I have been meaning to go to this night for months, since about February. But due to a series of jobs that involved dastardly night shifts, I could never make it. I finally made my way to TBSH last Monday, and it was a lovely 'celebration of finishing MA' night out. The premise is this: three of four writers are introduced by the (lovely) hostess; she praises them, and then hilariously cuts them down by reading out Amazon reviews (though of course these reviews are generally indicative of the societal aptitude of the person writing them, rather than the literary talents of the writer in question). The writer then reads an extract, we all clap, we all buy expensive drinks, and repeat!
Tom Rachman was first on the bill. He was a lovely bloke: warm, affable, and told amusing anecdotes about his time as a journalist. We've sold a silly number of his book The Imperfectionists, but I've of course not actually read it. It was a delight to hear. 'World's oldest liar dies aged 126': Rachman has a real sense of character, a dry style, and his personability was really well reflected in his delivery. He did at times run a little too dry, though, but maybe it picks up over the course of the novel as a whole. Verdict: I won't buy it, but I'll get it from the library. (In honour of Emma's decision to read an awful Amazon review, I have decided to add the least flattering Google Image result available):
(Of course this is not unflattering in any way. I didn't investigate the link between Tom Rachman and mid-90s Brad, but I'm sure it's a salacious one.)
Then there was a break to squeeze past all the trendy people and go to the loo, and the privilege of paying four quid for a (small) cider. Oh, Soho, what are you doing to me?
Next up was Jill Dawson, reading from Lucky Bunny. This was a low point in the evening; I found her voice quite mesmerising, which sort of sent me to sleep at times. The extract she read wasn't great - people sitting around a table talking about clothes has to be pretty bloody good to be captivating - but I could identify certain themes and topics that I imagine would be quite fun on another reading: scandal, social aspiration, backstabbing and so on (has Soho actually changed at all since the '50s?). The cover of the book is absolutely lovely, and to be fair, Dawson does conjure up something quite glamourous and delicious about the whole thing. But on a windy Monday on a side street in Soho: no. Verdict: First, Middle, and Last Chapters only.
NB: This is not the real Jill Dawson. It's not me, either.
OH MY GOD, AND THEN THERE WAS ALI SMITH.
(Look, look, look will you, at that mischievous smile!)
Forgive the uncharacteristic syntax. Ali Smith is one of my favourite contemporary writers, and I was so incredibly excited to see how her prose (edgy, frentic, staccato) might fare in performace. She read an extract from her most recent novel, There But For The. She's just a wonderful, wonderful public speaker. She absolutely works her rhythms until they seem almost autonomous - her prose almost goes on without her. But not quite - irreverant and fun and sexy as her style is, you always feel safe with her; her experimental style never trips over itself, never clumsily falls down, never makes you think she's anything less than a brilliant, instinctive, yet utterly craft-driven writer. I should have done some fan-girling when we were finished, but due to some exciting work-related things, I'll probably meet her in another context quite soon. Thus I decided to stay professional.
It was a great night all in all - I'll definitely be back there next month. The venue itself was perfect (maybe only 100 capacity) and everybody had a seat. The website is: http://bookstopshere.wordpress.com/.
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