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COMPETITION

Not fair!

J aspistos IN COMPETITION NO. 1952 you were invited to compose a letter, from a vain and foolish author, complaining to a liter- ary editor that his or her book has been unfairly, ignorantly, woundingly etc. reviewed.

Very enjoyable. I enjoyed the sub- Richmal Crompton author who answered the criticism that her children's dialogue was wildly 'unrealistic' by pointing out that they had all been conscientiously tape- recorded inside the house. Another pained writer was outraged that her book could have been described as 'a mere collection of anecdotes about dead dogs in which only the author could possibly be interest- ed'. And there was the author of Southern Ireland As It Really Is: 'One might well ask how a female with a name like Stumf can set up to criticise a certified descendant of Brian Boru.'

Some of you thought a prize, even the bottle, should go to A.A. Gill retrospec- tively, for his recent piece in these pages, but I am not that kind-hearted. Carolyn Beckingham gets the Isle of Jura Single Malt Scotch whisky, and the prizewinners, printed below, take £20 each.

Sir, Why do you allow novels such as mine to be reviewed by Critics with no understanding of the meaning of subtext? Surely it should have been obvious to anyone that the lack of the conven- tionally `funny' in my `comic' novel was meant to make readers confront their slavery to the idea of `fun' and that the subtitle, 'A Comic Novel', was therefore ironic? Can anyone think fun still has a place in the post-modem world?

To save trouble in future, allow me to point out that I am currently working on a companion piece, a `Tragic Novel', which similarly subverts the idea of the `tragic', dealing with a mislaid used bus ticket which eventually turns up.

(Carolyn Beckingham)

Sir, I am a professional critic — of television, strip joints, my ex-wife — so I can see the amus- ing side of a critic taking a critical thrashing. Oh, they'll be tinkling the teacups in Tunbridge Wells tonight! The difference is that I'm clever. I in funny; my wit's as sharp as a fiddle in a cathouse band. And I'm famous: I write about myself in the Sunday Times and High Life. Could your critic get a column with his name in big let- ters published in British Airways' premier maga- zine? No.

The truth is Slap Rousing's a brilliant satirical novel, but I never went through the novelist initi- ation ceremonies — no diet of macaroni cheese, no ritual strangling of skewbald flamingos in Swindon. Novelists would offer their babies for germ warfare testing to stop an outsider publish- ing a novel. Amusing. But a word of advice. Good criticism's done by professionals, not half- starved, lying, incompetent, un-hip castrati. (Annelise McArdle) Sir, The mistakes in spelling, grammar and syn- tax were intentional: my satirical swipe at the lib- eral educationists clearly went over your head. Equally deliberate was my choice of War and Peace as a title — how better to indicate the admired source of one's literary inspiration? The resemblance to the plot of A Farewell to Amzs is not the plagiarism you implied. Great writers such as Shakespeare and Goethe used well- known stories to create great works of art: I am happy to be of their number. The 'cumbersome' dialogue is the speech you will hear on the Clapham omnibus: I wisely eschewed the abbre- viated, stylised cadences of my contemporaries. The 'grotesquely laughable sex scenes' may indi- cate your own inhibitions and paucity of experi- ence, but an averagely libidinous and resourceful reader will find them rewardingly resonant. Your patronising tone belies the truth: my book is beyond you. (Tim Hopkins) Sir, I realise that one should feel honoured by selection of one's work for review, and that the appropriate demeanour before trial by one's peers is one of stoic silence. David Rattlesnake's review of my George Meredith's Use of Litotes, however, hardly fulfils this criterion and embold- ens me to protest. Diligent search through uni- versity yearbooks reveals that Mr Rattlesnake holds a second-class honours degree from a provincial university. My doctorate is from an older foundation. Is this trial by one's peers? But by their fruits ye shall know them, I sup- pose, and what do we find? Mr Rattlesnake suc- ceeds in splitting an infinitive in the very act of criticising my 'laboured style' (line 23); and uses the expression 'different to' when referring to what he calls my 'tortured syntax' (line 46).

Is this, sir, the type of reviewer you wish to employ? I rest my case. (Noel Petty) Sir, Do the initials I.R. indicate 'Inept Reviewer'? Indeed, has I.R. even condescended to read my autobiography (published weeks ago and long overdue for notice) before passing judgment? My years on the stage are ignored. My many appearances in the birthplace of the Bard — as a guest of the Capulets or as one of the shepherdesses in The Winter's Tale — are not mentioned. I.R. is interested only in my work in long-running dramas here and in America, and these successes are described solely so that I.R. may write (at great length) of his/her own expe- riences Stateside.

Regarding the title of this review, I am still taking advice as to whether the implications behind the words 'Scrubbing for a Living in Soap' are not actionable. Should they prove so, do not imagine that hiding behind initials will protect your reviewer. (Jeanne Fielder)

No. 1955: Books and life

You are invited to supply a piece of prose beginning or ending with 'That's the most outrageous statement I've ever heard' and ending or beginning with 'Have a cheroot, my dear boy' (the first overheard on a bus, the second the last line of a Maugham story). Maximum 150 words. Entries to 'Competition No. 1955' by 17 October.