A turn-up for the books

This week I was invited to speak to a book group. I was excited — a turn-up for the books, almost literally! I like hearing others’ interpretations of the comings and going of my characters. It is thrilling to have them discussed as though they exist fully in the world, to hear their childhoods mined for clues, to have their choices examined, their motivation and psychology deeply probed. Listening to people weigh your words in this way can be as enjoyable as being fed little spoonfuls of warm melted chocolate in the sunshine, mid-afternoon. It is luxury.

The last three talks I gave were to teenage schoolgirls and I sometimes got sidetracked trying to equip them with tips for life. These varied wildly, from “organise your personality so you don’t need anything from anyone else”, to “whistle a merry tune”.

As I often write about people in extreme states, readers in extreme states sometimes come up and ask me for my advice after talks. People will occasionally buy a book and, proffering a pen, say, “My life has not turned out as I hoped. I feel so disappointed. Can you write down some words of hope for me?” At this point you almost always feel that you are not good enough.

I was talking to some writer friends about my imminent book-group visit.

“Maybe don’t count on getting a good reception,” they warned.

“Why would you say that?” I asked.

“Sometimes,” one ventured, “the people can be really mean.”

“No! If you are invited somewhere to talk about your work, can’t you assume people like it? That people are at least interested?”

They all smiled. Then the horror stories began. “So, I was discussing my last novel with a book group, and it was an hour-and-a-half away on the bus and pouring with rain, and when I got there they all hated it and tore the main character to pieces, saying she was sly, manipulative and thoroughly unpleasant.

“No one had a good word to say for her. I was shocked. I had intended her to be a kind, decent, even vulnerable sort of person, and they just attacked her. One woman said she could kind of see what I was trying to do but it just hadn’t come off! I was stunned. I had even bought some copies of earlier books to give away but I didn’t dare get them out of my bag.”

“Well, I just got, ‘But it’s so hard to enjoy your books when your characters are so unlikeable.’ But my characters aren’t meant to be likeable. I don’t need them to be admired for their personalities. It’s more complicated than that. Then they told me about the woman who had come the month before, how she was really something, how you’d want to go out for a drink with all her characters, how you hoped they’d move in next door.”

“If people say they don’t like my characters, I just say, ‘But would you want to go to bed with them?’ That usually silences the room.”

“Remember not to drink anything, because then you forget you don’t know these people and tell them personal things that they could use against you.”

My little outing was looking more and more alarming. I wrote a few pages of notes outlining what it is I am trying to do in my work and in my life, and off I set.

I needn’t have worried. The reception I received was friendly, charming and respectful. I was offered high-class refreshments and sat amid a large horseshoe of chairs, on the comfiest seat. Intelligent and thoughtful questions were abundant. Some of the women gathered even remembered details in the books that I seemed to have forgotten. One woman, however, seemed unconvinced. I had the feeling she saw through me somehow and I soon realised I was directing all my efforts into winning her over. Afterwards she raised her hand: “Hearing you speak about your work and your characters, I realise I need to treat my sister with more sympathy and patience. She’s very sensitive like you. And you’ve made me see things from her point of view...”

“You could,” I said, “but maybe she needs to change. Maybe she’s too exacting. Maybe it’s not fair that she gets to have all the feelings all the time.”

On my way home, a bit elated from all the attention, I received a text from a friend who wanted to know how it had gone. “It was wonderful.”

“Anyone challenge you in a scary way?”

“Well,” I wrote, “only me”.

— Financial Times