RIP Alan Sillitoe, a writer who reached across the generations

It won't come as much of a surprise to anyone who knows me at all that the death of Alan Sillitoe last week came as a real blow to me. I didn't know Alan well, but we had met a few times and he'd been an enduring support to my career all the way. More than that, his books and writing were part of what inspired me to write in the first place. I can't express what his letters, quotes and general support meant to me.

The first time I met Alan Sillitoe was when I was revising for my 'O' level English. Not in person, but on the page, that most famous passage of Arthur's journey down the stairs used as an extract in one of the past papers we were looking at. I was immediately taken with his writing, with the fact it was Nottingham, proper Nottingham, the place I knew, and with the vivid scenes he painted. I had read a lot of Lawrence before this but had never come across Sillitoe. And so something began, something deep inside me about writing (which was something I'd always wanted to do) and about Nottingham too. It would take twenty years to develop into my first novel The Killing Jar but I believe that this moment is where the book began.

I finally met the man himself those twenty years on. It was at a production of the theatre adaptation of Saturday Night and Sunday Morning at Lakeside Arts Centre. We walked out so that Chad could smoke and, of course, Alan was also smoking. I didn't say much to him - just hello - but the timing felt significant. Just the day before, I'd received my first proof copy of The Killing Jar from Chatto. I wished I had it with me. It was the only copy of the book I had but I would have handed it to Alan there and then without a quiver of indecision. As it was, I stood with my husband and tried not to stare. Then a journalist walked over and began talking to Alan about the Arctic Monkeys and their use of his words in the title of their debut album Whatever people say I am, that's what I'm not. 

It strikes me that this is something Alan Sillitoe did really well, reaching across the generations. Nottingham had become a very different place since he wrote SNSM but there was something essential about the book, about being young, about kicking out against the system. Something important. Not only had it spoken to me but to the even younger Arctic Monkeys and, when I did a search on MySpace, it seemed to a whole raft of other young men and women. Brilliant Nottingham Culture mag Left Lion quoted him too, choosing his words for their own motto: All the rest is propaganda. 

Since then I've met Alan a number of times. The day I got my Betty Trask, when I finally did get chance to give him a copy of my book, which I was thrilled that he asked me sign, and put my address in so he could write to me afterwards. Write to me he did. In fact, we sparked up quite a bit of a correspondence for the next three and a bit years. His kind words about my writing will stay with me for a long time and his letters will be something I cherish until the day I die. I feel an immense sense of privilege to be able to pull them out from the safe place I keep them and see Alan's own handwriting telling me to 'keep on keeping on'.

I had a dream a couple of days after he died. I was living in a really run down house, a right hovel, with peeling wallpaper and bare pipes that leaked, nasty carpet with ground in dirt and Alan Sillitoe was coming to visit me there. I felt embarrassed. He was this great writer, and used to a bit of luxury, and here was I offering him a cup of tea in my dingy place. Of course, he didn't seem to mind. Then we went outside. The garden was massive, acres and acres of green stretching for miles and miles. I pointed it out to him. I told him about my plans for the wonderful things I was going to build on that land.

Sometimes I think the subconscious is the most beautiful thing in the world.

Missing May

This May, I've been too busy living to blog. Too busy living to write very much even, though I've had lots and lots of inspiration recently and I am working on a script and a couple of stories, as well as what I hope will become novel number 3. I'm hoping to tie up some loose ends in the next week or so then get into some serious writing...

Meanwhile, Alan Sillitoe was made a Freeman of the City of Nottingham in celebration of his 80th birthday. Apparently, this does not mean he can walk into Squares or Yates's and demand a free pint, but that he has the right to herd sheep or cattle freely through the city without charge. I think he should do it. Just for the craic.

As a celebration of Alan's new status, as well as his 80th birthday back in March, I am re-reading his book of short stories The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, the title story of which inspired the name of this blog. I'm going to review each story as I go and post those reviews here.

TTFN...

Alan looking dapper at 80...

I went to the Broadway Cinema for the Alan Sillitoe 80th birthday event last Thursday. It was 6th March, exactly halfway between Alan's birthday and mine. (Another Nottingham writer, Jon McGregor, is also a Pisces. Isn't that odd? I don't really believe in that stuff so it sometimes confuses me when I notice things like this.) It was also World Book Day and the release date for Starfishing.

It was the perfect way to celebrate, to listen to the great man of Nottingham literature talk about his life and writing. He was looking dapper, in a leather waistcoat and smart jacket and trousers. He had grown a beard, which took me by surprise and meant I almost didn't recognise him as he walked on stage. He was looking well too, with a spring in his step and a wave to the audience. The interviewer set him off asking how he got into writing and Alan didn't really need any help or questions after that. And it struck me again how brilliant it was that he still spoke proper Nottinnum.

And he had a lot to say. He reiterated the views he expressed to me at the Betty Trask Awards on the place of the editor, although he was somewhat more careful about how he expressed his thoughts on that in front of the large, fairly typically polite Broadway audience.

He talked us through the making of the movies, Saturday Night and Sunday morning and The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, as well as describing his time in Majorca (with a j) after being pentioned off and aspects of his friendship with Robert Graves, who pointed him in the right direction when he told him to have another look at his stories about Nottingham. He discussed the censors back in the 1960s, and how he'd hated compromise. I get the impression that compromising, when it comes to his art, is something Mr Sillitoe is quite unprepared for. He was explicit about the imagery of Loneliness, how it's really about his experiences as a novelist and the borstal represents the censors. Although this wasn't exactly news to me (HELLO? My blog title?) it was still interesting to hear a writer talk so openly about his imagery. Most are guarded and somewhat mysterious about these things.

A friend of mine was reading Saturday Night and Sunday Morning recently, in preparation for this talk, and I borrowed it from her to have a peek at some of my favourite quotes. It struck me again just how perfect it is as a book. Just how simple, how well written, how there's not a spare word. It's amazing to think that he wrote this and insisted on it being published as it was, without being edited. It's clear to me from this piece of work that he is quite right; he does not need an editor. Being a lesser mortal, I think I do.

We were lucky enough to catch Alan down the bar afterwards, and Chad asked if he could take a photo of us together, which he was allowed to do. Look how I smile! I cannot help it. I am still starstruck by this man, whose words I answered questions on when I did 'O' level English. As Chad put it, he is a living legend.

I also got the chance to meet Alan's son at last, someone I've been in touch with by email and MySpace and so on for a while but never met in the flesh. Like his father, he is a gentleman of the first order.

Chuck Palahnuik (another of my heroes) says you shouldn't meet your heroes. I've ignored him too many times to count now and I beg to differ. Sometimes they are even better than you dare to hope. Sometimes, they are living legends and they'll pose for a picture with you.

Happy Birthday to us!

Nicola x