Archive for September, 2010

Floor Scrubbing and Other Visions

Sunday, September 26th, 2010

 

Two events will occur this week. webite-home-145

 

Firstly: The announcement of the winner of the eight cuts gallery Prize will be made this coming Friday.

 

In case you haven’t heard: Peirene features on the short list. The panel in their nomination described Peirene as not only publishing wonderful books but also having “a quietely confident vision that extends beyond the individual titles through to building a community.

 

I must pause for a moment and apologise on behalf of the Nymph. She does not care about the vision and the community, she told me. In fact, all she wants is to drag me down to the West End today, on a Sunday!, to buy a new cocktail dress in anticipation of the big Prize Gala reception.

 

I, on the other hand, feel thrilled by the text of the nomination. I’ve printed the article and hung it over my desk. To remind me of the vision. A nymph might not need a vision. But a woman definitely does. For running a company. And having a son.

 

And here we come to the second major event of this week. My son’s birthday. On Thursday he will be born exactly 11 years ago. The story of his birth has some relevance to the prize nomination.

 

I wanted a home-birth. I had a precise picture in my head. I wanted to give birth in the kitchen and afterwards serve tea and home-made cake.

 

So, throughout the pregnancy I baked a lot of cakes – plum cakes, cherry cakes, cheese cakes  - and from the 37th weeks onwards I scrubbed the kitchen floor every evening. Moreover, numerous obstacle were put in my way. At some point my iron level sank so low that home birth looked unlikely. I then drank disgusting fishy Spirulina by the liter and it worked wonders. At 41 weeks the hospital wanted to induce me. When I asked why, they said because they like to induce at 41 weeks. I refused. And at 42 weeks there were still no signs of the baby ever leaving the womb.

 

He finally made an appearance at 42.5 weeks, at home, in the kitchen and cake & tea served afterwards at 4.30am in the morning. I was in seventh heaven.

 

The moral of the tale? The vision of course. I believe that I ( with the help of my son- in-utero) overcame every obstacle and kept on scrubbing the floor because I had a vision to guide me, an image in my head that I wanted to materialize.

 

And what applies to birth giving applies to running a publishing house. When I sat up Peirene I had a vision too. But the gritty chores of running a company can blur the eye. And that’s why it is so thrilling when someone else picks up your vision and holds it close in front of your gaze. Of course I hope we will win the prize but even if we don’t, I will be grateful for the nomination that reminded me why I set up Peirene in the first place.

La Vie en Bleu - Peirene, the Pope and Alexei

Monday, September 20th, 2010

 

Peirene author No 3, Friedrich Christian Delius was in town for three days. So was the Pope. x28097

 

The first evening was a success and the Pope definitely lost out. Christian was in conversation with Blake Morrison. A match made in heaven, the authors talked about their mothers as a subject for literature. The Peirene Salon on Saturday went swimmingly too. Sold out with wine and whisky flowing till late at night.

 

It was the second event, on Friday evening, where Peirene – I admit - was left miles behind by the Pope’s mass appeal.

 

Weeks ago I approached a bookshop to see if they would like to host an event with Peirene’s author No 3. I knew this particular bookshop was supportive of independent presses. And sure enough they were delighted. I assumed as long as I did my bit to promote the event they would do theirs.  

 

A day before the Big Day, I received a phone call from them. “Sorry, we didn’t order your book in, can you bring some?” I felt a twinge of concern but of course it was too late to change course. When we arrived at the bookshop their shop window was filled with copies of a bright blue book featuring a man’s head with a dog on top. Not a single Portrait of the Mother as a Young Woman anywhere. We entered the shop. And saw blue where ever we looked. One of the owners greeted us with a big smile: “We are having a signing of Alexei Sayle tomorrow.” That was too much for my nymph. She turned on her heel and marched straight out of the shop. I just managed to grab her by the collar.

“Where you’re going, young lady?”

“I am not staying here for a single second. They haven’t done a thing to promote our event tonight. It’s an embarrassment. I am so hurt. I want to go home.”

“No, you can’t.” I dragged her back into the shop. “Christian is here, Jamie, the translator is here, and Kim who I’ve asked especially to chair this evening, is here too. We will put on the show.” The nymph shed a few more tears of disappointment while Maddy and I quietly replaced  those blue books with our beautiful, tasteful Peirene titles. And when the curtain went up we had an audience of six who witnessed a show that deserved the Royal Albert Hall – at least.

 

Afterwards, in the car, Peirene was buzzing: “Best ever evening - brilliant, so inspirational, so energizing.” I couldn’t believe my ears.

“Excuse me, can you please explain yourself? You were the one who wanted to walk out.”

“Yes, and then I thought of the Beatles and how they staged gig after gig in an unknown  Hamburg bar before they broke through. That’s us now. Perhaps we should organize a few more events in bookshops who don’t care less?”

 

Frankly, the lesson I learnt looks slightly different – with the next bookshop I will talk in advance about window and floor space and will take nothing for granted. And I might even solicit some good advice from the Vatican about how to attract large crowds.

Dutch Treat

Saturday, September 11th, 2010

The nymph has a crush. On her Dutch author, Jan. Her behaviour is quite despicable. I’ve been telling her that this not on. We are aflickr respectable company – no office romances. But she’s gone deaf, her head has been turned.

 “He twitters”, she cooed, when I demanded an explanation.

“All a man has to do, is to twitter?” I replied incredulous.“Peirene, frankly, I expected more of you.”

“He doesn’t just twitter,” she continued in a soft loving voice. “He twitters in English. And, oh, he does it so well. He tells little stories and makes profound statements and chats to my friends. He is the perfect man for a nymph,” she concluded, gazing blurry eyed right past me and out of the window.

 

I had heard enough. I know how it started. And I have no one else to blame but myself.

 

On Monday I tweeted about meeting one of our authors, Matthias, in a Highgate pub. I wondered aloud about whether I could persuade him to tweet in English. Jan – so far Peirene’s only internet-savvy author – picked up my tweet and suggested that perhaps he should twitter in English too. I was thrilled with his proposal. Maddy then thought of the name PeireneVoices, where any Peirene author and translator can twitter. She set up the account and created a beautiful elegant logo. And there is Jan now tweeting away daily, gaining fans months before his book comes out. No wonder Peirene has fallen for him. I understand. I was once young too.

 

So I showed compassion and tried to reason with her.

“You are too young to get tied down. Look around. Test the field. There are other attractive men lining up to meet you: not only Jan, but also Christian, Matthias and Alois, just to mention a few.”

“But they don’t tweet! Not even in their own language. Let alone English.”

“Well, give them a chance. Christian will be our guest twitterer on Friday when he is here in London and Matthias will be in the UK for two whole months at the beginning of 2011. I’ve got a hunch, he might be twittering by then.”

“How do you know?”

 I could feel she was softening.

“Maddy and I  had a drink and a chat with him on Monday,” I said. “That’s how I know.”

 

The nymph thought for a moment. Then:

“So when did you say Christian is coming?”

“Thursday and he’s staying till Sunday.”

“Will he take me out?”

“Yes, he’s got events booked for all three evenings.”

“And he will twitter on Friday?”

“Friday afternoon on PeireneVoices.”

 

I  returned to my desk. Every now and again I threw a glance across to Peirene. I could see she was thinking. Eventually she turned to me:

 “Is it ok if I take next Wednesday off? I need to go to the hairdresser, and have a facial. I might get my nails done too. It was on my mind anyway. Nothing to do with Christian coming. Just so as you know. And Jan’s still the best twitterer.”

 

Oh yes, my dear little nymph is vane and – most of all – rather fickle.

 

 

(Photo by sheping from flickr)

Thrill to be Back

Sunday, September 5th, 2010

 

Our family holiday was a disaster – at least in terms of harmonious togetherness. And this was no fault of our teenage dsc08014daughter.

 

Yes, we did go to the Himalayas after all. Not to Ladakh as planned mind. Following the flash floods in the North of India, we rebooked to the Spiti Valley - a destination in the Southern Himalayas right on the border with Tibet.

 

We decided to take this ad hoc trip in the spirit of adventure. At first that attitude served us well. We flew to Delhi to connect to Manali. Only the plane to Manali never took off. So we journeyed by car and what was supposed to have taken an hour took two days. Moods were good. We slept in an amazing – albeit run down – Raj palace from the 16th century – and found the best Indian road side caf at the foot of the Himalayas. It featured toothless waiters and heaps of flies stuck to the windows but the most delicious curry in the world. My husband is now planning to celebrate his 50th there – no kidding. All welcome.

 

In order to get from Manali to Spiti you have to drive over a 4900m high pass. It was there that my head went into a spasm. I ended up on a drip and eventually had to be driven back the way I came. Husband and children went on the eight day trek under blue sky and up to 5000m. In the meantime I loitered in a Monsoon battered, foggy town, drowning in self-pity. I eventually got my act together, organized another (low altitude) hike for myself and off I went with a guide, a cook and a horseman for three days into wet Himalayan jungle. A tiny compensation for the Spiti Valley. I also missed my family.

 

By the end of this little private walk-about, though, I was fully acclimatized. Only, the holidays were over. In the plane I admired my daughter’s stunning photos of THEIR trek, biting my tongue and trying not to point out that I didn’t have such a nice time.

 

Back in London, Peirene’s latest earth shattering moment, the publication of No 3, had taken place. The book received some lovely reviews. Upon my return, I proudly sent them around. A radio producer emailed me. “Would have loved to do something about the book but off on a three months assignment to Asia in a couple of days.” The word Asia was my cue. I poured forth my love for trekking in that part of the world. We had a delightful exchange. It was only when he asked for a review copy of “Portrait of the Mother” and added “I see what I can go” that I realized that even problematic  holidays can be useful after the event. After all without my adventures at high altitude my nymph would be lacking an opportunity for another review.

 

I have however learnt one lesson – next trekking hols I will set off a week before my family, book myself into a nice hotel somewhere at about 3500m and acclimatize in comfort. Truth to tell, I’m quite keen on the idea.

 

I haven’t mentioned this little extension to my husband yet. I’ll give him a break for the moment. But I am sure it’ll be just fine.