Tuesday, July the 13th, 2004
back to: title, date or indexes
I have been thinking about writing a big fat paperback, one of those novels disdained by the so-called literary world yet which sell in mighty amounts, often from airport bookstalls. Due to some sort of cultural blip, business persons who jet around the world being obnoxious still like to be seen reading something other than their latest sales reports, and the airport novel is a form created especially for them. It is never less than 736 pages long, and will usually have the title picked out in embossed gold on the cover. The contents will invariably be world-shuddering—a plot to destabilise NATO, for example—and militaristic, technological and “intelligence” matters will be described in preposterous detail. The film rights will have been sold before publication, but the film itself, if it is ever made, will never get a theatrical release. The hero's name will often be Graham Maitland. I had been toying with the idea of making mine a Vatican-related thriller called Pontiff! but was disappointed to discover that that title has already been taken. No matter. The point is that readers of these novels rarely get beyond page 243. Thereafter, I could pad out my text by reprinting long screeds from some out-of-copyright work—preferably The Anatomy of Melancholy—or by copying out technical data from an armaments company brochure. All I will need then is a blurb from the Daily Mail saying something like “Tighten your seatbelts—it's a rollercoaster ride!” or some such twaddle. Then I'll move to an offshore tax haven.