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| French novelist hits back after MP says she must show greater 'reserve' Goncourt prize winner Marie MDiaye says politician's call for her to tone down criticism of Sarkozy is 'grotesque'The winner of this year's Goncourt prize has spoken out against an MP's "grotesque" calls for her to tone down her criticisms of the French government.In an interview with Libération, the French-Senegalese novelist Marie NDiaye expressed contempt for Éric Raoult's concept of a "duty of reserve", and reaffirmed her criticisms of his party leader, the president Nicolas Sarkozy, and his government. "I haven't moved an iota," she said "and all this has underlined what I think. It's an excellent illustration of what I was saying."The row ignited over an interview the novelist gave to the French cultural magazine Les Inrockuptibles at the end of August, more than two months before her novel Trois femmes puissantes (Three Powerful Women) won the Goncourt prize. In it she talked about her upbringing in France and the visits to her Senagalese father that gave her a sense of being foreign in both France and Africa. She also spoke about the discrimination faced by black people in France, described Sarkozy's France and his immigration ministers Éric Besson and Brice Hortefeux as being "monstruous", and said that she had moved to Berlin because of his election as president."We left just after the elections, mostly because of Sarkozy, even though I can see that saying that might seem snobby," she said. "I detest that repressive atmosphere, that coarseness ... "These remarks were enough for Raoult to call on the French culture minister, Frédéric Mitterrand, to tell Goncourt laureates that they should be mindful of "national unity and the image of our country" when they speak. "I am in favour of the most complete freedom of expression for writers," he said, "but that is not the freedom to smear or to insult."The minister refused to intervene in a dispute he described as "ridiculous", telling radio France Bleu Isère that "the writers who receive the Goncourt prize have the right to say what they like." "Éric Raoult, who is a friend and a very worthy man, has the right as a citizen and as a parliamentarian to say what he thinks," he added.NDiaye declared that she found the whole affair "not uninteresting". "I'm not displeased that this has happened," she said, "it forces everyone to clarify their positions."Prix GoncourtFictionFranceRichard Leaguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
Lived in London edited by Emily Cole Kathryn Hughes tours the metropolis with an in-depth guide to the city's past notablesAnyone who has ever wondered why the "blue plaques" clamped to the walls of various London buildings are sometimes pinky brown, sea green or even pewter will find the answer in the introduction to this fascinating illustrated encyclopaedia. It turns out that the scheme for marking the places where famous people have lived or worked in the capital has had several sponsors since its inception in 1866. Each successive authority has naturally had different ideas about the best way to design a commemorative plaque which draws attention to itself without coming on too strong. Initially the Society of Arts was in charge, and favoured a rather ugly chocolate brown. Then, from 1901, it was the London County Council (LCC) which adopted a dizzying freestyle, including bronze tablets and sepia circles. From 1965 the GLC settled on a standardised blue roundel, a decision which English Heritage has subsequently been happy to endorse. These days, and for the foreseeable future, the Blue Plaque scheme remains definitively and unwaveringly blue.You don't have to be British to qualify for a plaque – there are plenty of resident Americans who have been honoured, as well as Japanese and Chileans who were just passing through. Indeed, the first batch to go up included Benjamin Franklin, along with the more obvious Byron, Nelson and Reynolds. You simply have to have been very good at what you did, to have contributed to the overall happiness of mankind and be recognisable to the person in the street. This last condition has proved the trickiest. In order to guard against sudden gusts of celebrity, anyone who is granted a plaque will either have been dead 20 years or have passed the 100th anniversary of their birthday, whichever is the soonest. That way, so the reasoning goes, there is no danger of elevating someone to plaque status only to find a decade later that no one can remember who they were.All the same, there are a few cases where the 100-year rule has been waived. Mahatma Gandhi and Herbert Morrison were considered such shining examples of public virtue that they were allowed plaques almost straight away. Others have had their applications knocked back at least once, including two Sylvias, Pankhurst and Plath. Arthur Pinero and Wilkie Collins were likewise rejected initially on the grounds of cultural insignificance. These facts, and the recollection that Morrison was leader of the LCC in the 1930s, suggests that the scheme has at times veered towards the parochial. It is for that reason that all over London today you can still see plaques to people who once cut a tremendous dash – the archaeologist William Flinders Petrie, for example, or the wartime US ambassador to Britain, John Gilbert Winant – whose fame has now somewhat dimmed.These uneven results have come about despite everyone's best endeavours. Since 1989 a panel composed of fair-minded people, including recently Andrew Motion, Gavin Stamp and Stephen Fry (who has written a foreword for the book), has considered around 100 names each year, all submitted by members of the public. A third of these nominees go forward to the next stage, which involves a team of researchers clambering all over the archives in order to verify that there is, in each case, a suitable residence on which to hang a plaque. Rate books and census records are scoured to ensure that the person in question really did lay their head at a particular address. In the case of someone such as Disraeli, who fibbed crazily about his early life, much caution is exercised. Nevertheless, things sometimes go awry and a plaque embarrassingly makes its appearance in the wrong place. This happened with Benjamin Franklin, whose residence in London was initially celebrated at number 7 Craven Street, just off the Strand, before being shifted correctly to number 36. The usual reason behind such slips is the Victorians' mania for renumbering their streets, then losing the paperwork.In some cases, despite hunting high and low, it has been impossible to locate an extant London residence at which to celebrate a particular person. This is the case with Beatrix Potter and Humphry Davy, who both remain "homeless". Then there are the skittish subjects who have moved around so much that they have three plaques apiece. Dickens, Chamberlain, Rossetti and Gladstone all have more than their share, although such greediness is no longer encouraged. These days two plaques is considered the dignified maximum, although one is the preferred norm. If there is a choice about which address to use, then the preference is always for the handsome, semi-detached house where the subject spent their productive grown-up years rather than the sooty garret where they dossed for six months in late adolescence.Only if it proves absolutely impossible to find a residence on which to mount a plaque will the panel consider substituting a place of work. Private houses are always preferred because they seem to bear traces of their occupier's personality in a way that a hospital, church or bank cannot. But still there might be snags. Over the years a surprising number of owners of historic houses have rejected the idea of having a piece of blue encaustic ware slapped on their front wall. In the early days it was perhaps the feeling that having "LCC" above one's door made it look like a public convenience. More recently the worry has been that inquisitive tourists will tap on the window and insist on being shown round.At the other end of the spectrum have been the householders who frantically lobbied for a plaque as a way of avoiding their property's imminent destruction. Extraordinary though it might seem, Dickens's Doughty Street residence and Keats House in Hampstead would both have disappeared in the late 19th century had it not been for their recently granted plaques. In other cases even a blue tablet was not enough to save a property from the demolition ball; the homes of John Tenniel, Arthur Sullivan and Edmund Kean have all been lost despite their acknowledged significance. What's more, the practice of putting up a plaque bearing the words "on this site" on the replacement building is no longer countenanced. From the mid-20th century the feeling grew that this sort of sleight of hand encouraged "false history" which might, in time, become undetectable. The nightmarish outcome, as far as the more scrupulous members of the LCC were concerned, was that future generations might really start to believe that Daniel Defoe or James Boswell had happily hunkered down in a Victorian villa.Lived in London organises itself around geographical area rather than commemorated subject, which allows the reader to see what types of people have tended to gather in one part of town or another. Harley Street, unsurprisingly, has always drawn medics, while Holborn is bristling with lawyers and Tower Hamlets is packed with social reformers. Chelsea, meanwhile, is home to several shady ladies, including Lillie Langtry and Dorothy Jordan. The prize for the starriest road, though, must go to Essex Street in Covent Garden, whose celebrity count is so high (it includes Bonnie Prince Charlie and Samuel Johnson) that it was decided early on that one plaque would have to cover everyone.All the same, there are some surprises here. What, for instance, is Captain William Bligh doing in land-locked Lambeth, and why is C Day Lewis kicking his heels with his family in Greenwich rather than the more obvious Hampstead? Heath Robinson in Pinner conjures up all kinds of suburban mayhem, while Clement Attlee in Woodford Green just seems wrong. Most surprising of all, though, are Emile Zola in Upper Norwood and Edwin Chadwick, supremo of Victorian drains, in fragrant Richmond. And finally, the thought of a young Noël Coward in pre-silk dressing gown days, mooching around his native Teddington, never fails to make one stop and wonder.Kathryn Hughes's The Short Life and Long Times of Mrs Beeton is published by Harper Perennial.Kathryn Hughesguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
War is declared in the world of ebooks Random House US's letter to literary agents claiming the digital rights to its backlist has stirred up a hornet's nestThe moment at which the first shot in a major war is fired is always significant, especially if there has been a long build-up to the conflict on both sides, and much is at stake. In the world of books, a community under siege if not at war, it may be that hostilities have just been joined this past weekend in the one area – digital rights – that has, hitherto at least, been the subject of no more than preliminary skirmishes.Last Friday, Markus Dohle, the new chief executive of Random House in the US, moved his tanks on to the well-watered lawns of the American literary establishment. He wrote to a number of US literary agents, claiming that many of his company's longstanding contracts, negotiated before the internet was invented, or ebooks even envisaged, gave Random House "the exclusive right to publish in electronic book publishing formats".According to the New York Times, Random House US is now in effect contesting the ownership of electronic rights with the estate of William Styron, author of Sophie's Choice, The Confessions of Nat Turner and Darkness Visible. This battle is symbolic of conflicts across the book industry, many of which have been building in intensity for some time, over the electronic rights to backlist titles (the same battle is being fought, for example, over the rights to Joseph Heller's classic Catch-22). For most publishers, "backlist" is another word for "crown jewels". But it's not plain sailing for the old houses. Advised by their agents, some literary estates are concerned that traditional publishers such as Random House are not offering sufficiently lucrative royalties on ebook editions. Some estates, such as Styron's, are exploring the transfer of these potentially valuable rights to new ebook start-up publishers. The Random House letter was a pre-emptive strike from a group under threat.In other words, war has been declared.Here, in the UK, where the ebook has yet to catch on and Kindles are rare sights, this may seem an arcane dispute about a technicality. Even in the US, the vast majority of book sales in 2009 were for conventional books. But the picture is changing.Make no mistake: whatever the future of book publishing (and there are many theories about that), the digitised version of all kinds of text is part of it, especially for books by authors such as Styron and Heller. The shot just fired by Dohle will be heard around the publishing world: every imprint of any consequence (and good sense) is holding discussions about digitisation, and debating how best to secure the digital future of their backlists. The argument about intellectual property rights, which is complicated in the US by the "creative commons" is one that can only intensify. It has profound implications for the future of all the publishing giants worldwide.The question must be: by making a pre-emptive strike in this way has Random House just alienated the one group – literary agents – whom it might have been wise to negotiate with on more civil terms before declaring all-out war? Lenin used to say that the fundamental question in any situation is "Who whom?" In the case of ebooks, it's "Who owns the rights?" and "To whom should the income return, and in what percentage?"This issue, long debated, and still unclear, looks to be heading for the courts. Meanwhile, the digital book juggernaut rolls on, gathering momentum. Whatever the future of the book, one thing is certain: the global audience, especially for English language titles, means that it will appear in ever greater quantities in whatever format is available – and that will include hardbacks, paperbacks ... and ebooks. Random House has certainly launched a terrific salvo, but its missiles may have landed behind the lines, on its own troops.EbooksRobert McCrumguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2009 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |
Hitmakers Leiber and Stoller take a look back in 'Hound Dog' Songwriting duo recall six decades of hits, Elvis Presley and the birth of rock 'n' roll. rssfeeds.usatoday.com |
Amazon prepares for Apple tablet with promise of apps for Kindle ereader Developers are being sought to produce iPhone-style apps as Kindle faces Apple tablet challenge in ebook marketAmazon is inviting developers to build iPhone-style apps on its Kindle ebook reader, in what is seen as a pre-emptive strike against the expected launch next week of an Apple tablet computer.Developers are promised the capacity to "build and upload active content that will be available in the Kindle Store later this year". The first developers will be allowed to join a test programme – a limited beta – from next month.The Kindle development kit page is soliciting email addresses for applicants to join the beta programme. It offers the same 70% royalties available from Apple – minus "delivery fees" for using the Kindle's Whispernet wireless system, which gives Kindle owners in the US free access to shop for books and soon, presumably, apps.Early releases are said to include an active Zagat restaurant guide, word games and puzzles from Sonic Boom, and games from Electronic Arts.Amazon also looks to be following Apple by planning to filter apps through a set of guidelines, unlike Google's Android app platform which has no restrictions. It says that it will ban "voice over IP functionality, advertising, offensive materials, collection of customer information without express customer knowledge and consent, or usage of the Amazon or Kindle brand in any way", but adds that it will "refine" these guidelines during the beta.This is the second time in as many days that Amazon has improved its Kindle offering, while Apple appears to be getting ready to move into Amazon's territory: there are widespread reports that it is negotiating with publishers to carry their content on its forthcoming tablet.Yesterday Amazon doubled the royalties available through its Digital Text Platform, which lets authors and small publishers upload books for sale on the Kindle, again to an Apple-style 70%-30% split. Books have to meet several conditions – including being priced less than $9.99, and at least 20% less than the physical version – to qualify for the higher royalty rate. Last Friday it opened Digital Text Platform to authors outside the US. It has also, without public fanfare, allowed books to be published on DTP without digital rights management, a source of some contention in the past.The requirements of the Whispernet system have so far limited the Kindle's international spread: since last October, you can buy a version that will work in the UK, but it comes from Amazon US, priced in dollars, and has book prices raised to compensate for higher wireless costs.Readers wanting to split the difference between Amazon and Apple can already buy a Kindle app for the iPhone.Amazon.comAppleAndroidiPhoneMobile phonesMobileEbooksPeter Robinsguardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds feeds.guardian.co.uk |