I read the books in a slightly different way once I knew the author was a woman.

I was also taken aback on first discovering that the Madeleine Brent books were actually written by a man (Peter O’Donnell). The author’s gender shouldn’t overly influence the way you read a book but, for me, I find that it does have some impact, if only at the back of my mind. After all, you usually find some of the author themselves in their work. If there was a novel currently in the shops that had been written by the first ever alien novelist then wouldn’t that change the way you read it? Wouldn’t everyone rush out to buy it simply because it had been written by an alien?

When people see my name, they usually expect me to be a man. Indeed, there was this one time at school when a French exchange teacher refused point blank to let me into the classroom to take my French oral exam because she said that Alex Bell was next on the list. I finally got through to her that I was Alex Bell, but it took some rather emphatic insistence on my part.

My full name is Alexandra, but no one has ever called me that (except for this violin teacher I had once who simply could not be dissuaded from it). It therefore never occurred to me to be anything other than Alex on the books. Because my name is gender neutral, I’ve never had to worry about someone declining to pick up one of my novels in a shop because they’re put off by a female name. I was glad that Gollancz didn’t overly market me as a female author, for the simple reason that I just don’t think it’s relevant. It’s like saying: “Here is a great new book that has been written by – wait for it – a person with green eyes!” Well, so what? I feel that if gender is made a big thing of in the marketing, it’s like saying – this is a great book considering the fact that it’s been written by a woman.

So I’m glad that I haven’t really had all that much of that as most people don’t realise I am not, in fact, Mr Bell. But one thing I have had quite a lot of is all this “young author” business. When I first started sending work to agents and publishers when I was eighteen, I never put “Miss” or “Ms” on the SAE, and I certainly never mentioned my age. This was simply because I wanted as much anonymity as possible. I was quite dismayed when my (now) agent first phoned me rather than writing because the cat was then out of the bag. If the agents/publishers didn’t know anything about me then they would judge my work on its own merits rather than judging whether it was any good for a woman, or for a teenager. I wanted to be judged as a writer only – not as a female, teenage writer.

I believe that readers and reviewers can sometimes be unduly influenced if they know too much about the author. For example, I’ve noticed that a writer’s age is only mentioned by a reviewer if they already know that the author is young (I’ve seen this in reviews for Christopher Paolini and Cecelia Ahern’s books as well as my own) – i.e. because the reviewer knows that the author is young, they can’t help but see youth in the writing.

It puts me in mind of a gag Candid Camera did once where wine connoisseurs were invited to try several different types of wine and comment on them. The connoisseurs discussed at great length which wine they felt was superior and why only to find out at the end that each of the five was, in fact, exactly the same wine. They only found differences in them because they expected to. One might even go so far as to say that their desire to appear sophisticated, and come up with something to say about the product, prevented them from seeing it as it really was. I can’t help thinking that if an older author was mistakenly marketed as a young one, then critics would still say things along the lines of: “A good novel, to be sure, but the author’s youth/naivety shows through from time to time” etc. Perhaps that is overly cynical of me, but I doubt it. 

In short, then, I don’t believe there’s anything at all wrong with reading a book in a slightly different way depending on whether the author is a man or a woman, but I don’t think a reader should become so preoccupied with the author that they start reading things into the novel that aren’t there.  And if you’re browsing in a bookstore and you put a book back on the shelf simply because of the author’s gender then, I’m afraid, you are a total moonfruit.