In his introduction to Foodists, John Lanchester reminisces about seeing Angela Carter’s 1985 essay in the London Review of Books being passed ‘from hand to hand’, an anecdote that demonstrates the power such pieces in literary magazines can have. Reading Lanchester’s piece took me back to my postgraduate years, sitting at Square 4 of the University of Essex, having just bought the latest London Review, reading and discussing essays with my fellow PhD candidates. I had forgotten how electric those discussions could feel: the half-formed thoughts; the references to the latest theory one of us was working on; the fearless interpretations of concepts we barely grasped but were eager to recite.
I read Foodists in between reading Jad Adams’ Decadent Women, which delves into the lives of the women who wrote for the art and literary journal Yellow Book. And while the two books share very little in terms of themes, combined they led me towards thinking about the value of literary magazines and the whys and hows I fell out of love with them. I wondered when it was that I stopped buying The London Review? When did I make the decision to stop actively keeping up with The New Yorker? Why am I not following any other magazines of this type on social media?
In Decadent Women, Adams recounts Ella D’Arcy’s experiences working at the Yellow Book in the weeks that followed Oscar Wilde’s arrest. While Wilde was not directly involved with the Yellow Book, he represented decadence and was, in the eyes of the public, linked to the magazine. Adding to that, Wilde was reportedly arrested with ‘a yellow book under his arm.’ (p.112) Wilde’s arrest has consequences for the Yellow Book, as they push back the publication date and have to reprint the artwork – a time-consuming task in the 19th century. D’Arcy is described as a force to be reckoned with as she works relentlessly to ensure that publication can go ahead. Out of all the chapters in Decadent Women, this is the one that has moved me the most, so far. I could see D’Arcy typing her letter to John Lane, suggesting she becomes the art editor for the magazine and felt the pain she must have felt when her request was not granted, despite being the obvious choice and the hard work she put in to save the publication.
The Yellow Book gave a platform to women to write in a way that traditional publishing did not allow them to, and I would like to believe that D’Arcy’s investment in it was, at least partially, for that reason. And while the big literary magazines are as elitist and as impossible for ‘young’ writers to be published in as all the big book publishers, they do allow for a certain freedom that does not come from writing a novel, a poetry or essay collection, or a collection of short stories. This is what Foodists reminded me.
While every essay in this collection revolves around food, they are extremely different. They span from the 1980s to the late 2010s, and while some of them are concerned with food-related issues of their time, others are timeless in their approach to how we understand and interact with food. Emma Rothschild explores the relationship between food and class, Margaret Visser questions how sustainable our fish consumption is. But by far my favourite one was “Eating Alone” by Francis Wyndham, in which he recounts an incident that took place at the Indian restaurant he used to dine alone. I will not spoil it for you here (it’s such an enjoyable read) but the moment I finished it, I wanted to share it with someone. I felt that urge to read it out loud and discuss what it says about community, human interactions, and connection. It gave me that electric feeling that Lanchester describes in the introduction. I guess there is still a place in my life for the literary magazine.
About two years ago, I decided to create a public Instagram account in order to share the books I was reading with the abstract world of the internet. This was a result of two things: my need to talk about books and the fact that my profession made it necessary to keep my personal profiles private. For the first two years I posted on and off without putting any effort into it (I think I was following less than twenty people).
It was during the UK lockdown, with more time to read and the need for new hobbies, that I decided to dedicate time to it. Having now reached just over 1000 followers, these are the five things I learnt.
1.Aesthetics count
https://www.instagram.com/p/CBlKG1xpGZd/
This is not a rant on how one needs to edit or use props in order to gain followers. This is in defence of the aesthetic.
Aesthetics are about movements and philosophy. They represent a way of thinking and reflect emotions towards a topic or views of an individual or a group on beauty and ugliness. They are a reflection on what people might find worthy of attention, attractive and in a sense represent how we want the world around us to be. A quick scroll through my feed will tell you that I am an autumnal person and that I tend to navigate towards warmer tones. You will also be able to pick out that I mostly read ‘literary fiction’ (excuse that quotation marks but I have a genuine dislike towards such terms) and that I have a strong appreciation for the classics and poetry.
Following a variety of accounts has really influenced my understanding of books and how they are marketed. And that is not a bad thing. Books are not just the words on the page. A very quick google search tells me that about a hundred people are directly or indirectly involved in the production of a book. A lot of those people would have studied design or marketing and are using that knowledge in order to reach the biggest possible audience for each book. When we build these aesthetics what we are also doing is, in a sense, showing our appreciation to the people involved in producing books.
Additionally, depending on the aesthetic, people are able to showcase books in a different light. My appreciation for second hand books has grown significantly in the last couple of months and instead of purchasing new copies of old favourites I have opted for second hand versions.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CCGF8aXAb7W/
2. Opinions Matter
In the beginning I didn’t really bother with my captions. I wondered why people where not following me, why no one was commenting and why my posts had very little traffic. As I became more confident, my captions became longer. I started giving my opinion on books I read, as well as posting about my favourite authors or books that I thought more people should be talking about.
This was not a revelation that came out of nowhere. I owe it to the beautiful and insightful accounts that I am following. @literaturelymylife was one of the first to inspire me when we had a lovely conversation in his comments about Steinbeck.
https://www.instagram.com/p/B-95u5OgXTk/
I also discovered @bookishinct whose insightful captions on classical literature gave me the urge to post my thoughts on ancient texts. We had some lovely conversations about studying Ancient Greek and translations. Finding her account helped me realise that there wasn’t one thing that bookstagram was about, that you didn’t have to post about specific genres or specific books and that posting about things you are passionate about is more important than posting what you think others want to see.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CAyKkkngogK/
3. Keep an open mind
I have very specific reading habits and in the beginning I only reached out for accounts who shared similar interests to me. While it was great to scroll through my feed and see books I loved, it quickly became apparent to me that this was going against my initial reason for having this account.
You see, in real life I have very few bookish friends so I don’t often receive recommendations and I end up always reading similar things. I wanted bookstagram to give me a new perspective. The algorithm though was working against me. Most, if not all, of the accounts that were recommended to me where very similar. For that reasons I decided to actively search for accounts that would help me diversify my reading as well as my world view.
These are just some examples:
@sssiya.reads posting about books I would never have come across otherwise, and helping me learn more about issues that will not only improve my understanding of the world I live in but will also make me a better teacher.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CBESPfHAWcH/
@jlit_junction sharing the love of Japanese literature and helping me expand my reading.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CArYMWrgsXs/
@Athena.reads Even though there is over a decade between us, it was lovely to connect with someone who shares my love for classical texts and mythology. It’ also fascinating to follow her reading journey and remind myself of the excitement of reading and studying these texts as a young adult.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CC64nNZgaEh/
@katsanou_christina posting from Greece and helping me keep up to date with translations and publications in Greek. It’s a great way for me to keep in touch with books in my native language.
https://www.instagram.com/p/CA9jPdiJ0lG/
4. Expect the love you give
My experience on instagram was enhanced when I started connecting with other people. Bookstagram is a great community but you will only see that when you start showing interest as well.
I make an effort to do the following:
find a new account to follow that wouldn’t normally show on my feed
like posts from new/smaller accounts
reply to at least 5-6 stories daily
find new/smaller hashtags to follow so that I can support new posts
comment on posts from accounts I follow
reply to all the comments on my posts
engage with other accounts through DMs
This is by no means a how-to list but instead some suggestions on things you could do that are thoughtful and show people that you care for their posts. While some care about numbers and followers and want to achieve quick growth, I found that really connecting with others and having genuine conversations about books is so much more fulfilling for me. To go back to my first point, I create this profile in order to find like-minded people, and while big numbers do offer some gratification, being able to discuss books is a personal priority.
I also found that when I liked and commented on people’s posts, or when I shared something from their profile that I thought was great, that was returned to me organically. Yes, there are tags and chains and other ways to get traction on your profile but when you truly engage with the community and show your support to others, others will show you love and support as well.
5. Everyone is different.
I don’t read fast. I also don’t review every book I read. I don’t like sharing too many personal details. I don’t show my face in my stories.
Others read five books a week and review every single one of them.
Some like to make very personal stories, giving us an insight to their life.
There are accounts that don’t only post about books. @thomasliam300 is one of my personal favourites. Especially his baking stories.
There are people who only read non-fiction.
And people who start books and never finish them.
Some spent fortunes on buying books and other only use their local library.
There are feeds where you only get the cover of a book in front of a white wall and feeds like @nadias_books.n.beers who accompanies each book with a beer.
Some only read award winning books. Others only read poetry.
Audiobooks are books.
Children books are books.
Once you understand that everyone reads differently and talks about books differently, you will enjoy being part of this community.
Surrounded by books, crouched over a microscope, presenting thoughts in front of a lecture hall. Who is the Academic and what is their place in today’s society? I am haunted by these thoughts as I am doing the last proofreading an an academic article, soon to be published in a journal. I wonder how many people will read it apart from the reviewers and a handful of people around the world interested in that specific topic that I am discussing. These are questions that I have been confronted with since my PhD graduation a couple of years ago. On that day, dressed in the doctoral gown I was told ‘You will wear this at every university graduation you will attend from now and on.’
The assumption obviously was that I would strive for a position at a university, despite the knowledge that this will be almost impossible. It really is a noble idea that despite academia rejecting you, you will continue to strive for a position within the institution, you will go hungry for your research and you will go homeless for academic excellence.
It might seem a bit dramatic but this is the reality for many PhDs who graduate and are caught in this narrative that expects them to make great sacrifices in order to maybe one day have a permanent position at a university. Yes, there are some that will. But not most. Most will go from maternity leave cover to zero hour contracts for years, they will run reading groups and seminars for free, they will make sacrifices on heating in order to attend a conference and they will write article after article with the hope that their CV will look good enough one day.
A year was all that I could give that life. The misery of the rejections led to my most unproductive months in years. I wasn’t writing or reading – instead I was obsessing over application and job interviews. I was depressed, anxious and I was quickly losing hope. I had passed my viva without corrections, I was continuously told that I was good at what I was doing, yet I could not find a job.
When finances became a massive issue, I decided to pursue teaching. I found a job as a Teaching Assistant in order to gain the relevant experience and I then applied to do my Initial Teacher Training. While I was settling in with my decision and I started feeling positive about things, the response from the academic world was negative. I felt that people were feeling sorry for me, that they thought I wasn’t strong enough to continue fighting for a university position. I started hiding my title and I decided that I would dedicate myself towards becoming a teacher and that I was no longer an academic.
Since then, I came to realise how wrong I was. An Academic in today’s society is not just the one in university halls. Being an Academic is a way of thinking and a way of approaching things. When you do a PhD, you change the way you see the world, you achieve a high level of critical thinking that remains with you in everything you do. While a university affiliation can be extremely helpful, research can be done without it, people can publish without it and write books without it. I have since embraced this idea of the contemporary academic. I am content with my teaching because I am where I am needed. And I am content with my research because I write and I research when I want to, at my own pace and without my job being on the line.
I guess the whole point is that there is not one type of Academic and not one way of doing research. So to you my friends surrounded by books, crouched over a microscope, presenting in lecture halls and to you my friends in primary and secondary schools, attending conferences during half term breaks and to you my friends juggling administrative positions and writing academic articles. And to you my friends who are still striving for a position at a university.
For a creative writer, Paper 1 Question 5 is probably the hardest to teach among the two English Language papers because it is not a creative writing question. Question 5 is an exercise on how well a student can write under the pressure of time, in an exam hall and with the weight of 40 marks on their shoulders. Realizing this is of vital importance in the way that you approach this question.
As with most disciplines, the study of creative writing on an undergraduate and postgraduate level has nothing to do with the approach of the subject in secondary education. While a lot of the skills needed to study said degree can be acquired in high school, creative writing is a much more inter-disciplinary degree than what Question 5 makes it to be. Let’s demonstrate this through a narrative:
A group of 25 Y10’s are in an English lesson looking at question 5. The teacher projects the following picture on the board.
The students are asked to first create some lists. What can you see? What can you hear? What can you taste? What can you touch? What can you smell? The teacher then proceeds to circle some details on the picture and asks the students to write some sentences using a simile, a metaphor, onomatopoeia or alliteration and finally the students are given a rough plan on how to write their description. In paragraph one they need to be approaching the scene, in paragraph two they need to be in the scene, in paragraph three they will need to describe a part of the scene in detail and in paragraph four they need to be leaving the scene. While not all teachers and not all schools will be following that exact pattern, something similar is usually used to provide students with some form of structure.
The students’ writing is then marked by the teacher who will specifically look for those elements that correlate to the marking criteria of the examination board. Often responses that have less ‘creative merit’ will score higher because the student has used paragraphs, a variety of punctuation and ambitious vocabulary. The 25 responses will be limited in terms of creative interpretation due to the fact that the majority of them will be informed by the contributions made in the prep time of the lesson.
Now let’s look at a group of 5 first year undergraduates in a creative writing workshop.
Two of the five would have submitted an sample of something (a chapter, a story or a poem) to be read in that week’s workshop. On of the two students have submitted a story about a storm. The student reads the story to the group while the rest keep notes. When the reading has finished, the discussion begins. The group shares thoughts and ideas on what the story is and what it could be, they pull references from different writers and try to unpick the text. Some of the will have some scientific knowledge about storms, some will make links to a natural destruction from which the writer could pull inspiration from. The teacher might make a suggestion about how the student should look into myths concerning storms and maybe embed such ideas in the narrative.
The student will then go away, look though the notes and the recommendations of the class and re-write the story. This will happen 2-3 times in the term before the student has to officially submit the story for marking, alongside an academic commentary, explaining and exploring the writing process, showing the intentions and the hard work that went into writing that piece, and in a way justifying why it could not have been done in 45 minutes.
Creative writing is a craft. Writing a story or a description is an artistic endeavor. And there is no formula that you can use to ‘solve’ composing a narrative. So why do we continue teaching it in such a way? The only answer I can come up with is because it is easier. Some of those formulas will result in high marks and as long as we are getting the expected results then why bother?
And it is this exact approach that makes Paper 1 Question 5 unbearable for a creative writer. As a teacher I am constantly in battle with my personal approach to writing and with the way I am forced to teach writing to my students. What can I take from Raymond Queneau’s Exercises in Style that I could use in the classroom? Which aspects of the creative writing workshop can I employ when teaching writing? And is there any value to that? It is clear that I don’t have the answers to any of these questions, but there is one thing I am clear about: there must be a better way to teach creative writing.
There’s the story, then there’s the real story, then there’s the story of how the story came to be told. Then there’s what you leave out of the story. Which is part of the story Margaret Atwood – MaddAddam
Creativity is defined as the ability to create something using one’s imagination or one’s original idea and is, as a concept, fairly new. The Ancient Greeks had no words or terms corresponding to the concept of creativity but rather viewed and understood art as a discovery. The notion of an original idea created out of nothingness can be traced back to the Biblical story of creation – only God could imagine a world out of nothing and he only could create such a world. Genesis begins with ‘ἐν ἀρχῇ ἐποίησεν ὁ θεὸς’. The word ‘ἐποίησεν’ comes from ‘poiein’ which means to make and which was for the Ancient Greeks only applied to poets (poietes) who made poetry. God is thus a poet who constructs a world full of symmetries and patterns.
Can we then imagine a world with a definite beginning? Julian in Jen Campbell’s the Beginning of the World in the Middle of the Night says that ‘a beginning denotes a period in time, and, for you to pinpoint it, time must exist, and if time exists then something exists.’ There is this character, in a bedroom that might or might not exist, in a time that might or might not exist, saying that nothing is unthinkable. From the moment you think about nothing , something comes into creation.
Storytelling works in layers. A story starts in the writer’s head and it develops as it is written down. The distinction between the story and the real story is usually blurry, especially when considering point of view and voice. When a story is told in the first person it is likely that it will be biased; it will be the version of the story as seen from the perspective of a specific character. It reflects not only the character’s feelings but also his or her judgement on other characters. This is very prominent in Atwood’s MaddAddam where the main characters Jimmy, Toby, Zeb and later Blackbeard become active storytellers.
