The delicate art of humbly receiving glowing reviews
And other coy tangents.
Writers are often the result of neighbouring collapsing stars, one formed from the gasses of egoism and the other a fiery ball of crushing self-doubt (sorry, I’ve been watching the new Brian Cox thing on iPlayer). A satisfying exemplar of this in motion is the phenomenon that is the Google Alert. If you’re not familiar with this canny little trick, it’s an online facility in that antechamber universe known as the Googlesphere where you can declare allegiance to any number of keywords (as Raymond Williams would have approved) and then whenever those keywords crop up on the internet, you get an email about it.
Something like that anyway.
I used to have one set up for “Wales Arts Review” so that if anyone ever cited us I could reference that in future correspondence; or if anyone ever slagged us off I would get a ping about it and I could condemn the writer of that article to the WAR Kill List. It was quite useful that way.
The other Google Alert I used to have (and still do) is for me, Gary Raymond. It is mainly for when I have something coming out and I can see if reviews or blogs pop up. I can then add them to corresponding lists as with Wales Arts Review. Also quite useful.
But the Google Alert is robotic, it’s a fake intelligence, rather like the Conservative Party leadership election, it is not powered by organic brain matter. It is not even overseen by some battery of porridgey posthuman data rodents scurrying away on frosted monitor screens in a hollowed mountain in Silicon Valley or anything like that (which is how I imagine most large scale tech things are run). Because of this lack of cultural accountability, there have been accidental rabbit holes. So, a few years ago I became semi-hooked on the retrial of a cold-case murder in Queensland, Australia when an investigating officer of the original crime thirty-odd years ago was called to testify. His name was Detective Sergeant Gary Raymond.
Philip K. Dick could have probably turned that into a novel.
The Google Alert, for a writer, ensconces itself into that space between the exploding stars. Are we being read? Is anybody talking about our work? Are we contributing to the body electric?
And then we are ashamed to be curious, sickened at our own effrontery in even asking that the great god Google should let us know if we’re getting mentioned.
So, I don’t check these alerts very often. It’s a cosmic emotional toil.
The cold case down under tired me out a bit. As did the incessant updates from the national Bridge league in North America, letting me know how Gary Raymond Northam and his wife Marcia were getting along (pretty well, last I checked).
And so I was a bit late to the review for my last book, Abandon All Hope, had in Nation two weeks ago, penned by the novelist and poet Niall Griffiths. It was certainly a glowing review, and it brightened up my day, not simply because a good review always does that, but because it was from Niall. I know Niall a little bit, but not enough to ever worry he wouldn’t be honest in his assessment of my book. I admire him hugely as a writer, and I like him a great deal as a person, but the real satisfaction of the review came from the fact that Niall is one of the most literary people I know. He is immersed in literature and literary culture. He is a man of letters, in the old school sense of the word. It is a career highlight for my work to be praised by someone who has dedicated their life to the progress of literature (as I’d like to think I have).
It is, I think, only the second review I’ve had. This is partially because the reviewing landscape in Wales has been utterly gutted by funding decisions, and the national press remains averse to reviewing Welsh stuff if at all possible.
The first review of Abandon All Hope cropped up in The Times Literary Supplement of all places — one of the few bastions of quality cultural criticism (I would say that, wouldn’t I?) left in an increasingly slippery world.
If you’d be interested in reading Niall Griffiths’ review, you can do so here.
In other news, the main reason for no BRG for the last fortnight is that my new shop is open. Earlier this year, me and old school friend and Goldie Lookin’ Chainer Graham the Bear, decided to open a vinyl record shop in my home town of Monmouth, and in super-quick time, we did it and it’s there, GRINNING SOUL RECORDS, and you can now go there and buy records, old and new. I hope to welcome as many BRG subscribers as we can fit in the shop.
You can find out all the news from Grinning Soul Records on our social media here and here, and on our separate substack over here.
Now the shop is open (and there is much to do in it) I’m hoping to put a little more time into BRG at least once a week. Including reviews, musings, and audio short stories.
Thanks for sticking with it.