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The Death of the Author

A couple of people have asked what my book is going to be about. Well I’m not going to tell you, simple as that. At least not yet.

Partly, it’s because, like opening your christmas presents early, it would spoil the surprise (and as I said earlier, I intend to publish bits of it as I go, so it’s not like you’ll have to wait that long anyway). When (if?) it’s finished, I might even do this to give anyone foolish enough a chance to read it properly.

Then again, I don’t want to talk about it because I don’t want to prejudice your reading of it. Like the man says, the author isn’t necessarily the best person to talk about a book. Maybe there’s a hidden meaning to it; maybe it’s all an elaborate metaphor. Who knows; I know I don’t.

Mainly, though, I don’t want to tell you what I’m going to write about because you might think it’s rubbish (the fact that you’ll eventually be able to read it and know it’s rubbish is an entirely different matter of course…)

4 thoughts on “”

  1. Opening Christmas presents (and birthday, Valentines Day, oh any presents for that matter!) early doesn’t ruin the surprise. Presents are fantastic!
    Anyway, fiction is based on fact, should I expect to be reading about people you know? Situations that surround you?
    Should I be hiring a solicitor for a libel suit if portrayed in an unflattering manner?

  2. Who says “fiction is based on fact”? Why should it be; it doesn’t have to be.

    If you want to read something based on fact, then can I direct you to the “matt” link at the top of the page?

    The book will be a work of fiction. Honest, guv.

  3. I’m not sure I agree with the “death of the author” theory. I’m one of the much-reviled New Historicists, myself.

  4. Oh well, each to their own, I suppose (and it’s not as if I fully buy into post-structuralism anyway), but that is an argument for another time and place.

    Actually, I have other reasons for using the phrase in reference to the book I plan to write, as hopefully will become clear when/if you read it, but if I told you any more now, well, I’d have to kill you. Or something.

    Rather amusingly, did you know that Roland Barthes (who wrote the essay “The Death of the Author”) died after being knocked down by a milk float. I’m not sure why that’s amusing, but it is.

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