Nail-Biting Novel

Mike Bodnar is in a state of nervousness as he awaits feedback from a group of pre-readers about his next novel...

Lucien Treadwell, Influencer

I am on tenterhooks about my next novel. It's written but not yet published, and I am in the Unknown Zone where time stands still, there is hushed silence (can there be any other?), and if the silence is broken at all it will be by the ping of the email inbox, which could herald either triumph or terror. I am a bag of nerves.

I did this with my last novel, Unity: Peace for All, Freedom for None, when I asked a 'focus group' of people I knew to read the first draft and send me feedback. It proved to be very useful, as readers picked up on things that had been staring me in the face for a long time, but which I never saw. An author is too close to their own work to see the bleeding obvious sometimes. 

And I expect it to be the same with this new novel, but likely more complex. My previous book was a fairly standard Cold War spy thriller, but Settlement is very different, and could open the proverbial can of worms on all sorts of different fronts, not least those of political correctness, historical accuracy, and cultural appropriation. There could well be an element of 'how dare you?' to this, because I have written a story that inevitably involves Māori, and as someone who is pale, male and (arguably) stale, I could be accused of literary trespass.

Here's my draft blurb for the novel: 

It is 1839, and a private, clandestine expedition to New Zealand, involving astounding new imaging technology, is under threat from the start. The principal of the venture mysteriously disappears en route, leaving his protégé to undertake the mission alone.

His name is Lucien Treadwell, but he too becomes a target. His endeavours ashore in the nascent colony of Port Nicholson are closely watched from the shadows, and danger is never far away. But what he sets out to achieve also ignites tension and subterfuge almost two centuries later, on the other side of the world.

Fabienne, one of the characters in Settlement

Okay, that might change, but in essence that's what it's about, and with half the book set in New Zealand of 1839, to ignore the presence and roles of Māori would be a sin in itself. But to include them - even any reference to them - also today invites argument, ridicule, contempt, and accusations of everything from ignorance to outright racism. Controversy looms.

And yet it's a 'history-mystery,' so how does an author safely navigate the historical truths of a period - even though they're writing fiction - and avoid accusations of interference or manipulation? Or should they even worry? Is it not a novelist's calling to tell a story, one fabricated from their imagination? Sure, it may well draw upon historical facts, but should that in itself require the novelist to 'play it safe'? I suspect in safety lies boredom. (Which sounds like it should become a Latin motto: In securitate taedium inest)

However, I am getting ahead of myself. As I write this I have yet to receive any feedback from the PRFG - the Pre-Reader Focus Group - so I am crossing bridges before they're even built. But yes, I am nervous.

The author maintaining composure...

The PRFG comprises eight people of mixed genders, ages, and reading interests. It is also international, in that three of the participants live in England. This is important because I need to know whether the story has international appeal, or whether it will remain firmly on Kiwi bookshelves.

The feedback on the first draft of Settlement will decide how much of a rewrite it needs (possibly total), whether the concept is viable, whether the story arc works, whether the characters are credible/relatable, and so on, before I approach a publisher. Having a high New Zealand content I aim initially to approach Kiwi publishers, but to be honest I don't hold out much hope.

Poor overworked publisher
(Image: Copilot)

Why? Because publishers are today inundated with manuscripts. During Covid, suddenly
everyone found themselves with extra time on their hands, and guess what? They wrote the book that had been fermenting in the back of their minds for years. I was living in England at the time and I researched what the impact of Covid had been on publishers; it was dramatic, and many of them were completely snowed under with submissions. What used to be dozens of manuscripts per week suddenly became hundreds. 

Self-publishing also went through the roof, and that's not changed. It remains my backstop position for when every publisher in New Zealand has turned me down, or more likely just not responded at all. That's okay; I am thick-skinned, but this time I would dearly love a publisher to take me on.

I am, however, my own problem. Forgive me for elaborating on something I mentioned earlier, but I am a prime candidate for the pale, male and stale category of writer. I am also seventy-two years of age, and am likely to be perceived as being beyond my use-by date, particularly as I have never been successfully published before, and therefore have no track record.

Quantum physics: what you observe
changes what you observe
(Image: Caltech Science Exchange)

Also, as with quantum physics, the act of observing or measuring a system fundamentally alters it, so to ask a group of people I know to evaluate the story could mean that they tell me what they think I want to hear rather than what I should hear. It is likely to be a flawed experiment, so perhaps this time I will take into account what they say, edit the manuscript based on their feedback, and then send it out to a group of people I don't know for a more robust second opinion. If you'd like to be one of them, please email me at mgbodnar@gmail.com.

In the meantime, and while I endure this twilight zone of the unknown, I am avoiding reading the draft novel again, deliberately not editing anything, and trying basically to forget all about Settlement. It's not easy, but to take my mind off it I've started to cobble together the next next novel. It doesn't have a name yet, but it is post-apocalyptic in nature, and yes it's set in New Zealand, one of the few countries that could survive a global nuclear conflict. Does that mean we're safe here? No, not at all. The characters live by their wits, taking each day as it comes, always ready for the unexpected and to fight for their survival.

Pretty much how I'm living right now.

London in Black and White

I am apparently to leave London. It is imperative that I get out, turn my back on the city’s iconic bridges, cathedrals and historic river, and – with head hung in shame – seek a place where I can lay my conscience to rest. A place where guilt will not follow me.

I’m not going, I can tell you now. I will continue to traipse the backstreets of Stockwell to shop at Lidl, Sainsbury’s and Costcutters, but I have clearly been told that I have no right to enjoy living here; the implication is that I should feel guilty.

This has all come about thanks to the all-seeing all-trolling social media platform called Facebook. I recently changed my profile image to one of Tower Bridge, a nice pic that I took on a sunny day a couple of weeks back and which, in Photoshop, I turned into a ‘watercolour’. It is in fact the same image sitting behind what you’re reading right now. Good isn’t it?

It drew a nice comment from one of my FB friends, saying how much she loved London, to which I responded in agreement. Then I got this from a Kiwi who, until then, I thought was a friend:

‘But Mike what role has this "city" had over time across the planet? I'm not sure it is noteworthy enough for the World to respect it, even in this modern context. Africa, Middle East, Indian subcontinent, East Asia, Australia, New Zealand and the Pacific - where hasn't it taken for its own benefit and left a mess behind for others to clean up. Look carefully at its history and evaluate it against quality principles and values.’

This, unfortunately, is where political correctness and common sense part company. It’s also where he and I part company – I’ve temporarily blocked him. This comment comes from someone who has enjoyed holidaying in France, a country which boasted a colonial empire including – but not limited to – Canada, North Africa, Polynesia, India and Indochina. A country also responsible for a direct terrorist attack on a Greenpeace ship moored in Auckland harbour in 1985, something my erstwhile Kiwi friend seems to have forgotten. Or has chosen to ignore.

If I am to analyse my own genealogy, I find that – oops  – I was born in Liverpool, which played a pivotal role in the slave trade. I should presumably rip up my birth certificate, and get the Liver Bird tattoo removed from my arm. My mother and family were from Ireland, so I perhaps should loathe the British (which would mean hating myself). And as for planning a holiday in Germany, well, didn’t they bomb us in World War II?

This finger-pointing based on an assemblage of historical guilt is counter-productive if we are to move forward as a viable society, in fact as the human race. In New Zealand there is a strong undercurrent of culpability based on European settlement of the country from the early 19^th century onwards, a process that started with a fragile land deal called the Treaty of Waitangi. Put simply, the argument is that Māori were hoodwinked into handing over precious land to the British in return for not very much and some broken promises. (Trolls please note that I prefaced this with ‘put simply’.)

Subsequently, Māori have quite rightly aired grievances over the process, and the New Zealand government has been working to atone, with reparation payments, formal apologies, and the return of some disputed land. Many would say it hasn’t done enough, or that it ever can, and that Māori have a right to be aggrieved until the last European (‘Pakeha’ in Māori) leaves the country.

But that’s not going to happen. I doubt even my Kiwi critic has any intention of atoning for his forebears’ wrongs by uprooting himself and his family and emigrating elsewhere. No, he will stay there and continue to cycle through Aotearoa’s lovely countryside, enjoying the sweet life around him. However, I am not supposed to enjoy London without adopting a  cloak of guilt that supposedly goes with its history.

Bollocks. The past is past, what’s done is done. Yes, if mistakes were made they can be acknowledged and, where practical, compensated for. They can, however, never be erased, but I don’t believe that means we should carry the burden forever. We can acknowledge without beating ourselves up, we can atone without wearing metaphorical hair shirts, and we should make every effort to move on, move forward and do better next time.

A direct lineage to ancestors who were brutal, overpowering, devious or complicit 150, 250 or 500 years ago does not mean we personally should feel guilt today. We can feel contrite maybe, but if we are to personify the crimes and misdemeanours of our forebears by never living in or setting foot on places that carry a legacy of wrongdoings, where on earth would we go?

Not all Facebook stuff is bad. I was dared to participate in a project that has seen some traction on the social media platform in recent months, namely a ‘Seven-Day Black and White Photography Challenge’. In this you are nominated (by someone who has already done it) to post one black and white photo of ‘your life’ every day for seven days, with no explanations and no people in the images.

It’s a good and harmless thing to take part in. It has forced me to take my camera out onto the streets, or wherever I am going, and to look for photographic opportunities, ones that speak for themselves (since I am not allowed to add any captions). It makes me look closely at my environment, to analyse what I am seeing for a story opportunity.

Not all the stories I see are pleasant, not all are easily captured either. So I have to see beyond the obvious, and actually a black and white image is in fact shades of grey.

Which is poignant. We may live in places with spurious histories, places with blood running in their historical gutters, but history is very rarely black and white. Nor should our reactions be.