The Book of The Blog

Well it's no secret, but I feel a lot better admitting to it now I'm back from holiday and the first draft is safely in!

In a nod to convergence, Ash Rattan of Searching Finance, the economics and finance publisher, first got in touch via Twitter to suggest we meet in a more traditional publishers' forum in July. And, ready as I was to indulge in a traditional West End literary lunch that spilt late into the afternoon, I was equally impressed that our discussions required nothing stronger than coffee and that agreement was reached within a few weeks.

I could be wrong, but somehow I doubt an agent and several belts of the Bordeaux would've helped much in that process.

Anyhow, it seems fitting that the book of the Pragmatist blog should be published not only by someone who publishes an array of people for whom I have a great deal of respect, but who also disintermediates a few links in the supply chain along the way.

I hope you will enjoy the read in due course.

Why eBook Readers Still Need Bookshops

I don't have the latest, smaller, lighter Kindle because I'm still enjoying the previous model - mainly for the convenience. My choice of book depends on what I feel like reading, and I tend to have as many as 5 books on the go. That's a lot of books to carry round on a business trip or even a week away. It also suggests I have about 5 feelings.

Not everything I read is on the Kindle. Everything else seems to be stacked on my bedside table. That's the first reason owners of eBook readers need bookshops - people like to give books as physical presents rather than emails, which don't gift wrap so well. But I do happen to have 4 books on the Kindle now: The Worst Date Ever (Jane Bussman's superbly written account of the hilariously appalling life of a celebrity 'journalist'), Smile or Die (Barbara Ehrenreich on the evils of the 'have a nice day' culture), The Junior Officer's Reading Club (Patrick Hennessey brilliantly recounts his time as British Army officer), and Stage-Land (Jerome K. Jerome's humorous critique of the Victorian theatrical formula).

The main reason the owners of eBook readers need bookshops is for inspiration. There are only so many books you can instantly recall as ones you wish you'd read but haven't. And Amazon's recommendations tend to reflect what I've bought the rest of the family as gifts - you can't read Brio, and Aliens In Underpants Save The World" probably wouldn't look so good on a small black and white screen. Book reviews would be helpful if only I trusted them. Instead, I trust the first page of the book, but Amazon doesn't always let you "Look Inside". So there's ultimately no substitute for whiling away the time in a decent bookshop, Kindle in hand, discreetly downloading the best stuff more cheaply until the manager asks you to leave, or you find something that looks better in real life. Which is still possible.

Of course, all of this begs the question: what should tomorrow's bookshops look like? But that's another post.

Apple To Kill The Book? Define "Book"

What is a "book"?

The question was inspired by Technollama's indignant response to some gadget freakery about the iPad killing the humble book and how George Orwell would have written 'apps' if he were alive today.

"Book" is an increasingly elastic concept. We have hardbacks, paperbacks, e-books, talking books, and so on. So a dictionary definition such as "A set of written, printed, or blank pages fastened along one side and encased between protective covers" is way too narrow.

A book is of course more than a physical item. No definition should ignore the content and the diverse forms in which that content may be consumed. In this sense, the definition of "book" should be no different than that of a 'television'.

Top of head, it might be more apt to define "book" as, say, "a coherent collection of thoughts recorded in text and graphical form by the creator(s), and edited, packaged and published by an independent person." That would allow you to distinguish, say, an academic paper, which I don't believe is (or should be!) edited by a person independent of the creator. Maybe that's wrong - I'm no academic.

Interestingly, 'film' and 'television show' are increasingly harder to differentiate from 'book' in these terms.

I agree with Technollama that it's lazy, ridiculous and futile to speculate whether Orwell would have forsaken books for 'apps' the second he clapped eyes on an iPad. He's dead. At any rate, the lack of reference to a living author in this vein is telling.

Of course there must be successful living authors who've previously only found expression in "pages fastened along one side and encased between protective covers" who are discovering a new dimension to their musings via the latest technology. Cory Doctorow is one example, although he seems to use technology for publishing, marketing and distributing his books in 'traditional' form rather than the act of creation itself. But I have trouble believing Mr Doctorow will cease producing "books" because of the iPad. I'd ask him, but the proof will be whether he does or not - as an old English teacher used to say, "never trust the author, trust the tale" ;-)

When it comes to new technology, it's more interesting - indeed fascinating - to consider how the expression of the same thoughts varies according to the medium. In other words, how each new medium alters expression.

Copywriters, screenwriters and playwrights experience this for a living, of course. Dean Johns could explain that dynamic far better than me. But anyone with broadband and a bit of self-confidence can use, say, Xtranormal to turn a blog post into an animated clip and experience the edits required to convert perfectly idiomatic written words into idiomatic speech. It's perhaps tougher to distil a written paper into a compelling visual presentation (i.e. one that doesn't involve reading the paper and clicking slides). Saul Klein seems good at this, and the presentations at GikII (exploring the legal interaction between popular culture, speculative fiction, and new technology) are a sight to behold. Neither process is equal to the challenge of turning a novel into a feature film. Some scenes or concepts in the text are simply not practicable, convincing or satisfying in a visual medium - even with all the resources of Hollywood theoretically at one's disposal. But each process reveals that an original work provides only rough guidance as to how its meaning should be conveyed in a new medium. For that reason, the expression of a thought in one medium is no substitute for the expression of that thought in another. And it should follow that no medium is a substitute for another, or will "kill" it.

The replacement of vinyl records and casette tapes with CDs is really the evolution of one type of medium, rather than a whole new medium replacing others.

So what difference, if any, will the iPad make (even if one could glorify it as a medium in itself)?

That remains to be scene (I couldn't resist). However, the potential for added distribution alone, if not new modes of expression altogether, makes it worthwhile for 'traditional' authors to follow such steps in the evolution of technology and how people - their customers - react.

Living authors, that is. George Orwell can rest in peace.

Golf: Problem's In The Mind

An alligator bit a golfer's arm off in South Carolina last year. Commenting on an earlier attack, in Florida, a spokesman for the state Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission said:

"12 to 18 physical encounters between humans and alligators typically take place during the summer months in Florida... People throw alligators chicken, hot dogs and other types of food...It conditions the animal to associate people with food, and that's when there is potential for something terrible to happen."

While they claim golf courses are dangerous, some reckon it's a conspiracy to make a buck out of re-selling balls that golfers are too frightened to look for. But family snaps like the one above show not everyone is cowed into submission. I once played in a corporate event at Industry Hills Golf Club, near LA, where the fairways are narrow and signs warn of rattlesnakes in the rough. Everyone else who hit out of bounds saw the signs, nervously took a drop and moved on. What a waste! I must've found twenty balls and didn't get bitten once, though I still flinch when my golf bag rattles.

Ah, but if only golf was a straight shoot-out between species, instead of our own synapses.

As Carl Hiaasen testified in Fairway to Hell, there are no words of advice, props or gimmicks that can prevent golf from driving you to distraction. The problem is internal. I reckon it can be summed up in the idea that Hope is the mother of Frustration and my own experience suggests Carl's problem may be that his home course, Quail Valley (slope rating 133 out of a possible 155) is too easy to dash all Hope.

Now take this "intoxicating" view of the 8th hole at my own club, Meland, near Bergen in Norway - rated 6th in the top 100 golf clubs of the world with a slope rating of 151.

According to Fairwaygolf, "The playing area is fairly generous but nearly every hole runs through a corridor of trees and creates problems in the mind." The "problem in the mind" at the 8th, however, is created by water in the foreground, water in the background, and the nagging certainty that there's an invisible lake in the middle ground - right where your eye would have you believe the fairway stretches unbroken to the green in the distance. Those are woods to the right and left, by the way. 

Confronted by such a vista, Hope departs, taking Frustration and all her other children with her.

But I'm no expert. Apart from a lack of timing, my handicap is 25, care of the generous staff at Stockley Park, near London. It took 20 years to summon the courage to present myself to golf club officials, and it wasn't just the knee-length socks that put me off.

I'd made various attempts to develop an acceptable swing in Australia, mostly by way of an 'escape' after slogging up and down the Parramatta River in a racing shell. It was hardly an ideal grounding, and I developed a hook so vicious that on the third hole at Warren golf course, in far western New South Wales, I hit a kangaroo with my tee shot, twice. I can see the poor animal as clearly in my mind's eye today as the moment I addressed the ball. It's resting quietly under a gum tree, about fifty yards away to the left, at a 45 degrees angle to the tee. My first drive strikes the kangaroo on the snout, whereupon it stands up, shakes its head angrily and stares hard at me. Hastily, I re-address the ball and, as so often happens in golf, I repeat the shot. This time the ball strikes the kangaroo squarely in the chest. It snorts angrily and rears up, taking guard like a boxer. We make our apologies and head for the next hole.

But my crowning moment Down Under was at the up-market Fairmont Resort in Leura ("Loo-ra") in the Blue Mountains, near Sydney. The course was busy, with 3 foursomes waiting on the tee. I was next up. The right side of the fairway opened out nicely, inviting the slice. Never mind, I thought, my problem's the hook. But a low fence ran down the left of the fairway, marking out of bounds. Beyond the fence, immediately behind me, was the hotel entrance. Forward of that was a car park, full of luxury cars. Nerves jangled. Adrenalin flowed. I swung hard, and brought the heel of my driver down on the ball like a lumberjack. Had the ball hit my shin, it would still be in my leg today. Instead, it cannoned into the front of the hotel, striking five feet above an open doorway. From there it ricocheted into the carpark, impacting in front of a Bentley, then took a giant hop, landing neatly in the middle of the fairway. There was an awful silence, until a lone voice from the gallery said, "That'll do it."

Naturally, when I moved to the northern hemisphere, my vicious hook reversed to become a fabulous 'push slice'. The ball starts out straight enough, but suddenly veers right, drifting further and further the longer it remains in the air - historically, with me berating it to stop instantly. The nadir of such impotent anger came when I was teeing off in Spain about five years ago. I push-sliced mightily from a high plateau waaaay out onto an adjacent fairway that sloped steeply back downhill to a green about a hundred yards behind us. Sensing the worst, I began cursing as the ball first veered to the right, the volume and intensity of the invective increasing to fever pitch by the zenith of the shot, punctuating with a burst of outrage as the ball landed, then spiking into apoplexy as the little cretin took off downhill. By the time the ball had rolled a good fifty yards past where I was still figuratively leaping up and down I'd exhausted the world's supply of expletives. Only at that moment did a wintry voice announce "Ladies present."

Putting all that behind me has not been easy. But, incredibly, my summer battles at Meland have been enormously helpful - chiefly because of the Hopelessness I've enjoyed on every round I've played there. The course is so hilariously difficult that even the best golfers may end the round exasperated. So I have absolutely no expectation of being able to avoid disaster. Having accepted that Meland will always be the winner, I'm (relatively) happy ;-)

A Fistful of Motorcycle

I shook off the chains of my regular commute last night to blast up to Bennington, where the church hall was packed to hear a talk by Austin Vince, renowned maths teacher, raconteur, authentic round-the-world motorcycle adventurer, author of Mondo Enduro and maker of the follow-up film, Terra Circa, about spanning the dreaded Zilov Gap in Siberia.

Austin has to be among the most entertaining speakers I've ever had the privilege to hear - ironically, more for the things he can't tell you than the topic of the evening, like his passion for spaghetti western posters. Yet his irreverent comparisons of life in far flung countries to daily English life are a tonic for the credit crunch blues. And his insistence that facing a challenge with nothing more than the bare minimum of equipment required, a sense of humour and a commitment to resourcefulness should be enough to inspire even the most dedicated 'weapon of mass consumption' to try eating life rare rather than well done.

Mondo Enduro traces the seemingly impossible round-the-world journey by a bunch of guys in their late 20's without experience, sponsorship, support vehicles, camera crews or even Ewan McGregor. I learned with some regret that it began in April 1995, a time when I'd recently arrived here at the same age, wondering what the hell I was going to do with myself. Listening to Austin, I could've done a lot worse than hop on a bus to Mill Hill that fateful April morning. 

Serious Reading

I recently embarrassed myself hugely while reading Three Men in a Boat, Jerome K. Jerome's 1889 account of a trip up the Thames, on that other river of humanity, the Tube. I had the singular misfortune to stumble upon Herr Slossen Boschen's "comic song" during the morning commute, obliging me to hide my face in my hands until each laughing fit passed. A dozen times I tried to get it together, but a single glance at the stony faced commuters opposite was all it took to render me helpless. One should exercise caution while reading this novel at lectures, conferences, in court rooms and in the Houses of Parliament.

I've since ordered Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow, which I shall mostly be reading at home.

Training Tips

I spent much of the Christmas holidays digesting Joe Friel's The Triathlete's Training Bible, now in its third edition.

Having plodded my way through various multisport events since 2005 with only sporadic assistance from search engines, I've found myself at a bit of a performance plateau. So I figured I need to get more scientific if I'm to wring any more improvements out of my limited schedule. Although daunting in size, I've found Joe's bible has the right balance of science and practical tips to confidently tweak the training plan. He does a thorough job of explaining the latest research into physiology and diet, and recommending different workouts that contribute endurance, strength and/or speed depending on your needs (all of the above). Hell, just reading about training is a morale boost in itself.

Already I can report an increase in velocity, although times may have been wind-assisted by brussel sprouts.

Travels in the Blogosphere

It's been a mad week, with my spare time absorbed by an article on the behavioural targeting of internet advertising and responding to a cascade of blogs. Highlights being:

• commenting on Dave's report on SEPA's 50 year plan;



• observing the link between the "Bauman-esque negotiation between moral ideals and the problems and needs of everyday life" and sustainable capitalism;



• debunking the notion of "mass personalisation", which is about as oxymoronic as you can get;



• cheering the Tories' promise to make legislation more accessible, and wondering what on earth the recently re-labelled "Digital Engagement Team" at the Cabinet Office has been doing;



• pushing for publication of MPs and Peers' expenses at mySociety, writing to my MP and wondering what on earth the recently re-labelled "Digital Engagement Team" at the Cabinet Office has been doing;



• and of course eagerly awaiting Blawg Review #214.

I've also updated my own posts on:

• Swinegate;



• Something Decent to Read; and



• Coping with the risk of a spike in mortgage rates.

I suspect that's enough havoc for one week, but I reckon there's more to come...

Something Decent To Read

I rarely have time to read for the pleasure of it. So when I do get the chance to settle down with a book, I like to know it's going to be worthwhile. The joy of the Internet is finding great things you once read and working out from there. Reviews are helpful, as is knowing how someone else stumbled across the book.

My own tale of discovery really begins in 1976, when my father introduced me to Tom Wolfe's The New Journalism, which marked the shift from dispassionate news reporting to stories where the journalist is somehow involved. I was also captivated by Wolf's own collection of magazine articles wonderfully entitled The Kandy-Kolored Tangerine-Flake Streamline Baby. From there I meandered to Hunter S. Thompson (RIP) and The Great Shark Hunt and Truman Capote's In Cold Blood.

Much of the New Journalism was spawned by the Vietnam War, and some of the best writing from that conflict can be found in Tim O'Brien's Going After Cacciato and If I Die In a Combat Zone, as well as Michael Herr's Despatches. Norman Mailer seemed to find a similar voice in The Naked and The Dead, about the soldier's lot in the jungles of World War II (and recently Sgt Dan Mills captured it in the recent Gulf War in Sniper One).

Of course, Kurt Vonnegut took war reporting to a different plane in Slaughterhouse 5, about his experiences following the fire bombing of Dresden. His wondrous view of the world (partly via the planet Tralfamadore) can also be found in Breakfast of Champions. I've found some resonance of that in Nicholson Baker's brilliantly observed and highly entertaining The Mezzanine (the story of one man's lunch hour), Vox (a voyeuristic eavesdrop on a chat-line conversation) and his unashamedly voyeuristic tour de force, The Fermata.

Latin American magic realism has also tickled my fancy, from Gabriel Garcia Marquez's Love in the Time of Cholera and One Hundred Years of Solitude to Louis De Bernieres' The War of Don Emmanuel's Nether Parts and The Troublesome Offspring of Cardinal Guzman.

I actually studied English literature and modern American novels for my Arts degree. That turned me into a fiend for Hemingway (A Farewell To Arms, To Have and Have Not, For Whom The Bell Tolls), F. Scott Fitzgerald (Tender is The Night, The Beautiful and The Damned, The Great Gatsby) and, of course, Catcher in the Rye.

But it hasn't all been high literature. I love crime fiction, and Raymond Chandler was a maestro (Farewell My Lovely, The Big Sleep - a great film - and The Lady in The Lake), as was Dashiell Hammett (especially The Maltese Falcon - also a great film). Since the '50s Elmore Leonard has been king, I think partly because none of his characters is necessarily good or evil (try Pronto, Out of Sight, Freaky Deaky, Get Shorty, Be Cool and so on). Others include the darker, police perspective of Ed McBain (Kiss is great), the blackly comic Carl Hiaasen (Tourist Season, Skin Tight, Double Whammy, Native Tongue, Strip Tease, Skinny Dip and so on), the laid back but brooding Tony Hillerman (A Thief of Time, Fallen Man) and the chilling Michael Connelly (The Black Echo, The Last Coyote, Angels Flight). The story of a crack dealer, Clockers (by Richard Price), sits somewhere between New Journalism and crime fiction.

I had a stab at turning an old manuscript into a screenplay while living in New York in the mid '90s, and Syd Field's Screenplay: The Foundations of Screenwriting and The Screenwriter's Workbook were hugely helpful on plot and structure in particular. His dissection of Four Screenplays is a must, once you have the basic theory. Robert McKee is also very highly rated, of course (Story: Substance, Structure, Style and the Principles of Screenwriting). I also found Joe Campbell's The Hero's Journey a huge help in figuring out characters and their roles. I finished the screenplay, but it needed far more time and it was time for me to get back to London and earn some cash!). And a fantastic experiment in linking literature and film is to set aside a day to read Conrad's Heart of Darkness and T S Eliot's The Hollow Men, watch Apocalypse Now, then the film about the making of it (Hearts of Darkness) and, finally, read Eleanor Coppola's Notes: On the Making of Apocalypse Now. It's a fantastic journey accompanied every step of the way by the same sense of brooding malice.

While living in New York I became enamoured of JP Donleavy's The Gingerman, which I read after seeing a quote from the book in the bar of the same name. An interesting comparison is Jack Kerouac's On the Road, also written in 1955. It seems to have been the year for manic flows of consciousness. And I must say that chimes pretty well with my experience of living in NYC.

On the blogging front, I've found plenty of inspiration for my contrarian viewpoint in books like Liar's Poker (arguably, the story of where the ethos that powered the credit crunch began), The Black Swan (avoiding or exploiting situations and products that are predicated on their being no surprise events that will have a huge impact), The Long and the Short of It (you're on your own: pay less, diversify more and be contrarian), Blink (the power of the sub-conscious can mean decisions made quickly are as good as those we labour over - but see The Black Swan!), Freakonomics (basically, using data mining to re-appraise assumptions, like what determines a child's academic performance), Flat Earth News (confirmation - if you needed it - that newspapers can only make money if over half of the so-called journalism is a bunch of press releases - we need our news unbundled, like our music etc) and The Lexus and the Olive Tree (once globalisation hits your ville, there's no one you can call to stop it). More recently, I enjoyed Barbara Ehrenreich's Smile or Die, about the tyranny of positive thinking, and Gillian Tett's Fool's Gold, a very readable account of the credit crunch from the standpoint of the JP Morgan staff who somewhat unwittingly unleashed the Bistro-style CDS into an environment of such stunning irrational greed, negligence, recklessness and downright fraud that it's left even the insiders angered and aghast.

And last, but by no means least, are Dean Johns' acerbic reflections on his days in advertising in "Ad Nauseam", and his "punchy political essays" from Malaysiakini, collected in "Mad About Malaysia" and "Even Madder About Malaysia" - still as inspirational as the day he suggested I read Tom Wolfe.