Cod Almighty | Diary

For Whom The Bell Tolls

31 January 2025

A writer of a book cannot be said to be the book. Yes, the writer puts much of themselves into it, their own experiences, their friends, their family, their ideas about what they see in the world, what they would like to see in the world, what they're afraid the world will be. There is much of the writer in the book, but the writer cannot be said to be the book.

And once the book is read, then the writer is forced to step back, melt into the shadows, be something other, something associated but not within, not a clear part. They become distant, something measured against not measured with.

Your A46 Diary has been considering Artell as an author, one stuck in the mud of early drafts of an epic tale. Writers never want to be the stick-in-the-muds that some critics will label them, they want to imagine that their new work is a dynamic and refreshing take on something already much loved: story. Not for the young and hungry the formulaic Danielle Steele, these guys want something fresh, something to make the readers' pulses race with anticipation.

But those early drafts. So hopeful, so full of energy, so hopeless, so flat. Hemingway said, "the first draft of anything is shit," and he has a point: few things arrive in this world ready to be judged at a higher standard than shit.

I've read Go Set a Watchman, the early draft of Harper Lee's To Kill a Mockingbird. It's shit. It was only published after she died and the estate was able to sell the manuscript to publishers. As a money-making exercise it was a sure-fire success. As a book it's shit. It's shit because it was a first draft. The publishers told Lee that it had promise, some good characters, especially the girl Scout, but right now, well, it's a bit shit. Spend some more time on it. Two years later, To Kill a Mockingbird was ready, and Lee will be forever feted as a literary genius. As long we don't count the posthumous publication.

So, Artell is currently giving us Go Set a Watchman. Some of it's okay, sometimes it's even pretty good, but the whole is lacking: no clear thread, no clear development, especially of the characters. The shape of the team and the performances of individual players are created by him, engineered by him, but once they're out there, he's not them. He cannot be said to be the thing that he is creating.

Imagine him as your mate, not an old friend, a newer acquaintance, nice guy, can be a bit odd, still getting to know you, but open and trusting. They've decided that they'll write a book, and they ask you to give it a read, maybe a little bit of advice, and you like books, like to read, like to enjoy reading. And your mate has written a few things in the past, a couple of poems, some short stories, maybe a novella, and they were pretty good, so when they ask you say, yes, of course I will, I'd love to help you out. It'll be a pleasure.

A few pages in, the first few pages that the wannabe writer has worked so hard on, it's not too bad, there are moments, there is the whiff of an idea, an identity, maybe a hint of a favourite genre, a little hit and miss but mostly okay. And then, maybe 30 or 40 pages in the flaws start to appear, start to shout and scream across the bits that have worked, you start to think, maybe I was wrong, maybe this guy can't do it, can't string three sentences together, can't build plot or character, at least not in any way that's remotely convincing.

What do you say? Your mate wanted your help, wants to write a really good book. You have to tell them the truth in all its warts-and-all detail. You may upset them. You may have to hurt them. But the truth, respectfully told, is all there is.

And it may not hurt; after all, they've done it in the past, they've moved through the difficult times and written those things that you liked, from a distance, yes, and maybe not quite your cup of tea, but the things they did worked. Did those things work right away? Probably not. Certainly not. But you weren't there that time, so it can be hard to imagine. And even once they were good, properly structured cracking reads, they still weren't the writer, the writer couldn't be the work, it was just ready to be set free.

So, more time, more patience, more understanding.