THE STORY SO FAR: PART 7

If you are a reader, and haven’t yet discovered the novels of Nevil Shute, you have a treat in store. And yes, he really did spell his name ‘Nevil’ - this way. On the other hand, his full name wasn’t ‘Nevil Shute.’ It was ‘Nevil Shute Norway.’ He was born in January 1989 and died in January 1960 after an extremely active life. Wiki says he died at the age of 60. According to my math, he lived a highly productive 71 years.

Deeply knowledgeable, highly readable and impressively prolific, I first ran across his works when at boarding school in England. The school was Ampleforth College in chilly Yorkshire, UK. The place was decidedly spartan in my day, but apparently has now gone co-educational. I would probably have read a lot less if the fair sex had been around when I served my time.

Unfortunately, my house library contained only a couple of Nevil Shute’s  works and it was against the rules to borrow books from another house. Nonetheless, I persuaded a normally law-abiding friend of mine, Anthony Du Vivier, who lived in another house, to do the deed – his house library was well stocked with Nevil Shute -  so ended up reading just about all Shute’s works. I doubt I did any useful school work during that period, but I have rarely been happier. To put it mildly, I was not overly fond of boarding school, and Shute’s extraordinary range of stories provided mental escape – if not physical.

Dr. Anthony Du Vivier is now a world renowned skin doctor and author of books on his specialty. He remains one of the most charming human beings I have ever met. He also gave me a piece of advice that has stood me in good stead over the decades. “My dear fellow, the best aphrodisiac is a really good bottle of red wine.” He was the best man at my wedding though had to be rushed to hospital after the ceremony. Overindulgence was not the cause. He was actually dying of leukemia, but an experimental drug saved his life. Though I married a commendable woman, my marriage did not survive unfortunately.

By the way, if you have need of a world class dermatologist, you can find Dr. Anthony Du Vivier at 62 Wimpole Street, London W1G 8AJ.

Nevil Shute is probably best known for his book On The Beach which was made into a truly outstanding movie by director Stanley Kramer. It starred Gregory Peck, Ava Gardner, Fred Astaire and Anthony Perkins – and each time I see it, it terrifies me because the events it portrays are all too possible. There has been a global nuclear war, and both the U.S. and the Soviet Union have been annihilated. Lethal radioactivity is being blown south by the prevailing winds. There is no escape. The end of the world, and much of the action in the movie, takes place in Australia.  Given the agonies of a death from a high dose of radioactivity, the government dispenses lethal pills. 

Nevil Shute was a intriguing man in his own right, and his expertise and experiences underpin his books. He fought in WWI, became both an aeronautical engineer and a pilot in the Twenties and worked under Barnes Wallis of Dambuster fame. In WWII, he joined the Royal Naval Volunteer Reserve, worked for the Directorate of Miscellaneous Weapons Development, and landed in Normandy on June 6 1944. In 1950, he emigrated to Australia – post war Britain was singularly drab and depressing – and wrote a further 11 books before dying of a stroke in 1960.

He was a highly successful author during his lifetime and deserves to be well known today. Though I have no idea what critics made of him – he would not be regarded as a literary writer, I suspect – I admired his extraordinary ability to make technical matters accessible and, above all, his superb story-telling ability.

The man was a master.

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 6

Having described the theoretical idleness of my idleness of my Saturdays, I guess I had better be honest about Sundays. Well, at this stage my work ethic tends to have cut in again, and I feel guilty about not working. Accordingly, I resolve to catch up and to start the week afresh.

Normally, I fail. Often, I get a get a great deal of work done on Sundays, but rarely quite what my work ethic demands. Something in me resists and I watch Meet The Press or similar.

It seems the White Rabbit and yours truly have a great deal in common. “I’m late, I’m late…”

Still, I enjoy my Sundays.

Normally, I work at least ten hours a day, but I am increasingly of the view that I would be more effective if I worked only four days a week and regarded the balance as I currently regard my Saturdays. I write that as someone who greatly enjoys his work, but who feels we haven’t given this work/life balance issue adequate thought. In truth, that is something of an understatement as far as the U.S., is concerned. We are the only nation in the developed world which doesn’t mandate vacations. It’s interesting to examine the performance of countries which do provide vacations. Mostly, it exceeds ours.

As for retirement, I find the prospect chilling. I can understand its relevance if one has one been working for decades at a job one does not enjoy; but I would write seven days a week if I had the energy.

Still, regardless of what I actually do, I rather like the idea of thinking I don’t have to work for three days a week. Since boarding school at too early an age (5) I have never much liked compulsion.

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 5

Today is Saturday, my self-designated day for relaxing and doing absolutely nothing in. I truth, I don’t do absolutely nothing, and frequently work extremely hard on Saturdays, but the important thing is that I don’t feel I have to. From Monday to Friday, I am driven by my work ethic. At the weekend, I like to fool myself that I have – temporarily - escaped it.

Am I deluding myself?

Of course. Nonetheless, I enjoy the warm and fuzzy feeling of being able to sleep-in, and read for hours. Normally, even at weekends, I get up around six, but today, Saturday, I dozed and listened to the radio until nearly 1.00 pm – and feel much the better for it. I love NPR and would burn incense towards it if I could find a local supplier. Actually, I tend to think of incense as “joss sticks” and really do find a joss stick or two very relaxing. The smell is wonderful, and I have so many happy memories associated with such a smell, that each experience is happier still.

When did I first encounter joss sticks? I was probably no more than eight or nine. At the time, my parents loved to scour antique and junk shops – and, within the limits of my pocked money, I became a collector. Some of the cheaper items were joss stick holders and similar – and thus I encountered joss sticks. I burned them regularly from that time.

Wiki states that ‘joss’ is derived from the Latin deus (god) via Portu guese. I was merely taught that ‘good joss’ was good luck.

I have always found it to be so.

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 4

English: Self-portrait of Leonardo da Vinci. Red chalk. 33 × 21 cm. Turin, Royal Library (inv.no. 15571). NOTE This image is in red chalk. Do not revert to the black and white image. Deutsch: Kopf eines bärtigen Mannes, sog. Selbstbildnis. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Apparently Leonardo Da Vinci is the originator of the classic phrase: “Art is never finished, only abandoned.”

I first encountered it in a different form with other attribution as it related to books: “No book is ever finished, only abandoned,” but suspect Leonardo still deserves the credit. I can tolerate the man being a genius, but he was talented to excess.

Either way, there is a great truth to that statement, particularly in relation to books, because, where traditional Big Publishing is concerned, no sooner does an author submit his best effort (at that time) but a host of people read his or her work and push for changes. Typically, the goal is to make a book both conform to established (corporate) prejudices, and to fit into an established (corporate) genre. After all, if a book cannot be labeled, how can it be marketed? And if something cannot be marketed, what value can it have?

Words fail me at this point. 

I will confess to being less than madly enthusiastic about this stage in the long, slow march to traditional publication. I don’t disagree with the editing process as such – it can be very beneficial - but the fact is that great editors are in woefully short supply, and the modern corporate equivalent is, more often than not, no fun to encounter. Corporatization (the relevant facet in this case being the trimming of their numbers in the interests of short term profitability) has meant they rarely have adequate time to do a decent job, let alone champion the interests of the writer; and – good grief – the current practice, in the finest corporate tradition – is to buy books by committee; and thus we get formula publishing; and precious little else. That does not mean that formula books are not entertaining, and sometimes well-written, but it does mean that not only are we being culturally manipulated, but we are also being culturally limited.

Yet creativity, the antithesis of the status quo, or formula, is advanced by originality, commitment and passion; and I have yet to encounter a passionate committee. Committees are a commendable concept in theory, but in practice they tend to be self-neutralizing; and they really and truly don’t do passion.

Sometimes I think that the world is divided, not just into the haves and have-nots, but the creatives and the guardians of the status–quo; and both the haves and the creatives constitute two very small minorities; and are rarely the same people.

The reason why the haves persevere is scarcely a mystery – after all they have all the the physical advantages and comforts – but why creatives, who live mostly with failure, persevere is something of a mystery. Could it be that the imperative to create is its own reward, and generates its own momentum? Could it be that creativity is a vastly more powerful force that we currently appreciate?

Could it be that it is, as yet, substantially untapped? Now there is a subversive thought if ever there was one. Nonetheless, I hold it to be true.

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 3

The premise of the Eagle & Cuckoo stories revolves around the idea that since the U.S. has become so corrupted by corporatism, greed, materialism, ignorance and Fast Food, the only living creature left with the character required to turn the country around is Eagle, symbol of America, and head of all the eagles in the U.S.

Eagles do have names – in E&C’s world - but the head of all eagles is just called 'Eagle.’ It is, in Eagle-world, a term of respect. Just in case you ever have to address him, you should know that you don’t say: “Mr. Eagle.” You just say: “Eagle.”

Similarly, Cuckoo, a very complex character as you will learn, is just called: “Cuckoo.”

Accordingly, the ageless and wise Cuckoo, the Watcher for The Place For Reasonably Good People (where you go after you die if you haven’t done anything too terrible), is tasked with preparing Eagle for his extraordinarily demanding task. Eagle is going to be taught the full scale of his future responsibilities, and will eventually morph into into human form and run for the presidency; and win. Will he live on as a human or revert to being an eagle? That is only one of many incredibly difficult decisions that Eagle has to make; and some have entirely unexpected consequences. A third option is that he will be assassinated. Recall that E&C is not just an extremely amusing satire; it is an action-packed thriller as well. And the action is frequent, violent, ingenious,and unpredictable.

An eagle as president! This is a crazy idea. The again, perhaps not given the caliber of many of the people who have sought this office. But the real point is to bring perspective to our current bizarre situation while also credibly describing Eagle & Cuckoo’s own  surprisingly developed world. After a page or two, they will become very real to you; and Eagle and Cuckoo  are particularly attractive characters. They are intelligent, witty, courageous – and almost human in the span of their emotions. But they are not human, which is precisely the point.

The entire Eagle & Cuckoo saga is told in three books – each a hilarious yet gripping full story in its own right – part satire, part thriller, part high adventure; and endlessly fascinating as a complete alternative character driven world is unfolded. Will there be other E&C books? Quite possibly.

How Eagle & Cuckoo Save America: The Beginning.

How Eagle & Cuckoo Save America: The Contest.

How Eagle & Cuckoo Save America: Mr. President

The following is what a good friend of mine, Mack McKinney, wrote on August 11 2012 after re-reading the first book with his wife, Bea.

“Hey Victor -
As I've said I have been re-reading E&C along with Bea and we've finished. I know at some point I've suggested you get 'em all done before publishing any but have changed my mind. At this point in history I think Book 1 would be a giant hit, and give you a cash flow to produce the rest if indeed there ever is an end to your trilogy [Recall Douglas Adams' 4th book of the Hitchhiker trilogy]. I'd like to send a few to a few special people, and bet lots of other people would too. You could so easily get on Colbert with the idea of the Eagle alone. And certainly Letterman, and then the newsier ones might even get involved. It's just such a wonderful fantasy with amazing tidbits of information interwoven. I love that book!”

High praise indeed, and deeply appreciated.

To be continued…

 

 

 

 

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 2

To aid my recovery, I temporarily put aside my venture, and instead worked on How Eagle & Cuckoo Save America: The Beginning. In truth, I didn’t have much choice in the matter. It was as if my persona was taken over by some mischievous djinn and compelled to write the story. If you are wondering what a djinn is, do not not concern yourself. I’m merely trying to convey the idea that I felt creatively possessed as if by some alien force. If that sounds overly dramatic, it is not meant to be, but whatever the source of my creative compulsion, it was exceptionally strong. That said, I would be less than honest if I didn’t state that creativity is a powerful force even at its weakest. It may manifest itself as a modest hint or a subtle insight, but that is no more than a disguise. In truth, the creative urge is an imperative which will not be denied. Are serial killers driven by the same kind of force? Damned if I know; I’m a writer, and have not turned homicidal (as yet). What I will say is that when a creative idea takes hold, there is no stopping it.

The project started with my wondering was there any way one could comment about the U.S.’s current disastrous political and economic state without resorting to the generally uninformed level of debate which seemed to prevail; and which rarely advanced the state of the argument at all. Indeed, it was (and continues to be) more a self-neutralizing clash of prejudices and obduracy than rational discussion. Not only do facts seem to have almost no effect on whatever subject is being debated, but frighteningly few people seem to be armed with any facts; and fewer still to be informed by the truth.

Suddenly, the idea of a satire popped up into my head – inspired, as it happens by thoughts of one of my favorite books, Gulliver’s Travels (written by an Irishman, I’m proud to say) then the basic concept of E&C (Eagle & Cuckoo) popped into my head virtually ready to roll.

A cuckoo! Why not pair an eagle and an owl? I hear you think. After all, owls are traditionally considered the wisest of all birds. Well, precisely for that reason. The point of satire is to illuminate the human condition through irony and ridicule; and not to advance the obvious. Besides, the idea of making Cuckoo into the ageless teacher and source of wisdom appealed to my sense of the ridiculous and irony.

But Americans don’t do irony, said an inner voice. That stopped me in my tracks, I can tell you – because, broadly speaking, that is an accurate comment. However, then I thought about the Jon Stewart Show – which certainly does use irony, albeit leavened by Stewart’s hilarious body language, and felt much better about the whole thing. But, really I’m rationalizing, because this was a story which I was going to write regardless.

But, what was the premises underpinning How Eagle & Cuckoo Save America?

To be continued…

THE STORY SO FAR: PART 1

Back on July 15 2010, I embarked upon what I expect to be the last entrepreneurial activity of my life. If that sounds melodramatic, it is not meant to be. I’m not planning – as far as I know (the subconscious is tricky) -to commit suicide. It was merely that at the age of 66 (and I am two years older now) I thought it unlikely I would risk all again after my proposed venture. Risk is normally the perquisite of the young and the middle-aged.

Besides, it seemed probable that what I had in mind would – and will -take the rest of my life. Book-writing is extraordinarily satisfying, but its fiercest proponent would never describe it as speedy. It is more akin to long, slow sex where one hovers just on the edge of orgasm – but holds back because the marginally lesser satisfaction is so pleasurable, that the short-lived ecstasy of release becomes an option best delayed. Similarly, after one completes a draft – the climax, if you will - a depressive reaction  (post book-writing tristesse) - is not uncommon. The struggle – the fascinating, maddening, frustrating, mentally exhausting, totally compelling process of trying to translate one’s thoughts into written words – is The Thing.

Initially, I had some hopes of trading as soon as Christmas 2010, but the gods laughed at me. I became involved in helping to care for Jo in October 2010, in watching her die in December, and in tidying up after in early 2011, and then I was unpleasantly ill with a virus in March 2011 and didn’t really get even part of my strength back until April 2011. It’s disconcerting to feel so weak for so long. Subconsciously, I suspect I still hold to the schoolboy notion that an ailment should last no longer than two to three weeks: Measles; Chickenpox; Whooping Cough; Flu: Those were simpler days. But I became 67 on May 23 2011 and nature has its own agenda. I recovered, but at a pace commensurate with my years,

To be continued…