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The Sense of an Ending
I think a lot about the craft of writing. The poem, the essay, the short story and the novel each have their own internal rules, all of which are to be broken if a writer wants to achieve something new. Lately, my obsession has become short form. The short story has all the same requisites as…
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The Language of Blood
Few authors venture to write in a language that is not their mother tongue. It’s hard enough to write. Why make it any more difficult by adapting a new vocabulary, grammar and syntax? Some might even call it a betrayal of country, home, blood. the chinese typewriter My grandfather wrote in English. Born and bred…
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A Reading List
Historical resources are critical when you set your novel as I have in a place and time not my own. The Dancing Girl and the Turtle is set in Shanghai 1937. Does that automatically qualify it as historical fiction? Hilary Mantel says historical fiction must do far more than dredge up the past: A relation of…
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Origami for Authors
Nihon no hanga The canal house is built of massive grey cornerstones and variegated red bricks. A clock gable stands on top with a hook sticking out. The hook is for hoisting of pianos and wardrobes and king-sized beds. The doors are too narrow and the stairs so vertiginous for anything wider than a laundry basket…
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At Water’s Edge
Abandon the shoes that had brought you here right at water’s edge This line comes from a magnificent poem called Finisterre. It was written by David Whyte, a poet, speaker and healer of souls. I heard him speak not long after I had abandoned my own shoes. Finisterre is about pilgrimage: the ancient road to Santiago de Compostelo and the village…