You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘Newtown Review of Books’ tag.
My new novel, MY HEART IS A LITTLE WILD THING, has now been out in the world for 10 days, which, of course, has gone by in a flash. Even though this is my third novel (and eighth title) I still find it hard to let go.
As soon as a book is published it is no longer the author’s; it is the reader’s. We can wish the book well. We can hope it finds people who will love it as much as we have loved making it, though it is a complicated love, isn’t it – it has not always been easy, which perhaps only serves to make the love deeper, more profound. We can want for the book to be treated with kindness, and with an open-mind. At the very least, we do not want the book to gather dust at the back of a bookshop.
But how the book is received is largely out of an author’s hands. We just have to trust the work we have put into it.
I have heard composer-comedian Tim Minchin say (and this quote is based on my memory of an interview with him on ABC TV a couple of years ago, but I think it is reasonably accurate), ‘A piece of art is simply the result of how much time the artist had and how much energy they put into it.’ Minchin went on to suggest that if an artist proceeds along those lines, how people respond to a work – negative, positive, or otherwise – is largely irrelevant. It is helpful advice. However, it does not stop some artists, including myself, worrying about how an object like a novel is received. There are those who say that an artist is not their art, but where does one begin and the other end?
Best I stop rambling.
All I really wanted to do with this post is give a brief summary of the public life so far of MY HEART IS A LITTLE WILD THING.
There has been a warm and engaged cover story in the Canberra Times; it is rare for a novelist to receive this kind of attention, so I am most grateful. And in all my years as a writer I have never imagined that I would appear on the cover of the newspaper’s weekend magazine with a water dragon on my head.
There has also been a review in the Newtown Review of Books, which concludes:
A rich story, elegantly written. I loved this delightful novel and the journey it took me on. Patrick’s character is finely observed, and his growth, sexual liberation and preparedness to come out as he hits 50 are beautifully scrutinised. A remarkable look at Australian masculinity and its meaning.
The New Daily listed MY HEART IS A LITTLE WILD THING as being one of ‘ten standout books to read in May.’
Booktopia did a Q&A with me, which was lovely. Such interesting and engaged questions, which I had to think about carefully before setting down my answers.
And I have also had the pleasure of being interviewed by a number of hard-working podcasters, two of which have already appeared online: a chat for the relaunched Queer Writes Sessions, which is an initiative of RWR McDonald, author of THE NANCYS and NANCY BUSINESS; and a wide-ranging conversation with Barbie Robinson for Living Arts Canberra, who concludes, ‘Here is a truly astute writer utterly in control of his art.’ Perhaps needless to say, I enjoyed both conversations very much.
Thank you to all those who have engaged with MY HEART IS A LITTLE WILD THING so far, whether it be by posting the book on social media or emailing me to share their experience of reading the story – I do appreciate it, no doubt more than this post suggests. I feel sure that Patrick would appreciate it too, though he might also be just a little overwhelmed. He might need to head back to Jimenbuen on the Monaro and bunker down in the steading, making meals, drinking wine, going for walks. Perhaps he might even go so far as to head up into the Cambalongs and spend a night or two in the hide.
Maybe I’ll see him there.
You too, even.
The Beach Volcano: ready to sell itself for the world.
You know when you start referencing Mariah Carey in conversation that things aren’t quite right. And when you begin yarns with ‘I’m reading a lot about war in Afghanistan at the moment and I can really understand how those men feel’ you know it’s time to take a deep breath. Regrettably, this week I’ve done both those things. Because (a) The Beach Volcano is now officially out in the world and (b) I’m so exhausted that my skill hurts – seriously. Have I told you how Mariah Carey is fighting war in Afghanistan?
I guess the first thing I want to say is THANK YOU to all those who attended the launch at the mighty Electric Shadows Bookshop on 18 September. There was a terrific buzz in the room and I managed to get through my speech without swearing and/or dribbling. Maybe. Better still, Distinguished Professor Jen Webb said great things, as in astute. Also, thanks to everyone who sent through congratulatory messages, vis textie, the Facebook, the Twitter, or via carrier pigeon. Thanks also, of course, to Blemish Books for putting up with me for the past four and a half years – it’s been a fantastically productive relationship, especially considering that literary novellas aren’t exactly an easy proposition these days.
Finally, it’s pleasing to report that there have been some warm critical responses to The Beach Volcano. A few highlights:
‘In this tight, spare novella, Nigel Featherstone takes a well-tried narrative formula, the family union for a big occasion, and gives it a treatment both elegant and original. The wonderful symbol of the beach volcano – a banked fire under a mound of sand that will ‘erupt’ if you pour saltwater into its mouth – gathers import and power as the story progresses’ Sydney Morning Herald
‘Nigel Featherstone’s accomplished third novella, The Beach Volcano, takes as its point of departure Tasmania, as had its predecessors, I’m Ready Now and Fall on Me. There is a good deal to admire in The Beach Volcano, whose title metaphor points to a key element in the plot of the novel, as well as to a lost childhood time that, it seems, can only be destructively revived in the present. Mick Dark’s musical career is imagined in economical and vivid detail, Featherstone even managing the very difficult task of giving us a sense of how key songs were born, and might sound. The family dynamic – of pride, concealment, ambition – is persuasively presented, not least in the unconscionable burdens that each of the Alburys feels obliged to accept. Featherstone has once more exploited to advantage the taut, intense fictional range in which he works best’ Canberra Times
‘The great contradictions and betrayals of family life are the central concerns of Nigel Featherstone’s new novel, The Beach Volcano, and reading it we share some of the rawest emotions that surface in the swings between guilt and sanctimony that characterise relationships between parents, children and siblings. The Beach Volcano is as much a crime thriller as a domestic drama, and Featherstone’s third and final book in a series of what he calls novellas (but which seem so much more substantial and complete than that) stands alone as something quite original. There is a real sense of excitement as the story proceeds, a heightened suspense that is surprising in literary fiction. Featherstone’s skill as a writer seems to increase book by book, and this novel stands out as the absolute crowning achievement. Utterly enthralling’ Newtown Review of Books
‘The thing about Featherstone’s books is that there’s potential for high drama, or, to put it more crudely, for violence and/or death. But Featherstone is not a writer of crime or thrillers. He’s interested in family and human relationships, and so, while dramatic things happen, the drama never takes over the story. We to-and-fro between love and hate, welcome and aggression, as this family tries to keep conflict at bay, while threatened by a secret that they refuse to openly confront. Family secrets, gotta love them. Featherstone’s language is clear and evocative. The ‘beach volcano’ of the title works on both the literal level and as a metaphor for simmering tensions that threaten to erupt. In a way, this is a reworking of the prodigal son story, except that in this version the son returns as a success and is, perhaps, the one who extends the greatest generosity. It is about love and acceptance, but has the added theme of the need to face the past before you can truly progress into your future. In its measured way, quite the page-turner. A fitting conclusion to Featherstone’s novella set’ Whispering Gums
So. The Beach Volcano is out of my hands and off on its own adventures, doing whatever it is that it wants/needs. And this brings to an end the Launceston novellas. It’s been a fantastic ride. I honestly never expected – or even intended – for the entire series to be made public. I wrote these books initially for myself, for my own challenge and entertainment. Then the editing started, and the rewriting, and the polishing, and more of those skull pains. Of course, it’s been wonderful to see the books go on to do good things (and I do feel as though Fall on Me and I’m Ready Now are no longer mine, though I’m still far too close to The Beach Volcano to think about it in any rational way). After a bit of a lie-down – okay, it might end up a very lengthy lie-down, as in I might not surface for years – it’ll be time to turn my attention to new things. Like caring for my chooks for weeks on end. Or walking the Old Lady of the House. Or just sitting on my back step talking to the sparrows.
They’re a lot of fun, sparrows, don’t you reckon?
Just a quick Blemish Novella Story update and rare mid-week UTC post, for two reasons.
The first – and perhaps most important, if anything about all this could be considered ‘important’ – is that tomorrow night (20 June), at 6pm, I’ll be taking part in my publisher’s Very Blemished Evening at Smith’s Alternative, Canberra City. Can you think of a better title for a literary event? But this isn’t any old literary shindig, because this one has music, by the always cheeky Jason Recliner, and mountains of booze from the bar. So do drop in, have a drink and a dance, and listen to words by poets J.C. Inman and P.S. Cottier as well as myself. I’ll be singing – yes, singing – an entire chapter from I’m Ready Now. Okay, I may have made up that last bit; I’ll simply be reading a couple of saucy excerpts.
Speaking of I’m Ready Now, this being the second in what I hope will be a series of three novellas, all of which exploring contemporary Australian family life, has scored a warm and appreciative review in the Newtown Review of Books. The only response a writer really wants to their work is a close and thoughtful and open reading, and that, to my utterly biased mind, is what Walter Mason has done. Click on the link above for the whole deal, but the tastiest morsel might be this:
A newly widowed Tasmanian woman travels to Sydney to start a new life and begins her journey in the in-between space of her gay son’s stark one-bedroom flat in the inner city. This is the premise of Nigel Featherstone’s beautifully crafted novella, I’m Ready Now, a book that examines the impact of ageing on a grieving rich widow and a lost gay man approaching what he can only perceive as a hopeless middle age. Featherstone writes with sensitivity and a terrific eye for what it is that makes love – or at least sustained sexual connection – so very thrilling. Ultimately I’m Ready Now is about ‘feeling life’ – feeling one’s way around its unpleasant limits and reaching the end of its strangely narrow circuits. Thoughtful and frequently wistful, it serves as a guide to Sydney’s sadder streets and as a map of those moments of emotional maturity where you realise that it isn’t going to work out. Nuanced and thoroughly original.
Cue glowing heart.
If you’re in the ACT region tomorrow night, I look forward to seeing you – I’ll be the one whose legs won’t stop jiggling from nerves…
Under the counter or a flutter in the dovecote 