Kelman v's Jakey: The Aftermath

The fallout from James Kelman's appearance at the Edinburgh Book Festival continued in The Sunday Herald. I'm not sure what's happened to this paper and its weekly sister The Herald in the last year. At the moment they remind me of the kids in the playground pushing unwilling participants into the middle of a circle and chanting 'fight, fight, fight'. Jasper Hamill's article (see below) talks of 'brutal put downs' and 'blistering attacks' and goes on to describe how 'Literary Scotland' has been 'torn apart' by Kelman's comments. Really? I know newspapers are having to create controversy as they increasingly lose out to other medium when it comes to breaking the news, but their current editorial stance, at least in terms of covering art and culture, is desperate. Much as I love the idea of fights breaking out behind Charlotte Square between gangs of 'genre' and 'radical' writers, circling each other like The Sharks and The Jets, this is just an attempt to reaffirm those old, and surely now redundant, categories of 'high' and 'low' art.

I may be wrong about this, but I don't believe that Kelman is making these points for personal gain. He speaks on behalf of writers who do not fit any 'genre', and therefore are not easily packaged. His profile has never been higher, and part of that profile is 'the angry man of Scottish letters', something he will be fully aware of, and uses to try and effect change. Although his critical acclaim may not transfer to Rankinesque sales, nobody could argue that he lacks status. His argument was consistent with his wider concerns about suppression of language and the working classes by the education system and a capitalist society. The 2003 collection of essays and talks "and the judges said..." properly deals with his views and is well worth looking at, even if you don't agree, although the novels are the real place to understand his political and artistic stance. Denise Mina's opinion piece (also below), written to answer Kelman's accusations, concludes that such arguments only push readers towards genre fiction. She may be right, but must see that such a state of affairs is not desirable. Genre fiction by definition only admits certain styles and voices. If other fiction is pushed aside then Scotland's literature is diminished. The real shame about the sensational coverage of this debate, the personal attacks and divisive language, is that they obscure a very important conversation that could be taking place about the best way to introduce and promote literature to make it more inclusive rather than exclusive.

Full articles:
literary_scotland_torn_apart_over_kelman_spat.php argument_of_the_week_is_pulp_fiction_taking_over_scotlands_bookshelves.php

In praise of: Agnes Owens

One of the reasons for writing this blog is to shout about people who I feel are overlooked or under appreciated, and in the hope that others, in turn, will give me similar names and works that may have passed me by. I have just finished The Complete Short Stories of Agnes Owens. Having read some of her work previously I knew I was in for a treat, but having this collection in one place is indispensable. Agnes's position in Scottish literature has often been reduced to a footnote to the work of James Kelman and Alasdair Gray. Best known for sharing an early billing with the two in the 1985 collection of short stories Lean Tales she bows to neither in the quality of the writing. Her first short story, Arabella, was written in 1978 at a time when female Scottish writers were rarely seen or read, and this collection shows the consistency of her work through the eighties and nineties and includes her most recent stories from 2008. A voice as interesting and individual as Agnes's should be better known than she is, and her lowly status in Scottish cultural life would have helped provide Kelman with a far more persuasive argument when he speaks of Scotland ignoring it's 'radical traditions' (see Kelman v's Jakey ). An award winning, critically acclaimed, writer who complains about a lack of recognition may receive little sympathy, even if the crux of his argument is legitimate. A working class woman, one who started to write later in life than most, and did so raising a family outside of the literary circles that tend to be based in the major cities, has a real claim to be under represented in a nation's cultural conversation. Scottish women's writing is arguably in a healthier state than at any previous time, and Agnes Owens' influence should not be ignored.

None of which would overly matter if the writing was not of real quality. A master of the short story, a form which is too often overlooked, Owens' collection is full of memorable characters, dark humour and captures the mild surrealism that is to be found in the everyday. If Agnes Owens didn't exist then no one would think of inventing her, and that fact in itself makes her worth reading.

Kelman v's Jakey

The link at the bottom of this post takes you to Alan Taylor's review in The Herald of James Kelman's recent appearance at the Edinburgh Book Festival. Having seen Kelman at previous festivals I get the impression that he likes to shake up the mainly middle-class audiences that attend such events, and that they, in turn, expect him to do so. It's a complicated relationship. His decision to read for 25mins from his 2001 novel Translated Accounts, easily his most difficult, is a classic example of this. It's the equivalent of going to see Lou Reed and discovering that he's going to play the whole of Metal Machine Music. Kelman's choice of text is particularly perverse in the year that his brilliant novel Kieron Smith, boy was lauded and awarded.

This year he also had a thinly veiled pop at Ian Rankin and JK Rowling as he bemoans the publicity, and I assume the accompanying promotional budget, afforded their work: "As I argued recently," Kelman added, "if the Nobel Prize came from Scotland they would give it to a writer of fucking detective fiction or else some kind of child writer or something that was not even news when Enid Blyton was writing the Faraway Tree because she was writing about some upper middle class young magician or some fucking crap."

I'm a huge Kelman fan. I find that the more I read him the better he gets, and it warms me that he is a difficult sod, and, is rightly, pissed that his work is not more widely read. But I think what sours his mood most can be summed up by this appearance in Edinburgh. He wants his work to be read by the people he writes about; the busconductors, the chancers and the disaffected. The people who he grew up with, went to school with, their children and grandchildren. But they are more likely to read Rowling and Rebus, partly, as Kelman points out, because that is what is sold to them. Kelman is much more likely to be read by the sort of people who buy tickets for the Edinburgh Book Festival. And so he finds himself back there, year after year, looking at the same or strangely similar faces. No wonder he swears.

read the full article here chilledout_kelman_raises_the_temperature.php

A slight bruising of the crotch

There are works of art that you carry with you, that make you look at life in a different way and hold a significance beyond simply enjoyment or appreciation. A few personal examples would be A Walk Across the Rooftops and Hats by The Blue Nile, the 1981 film Gregory's Girl and James Kelman's The Busconductor Hines. Another would be John Byrne's Tutti Frutti, a six-part drama which was first shown in the Spring of 1987 and has just been released on DVD for the first time. It is rare, especially in terms of modern television, that one-man's vision arrives on screen so fully formed. Alan Clarke, Denis Potter and, more recently, Stephen Poliakoff are exceptions that come to mind. In Scottish television I can think of only one that stands comparison and that is John Byrne. Byrne not only wrote the script he provided artwork for the titles and the accompanying BBC book, and his vision is in every detail. He also had the power to insist that Robbie Coltrane was the only choice to play leading man Danny McGlone (as well as his deceased older brother 'Big Jazza'). The casting of Coltrane is worth considering. It would seem unlikely that a man of his physical stature would ever be considered as a romantic lead. Those who have seen Tutti Frutti and are aware of the chemistry between Coltrane and his leading lady Emma Thompson will realise how short sighted such a view would be. Coltrane's performance is perfect leading man material, but, with the exception perhaps of Cracker, his subsequent career shows how unusual this role was.Without wishing to labour the point, consider the curiously well reviewed recent rom-com Gavin and Stacey, which persists with the all too common casting of the 'overweight' characters as the funny friends/sidekicks. James Corden and Ruth Jones fulfil the stereotypical role of Falstaffian comic relief, which is doubly frustrating as they wrote it!

Byrne was not afraid to take risks with his characters. Tutti Frutti contains wonderfully realised, if flawed, human beings. This particularly applies to the men, which admittedly is nothing new, but the rogues gallery that includes Richard Wilson's deluded, suave, conman 'Eddie Clockerty', Stuart McGugan's short fused and misogynist drummer 'Bomba Macateer' and Maurice Roeves' aging, pathetic, lothario 'Vincent Diver' are characters without being caricatures. Byrne manages to extract comedy and pathos, often simultaneously, in these performances. Do not mistake this for romantic comedy, it is drama in its truest sense, and Byrne's dark side is always present to stop the audience from settling.

It would be remiss of me not to mention the female characters who are equally well drawn. Emma Thompson has never been better and her 'Suzie Kettles' is the perfect counterpoint to Coltrane's 'Danny', both of them making what is an unlikely love story completely believable. Kate Murphy as the gallus, cultured and smart mouthed 'Janice Toner' is perhaps the standout performance against stiff and lauded opposition. The real drama is to be found in two characters who are secondary in terms of billing. Vincent's two women; the tragic girlfriend 'Glenna' and his long suffering wife 'Noreen', may not get the screen time of other characters but their story is where the heart of the drama is found. As with previous Byrne scripts such as The Slab Boys the comedy and knockabout may get your attention, but it's the tragedy and pathos that stay after the credits roll.

Byrne's real genius is to be found in the scripts. His ear for the unusual in everyday language makes the drama sparkle as he manages to have his characters speak in a way that is recognisable to his audience, but much more interesting and lyrical than they could ever be. The influence of the fast-talking, wise-cracking, American cinema of his youth is obvious and fits the West of Scotland obsession with all things USA, particularly in the 1980's where you couldn't move for Rockabilly bands busking on Buchanan Street, and 'Diners' opening on every corner. The accents may have been Glaswegian, but the haircuts and patter told of dreams of Eddie Cochran or Jimmy Dean. Byrne wasn't mocking such obsession, he was part of it. Tutti Frutti is a love letter to the music, films, people and places of his youth and it is the complete understanding of the world he creates that persuades the audience that they want to be part of it.

Tutti Frutti managed to both influence and overshadow Scottish TV drama. Byrne's own Your Cheatin' Heart and Donna Franceschild's Takin' Over the Asylum were personal favourites but no Scottish drama held the same magic as this tale of an aging rock and roll band and the oddest couple since Walter and Jack moved in together. It has been unavailable for so long that many people began to doubt it ever existed. I had that terrible fear as I sat down to watch it 20 years on that I was going to be disappointed and have some wonderful memories ruined. I need not have worried. To those who have never seen this I recommend with all my heart. Those who have will understand.

As a taster here are the titles and opening scene:

Reason for Living

This first post is a little mission statement as to the reason for writing this blog. Contemporary writing and commentary that deals with Scottish art and culture often obsesses over questions of inclusion and exclusion, questions that usually arise from the thorny issue of nation. This blog aims to, if not ignore such questions, demote them to the sidelines as all aspects of art and culture are discussed and dissected. I cannot deny that I am Scots, writing in Scotland, and will concentrate (although not exclusively) on Scottish writers, poets, music, films, TV, art, comedy etc, but 'where and when' is of far less importance to me than 'what and why'. Discussions can be had elsewhere as to what is or is not Scots and often they become a barrier to the enjoyment of that which is under discussion.

And that is what this blog is really for, to celebrate, debate and enjoy art in its widest sense. To deal with the art itself, and allow discussion and comment that looks at the old and new anew. To not take too seriously something which I take very seriously indeed. We have an ongoing relationship with our respective cultures throughout our lives and it is important to remember the relationship as it was when first consummated. The joy, wonder and the reason we fell in love in the first place with bands, films, poems and books. Like all relationships it changes, becomes more 'serious' as time goes by, and although I cannot pretend that a wary, weary and cynical side will be suppressed fully, (nor would I wish it so,where is the fun in that) I want to focus on my belief that art in all its forms can give us a reason for living better lives. My first post proper will be thoughts on John Byrne's Tutti Frutti which I have just watched for the first time since it originally screened in 1987. What struck me is the way that Byrne created a thoroughly Scottish drama, one that wears its roots and knowledge lightly, giving reference to outside cultural influence without apology, and does so with a light touch and a self-mocking sense of humour.

It is in this spirit that I write this blog. Of course this may change at any time, but until it does please excuse the indulgence and read on...