The Art of Writing at its Best

Woman’s World, a novel by Graham Rawle is endorsed on the cover by Joanna Lumley: ‘As mad and believable as a dream’. This description is so accurate she deserves a medal for it, and the author deserves something better than the Booker Prize and Turner Prize put together. The novel is a real work of art.

I’m apparently unusual because I can read this whole book where the typeface varies in size and style from word to word or more. It’s like a book of ransom notes. The text is put together in a collage of words and letters from women’s magazines. It was hyped up as an object of curiosity at its launch in the broadsheet papers in the autumn of 2005, which was what made me put it on my Christmas List. When I showed it off as a prize gift from my husband people looked at a few pages and said, “God, I couldn’t read a whole book like that!” I put my ability to do so down to being used to all manner of manuscripts. How lucky I am, this novel has restored my faith in good fiction as art.

The narrator is Norma Little who calls herself Norma Fontaine and is the epitome of femininity. She shows us this from page one and reveals herself to be a highly perfectionist, narcissistic lady of leisure with a housekeeper and a brother whom she adores. “…My entire day is filled with womanly pursuits and the house is alive with feminine appeal.” You soon get used to her exaggerated self-admiration and over-the-top obsession with all things feminine. This is, after all, the early 1960s, after the oppression of the war years and emergence into the colourful freedom of red stiletto shoes and bright artificial flowers. One feels an immediate rapport with this woman’s dedication to escapism.

I settled happily into reading each page as it came with this in mind; and the sudden explosions of words like Soap Pads! next to, ‘an intimate portrait of a modern woman’, or Hovis just kept me riveted. The artist makes wonderful use of snippets of advertising copy, beautifully woven into the narrative giving Norma’s voice a fascinating edge of dreamlike déjà vu. Anywhere else it would seem contrived but here it simply adds to the escapism, you’re compelled to read on because you know there’s more to Norma than the pristine make-up and hair. After all, she describes in astute detail the road accident scene in the first chapter so that without gory language or resorting to horror we know she’s ready to tell the truth.

There is something fabulous about the prose in this book, even though it’s so artificial and Norma is so vain. I cannot replicate the styles of fonts but believe me there are many, including an Ecclesiastic design in the excerpt that follows.

‘She always has to know everybody’s business. I’d a good mind to stare back at her in defiance, but the postman was vying for my attention.
“A parcel for the gentleman of the house,” he announced, eyeing my neat but generously proportioned figure with sharp blackcurrant eyes.
“My brother, Roy, isn’t here. He’s in the Himalayas, daring to pit human courage and skill against Nature.” I wasn’t quite sure why I’d said it; it wasn’t strictly true.
The postman’s goggling eyes were the deep blue of two enamel pans in the sink, and in his eyes there was frank admiration, cleverly masked by a keen look of indifference.
He leaned down and picked up a parcel from his postbag. “I’ll need you to sign for it,” he said, holding out a fountain pen. “But first give me your name.”
We continued to stand and stare at each other, until he said again: “What’s your name?”
“If you want to know you can guess,” I retorted playfully.
“Quite the little spitfire, aren’t you?” The amusement in his tone stung like wasps on a baby’s bottom.’

What appeals to me especially about this book is its surreal use of images and ideas. Not being a Guardian reader I knew nothing of Graham Rawle as an artist/illustrator but whilst reading I was in no doubt that he’s also a very skilled writer. Characterisation, pacing, prose, suspense and satisfaction – it’s all there and when I got to the end I wanted more! In recent months I’ve had a malaise over reading fiction. Nothing grabbed me, gave a thrill of excitement or intrigue and I wondered if my profession had killed it for me. Not so, I have found a book that I’m sure I’ll read again, perhaps year after year, for its sheer entertainment value.

If you’re not sure you’ve the dedication to attempt the book and haven’t yet met this man’s work I urge you to visit http://www.grahamrawle.com/Shop/shop1.html where you’ll get a taste of his wonderful humour.

Woman’s World by Graham Rawle, Creator of Lost Consonants is published by Atlantic Books, hardback. ISBN 1 84354 367 2

Some gems from the archives

When you run an evening class you’re constantly looking out for different ways of saying what needs to be said. For years I had ‘document wallets’ full of cuttings and notes to myself of things that might be useful; and in my recent paperwork purge I whittled them down to a few unusual pieces worth airing. The rest are so firmly entrenched in my brain that I churn them out daily on demand and I was able to shred the original written evidence.

Vignette

In her hand she held a crumpled piece of paper. She folded it and unfolded it, absently; as if doodling with her fingers. It was something physical to occupy her while her brain coped with all she heard and saw.

She opened it again again and looked at it. “Well,” she said. “No I won’t read it!”

There was encouragement. “Come on. You know us,” said someone, gently.

“Nope. Nope. It’s not fit to read out. It’s no good. I can’t. I can’t read it.”

“Well shall I read it for you?” said somebody else.

“No. Nope. Nobody’s going to read it.

“She folded it again and then screwed it in her hands. The conversation drifted elsewhere. Somebody had something more important to say.

The ball of paper remained in her hand, soft with sweat from her palms.

And soon there was a vacancy in time. A gap waiting to be filled.

“Well alright then,” she said without any prompting. “Perhaps I will. Perhaps I’ll read it.”

She unfolded the paper from her hand. “ I have to warn you though. It’s . . . not very good.”

People made warm encouraging noises, careful of where to tread, lest overpowering encouragement should boost up too much expectation; yet fearing that not enough could result in her screwing it up again into a tiny crumpled ball.

“As I said. It’s not very good. It’s just something I wrote. Long time ago.”

They waited.

“It’s called . . . ”

[She did read it, it was OK. I don’t remember the content.]

This little vignette is a raw observation: I wrote it so as to remember the nuances. It shows why I understand the need for Writing Life® to be entirely confidential and by correspondence; and it was probably instrumental in formulating my determination to pursue the course as we know it.

© Bernie Ross 2006

Notes from I don’t know where - but rather useful anyway

In a good story –

• There must be something at stake.
• The process of getting it must be suspended.
• Read any good book for examples.
• Ask powerful questions.
• The writing should be the equivalent of a camera that also records sounds and atmosphere. (Does a camera have opinions? I think not!)
• Write it backwards – how can the clues slip out?