Last November, Rajni George reported on how Indian authors were becoming increasingly commercialised. Literary festivals, book signings, TV appearances and society parties — these are the staples of writers at the heart of India’s publishing boom. Rajni worried that writers might be exploited or distracted in their glamorous new surroundings.
Popular British writers have travelled the same path, and suffered some of the dangers Rajni feared. Susan Hill memorably complained of second-hand book dealers, in their dirty raincoats, crashing her book signings in search of a cash-laden scribble on their dog-eared copies of The Woman in Black. And even the Inimitable Dickens was not immune to the pressure. For years he hurled himself around the Town Halls of Britain, enacting scenes from his limitlessly popular books. These performances continued until his death, and, various biographers claim, contributed to it.
But selling books needn’t send authors to an early grave through exasperation or exhaustion. Faber, for instance, have found a brilliant idea for the acclaimed poet Daljit Nagra (pictured): take up residence in Selfridges the weekend before Valentine’s Day and teach shoppers how to write ‘love poetry’. The idea may send shivers of disgust down England’s emotionally reserved spines (certainly, mine feels sick to the core); but it’s novel, constructive and likely to have some success. Good on Faber.
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