Heroes

You ever have a hero? One you could rely on deep into the grave? In the last ten years or so, the term ‘hero’ has been taken away from people we idolise and handed back to people who do things like spread themselves across live grenades so as a bus load of school kids don’t have early funerals… and rightly so, but for the purposes of this piece, I’m rolling with the former because choosing something else doesn’t come close for me.

I’ve had a few and as the years have gone by, they’ve never let me down. Some are so obvious, they’re hardly worth mentioning if you know me. Paul Stanley from Kiss and Alice Cooper are the big guns. Their philosophy is not so different despite their (seeming) rivalry.

There’s also been a few that were a sign of the times - that I picked up and put down as I needed them - which might actually be the whole point of even having a hero.

I was obsessive about Bjorn Borg for a while simply because he was the ‘whole game’. I’m not sure what I got out of it but there it is. Boris Karloff was another… again, because when it came to monster movies, he was also ‘the whole game’. Bret ‘Hitman’ Hart - the whole game. There are a few others like this. Short life-spans with no other purpose but to dam the river when needed

But when it comes to books, it’s not so simple for me. Neil Gaiman came close, not least because I once picked up The Doll’s House Sandman graphic novel on a whim one Saturday afternoon back in something like ‘90/’91 (whenever it came out) when I was headed to a weekend-long party and was early for the train. (Of note here is that the money I spent on the book was supposed be money set aside for booze… go figure).

It had all the makings of the kind of party everybody talked about for years but I wouldn’t know. I spent the entire two days with my head in that book, drinking tea and eating whatever food my then (very understanding) girlfriend chose to put in front of me. Having presumably finished the book, I vaguely recall something about being chased by a horse in the dark and going home alone (natch). It was a long time ago but Gaiman has been pretty consistent and I’m still with him… but so is the rest of the world and that makes him a lot less attractive these days as a name to bandy about. These days I’m more likely to waft Michael Chabon’s name in front of your face as a name of somebody you should be reading. Mr Gaiman needs no more assistance from me at the moment.

Stephen King came close to a lifelong thing but wobbled too much and got replaced by Clive Barker… who also wobbled, but when I went back to King he was still too unstable for me. I keep up with them both still but it’s probably unreasonable to expect either to still be on their respective mountain tops, standing on one leg and juggling a very singular crown - particularly when John Connolly came along and whitewashed both of them for me.

Anyway, as the years have trickled by, those I didn’t recognise as heroes for the longest time have risen to the surface. Most of them were dead by the time I figured this out which gives it a certain kind of closure. It’s unlikely that they will become zeroes anymore - the work is complete. Raymond Carver, Hemingway, Steinbeck, Kerouac, Orwell and Dylan Thomas have weathered that storm with a certain grace I can only dream of but then, there’s this man:

One of the really big deals for me out in the world is J.D. Salinger. Aside from his books being some kind of misinterpreted influential template for my own work, I liked the way he went to his grave with two fingers in the air over never having his books made into films and how digital books could kiss his ass. It’s not how he wanted things to be and credit where it’s due, his estate continued to pipe cement into that wall since he died.

Until a year or so back:

His son, Matt, the very man who been mixing that cement since 2010, was interviewed by the New York Times and the article brought up some important things - namely, this:

‘…during a trip to China earlier this year, he realized that many young people overseas read exclusively on phones and digital devices, and that e-books were the only way to get his father’s writing in front of them.’

and from the horses mouth:

“He wouldn’t want people to not be able to read his stuff.”

And while we can sit here all day and argue that both Catcher In The Rye (55 million copies in 30 languages!) and Franny and Zooey are both still widely available in paperback (show me a bookshop without either and I’ll show you a bookshop without clue), the world has changed - and continues to change - bringing into sharp perspective my own observation that a book isn’t a book unless it’s actually being read. If somebody is not devouring the story, it’s just some paper with some thicker paper on the outside that lives on a shelf to show other people what sort of person you’d like them to think you are.

It brings up all kinds of horrible questions I never want to have to answer about what constitutes as ‘reading’.

But in the end, he’s right and if that’s the opinion of the last bastion of something I hold so dear, I need to swallow a plateful of humble pie topped with pride and also get to work on making things available digitally. It’s not so long ago that I seem to recall saying “Once you can read a book on your phone, the game will be over” and I would have been at least partially right.

There will always be those who love a physical book, how it feels in their hands, what it means to them and how they remember where they bought it from. Those are my kind of people but I’m damn sure that whole Gaiman episode I described above would never have happened if I had downloaded The Doll’s House to a portable reading device. Things change and time moves with it eventually crushing everything in its path that doesn’t want to ‘flow’.

It’s sad, but I guess it’s not sad at all if you’re under thirty. If you’re under thirty, it’s just the way things are and the way they’ve always been.

Out there in the world somewhere, there are most likely people for whom eight track was the Bees Knees too.

Time, huh. Can’t live with it…

---

Footnote: Salinger also had a good line in quotes, so here’s a few of my favourites - all of which sound a lot like things that come out of my own mouth…

I’m sick of just liking people. I wish to God I could meet somebody I could respect.

It’s funny. All you have to do is say something nobody understands and they’ll do practically anything you want them to

There are still a few men who love desperately

I’m just sick of ego, ego, ego. My own and everybody else’s

If you do something too good, then, after a while, if you don’t watch it, you start showing off. And then you’re not as good anymore

Best Books Of 2012:

Or rather, the best books that I read during 2012. Some were still hot from the delivery truck when I picked them up, others could possibly be from 2011 and sat on the shelf for longer than intended. Hey, it wouldn't be a list that I made if it was well organised would it: 1. The Tooth Fairy - Graham Joyce 

OK. Having done my research for this post, I see that The Tooth Fairy came out originally back in the mid nineties. Too bad. It's still the best book I've read all year. It's kind of what you think it might be like, but then it goes and does so many different things and walks so many unknown paths that it really is difficult to describe - and it's wonderful on all those levels. I've seen some rough as hell covers for it though. Ignore them. It's an out and out giant slayer.

2. Up Jumps The Devil - Michael Poore

I picked this up at the airport in Colorado (a woman from Derby sold it to me who pinpointed my birthplace accent - I thought I had lost that long ago) and I stripped it down on the plane, train and an automobile. Obviously not whilst driving. Great character, great time spanning story, a slick sense of humour (an American that gets irony - totally worth the entrance fee) and generally a brilliantly fun  - dare I say - laugh out loud novel to lose yourself in for hours on end. Great cover design - bonus!

3. The Lighthouse Keeper - Alan K. Baker

This sounded like every book I would never read. A book about a lighthouse? Written by somebody who sounds like he might be a news-reader? Be fooled no longer. This one is a stealth bomber. Weird as hell. I didn't have clue where it was going, not even on the last page and that's because although it's about er... weird shit that goes on at a lighthouse, the book is more about the keepers themselves and therefore more about human nature and as we all know, when humans are trapped on a rock with a lighthouse and weird shit occurs, anything can happen. And does. Almost as bad a cover as Tooth Fairy but not sure what I would have done differently if faced with the task...

4. Say You're Sorry - Michael Robotham

Sometimes, you simply need a book in which people get bumped off and you can't figure out who it is or why. This is my crime pick of the year because I read it one day and that's a good enough recommendation as you'll get. With a superb lead character who's not a copper or damaged in the way that coppers normally are, the whole Joe O'Loughlin series is worthy of a lot more attention that they're getting. Get off your sofa, go find some and read them in order. No comment on the cover of this - professional "look at me I'm a crime novel' design going on here. Which is what's called for. Michael... write more... faster please.

5. The Wrath of Angels - John Connolly

Well. There's no show without punch and I still say Connolly is the best writer in the country. I think this deserves to be higher on the list but circumstances meant that I picked it up day of release which wasn't necessarily conducive to me paying the best of attention. Thus, it took me a while to get started with it. My fault, not his. If I started it again today it would be a different story. If you're not familiar with Charlie Parker, best go and log onto janetandjohn.com or lookatmepetthedog.com because you're no reader friend of mine. The best crime series, let me think... since McBain's 87th Precinct plus added supernatural elements that mean... well, I still haven't figured out what they mean but it doesn't matter. 'Fucking incredible' is as good write up you'll find. The covers? Pretty good - when the series started they were different and I had never seen anything like them but they brought them into line for the 'stupid people'. I'll let it pass simply because what goes on inside the pages is so damned good.

6. Manhood For Amateurs - Michael Chabon

My latest flame. Currently reading his entire catalogue one after the other. Something I've never done with anybody before. Chabon is phenomenal but something of an acquired taste. This particular book is a collection of essays on being a father - which is as far from as dull as it sounds as I can get. Quite honestly, Chabon is the kind of writer that makes me wonder why I even entertain such dreams but he's so good that you can't help but hand out large plates of respect. He's probably a great guy as well. Bastard. Nice selection of covers on both sides of the Atlantic - which makes a change. He also has out of control hair. I think we should be friends.

7. Gods and Beasts - Denise Mina

Is Denise Mina still the UK's best kept secret? I see a pattern emerging with myself for detective fiction in which nothing is the same as it has been for far too many years with regards to UK crime. Anyway - I'm not going to say anything about this. Go discover her for yourself. There are too few surprises in life without me taking the few that remain. Nice covers too. I can spot a Denise Mina at fifty paces. That's a good thing.

8. Falcons of Fire and Ice - Karen Maitland

I really mean this: Karen Maitland is not for everybody. You'll have figured that out during the first paragraph of any of her books. But if she strikes the chord with you, each and every one of her books comes as some kind of gift that fell off a godlike cloud. Totally unique. I have never read anything like her stories and I adore every single one for all the right reasons. Stellar stories with massive amounts of thought goes into the production right down to the paper and the typeface - and the covers... what can I say about the covers? Among some of the best work ever laid on a cover? Without question. I'm talking hardback here, you don't get the same effect with the paperbacks. Why isn't this at number one on the list?

9. Every One Loves You When You're Dead - Neil Strauss

Strauss returns which a collection of interview snippets with seemingly everybody in the whole world. Strung together with a loose theme, this is one for pop culture guzzlers to get their teeth into (and it serves Klosterman right for not writing something I could put on the list). The guy writes so well, I'd punch him in the mouth if I didn't want to shake his hand for setting the standard the rest of us culture types to attempt to live up to. Like Chabon, he's seems like a genuinely great guy too. I shall not however call him a bastard because he has no hair at all and has therefore suffered enough already. Cover? Not great. Good job I didn't judge it from the cover or it would still be on the shelf.

10. The Prisoner of Heaven - Carlos Ruis Zafon

Zafon. At this point in the run, I'm hardly likely to be able to talk you into loving the man and his work, so if you've been playing the 'Shadow' game, you'll already have been here and nodded sagely to yourself. If not, see the advice at the end of number five. I like these covers even though I think I shouldn't. That means they're working. Ignore me. I'm just bitter than nobody asked me to have a go at them.

•••

An interesting list. I need to tidy it up some thoughts. Nesbo didn't make the list because I didn't think The Bat was very good (for obvious reasons if you're a fan). Rankin returned with Rebus and I made the mistake of going for it on audiobook from audible - where it's read by the most annoying Scot on the planet. Truly dreadful but it's Rebus so I'll return to that one by purchasing something with pages in it. Shit cover. All the Rebus redesigns are shit. I hate them. True fact. That's a lot of hate for a set of book covers but they look cheap and disrespectful. Clive Barker's Abarat: Absolute Midnight nearly made the list but I'm just waiting for another instalment of something that isn't bloody Abarat to be frank. Me and the rest of the world. It will come. Gaiman has been a bit quiet. Was the Graveyard Book this year? That was a good read, but I've read so many kids books this year that I thought I might do a separate list... not that it was strictly a kids book I guess.

It's not right of me to actually name the worst book of the year is it but I think it was Daughter of Smoke and Bone. I made it through maybe a chapter and then decided to wash my hair instead. Sorry. That's the way it crumbles sometimes.

What did we learn here? Two things I think. 1. Brilliantly written original books need great covers so that people will be inclined to pick them up and investigate more. 2. People called Michael write really good books.

Le Fin.