The Art Of The Interview

Ok, it's a dog not a cat but the principle is the same.

 

It's good that events are getting off the ground again but I'm a bit rusty about all the reading and the making notes ( while reading)  to get most out of the books of the poor victims I am interrogating... sorry interviewing for some forthcoming festivals.

I'm just out the habit... like the nun who had  recently left the convent.

I've been given 10 books to read. There's another huge pile of books waiting to be read, and, other things in life being what they are,  I should be reading them much quicker than I am. And I am enjoying them rather than  paying attention and looking for 'good questions.'

And then, there are the other  little bits and bobs that go along with festival time. 

Like I  had to do some filming. 

I was supposed to be doing it last week.

                                            

                                                         Alan Parks Pic by Ewan Robertson

Oh yes,  last week and I had visions of me standing on a bridge over the Sound of Lora ( that's a bit of water not a woman with a strangely spelled name screaming ) with a wonderful vista behind me. I would be  holding my novel up, title to the camera,  then do that trombone action so I get the small print within the focal range of my aged eyes.

 It snowed so I didn't bother. 

 We did the filming in the dining room  and told the builders to be quiet for a while.  It took me 15 takes to get the reading of  3 minutes 30 seconds right. I think you just get out of the way of it after a while. 

The last event I did for that book was over two and a half years ago. I can't even recall what it's about.

                                                        

I'm very excited to be reading Liam McIvanney's The Heretic and Alan Parks ' May God Forgive You.

There's good stuff to talk about in both books,  but a remarkable similarity that I think I might have to ... err.... remark on.  They are both truly wonderful books set in Glasgow in 1974/1975. You can almost smell the Old Spice aftershave seeping from the page.  And they both start with fires where the wrong people become wrong deceased people. And fair to say, both  have a wee sprinkling of religious tension.

I would say both books are very reminiscent of Uncle William, The Laidlaw series.

While reading them, I was so engrossed that I forgot that I'm supposed to be chairing a virtual event that will been seen all round the globe literally ( and literally)  as Liam will be in New Zealand at the time Alan will be in Glasgow and I'll be halfway up a mountain probably covered in snow.

The  other issue I have is that it can be difficult to talk about a novel, especially that very well crafted kind crime fiction, without giving away the basis of the plot.  Even more especially if the book that you think you are reading is not the book you are reading, as there's a huge plot twist at the end and the nasty author has fooled you for the previous 300 pages. 

But you can't say that as folk would then read it, looking for the twist, or paying too much attention to that subtle shadowy storyline and that would spoil it.

If I do that the author may well just cut the first 300 pages.

                                                            

And then there's the politically correct minefield. I still call my detective He or She according to their  gender and will continue to do so until they tell me otherwise.

                                                  

I'm not sure where I got this, might have stolen it off Zoe.

So, I am compiling my list of questions for my lovely authors. I have one so far.

"Where do you get your ideas from?'

Caro