In memoriam to Steven Room, and contentment.

Perhaps you have been jarred by the title of this blog? 

Perhaps these 2 elements sound conflicting and you think me insensitive; this isn't the intention so I hope that the juxtaposition will become apparent as you read on…

                                                                                                 

It is a sad fact that this year our annual Christmas rituals were replaced by funeral arrangements following the sudden loss of my father-in-law, Steven Room; sympathy cards stood in place of the usual jolly Santa, and celebratory proceedings were replaced by dark emotions: I have thus been avoiding writing at all.

However, when I discussed the dread of writing, and turning this blog into an emotional outpouring, my husband gave me one piece of advice…

”Then don’t,” he said, “Write of contentment instead”.

So, here goes…

I first met Steve over 20 years ago; petrified is the first word that springs to mind when I recall the booming articulations that could have belonged to a radio 4 presenter! His eloquence and breadth of knowledge highlighted my ignorance, and broad Leicester accent, and  sent me heading straight to a thesaurus…did I drop an ‘H’, should I have placed the emphasis on the first vowel of that word, or the second! I was ready to wear the dunce hat for evermore, but I soon discovered that the voice belonged to a gentle, humble man who indeed was incredibly intelligent, but also kind, generous and supportive. This Cambridge graduate was Captain of the Sport’s Team; he majored in Chaucer, spoke fluent French, and eventually went on to become a highly respected high-school teacher. However, he was unwilling to champion his own achievements: his modesty was a great part of his charm. A Facebook tribute page is further testimony to this humble man; his teaching skills and enthusiasm have reached hundreds of students who have recalled experiences in his class; the amount of people he encouraged to achieve is, quite simply, astounding. As you see, Steve had many enviable qualities; for one, he taught Catcher in the Rye for many years and this in itself deserves a medal!! You remember how I despise this book (see previous post!)  He apparently managed to compare the Cratch in the Eye to Dances with Wolves!!! Oh I do wish I’d been in his English class!

Although I wasn’t fortunate enough to have been taught by Steve, when I decided to become a teacher and study through the OU, Steve was there buoying me on, championing my efforts to anyone who would listen, spell checking my assignments, correcting my grammar, reading my stories and encouraging me to write more! (At this point only my tutor and I were privy to my stories, so when this legend of a man said he actually liked my stories…well, you can imagine…)

He did, however, constantly correct my punctuation and try to reign in my over-use of adjectives!! And he didn’t just correct essays …oh no… texting too!! I have never known a person text so syntactically correct!! This was just one of his many endearing qualities!

Steve was a greatly loved husband, father, Grandfather, teacher and friend. He will be sadly missed; too short a life, but I’m sure he would agree that he has had some glorious moments of contentment.

Amongst other things, I know that contentment for Steve was literature, and the teaching of;  music; admiring his garden in both France and England, after a hard days toil and labour; sitting in the sun with a beer and a fag; watching a myriad of foreign language films with Lone (intellectual not the other!); Scandinavian crime thrillers; cakes and sweet things; Rugby (the sport!); visiting family and friends in Denmark and France; laughing with his family and friends; being with his family (most of the time!).

Many simple pleasures, but I’m sure you’ll agree, contentment lives in the small things.

And contentment for me, well, I have just returned from a windswept stroll on Cromer beach with my long suffering other, and our dog; the children are happily playing with their Christmas presents; I’ve just finished the 6th Jo Nesbo (Harry Hole) book, this morning; I’m currently sitting here writing this, whilst eating chocolate as the sun sets over the garden; and I’m looking forward to the writing group which re-opens for business on Thursday (we are working on our first group anthology!); there’s a bottle of whiskey in the cupboard, a bottle of sparkly on ice and an ever expanding range of literature to digest!

What does contentment mean for you? Let me know!

I couldn’t, of course, mention Mr Room without his wife, Lone; being a Dane she is an advocate of all things Scandinavian, and by marital decree I am bound to champion the nation! This however isn’t difficult, especially if you enjoy Scandinavian crime writing! As I mentioned earlier, I have just finished the 6^th Harry Hole novel and although I’m hooked on Nesbo, I recommend you explore the wider brilliance of this popular genre:

I began by reading one of the Wallander novels by Henning Mankell- an easier, gentler read than Nesbo and larsson, the action is more rural in feel than globe trotting-the essence is far more Morse than Bond! The books are a great read, but do also try to watch the addictive, original, Swedish series on DVD-go for the original rather than the painfully, brooding kenneth Branagh remakes-he’s a poor substitute for the huge charisma that is Fredrik Gunnarsson!

After Mankell, I then moved on Steig Larsson with the awesome Millennium Trilogy-I actually couldn’t put these down (clichéd but true) and read them over a few days on the beach-developing a nice book-shaped tan line across my chest! The series was absolutely awesome, a whirlwind trip (action relying heavily on the use of technology and dodgy associates!), the action is at times brutal and gruesome (at times hard to stomach), the believable characters, thrilling plot twists and of-course an amazing female lead-Lisbeth Salander-ensure that many Scandinavian thriller writers will be compared to him for years to come. Read the books first, then watch the ORIGINAL films- Daniel Craig does have great biceps, but once again something is lost in the translation and too much detail is cut by the necessity of editing for a movie length film.

After reading Larsson, and aware that these books were his last, I found Nesbo: The sticker on the front of his books calls him THE NEXT STEIG LARSSON-Yes, his books are a gripping read, but Nesbo cannot compete with Larsson’s intricacies of characterization and plot. However, saying this, I’d still thoroughly recommend reading the Jo Nesbo books , his interweaving of plot threads is extremely clever, yet wholly conceivable. Once you’ve read one you do have the basic formula, but there are some great plot twists and the lead character Harry Hole is indeed a loveable rogue!

On initial reading I thought that these books were written by a woman- an opinion I’m told is shared-the men I spoke to found the Nesbo books a little pretentious and felt that he was trying to hard to be lyrical; women I have spoken to however love the books, or is that, they love Harry Hole!!

Although you can just pick up any one of Nesbo’s books and go with them (it’s not complicated to grasp the character and his life/lack of social skills; many themes are recurrent: his colleagues tend to murdered and he’s a battling alcoholic with an attitude, oh and there’s a relationship that he keeps screwing up) it is best to read them in order-I didn’t, and it meant a few spoilers for me!

So, as the books aren’t numbered, here’s the order (a couple of texts aren’t yet readily available):

The Bat (only available in hardback/as an eBook at the minute so I haven’t read it!)

The Cockroaches (can’t even find this on Amazon!)

The Redbreast (success seems to have started here)

Nemesis

The Devil’s Star

The Redeemer

The Snowman (This is where they get quite gruesome!)

The Leopard

Phantom

Headhunters

Give them a go and let me know what you think.

After I’ve given the first draft of my friend’s sci-fi novel a read (thanks, John), I’ll try another Scandi-Crime writer, as recommended by Lone…I’ll let you know what I think to both!!

If you have any recommendations please let me know by either leaving a comment where it says ‘comments’ or email me on:

walshamwritersgroup@gmail.com

Happy reading, and have a happy and contented start to 2013.

Hayley xx

Slaughter of the Innocent

There are many forms of escapism-for me, they are: reading, writing and single malts! Indeed, escapism is a necessity of modern living for many of us and its forms may be many...However, watching the Dexter series and The Walking Dead are worryingly two  other forms I indulge in and thus I'm concerned that these choices somehow relate to a hidden personal philosophy of mine; If you don't know, I guess that the basic premise of these series boils down to this...It's ok to kill another thing if A: You are about to be eaten by someone who resembles a Jeremy Kyle contestant with the brain capacity of pond slime, or B: If an evil person continually harms the innocent without consequence then an alternative form of justice must come into force. 

Yes, so far, I'm leaning towards an agreed philosophy, though, who, and how, should justice and evil be defined? (Comments below please)

So, let us say that a wide consensus is agreed, we are clear on the term EVIL and this is the premise by which I choose to live my life, then how far, in-fact, would I go?

Well, let's test this premise using the first pond-slimed weasel that pops into my head- Ah yes...Michael Gove-yet to appear on Jeremy Kyle but mixing with pond-life nonetheless. Together with his posse of public school boy buddies they have decided that year 6 children (that's 11 year olds) should sit a grammar test which includes: identifying a passive, impassive voice within a text, and identifying main and subordinate clauses within sentences. 

Can we agree that this is evil ?

Will we see children turning away from literature, or will we see them queuing into the early hours for the next Harry Potteresque book whilst discussing the texts inadequate use of the impassive, and the lack of subordinates! I for one never read or write with these elements in the forefront of my mind (Could this be why I'm not a successful author on The Booker Prize list?!). Surely we should be nurturing the joy in the written word before teaching them to tear each sentence apart and analyse all its parts.

So, what do you think? 

Gove's posse, furthermore, have also suggested that all primary school children should learn, not just 1 foreign language (most schools I know of already teach 2) but also latin and greek- I say Mr Gove, 'Repere retro sub rupe a qua vos concepti sunt' or 'σέρνεται πίσω κάτω από τον βράχο από τον οποίο σχεδιάστηκαν' (Google told me that this means 'crawl back under the rock -guess it should say 'public school'-below which you were conceived'). 

So, as you can see, Gove indeed comes under the category of  'a bad man' doing harm to innocents, but the question now remains of how to deal with him? A punishment equivalent to the crime...hmm...If anyone has any suggestions please let me know below!

Anyway, I promised not to vent my spleen and I have broken that promise, so back to the celebration of the group's achievements! Below you will see that I have pasted Bob's amazing story which came second in the Norwich Theatre's ghost story competition. Well done again, Bob.

(Please comment at the end of the post-it isn't obvious where the link is but, if you move the mouse over it, it should highlight the link). 

Bob also wrote a brilliantly intelligent and witty review of  Alan Ayckbourn's 'Haunting Julia'. Hopefully Bob will post this up very soon!

Happy reading!!

NON-COMMITTAL

Margot sent me to cover the funeral. It seemed a bit pointless to me – what was going to happen at his funeral, after all, that could add anything to his life story? But a job’s a job, so I looked out a suitably sombre dress and put on black tights, even though the temperature outside was somewhere in the high twenties. I was a little early, which would give me time to observe the mourners as they arrived. 

An usher intercepted me in the foyer of the crematorium. He had a clipboard and a reverential smile. Was I family? I told him I wasn’t. I was handed an order of service and accompanied to a seat. Even though it was early, the chapel was already half full, which meant that it was also half empty, so why did the usher almost sit me on the knee of the single occupant of one of the rear rows? I made a show of settling myself. Should I pretend to pray? I decided not to be hypocritical, modestly tugged my dress towards my knees, and tried to look reflective. Mourners kept arriving, but no-one else was directed to our row. Was it reserved for unwanted guests? I sneaked a look at the man next to me. He was of middle years, dark-suited, with a startlingly colourful tie. He must have noticed my scrutiny, because he turned and flashed me what could only be described as a cheeky grin. I looked away, but the contact had been made.

“Good turn out.” he said, in a husky whisper, still grinning.

“Yes,” I whispered back, not grinning. He looked away, his eyes roving the room as though trying to see someone in particular. Perhaps he was. In my head, I began to cast my piece for tomorrow, rehearsing an opening sentence: “A large lottery win did not bring good luck to local man, Simon Farnsfield. Less than six months from cashing in his winning ticket for twenty-five million pounds, Simon’s life was tragically ended by a freak accident…” Was falling drunk into the swimming pool of his new mansion a freak accident? Perhaps tragic accident would be better?

“Friend of the family?” came the husky voice beside me, cutting short my deliberations.

“Something like that,” I mumbled.

“Only I don’t recognise you.”  Why was I embarrassed to admit to being a reporter? I decided to shift the focus from myself. If he wanted to chat, I might pick up some inside information.

“Did you know him well?” I ventured.

“Pretty well.”

“An old friend?”

“Old as they come.” His tone, even though muted, was jaunty. I noticed he was still grinning, not quite your traditional mourner.

“Were you at school together?”

“Indeed we were.” This was a stroke of luck. My fingers itched to get out my voice-recorder.

“Had you kept in touch?” (This as close as I dared get to “Did you look him up again when you heard of his lottery win?”) He crossed the first fingers of his right hand in a gesture appropriately reminiscent of the National Lottery logo itself.

“We were like that.”

“His death must have come as a terrible shock?”

“It certainly did. What a prat!”

“I’m sorry?”

“Could have seen it coming. Should have seen it coming.” I almost put my hand up to my nose to stop it twitching: it was detecting the first raw, tantalising scent of a story.

“How do you mean?” I prompted. “He should have seen what coming?”

“Murder, of course.”  

This was a wind-up, wasn’t it? He knew I was a reporter. He was feeding me a line. All the same…

“You’re saying he was murdered? It wasn’t an accident?”

“Accident my arse!” A woman two rows in front heard the inappropriate word and stiffened. Arse? At a funeral? Well, really! She looked over her black-clad shoulder and frowned in our direction, positively crackling with disapproval.

“Who murdered him? How do you know?” I hissed. I had to find out more, even at the risk of further expletives. I was sensing career advancement.

“Hannah, of course. The cheating bitch!” Several people looked round this time. 

“Hannah? His wife?” The grin had gone, I noticed. At that moment, precisely on cue, the grieving widow entered, head bowed, faltering steps aided by an older man: grief personified.

“She pushed him into the pool?”

“And the rest. Hard to fight back when you’re sozzled.”

Now the coffin began its slow progress from the rear doors. Everyone fell silent. I dared one last whisper: “How could you possibly know? Weren’t they alone in the place the night it happened?”

“Oh yes,” he said, “It was just the two of us.” And along with my story, he vanished.

Bob Bishop 
October 2012