Sarah Waters' Rules for Writers

I've finished Sarah Waters' magnificent ghost story The Little Stranger (in the dark, on my own, the windows unshuttered....in other words, very nervously, but compelled to keep reading, unable to put it down and wait until daylight hours). The ending of this novel is a tour de force - the kind of gorgeous revelation that leaves me hurtling back into those 500 pages  again trying to make sense of the whole thing now I know. And yet the sheer gorgeousness of it, is that I still don't know for sure...

There is much to learn from Waters about pace and tension and layering, and I plan to go back through the novel and make notes. In fact, top of Waters' ten rules about writing (as published in The Guardian UK) is  'Read like mad. But try to do it analytically...' - which I do try to do, but often forget, moving on to the next novel and the next. This time, I have the notebook ready.... and tucked under my belt, number 4 on Waters' list of writing rules:

Novels are for readers, and writing them means the crafty, patient, selfless construction of effects. I think of my novels as being something like fairground rides: my job is to strap the reader into their car at the start of chapter one, then trundle and whizz them through scenes and surprises, on a carefully planned route, and at a finely engineered pace.

Bring it on! The full Rules for Writers by Sarah Waters are here with thanks to The Guardian, and there's more on The Little Stranger in my previous post. I am thrilled to see it is on the longlist for the Orange Prize , along with NZer Eleanor Catton's The Rehearsal - another superbly crafted book.

Nose-to-tail books and their authors: catching up with the Writers' Festival

I only got to Neil Gaiman at the Writers and Readers Week here in Wellington - the family called and I could not ignore it this time. Usually, I get along every day possible and nose-to-tail those wonderful gigs:  writer (s), convener, books, a couple of chairs, a water jug, and me. By the end, I am stuffed full of the most stimulating conversation and I have voices in my head.

This year, I had to go it alone. I read both Australian Joan London and UK writer Sarah Waters in preparation, and was thrilled by the discovery of both. I'd been meaning to read Waters for a long time, but London was entirely new to me. The Good Parents is a surprising novel - a quiet thriller that finds the answer to the question of a young woman missing in Melbourne by unlayering the lives of those closest to her, most especially her parents. It is intelligent and insightful and gave me a serious yen to get back to Melbourne soon. I will be reading more of London and have vowed to read more Australian authors, too. The quiet buzz I get when a character buys 'weetbix' is ridiculous really, but it shows how marvellous the discovery of the familiar in a novel.

When I say I 'read' Sarah Waters, what I mean to say is I am reading Sarah Waters. The Little Stranger is a massive tome and I am two-thirds of the way through, and dreading finishing. This is one of those absorbing 'big' reads that maps out a whole way of life and then folds you inside the map. I've wanted to read it since I heard a reviewer say it made the hairs stand up on her arms - and now I have this gorgeous fat novel with its brilliant red cover, I am restricted to reading in well lit rooms preferably in daylight.

The Little Stranger is an old-fashioned ghost story with decaying Hundreds Hall and a family that is decaying along with it, enter the Doctor, a chap whose Mum was once a nursery maid there. He is quickly pulled in to Hundreds' life and the strange things that happen. It feels to me like a cross between Jane Eyre and Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. The writing is both formal (the bachelor doctor's tentative voice) and fondling (of detail), and builds tension expertly. Note to self: read more Sarah Waters, and make sure you see her next time she's in town. 


I would love to hear what either of these authors were like on stage, and all the rest, too, in fact ... feel free to comment.