Meet Anna.
An audio preview of Ava Anna Ada and some publication week quotes.
I’ll get to Anna in a minute. Publication week is such a trip, I’d nearly forgotten. It’s a strange sort of limbo to be in, knowing the book’s about to hit the shelves, knowing it’s in the hands of critics, waiting for reviews, trying not to be sick. And then publication day comes and nothing changes really in a way, this thing you’ve worked on is in the world, and it’s time to talk about the thing while also simultaneously remaining blinkered enough to work on the next thing. Margaret Atwood said (and I wish I could recall where, perhaps in Negotiating With The Dead, one of the few books I like on writing) that it takes the stomach of a tightrope walker to be a writer. I would add that this type of stomach is required all the time. A way to weather rejection, long stretches of research, of writing, of publication, of promotion. An iron stomach I often doubt I possess.
A long way really to say, this week has been weird. I find fiction more exposing than memoir. I was reassured after my agency Christmas party by another novelist (shit, I’m a novelist now?!) as we caught a tube together, that this was normal. I was reassured further when Patricia Lockwood quoted Molly Brodak saying; ‘the basic facts; they leave me out’. The Last Days gave the appearance of including me, the basic facts duping people, whereas, I don’t know quite what it is, there’s an exposure in fiction that I find stark.
And then, last night, the review I’d been worrying about the most arrived. I knew I was going to be reviewed by a critic whose judgement I respect immensely. It’s rare that people change your life, I suppose that’s why you remember the ones who do so vividly. Stuart Kelly (author, literary critic and Booker Prize judge) altered mine for the better. I first met him when I was fresh out a cult and studying for an MA in Creative Writing where he was the reader in residence. My reading had been limited. Stuart opened a new world to me through his recommendations, that he thought I could in any way aspire to the writers he was introducing me to spurred me on. I started to run in a way, running to catch up on the lost years, the ones where other people had good educations, or learnt about life, or were buried in a book; I became hungry, and for the first time, allowed myself to not be afraid of where that hunger took me. When I knew Ava Anna Ada was going to him for review, I became deeply scared.
What if he hates the book? What if it doesn’t meet his expectations? What if the faith he’s put in me was misplaced? What if I’ve bitten off more than I can chew? What kind of lunatic references Nabokov in their debut? Who hides clues for critics in epigraphs? WHAT HAVE I DONE, I’d think as I jolted awake for the fourth time.
His review arrived and it’s left me unhinged in a way. This is why next time I’m not reading the reviews. This is not true, I will. I’m a masochist. He got every single last piece of what I was trying to do. All the clues, all the hints, all of it. Although now I think of it, he didn’t mention the heavy use of Ted Hughes, or some of the very buried references. I’m not saying what they are. That’s what a book is, a game. I remember calling the prologue to The Last Days, The World Within the Word, knowing maybe two people would get it. What a way to get your kicks.
But really, to have your debut novel compared to Nabokov is something that’s going to take a while to get over. Not because it makes me think I’m great. No, I’m neurotic enough to now wonder if any subsequent sentences measure up. Cocteau, he also said, by the time I got to the Georges Bataille comparison I could hardly breathe. All my life I’ve just wanted to play with the big boys. Now I really need to up my game. Same evening, the FT and The Big Issue also ran excellent reviews. Now I really can’t settle. Also, I drank coffee on an empty stomach. The palpitations could be that.
Now, after this extended preamble, to Anna (told you I can’t write this week).
Anna is a recently bereaved mother and an online influencer, who relocates to The Spit with her husband and son. She’s managed to monetise her children’s childhoods, and her daughter, Ada’s death, but now she needs a new project - a house renovation sounds ideal. But when Ava collides with Anna’s careful constructed version of reality, they are forced to reckon with who they truly are. Because who we are, is not always the same as what we are to each other.
Below is an extract from Anna. It’s from the middle of the book, and one that deals with Anna’s maddening grief. Apologies for the dog in the background - my neighbour’s - again, this isn’t the audio book, this is just me messing around at home. The audio is much better!