The Burning Ground by Adam O'Riordan: review

I've reviewed Adam O'Riordan's debut collection of short stories for the Financial Times. Read it here.

Denzell Gardens Literary Festival

To bosky Cheshire, for the second Denzell Gardens Literary Festival, which takes place in the grounds of a Hogwartian country house. It's the sort of event that makes you feel that all is right with the world - face-painting, cupcakes, button-making and Pimms (the last of the year, I fear.) I was on after Adam Perrott, whose antics involving foam, balloons and safety glasses had the children in a rollicking good mood; he is the author of a book for 5-8s called The Odds, which features a family of Meddlers that enjoy causing trouble. I won't spoil the surprise; but let's say that it was explosive.

I read passages from The Other Book and The Liberators, introducing a more sinister element. It feels a little strange reading from The Other Book as it was so long ago (well, four years) - it's amazing how much you change and grow in relation to your own writing. It was very enjoyable, even when a very small child wandered onto the stage and stood just by my chair, gazing up at me. I almost asked him if he wanted to read.

The other events included Tom Williams, who gave a talk about his excellent biography of Raymond Chandler; I didn't know that Chandler was an alcoholic, and seemingly such an unhappy man. Signe Johansen was in conversation about her new book, which tells us all how to bake Scandi-style - and she provided some meltingly delicious cinnamon buns. It's not just herrings and rollmops (I'm not sure what they are) you see.

Adam O'Riordan, the poet, who shares two things with me - one, we were both at Oxford together; the second is that we've both been called "Byronic" in print, (with more appropriateness in his case, perhaps, I feel) – gave a gently powerful reading of some poems from his collection In the Flesh. His first novel is due to come out soon.

In between events, a young singer called Jim Caesar-Goddard performed his own songs. Imbued with a kind of scuzzy melancholy, and with wit and intelligence, he held the room entranced; watch this space, I've no doubt he'll be going far.

There were more talks, more Pimms, more tea; the whole thing was rounded off by the best fish and chips I've had in a long time - although I didn't sample the mushy peas. There was a definite North / South divide when it came to the mushy peas.

An enormous thank you to the organiser, Clare Stuart, for putting on such a good show. I've never seen such excellent bunting. Long may Denzell Gardens live.

Manchester Children's Book Festival: Gala Dinner

Carol Ann Duffy: rock and roll laureate

To Manchester, for a Gala Dinner (although the organisers confessed to not really knowing what a Gala Dinner was; I'm not really sure either - I thought it was something to do with swimming) in a swanky hotel, to celebrate and fundraise for the Manchester Children's Book Festival. The festival is run by the legendary James Draper and Kaye Tew, and does some brilliant work with children from deprived backgrounds.

I was on a table with poet and writer Adam O'Riordan; Carol Ann Duffy, the Poet Laureate, was at the table next to ours. I don't think I've ever seen a brace of poets dance quite so well as Carol Ann Duffy and Adam.  Is Duffy our first rock and roll laureate? Could Ted Hughes do the tango, and Andrew Motion the locomotion? Now that would be a sight.

Duffy gave away a bottle of Laureate's sherry - "from the Queen," said someone; "it's not from the Queen, it's from Spain," said Duffy.

She read out one of her poems, about Coronation Street; the speech was given by its creator, Tony Warren. It was written in big black felt tip and was like something out of a Ronald Firbank novel, all syncopation and sharpness. It contained some immortally brilliant lines: "She was a bishop's daughter, and she was very firm about it," being one of my particular favourites. He received a standing ovation.

Bloomsbury Circus: Launch

Will Davis: Author - and aerobatical genius

To Brick Lane, for the launch of a new imprint from Bloomsbury. Editor Alexandra Pringle looked down upon a massy crowd of literary people (including novelists Amanda Craig, Michael Arditti and Lucy Beresford; short story writer Polly Samson; assorted literary editors, journos, publishers, and other types) as clowns, trapeze artists and sundry performers cavorted. The new imprint is a first for Bloomsbury (who published my own two books): and, rather conveniently, one of the new tomes they're publishing under the name is by the excellent Will Davis - who happens to be a brilliant trapeze artist. He stunned the audience with his aerobatic display on silks, tumbling up and down them with grace, agility and speed, drawing gasps of admiration and awe  as he slid about in a breath-taking and daring show. Did I mention he's also written a book? (More than one, actually.)

What was also cheering was that Alexandra Pringle stressed the importance of the midlist - "We love the midlist," she said - it's where they grow authors and look for future prizewinners. She also said that they loved physical books - the new imprint will publish fine editions (with what are called French flaps. Don't ask me.) Their new  colophon is the Bloomsbury Diana swinging in a half-crescent moon. I look forward to seeing many fresh and new talents emerging under its sign.

We were fed, deliciously and appropriately, on burgers and hot dogs. Amongst the guests I spotted Tracey Emin. I wonder what she was doing there? Poet Adam O'Riordan was present and correct, whose novel has been bought by Bloomsbury; alas, none of us could be persuaded to do a handstand, or even a forward roll. Will Davis has set the bar high (quite literally high) for us authors. As if it's not enough for us all to be blogging, twittering, presenting, festivalling and all the rest, we must now all learn a useful circus skill. Anna Stothard and I are going to start a knife throwing team for our next book launches. Failing that, I'll learn how to catch bullets between my teeth.

My First Birthday

Quick! Whilst he's (you know who I'm talking about - The Boss) looking the other way I'll try and get a word in edgeways. Hello and welcome! I'm Philip Womack's Blog - Hah! He won't like that - he hates the word blog, flits around calling it 'Web-log', as if anyone does that. He's been using / misusing / desecrating me for one whole exact year now. He's a good enough master, on the whole; still, he hasn't done anything to celebrate my first birthday... He might at least have got me a re-design. Is that too much to ask? Sometimes I dream about becoming more than a mere, simple, clod-hopping blog. Perhaps one day I could, like chrysalis to butterfly (doesn't that just sound like something HE'D write), become a website - or, dare I even think it, a multi-platform user-friendly interface... Excuse me for a second, I am sorry. I'd better be quick. I can hear him rummaging around in the drawer looking for a pen. Imagine - he still uses pens!

You might think that I'm quite articulate for a one-year-old, but we blogs grow up fast. I now have 27 'followers' - twenty-seven! - only one of whom is related to The Boss, and only twenty-six of whom were physically bullied into following. I have had over 1,500 visits a month. My visitors are unpredictable in their likings; though most of them (don't tell The Boss this) tend to be searching for Philip Womack, quite a lot of them stumble across me by accident (I won't mention exactly what words you were searching for. I'm not that kind of blog).

In the past year The Boss has written on anything from A A Milne to Zurich; I've allowed him to indulge his penchant for classical literature and to show off about everything he's been writing. He's written a book called The Liberators, which was published just before I was born, and which he has been systematically and endlessly promoting; he's continued to write for The Daily Telegraph, The Literary Review and The Financial Times and sundry other papers, and has just started being involved with Port. He's visited several schools; his book's been reviewed in papers from the School Librarian to the South China Post. It's been an exciting year - for him, at any rate; I just look on from the sidelines and think about being a server.

These, then, are the top five things you've been looking at. There appears to be no rhyme or reason in them:

1. The Trinity Six by Charles Cumming: Party

2. The Afterparty by Leo Benedictus: review

3. I'm Late, I'm Late... Christian Marclay's The Clock

4. Books of the Year: Final Day: Children's Books

5. Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part One: Review

You've also displayed a fondness for Adam O'Riordan, Zadie Smith, Ned Beauman, and Robert Saxton (the poet).

He's found a pen - he's coming back - look, I'd better go - but hey, I for one am glad that I've had so many visitors, and maybe I can persuade some of you to follow me without The Boss sending round the heavies. See you all soon...

Love from

Philip's Blog
xx

(PS The picture is of a Black Box by Liza Campbell. It's called Fatty Had a Party and Nobody Came. Let's hope that some of you come to mine...)

Books of the Year: Day Four: Poetry

A rhapsodic top of the mornin' to you all on this foggiest of days. Welcome to Day Four of my Books of the Year - in which I give you some poetical delights. Here they come...

1. Faber New Poets 5 by Joe Dunthorne

This little pamphlet showcases the brilliantly ironic, often delicately beautiful talent of the young poet Joe Dunthorne (whose zanily dark first novel, Submarine, was published a couple of years ago). The poems reward re-reading - they explore friendship, memory, childhood and more, all with a sideways, intelligent glance. I look forward to more.

2. In the Flesh by Adam O'Riordan

Another promising debut by a fellow Oxford-ite (and, according to Tatler, Britain's Sexiest Poet), displaying a matured voice, and tackling a range of subjects in careful, studied form that shows both great control and passion.

3. Hesiod's Calendar by Robert Saxton

An excellent adaptation of possibly one of the dullest poems to come out of Greek literature, this is much better than the original. Split into two halves, The Theogony and Works and Days, the poem achieves a lightness of touch and wit that doesn't conceal the harshness of Hesiod's depiction of life.

4. The School Bag edited by Ted Hughes and Seamus Heaney

I read this all the way through in August. It's extremely satisfying to feel the shape of the themes rise up in your mind as you read - they are collected according to a vague, undisclosed scheme - as one moves from the sea, through animals, life, death. There are some true gems here, as well as some of the more canonically recognised poems. My only criticism is that there was too much folky stuff, which does not repay careful reading.

5. Human Chain by Seamus Heaney

Initially I didn't like this very much: but after dipping in a few times, one can appreciate the real craftsmanship of the poems. They seem to be about the ameliorative power of work - the 'human chain' being a physical chain of people passing sacks, as well as a 'chain' of poetry - and also to be hugely aware of death, with Virgil's Book VI (the descent into the underworld) looming large.

Well then, off I go. See you tomorrow for the final list: children's books. Ciao!

Adam O'Riordan - In The Flesh

I have just received Adam O'Riordan's debut collection of poetry, In the Flesh, which is full of beautifully constructed poems about love, loss, sorrow and life. Here are the ghosts of forebears, the shadows of lovers; a deep-rooted sense of place, and a careful exploration of the mind. My particular favourite is Blossom, in which a 'knuckle' of petals is used to wake a sleeping beloved as 'a burning feather / might revive a castaway.' There is tenderness and toughness at work throughout these verses. An evocative, haunting work.