Most of the people I admire are dead so Will Self is something of an exception as he is very much alive and at Clapham Books on 23rd October 2008 he was relieved to be back in London after touring around promoting his new book ‘Liver ; A Fictional Organ With A Surface Anatomy Of Four Lobes’. This was the first reading and book signing thing I have ever been to, or wanted to attend, but I could not resist meeting the man who has written books such as ‘The Book of Dave‘, ‘Cock and Bull’ and ‘Butt’ to name but a few. I was there early and was offered a glass of wine by the nice people, Nikki Kastner, Ed Mcgarry, and Alastair Kenward, of Clapham Books who own one of the very few independent bookshops left in this part of London. They may well claim to be Wills bookshop of choice as he purchases his yellow Post-It notes and other stationery items a few doors down at Flynns Commercial Stationers and is always ‘popping in’ the bookshop for a quick browse and a chat.
One of the first things that impressed me about Will Self is that, unlike some other successful authors, he is relatively modest and down to earth and unashamedly and unapologetically himself. I would describe him as a very genuine person who takes his craft seriously and is justly proud of what he creates ‘only I can write a Will Self book’. It is of course the case, that like any other original artist of note, only the genuine article can produce the genuine article.
He is necessarily intense, articulate, but not overbearing, having the easy confidence of a man at the top of his game despite his assertion that ‘I’ve not done anything yet’ when someone asked him if he was considering writing an autobiography. This is good news as he has a lot to say about any subject and a lot of interesting ideas and will hopefully produce many more books.
I have to admit that I was initially in awe of the man but warmed to him especially after I had spoken to him personally. He is an intellectual heavyweight and I’ve heard him in action before demolishing opponents such as the outspoken journalist Richard Littlejohn; who was taken apart live on radio and reduced to a burbling wreck. He was simply no match for the speed and ferocity of his attacker and his defences simply crumbled forcing the normally relaxed presenter to intervene to prevent a total knockout.
I humbly admit that I was too nervous to ask a question in front of those gathered and I waited until I could speak to him in person. I remember hearing once that when Carl Jung first met Freud he passed out, being overcome by the experience of being in the presence of the great man. I was certainly temporarily tongue tied and slightly incapacitated and I cannot remember the last time that happened in the presence of anyone -at least not when fully clothed.
I was impressed and inspired too. I think it was Dali who said ‘An artist is not one who is inspired, but one who can inspire others’. He selected two readings from his new book and these he delivered faultlessly complete with some appropriate actions, accents and changes in pace, pitch, tone, and volume; which very much brought the reading to life. He was very entertaining and held those present in a state of thrall only to be released on the cessation of his readings. He’s a performer and I don’t know why I was surprised by that given his numerous appearances on television and radio.
His writing is darkly humorous and appeals to my own sense of humour and taste for the socially unusual and descriptively exotic. Despite the fact that the small, plastic, front row, seat I was sitting on was a tad uncomfortable I was hanging on every word and could probably have listened to him all day. In common with some of the very best writers even when he is talking about a subject as debated as assisted suicide there is a sense that something else is going on at the very edge of your perception forcing you to concentrate on the characters being described fully lest you miss some subtle nuance that will give you the clue to what might occur next or has already occurred.
There really is nothing else like the experience of hearing an author read his own work and as I listened I felt the intensity of the emotion in his words. He could so easily have not come up to my high expectations of him however I am so glad that I was moved and I find myself respecting Will Self the writer even more. I only hope more people discover Will Self as he is not always the easiest writer to read but in my opinion he is one of the very best, challenging and thought provoking novelists alive and long may he be so.
