Anodyne is nothing

There are some things a writer cannot write about if he wants to be published and read. We don't actually burn books any more, not here in the UK anyway, we do better than that; we don't publish them if we're a publisher or print them if we're a printer or sell them if we're a bookshop.

Every one of us recognises the boundaries beyond which the majority of us, (naturally, being angels ourselves), are very unwilling to tread. So if somebody in the west today were to write a novel with an underlying theme such as, for instance, the abolition of private transport in the interests of planet earth or selective sterilisation to control populations in the interests of ditto or the implausibility of western style capitalism or the superiority of shariah over western style law or the benefits of anarchy over western democracy or the potential virtue of racial discrimination or the superiority of leadership by experience over youth … get it? It really doesn't matter about the writer's (by the way much less my own) private beliefs. In what the hell did Wm Shakespeare believe? To parody Mr Clinton: It's what the man wrote, stupid!

Think of a few writers who did cross their own time boundaries, big time. Forget Adolph Hitler. How about Darwin, Martin Luther, Karl Marx. Obvious differences but would either one have been published in the light of today's convention? I doubt it. Not in hard copy anyway, though perhaps the Internet could remain as our saving grace. Their ideas were too challenging, too upsetting, too hurtful, too far ahead of the wave. Most of we lesser mortals are happy to swim in the calmer waters well behind the wave. Anodyne is such a lovely, comfortable word, is it not?

My Going with Gabe is to be published, self-published more or less, in July. Anodyne it is not.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Note: only a member of this blog may post a comment.