A SHAW THING

The recent emergence of Cashel Byron's Profession by George Bernard Shaw reminded me of a lovely rural spot very close to my home.  Shaw's Corner, a National Trust property, was home to GBS for over forty years, features the famous revolving writing hut and an attractive garden and plays host to a number of  wonderful events, including al fresco performances of the great man's plays.   The house is embedded in the undersung, undulating Hertfordshire landscape, which is well worth a visit in itself and with which myself and my bicycle are thoroughly and happily familiar.

Cycling was a well-documented Shavian passion, and I came across a lovely quote today - from Michael Holroyd's biography - in the Daily Telegraph blog:

For someone physically timid, Shaw's experiments by bicycle were extraordinary. He would raise his feet to the handlebars and simply toboggan down the steep places. Many of his falls, from which he would prance away crying 'I am not hurt', with black eyes, violet lips and a red face, acted as trials for his optimism. The surgery afterwards was an education in itself. Each toss he took was a point scored for one or more of his fads. After one appalling smash (hills, clouds and farmhouses tumbling around drunkenly), he wrote: 'Still I am not thoroughly convinced yet that I was not killed. Anybody but a vegetarian would have been. Nobody but a teetotaller would have faced a bicycle again for six months.' After four years of intrepid pedalling, he could claim: 'If I had taken to the ring I should, on the whole, have suffered less than I have, physically.'

This brings us nicely back to Cashel Byron, a novel about - among other things - prize-fighting, and about which GBS expounds at some length and with his renowned self-deprecatory wit in the preface.

WORD OF THE DAY

Anent. About, concerning, derived from the Old English for 'alongside' and used in Norman Douglas' brilliant novel, South Wind, which we published last month.

Happy bank holiday reading, in between creosoting outbuildings and mowing lawns.

David

NEW KIDS ON THE PRINT BLOCK

Last week saw the annual British trade jamboree that is the London Book Fair take place at Earl's Court from Monday to Wednesday.

It's a vital three days for any publisher, and especially the smaller variety, affording the opportunity to meet with people from all areas of the trade, be they old friends and acquaintances or new contacts.  The Capuchin presence was relatively humble, comprising a section of a shared stand, whereas the publishing behemoths such as Harper Collins and Macmillan install huge custom-made edifices, each staffed by what seems like the population of a small town.  The conrast reminds me of those cities where shabby hovels squat in close proximity to gleaming skyscrapers, although I've yet to see any representatives from publishers such as our squatting in the aisles holding signs asking for spare authors or manuscripts.

The Fair is a wonderful place around which to wander in between meetings, and this year I happened across 2 new publishers who in particular caught my interest.

Roastbooks  has produced a series of beautiful, small, quirky books that can be easily read during a train journey or lunch hour.  These include The Profit, a parable set in the corporate world and inspired by Kahil Gibran's The Prophet, and Little Roasts, a collection of short stories with international settings.

The Peirene Press are publishing short contemporary European novels in translation, beginning with Portrait of a Mother as a Young Woman by Christian Delius and  Stone in a Landslide by Maria Barbal, from respectively the German and the Catalan originals.  The literature of other countries has increasingly attracted the attention of the British reading public recently, and this publisher promises to make a valuable and exciting contribution to this process.

It was very heartening to come across exciting and brave projects like this, and the efforts of both publishers are a testimony to the passion and enthusiasm for writing which drives them.

WORD OF THE DAY

Poodlefaker.  A man who deliberately courts the company and friendship of women, sometimes for purposes of material gain or social advancement.

Use with pleasure.

David

THOUGHT FOR FOOD

Yesterday at Capuchin Classics we had the great pleasure of being joined for lunch by Jeremy Paxman, Julie Myerson and Kirsty Gunn.  What, I hear you shrewdly enquiring, links this trio, apart from their talent, intelligence and charm.  The answer is that each of them has contributed a foreword to one or more of our books, namely and respectively Gulliver's Travels, Shirley's Guild and (two for Ms Gunn) The Green Hat and Potiki.

As has always been the case with these gatherings, the conversation covered a wide spectrum of subjects, from the shared histories of houses to the state of publishing today.  A particularly fertile topic was language and how it changes: what, if anything, do we lose, for example, when a word radically changes meaning (e.g. how do we, or do we at all, describe people or situations which once would have been called 'gay').  This led Jeremy to suggest that the Capuchin blog should run a 'word of the day' feature, in order to disseminate the joy and utility of lesser known words and to encourage and provoke their use.  Without, therefore, further ado, let me introduce the first...

WORD OF THE DAY

Epicaricacy.  This is a word which Jeremy revealed as the nearest one-word English equivalent to the German term Schadenfreude (which, as any fule kno, means the taking of pleasure in other's misfortunes).  Your mission now is to casually insert this word into everyday conversation and watch it blossom and flourish through the language.

Good luck.

David

THE CONCLAVE IS COMING

The Conclave is that rare thing, a contemporary historical novel. With immense psychological and stylistic delicacy, Bracewell traced the interior contours of the Thatcher boom of the 1980s. 

Thus spake The Guardian in their feature on 'How did we miss these' in September 2007.  Who are we to disagree with this fine judgement.  The Capuchin Classics edition will be released around 20th April this year, and we are greatly excited to be reintroducing this wonderful novel to the reading world.

As well as enjoying Michael Bracewell's wonderful prose and evocation of place and character, the book is particularly interesting for me as the chief protagonist and I were born a year apart, and certain passages describing the youthful years of the former resonate very strongly - and sometimes in an unsettling manner - with my own experiences, especially where the intensities of youthful friendship and romance are concerned.

Being concerned with the 1980's boom and bust cycle, the novel has obvious relevance to the troubled economic waters through which we're navigating, and offers a fascinating perspective on the origins of the aspirational lifestyles and values which are now in various degrees of retreat.  As the author says, 'The book does not judge these people, or satirise them; it simply hopes to describe their young adult lives.'

Enjoy the book.

David

PARTY LINES

Last Thursday, March 26th, we were as proud and delighted as any relatively new parents to host the first birthday party for The Capuchin Classics.  Among the authors, agents, booksellers and members of other associated literary tribes attending were Anne Atkins, Michele Roberts, Tim Bates (grandson of HE), Roger Morgan (son  of Charles Morgan) and Valentine Cunningham.  Our picture shows (from left to right) Emma Howard, the châtelaine of Capuchin Classics, Alessandro Gallenzi of Oneworld Classics (see Alessandro's Blog for his own unique description of the event) and Tim Bates.

In a thought-provoking speech, Capuchin Editor Christopher Ind surveyed the world of classics reprints and challenged the position assumed by Faber with their 'Faber Finds' project, which allows readers to order print-on-demand copies of particular titles without involving the publisher in any print run and therefore in having the books on bookshops' shelves.  Furthermore, in acquiring rights across the estates of dead authors still in copyright, Faber Finds is preventing other publishers from making those books properly available to the trade for a period of several years. Many works by authors as significant as HG Wells, Joyce Cary and Angus Wilson are thus kicked out of touch.  Christopher said:

"We see this as contrary to the interests of literature. Sure, it keeps the book theoretically available, but in the narrowest sense of the term. Faber Finds simply put out print-on-demand.  While there is a concession for living authors in the form of a release clause should a rival publisher put in an offer, there is no such concession for dead authors.

Our book-buyer had to know that Lucky Jim existed in the first place. After all, the fundamental truth remains that you cannot ask for what you do not already know exists. It is not, then, truly 'making public'. 

“Foul play,” I hear you cry – and you’d be right. For this surely marks a step away from what it is to publish, and what it means to keep books alive. To the agents and executors among you I would urge caution before conceding such dog-in-the-manger rights to an author’s works to what is admittedly a prestigious name in publishing, but one that is arguably undermining what it means, properly, to publish."

This view has been endorsed by Alessandro, who co-founded the splendid Oneworld Classics, imprint.

We would very much welcome your reactions.

In the meantime, having recovered from the bacchanalian delirium of last Thursday, we will continue to put beautifully produced copies of great books back onto the bookshelves, where they belong.

Quotation of the day:

"Distrust of authority should be the first civic duty."  Norman Douglas, author of South Wind, the wild and exuberant novel set in Capri and published by Capuchin Classics.

David

RUNNING COMMENTARY

At the risk of sounding like another sort of blogger altogether, I am compelled to confess that last night I consummated an exhilarating new relationship.  When I add that the other party was not human, please don't switch off, as it, or they, were infact my new running shoes, which kindly took me for their maiden jog yesterday.

The feeling of freedom and lightness (not easily achieved by someone with a chronic fondness for empty calories) engendered by my brand new Saucony Jazz footwear reminded me of a story by a writer on whom I cut my reading teeth, namely, respectively, The Sound of Summer Running, by Ray Bradbury.  The story, available in The Bradbury Stories, describes the desire of a young boy for a new pair of tennis shoes and is typical of the author's brilliant poetic style and his ability to evoke the mysterious and sometimes dark wonder of childhood.

Sport has of course been the inspiration for much fine writing, viz Hemingway with various manly pursuits, Alan Sillitoe and cross country running, Richard Ford, etc.  In May Capuchin is publishing a very worthy member of this group, namely Cashel Byron's Profession, in which after pole-axing his mathematics master with a perefect right, the eponymous hero, the unloved son of a successful actress, runs away to Australia, returning to become the most famous fighter of the age, only to be floored by the lovely and impossible Lydia Carew.

I can't wait for our second date.

David

Quotation of the day:

"My writing is nothing, my boxing is everything." Ernest Hemingway

ELY ONE MORNING

It's odd, this being a relatively new blog (and blogger), to be quite unsure of how many people are reading these words. I suppose it could be seen as the digital equivalent of launching a message in a bottle. Anyway, to those of you kind souls who have uncorked this particular communication, my apologies for the blog hiatus. Since returning from holiday in Toulouse - where I failed to read any of my targetted holiday books - things have been a tad hectic, but I hope to be back to more frequent posting now.

I've been visiting quite a few bookshops recently, fixing innocent staff with my glittering eye and espousing the virtues of the Capuchin Classics but not, I fear with the style or eloquence of Coleridge. The most pleasant of these calls was to Robert Topping's bookshop in Ely. This emporium, which has a counterpart in Bath, exemplifies all the good qualities of bookselling, especially in its careful and passionate book selection and not least in the wonderful coffee which is offered to its customers as they browse the thousands of books in all the major genres, including many authors and publishers of which the chains will be entirely innocent. Robert and his staff also offer up a rich diet of literary events with some of the best names in writing. I've known Robert since his days at the late Pan Bookshop, and it is always a pleasure to catch up with him and enjoy his insights into the book world.

Of the new Capuchins to emerge recently, I am most looking forward to reading South Wind, as it is set in Capri, a trip to which island formed one of the best parts of a holiday undertaken by my wife and I a few years ago. We had both been reading the eccentric and partly fictitious 'autobiography' by Axel Munthe at the time, called The Story of San Michele, and found this greatly enhanced the pleasure of our visit, being able as we were to visit the eponymous dwelling and re-enact the book jacket. Munthe's story has become notorious for its fabrications and omissions, but is still a powerful and magical piece of writing that transcends all genres. Go read it now, and then visit Capri. Via Ely, of course.

Quotation of the day:

""It's snowing still," said Eeyore gloomily.
"So it is."
"And freezing."
"It is?"
"Yes," said Eeyore. "However," he said, brightening up a little, "We haven't had an earthquake lately."  AA Milne, author of Two People, recently published by Capuchin Classics.

David