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Frequenters of book emporia could hardly have missed its appearance on the shelves last month, a handsome artefact bound in alternate black and white covers, almost 800 pages set in immaculate type with charcoal-stark illustrations by Portia Rosenberg, footnotes like novellas and a bold but simple raven insignia on the front.
Ten years in the forging, Susanna Clarke’s debut novel ‘Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell’ comes heralded by Bloomsbury as one of the year’s flagship books, and sure enough, on its publication in America, the tome made top five in the New York Times bestseller list. Reviewers for Time, the New York Post, the Times Literary Supplement and the Irish Times frothed, while readers who appreciated Rowling’s craft but wanted rarer, darker meat rejoiced.
And yes, ‘Strange & Norrell’ is a singularly accomplished yarn, one located at the centre of an equilateral triangle composed of Dickens and Austen formalism, the old school fantasias of Mervyn Peake and JRR Tolkien, and latter day wizards like Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman (who supplies cover blurb) and Philip Pullman.
“The people that I am steeped in are people like E Nesbitt, CS Lewis, Tolkien, MacDonald and Ursula Le Guin for example,” Clarke admits, sipping tea in the lounge of the Merrion hotel, “and a bit later Moore and Gaiman. I don’t know whether I would actually call Alan an influence, although somebody yesterday was trying to sort of pick parallels between ‘Watchmen,’ which was . . .”
The ‘Citizen Kane’ of comics.
“Yes. I haven’t got his brain for constructing architectural narratives, those perfectly parallel structures, however he does it. He’s a man who just shakes his head and stories fall out, he’s amazing. But certainly with Neil Gaiman, his blending of light and dark for example, quite dark elements and quite humorous elements together in the same story, that was a big influence, and also his idea of Faerie and mine are quite close.”
Clarke’s novel takes place in an alternative 19th century, when the practise of magic has deteriorated from its origins (the melding of fairy wisdom and human reason by the mad, mythical Raven King, a human child raised by fairies) into academic decay. Enter one Mr. Norrell of Hurtfew Abbey, whose expertise rejuvenates the form and brings him into contact with the Byronic figure of Jonathan Strange. The rest is history, albeit an elaborate imaginary one.
This central theme of the book, Norrell’s mission to bring magic out of the abstract and into the field of practical application might be said to reflect Clarke’s own literary intentions, the eschewing of experimentalism in favour of story.
“The idea of a magical tradition that needs restoring in the 1800s, it’s quite a classical idea in fantasy that there’s some golden age which we’re always trying to get back to,” she says. “It’s there in the first Narnia book, ‘The Lion, The Witch & The Wardrobe.’ Things have gone down from the beginning when people and animals were living in wonderful harmony, and then the witch wanders along and makes it winter, so you’re trying to get back to the natural order of things. And that is there in ‘Strange & Norrell,’ that once upon a time there was a thriving community of magicians and fairies doing magic and it was relatively controlled and working, and now it’s got debased into this very academic thing of men just studying the history of it in libraries.”
Clarke, a soft-spoken woman whose youthful demeanour bears out the inadvertent monk-like skin-care regime of a long-term scribe, was born in Nottingham in 1959, the eldest daughter of a Methodist Minister. She left a succession of jobs in non-fiction publishing to teach English to Fiat executives in Turin, and on her return to England in 1992, she began working on ‘Strange & Norrell.’ Over the next ten years she split her time between fiction and a post at Simon and Schuster’s Cambridge office editing cookery books.
“It was ten years, but it got harder the longer it went on because I could see the years piling up behind me,” she says. “My biggest fear was not that it wouldn’t get published, because I knew there was an American publisher interested in it, but that I wouldn’t be able to finish it. I’d finished some short stories but I’d never finished anything this big. I had a stressful and demanding job, and I have limited energy, I’m not Neil Gaiman who can do a film and two books and a tour . . .”
How did she summon the gumption to write such a mammoth story as her first novel?
“You get mistaken. You think, ‘Oh I’ll finish the year after next.’ And I thought it would be 100,000 words shorter than it turned out to be. But my instinct was always to complicate things, and since I was writing largely for myself, there was nobody to tell me stop – which is a bad idea. I just wanted to write the kind of story I like, and I quite like complicated stories.”
“I’ve just done three and a half weeks in America, and every so often you get an interview where they say, ‘What are you trying to tell us in this story, or is it just a story.’ And there’s this idea that if something isjust a story it’s worth less. Whereas good storytelling, I think, is very good for us. Philip Pullman has been saying the same thing in articles for a number of years; that narrative is actually very, very important. It’s healing in a way. At a bad time in your life you can turn to a good story and find a comfort there that you won’t get anywhere else.”
© Peter Murphy
Reproduced with permission
One of Ireland’s foremost music and pop culture writers, Peter Murphy (b. 1968, Enniscorthy, Co. Wexford) got a taste for journalism at the age of 17 when he won first place in an EU sponsored competition for young essayists. After ten days of being wined, dined and chauffeured around Europe on someone else’s tab, the only proviso being that he file a report at the end of it, he figured this was the way to live. But first, he had to get the rock ‘n’ roll bug out of his system, and spent most of the next decade playing drums with a succession of bands. He quit music to become a journalist in 1996, quickly establishing himself as a senior contributor to Hot Press. Since then he has written over 30 cover stories for the magazine, accumulating a portfolio of interviews that includes Lou Reed, Patti Smith, Nick Cave, Willie Nelson, Radiohead, Public Enemy, Shane MacGowan, George Clinton, Sonic Youth, Television, Henry Rollins, PJ Harvey, Richard Hell, David Johansen, Warren Zevon, Wim Wenders, Iain Banks, Will Self, William Gibson, Billy Bob Thornton, FW De Klerk and many others. His work has also appeared in the Bloodaxe Books anthology Dublines, the Sunday Independent (Ireland) plus international publications such as Rolling Stone (Australia) and Request (US). Miscellaneous assignments include writing the programme notes for jazz legend Miles Davis’ art exhibition hosted by the Davis Gallery in Dublin (2000), collaborations with cult author JT LeRoy for the American magazine Razor (2002), and co-producing Revelations, a two-hour radio documentary about The Frames (2003). He is frequently employed as a rent-a-mouth by the BBC and Irish national radio and television, is a contributor to the online archive Rocksbackpages.com and more recently gave a talk entitled Nocturnal Emissions at the ReJoyce symposium in the National College of Ireland, tracing the influence of James Joyce’s writings on Irish music. He has also been invited to contribute an essay to the liner notes of the 2004 remastered edition of Harry Smith’s Anthology Of American Folk Music, and is currently writing his first novel.
© 2004 Laura Hird All rights reserved.
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