Alex Bell - fantasy author

I love Bewitched. I have mentioned my love for Sam before but it’s not just Sam I love – it’s all the cast, and especially Darrin. Dick York is my favourite, for obvious reasons – not only does he have the biggest pair of eyes I have ever seen on a man, but he has a widow’s peak as well. I mean, my God. I just want to . . . but never mind that, it’s not an appropriate topic for discussion on this blog. Some things should stay private.

I was watching an episode of Bewitched the other day (Eat at Mario’s) where Sam is trying to save this little Italian restaurant, and it made me think of Capers (http://www.caperspizza.co.uk/index.html). Capers is ten minutes away from where I live and it is my new favourite restaurant. The Bewitched episode reminded me of it because Mario’s seemed very similar with its exceptional food, and friendly service, and small, cosy, local feel. It’s so much nicer than going out to some big posh noisy swarming place in Southampton. Plus it’s not cold in Capers. It’s amazing how many pubs and restaurants get stingy with the heating in the winter, which just makes you disinclined to linger. The only thing Mario’s had which Capers lacks is the red and white checked tablecloths and candles in wine bottles. But I can forgive Capers that because they have pizza cutters in the shape of penny farthings on every table (to say nothing of the Jaffa drizzle cake).

And the best thing about Capers is the food. It is unbelievable. I would go there for the curried sweet potato cakes alone. Not only is the menu ridiculously huge but there are loads and loads of vegetarian options on it. The first time I went there I was so excited I almost couldn’t pick anything. I am unused to choice when eating out. Normally it’s the work of ten seconds to scan the menu and locate the vegetarian option. At Capers I am spoiled for choice and this is such a novelty to me that I literally spend all day thinking about what I’m going to have before I go. I obsess about it, if you will. To the extent that I’m going there in about half an hour and here I am writing a blog post about it because I can’t concentrate on anything else.

It just goes to show that a restaurant doesn’t have to be a vegetarian one to cater to vegetarians. Capers has plenty of meat and fish options as well as countless delicious vegetarian ones. I wish more restaurants would follow this example. Italian restaurants are usually pretty good but this one is exceptional. I went to an Italian in Southampton last week and counted just two vegetarian pizzas on the menu. Capers have seven. In addition, the Southampton restaurant had two veggie starters and Capers have – and I’m not kidding here – thirteen! That’s right – thirteen vegetarian starters. I know. I couldn’t believe it either.

I go out for dinner with my Dad quite a lot and, before, if he texted me from work and asked where I wanted to go I would reply that I didn’t mind. Now my text looks like this: CAPERS CAPERS CAPERS! If you live anywhere near Dibden Purlieu then I heartily recommend it.

Here’s a photo of my poor cat Mitsi after watching the Mary Bale video:

She hid under that blanket for hours, quaking with fear, even after I explained to her that Mary didn’t know where we lived. Moose even tried to talk her out but it was no good – she wasn’t to be moved:

As for Siamese Suki and fluffy pal, Chloe, they just looked understandably annoyed by the footage:

Ace and Cindy, the other two members of the Bell cat gang, were unavailable for comment.

This Mary Bale thing puzzles me for two different reasons. For starters – like most other sane people in the world – I don’t understand why Mary Bale took it upon herself, entirely unprovoked, to throw a friendly moggy into a bin. The simple explanation is that she’s a mean old bat, and a little bit bonkers (and bears more than a passing resemblance to the Bigoted Woman of election notoriety . . .) But that’s not the only thing that puzzles me about this whole affair. Indeed, what puzzles me the most is the general public’s reaction to it.

As an animal rights activist and ardent cat lover, I understand why I dislike Mary Bale but, as for the rest of society, I’m not entirely sure. I would like to think it’s because, when an act of cruelty towards animals is brought to peoples’ attention in this way, they, quite rightly, condemn it. And yet it seems incongruous for anyone who eats meat, or who buys Fairy Liquid or Head and Shoulders or Pringles or any other product manufactured by an animal testing company such as Proctor and Gamble, to claim to be outraged by Mary Bale’s act – and I strongly suspect that the vast majority of people who joined the Facebook hate groups fall into both those categories.

I read an article (http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2010/aug/28/cat-litter-pets-protected-and-persecuted) yesterday by Guardian journalist, Michele Hanson, commenting on the Mary Bale/wheelie bin incident, in which she states, quite correctly, that we are a confused nation when it comes to animal rights. We claim to be a nation of animal lovers but, sadly, many people seem wholly incapable of putting their money where their mouths are. Naomi Campbell, for example, was quite happy to pose naked for a Peta anti-fur advert – presumably because she got to take her clothes off and look all sexy and sultry and stuff – but then, fifteen years later she’s photographed pouting alluringly in a fur coat (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/tvshowbiz/article-1210423/Naomi-Campbell-models-sable-coat-15-years-Peta-anti-fur-advert.html). Many, many people only identify themselves as animal rights activists, or animal lovers, when it is fashionable – or easy – to do so. When it simply involves condemning another person, for example, and not inconveniencing their own lives in any way by giving up something they love or changing the way they behave.

There seems to be a disturbing tendency amongst the British public (and probably any other country’s public) to cherry-pick which causes to be excessively outraged about, and which to merely shrug shoulders over and say: ‘It’s only an animal.’ I do not expect other people to feel the way I do about animal rights issues but, for God’s sake, can’t there at least be a little bit more consistency and a little less hypocrisy?

For example, I read an article a while back about a man who killed his neighbour’s little border terrier, Wurzel, after it got into his garden (http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1209475/Company-boss-battered-neighbours-barking-pet-dog-death-hoe.html). The dog was hit over the head with a shovel. The RSPCA chose not to prosecute because, they said, Wurzel did not experience “undue pain” (a requisite for prosecution under the Animal Welfare Act 2006). Let’s be clear about this – Wurzel did not die instantly. He was tossed over the wall back into his own garden, where his owner later found him lying on the porch shaking and covered in blood. He had to be put down later that same day. If that’s not “undue pain” then what is? Since the RSPCA declined to press charges, the dog’s owner was forced to spend her own money bringing a private action for the only charge available to her – that of criminal damage to private property (since, legally, that’s all a pet is – property). She lost. Animals are woefully under-protected by the law, and charities like the RSPCA can only do so much when they are continually fighting an uphill battle with limited funds.

I’ve seen several commentators over the last few days suggesting that people get more worked up about cruelty to animals than cruelty to people. This is utter nonsense. As Wurzel’s case so aptly proves - people don’t get more outraged about cruelty to animals than cruelty to people - they get more outraged over cruelty they can actually see. Wurzel’s case infuriated me when I read about it and, although it was covered in the news, it certainly was not highlighted the way that Lola’s case has been. The explanation, I suspect, is that Mary Bale was caught on tape, whereas Neville Hill’s monstrous act of hitting a little dog on the head with a shovel was not. If his cowardly attack upon the dog had been filmed then I have to assume people would be even more incensed over this than they were over Lola. Surely that’s the only sensible explanation, isn’t it? I mean, surely everyone agrees that killing a dog with a spade is worse than putting a cat in a bin? So it would seem that, sadly, people are only able to feel outrage over the injustices they can actually see. I don’t understand this. Obviously, as a writer of fantasy fiction, imagination is supposed to be my forte and all that, but I wouldn’t have thought it beyond the realms of possibility for ordinary people to imagine a scenario such as the one reported with Wurzel.

So to all those people getting their knickers in a twist over Mary Bale, rushing to join online hate groups and so on, I would remind them that there are many, many injustices to animals that we do not see but that exist nonetheless. If you eat meat, if you buy Fairy Liquid (or any other product that has been used to torture rabbits), or barn eggs from caged hens, then you actively perpetuate those injustices. There is no softer way of putting it. Perhaps such people might reflect for a moment on the wise words of Albert Schweitzer: ‘Think occasionally of the suffering of which you spare yourself the sight.’ And let’s cease indulging in this fiction that Mary Bale is significantly worse than the average British citizen out there. She isn’t really. The difference is that she got caught.

Having said that, I would be much more shocked to see a CCTV video of an acquaintance of mine throwing a cat in a bin than I would to see a video of them eating a burger. Since I believe that eating meat is ethically worse than what Mary Bale did (because slaughtering an animal – whether you do it yourself, or pay someone else to do it for you – is worse than putting an animal in a bin), I’m not really sure why this should be. It’s a strange cultural by-product, I suppose, of the society we live in. Eating meat is considered socially acceptable – binning random moggies is not. And it seems that I can’t help but be affected by this social norm, even when I don’t want to be. I suppose, in addition, even though Lola was not seriously hurt, Mary Bale’s act was deliberately and maliciously cruel, whereas most meat eaters and Fairy Liquid users – I hope – are not. People know animals have to be slaughtered in order to end up a slab of meat on their plate, but they try not to think about it. Or perhaps they are incapable of properly imagining it.

Sir Paul McCartney said that ‘if slaughterhouses had glass walls, everyone would be a vegetarian.” I hope this is true. I dearly hope that it is. Because it if isn’t, it means that people don’t ignore the many injustices to animals that are so prevalent in our world because of the fact that they fool themselves into thinking they don’t exist, it means they ignore the injustices because they simply don’t care. And I would like to hope that deep, deep down, people are better than that.

In conclusion, then, logically I don’t think Mary Bale is any worse than the average meat-eating Briton but, emotionally, I can’t help but condemn her more than I condemn them. Nevertheless, there is a moral inconsistency here, and one that should be recognised in amidst all the hysterical outrage and excessive condemnation.

On that note, here’s one last snap of Suki, my tiny Siamese:

She knows I live to serve her. And if anyone ever attempted to grab Suki by the scruff of her neck and throw her into a bin, I’m afraid that I would lose my rag rather spectacularly. She may be wonky, she may be bent, she may be ever so very neurotic, but that cat is the absolute apple of my eye and I won’t pretend to be anything less than completely and utterly besotted with her, and her big blue eyes, and her teeny, tiny feet.

‘Everything should taste like bacon.’

It’s hard to argue with that, I feel. But, as a vegetarian, this obviously presents me with something of a dilemma. Imagine my delight, therefore, when I received this for Christmas:

It is bacon flavoured mayonnaise! Why was this not invented before? You can smother it on anything! I have eaten it with jacket potatoes, pizza, veggie sausages, sandwiches . . . in fact, so far, I haven’t found anything that is not improved by Baconnaise. Although not advertised as a vegetarian product – for this would, no doubt, massively put off the hard core meat eaters – Baconnaise is vegetarian. I wouldn’t say this product was the highlight of my Christmas (because that would, possibly, be a little pathetic) but it was certainly one of the highlights. Baconnaise has brought joy to my life. Rather like when I first discovered a vegetarian red wine after five years, and took to carrying the bottle around the house with me, which concerned visitors for it made me look like one of those depressed, alcoholic writers which, of course, I am not! Aha ha. I suppose eventually I will stop carrying the Baconnaise around with me but, honestly, I could eat it straight from the jar with a spoon, it tastes that good.

But anyway – hello 2010. No doubt, like all the other years, there will be both good stuff and bad stuff. Mostly I am looking forward to Lex Trent coming out in February, as I wrote the first draft of that book when I was twenty years old – three long years ago, although it seems like much longer – and, really, I have had to wait an indecent amount of time to see it on the bookshelves. But I know that this year, my work will be duly universally recognised as the genius that it really is. Or else, people will just say with a haughty sniff: ‘But it’s not Terry Pratchett, is it?’ in much the same way that one might sneer at Daniel Craig because he is not Sean Connery. No one is Sean Connery. Probably not even Mr Connery himself. I think my favourite James Bond is Pierce Brosnan but there it is, we all have different tastes. To me, Baconnaise is the nectar of the Gods – to others it might be some foul spread that no one in their right minds would willingly eat.

Now I’m off to write my traditional long list of New Year’s resolutions, about half of which I might actually keep.

It’s good to be home. I like going on holiday but towards the end I start to suffer from intense cravings for two things: meat (of the vegetarian variety, obviously), and my animals.

On our last night in Las Vegas, we stayed in the Luxor. Nowhere near as nice as the Mirage, and we were all having a bit of a whinge about it, and saying we should have stuck with the first hotel. But then we went into breakfast and there, on the menu, was a side order of vegetarian sausages. Vegetarian sausages! I wouldn’t go so far as to say I actually wept with delight but . . . well, it was a near thing. There’s only so much lettuce a person can take, after all. Now I won’t hear a bad word said against the Luxor.

I was probably suffering from meat cravings even more than usual at that point because of the white water rafting we’d just done in Colorado. This involved a night of camping. And, believe me, there is nothing more painful than watching bacon sizzling away on a campfire, smelling all tasty and delicious, when you know you can’t have any of it. Later on they got the marshmallows out but these ones had gelatine in them, so I couldn’t have any of those either. By this time I could feel the cold sweat starting to prickle the back of my neck. Given all this, can I really be blamed for feeling so profoundly delighted by the veggie sausages at the Luxor?

Anyway, the bacon aside, the white water rafting was fantastic. What I loved most about it was that my brother fell out of the raft about five minutes after we set off down the river. Much amusement was had at his expense, but we dragged him back in eventually. I did not fall out at any time during the two days. At one point, however, I did neglect to jump in quickly enough. We got to this bank in the middle of the river and were carrying the raft across to the other side. Everyone else seemed to leap in nimbly enough. I slipped, or something, and ended up clinging to the side of the raft as it started to move on down the river. The problem with this is that when the water is moving faster than the raft, you have to hang onto the side tight in order to avoid being dragged underneath it. I had horrible images of being, effectively, keel-hauled beneath the raft. So I clung to the rope like a limpet, all the while shrieking, ‘Pull me in! Pull me in! Stop laughing and help me!’ Finally, my brother and his other half managed to drag me in between them. It was quite undignified though. I ended up sort of sprawled on the floor of the raft like a landed fish.

Anyway, now all that adventuring is behind me and I am back home with the menagerie. Moose has outgrown her car seatbelt whilst we’ve been away. She’ll outgrow my car soon too. My Siamese cat gave me the cold shoulder for the first few hours after I got back. But, since making her displeasure known, she has spent virtually the whole time glued to my lap. If there was any animal I missed more than Moose, it was Suki. That little cat is the absolute apple of my eye. Nothing she does ever irritates me. Not even when she shits on my bed. I mean, obviously, I’m irritated that there is shit on the bed, but I’m not irritated with Suki. She is a Siamese, after all, she can’t help being neurotic. Here is a photo of her:

I have been told she looks evil in this picture, but I just think she looks ridiculously cute. Something between a kangaroo and a gremlin. It makes me want to kiss her feet. In fact, I’m gonna go do that right now.

Yippee, the momentous day has finally arrived! Almost, anyway. Technically Jasmyn comes out on Thursday but I have a feeling it’s out on some bookshelves already. Besides, I’m going on holiday at the end of the week and might run out of time, so I’ve decided to blog about it now.

Look at the cover. Is it not perfect? Is it not the most beautiful, gorgeous cover you ever saw in your life? Hats off to Kustaa Saksi - that man sure can create. Seriously, the book is worth buying for the cover alone. I am so flippin’ chuffed that of all the artists I might have got, I got Mr Saksi. He. Is. Da. Best. If we are ever in the same country, let alone the same bar, I will positively ply him with beer (or any other alcoholic beverage he would care to name).

Anyway - I’m very excited about this book. Although I dearly love The Ninth Circle, Jasmyn is more the sort of thing I would like to repeat. It’s also the sort of book I would seek out to read. It’s much more me, if you will. I thoroughly enjoyed writing it. In fact, this book came to me much easier than most. Perhaps because I knew exactly what was going to happen almost from the outset. The thing practically wrote itself and, for that reason, only took three months to do. I’ve had a smug little gloat over the good reviews, and turned my nose up in disgust at the only (so far - but give it time) bad review I’ve seen.

Although all authors are probably influenced to some extent by other books they’ve read, I’m not usually consciously aware of this when I write. Jasmyn is different because I am very much aware of the books/authors that in some way inspired or influenced me when I was writing this book. The main one is Peter O’Donnell writing as Madeleine Brent. The Madeleine Brent books are historical romantic suspense, whereas Jasmyn is more of a supernatural romantic suspense, but in terms of characterisation and plot twists, I think Jasmyn is a definite product of the love I have for those books. Of all the ones on my bookshelves, they are the ones I’ve read over and over again, even if they are a bit of a guilty pleasure.

The other influence, so far as the initial set up goes, is Cecelia Ahern with P.S. I Love You. Jasmyn, too, starts with a woman who has been unexpectedly widowed. But then the spooky stuff starts.

Margeret Mitchell and Alexandra Ripley (authors of Gone With The Wind and Scarlett), and Deanna Raybourn with her fantastic Silent series were also influences at the back of my mind, but probably not to the extent that you can see it in the book.

Most of the books I’ve mentioned are romances, of course, and I wouldn’t class Jasmyn as a romance. But having enjoyed the aforementioned books, I wanted to do something that had a romantic element but was also a supernatural mystery. That’s what I set out to do with Jasmyn, and I was really pleased with how it turned out in the end.

But the best thing about Jasmyn being published? It’s not the legions of screaming fans I expect to turn up at my doorstep at any moment, nor the worldwide renown that will surely be mine in the not too distant future. It is having an excuse to buy these for the second book party I will be having next month:

Not only are these shoes ridiculously beautiful, but they are entirely vegan. It’s almost too good to be true. No animal bled to death for them or anything. Seriously, If I had known about these shoes in advance (never mind the matching dress I bought in America), I would have written this book sooner. Jasmyn - thank you very much for the shoes. And for the party I will be having as soon as I return from Las Vegas (unless I come back broke and destitute, in which case, er . . . the party’s off.).