How to read a book

　　More than that– I never fell behind or stopped. I was always ahead of schedule for the entire year. So now, this coming year, guess what? I’d like you to do the same. Here’s how.
Why in God’s Name You Would Want To Do This
It feels awesome. It gives you an amazing amount of ideas. It helps you think more thoroughly. It’s better than TV and even the internet. It makes you understand the world more. It is a building block towards a habit of completion. Did I mention it feels awesome?… whatever, just do it already.

Why One a Week?
First of all, why so many, why not just “read more books?” I’d argue that setting a massive goal, something crazy like one a week, actually helps. To make a comparison, the body reacts strongly to large wounds, expending significant energy to heal them. Small wounds, it doesn’t think much of, which means they can sometimes take longer to heal. So setting a massive goal will make you take it seriously.
So, that’s first. Make your goal massive and unreasonable so that you freak out a little. :)
One Day at a Time
The average book I read was maybe 250-300 pages. Some were larger, some were smaller. I broke this down to 40 pages a day, which I read early on so I can get it over with. It’s an easy, manageable goal, which doesn’t seem nearly so daunting as 52 books in a year. This is critical to managing your emotional state, making it feel like it’s totally reasonable.
Make It a Routine and Stack It
I have a habit right now of getting up, showering, etc., and then going out for breakfast every morning, sitting at counter at the same restaurant, and drinking coffee until I’ve read my 40 pages.
Why do I do it like this? Because I know that I’m kind of weak-willed. I’m betting you can admit this about yourself too, and doing so will help you set everything into its proper place.
Oh, and a protip: Set it up early in the day, as early as possible. Like the Artist’s Way’s morning pages and Twyla Tharp’s exercise regimen (discussed here), it must occur early or we will put it off. This is the same with every habit– you must chain them together for them to work.
Use Every Moment
If you have a commute, use it. If you have a lunch break, use that. This is something I’m just figuring out, but the ability to whip out your book quickly and read 2 pages will help you out significantly, especially in getting ahead, which will be your biggest asset and give you a rewarding feeling. Further, getting ahead will help you take your time with the hard books that are really dense and worth taking time on.
It’s Ok To Give Up… Kind Of
If something sucks (or feels tough), it’s ok give up on it– for now. You can do this when you’re ahead of schedule and it won’t screw with you too badly, and then you can go back to that book every little while until you finish it.
I did this a number of times this year, which means the number of books I started was probably in the 60-65 range (I finished 54.)
It’s Ok To Cheat
Is your deadline closing on you, and you feel you may fall behind? Holy crap! Ok, it’s time to cheat. Choose a quick book and read it, something you may have read before, enjoy a lot, and can breeze through.
“This is cheating,” you may say. I would agree. But the short term cheating to help yourself succeed in the long run on this goal is more important than hard-headed idea that every book you read has to be frikkin War and Peace. It doesn’t. This is to enrich your life, not to make you feel like crap.
By the way, even small books can be incredible. This year, I read the following books that were small but awesome: The Dip, The Little Red Book of Selling, The Five Secrets You Must Discover Before You Die, Man’s Search For Meaning, Vagabonding, and Of the Dawn of Freedom.
Never Fall Behind
Never “owe yourself one” or deduct from the bank account, saying you’ll get back to it later. Your weekly deadline (the first is on January 7th) will help you stay on track, but falling behind may make you feel helpless and make you consider giving up. You have to control your emotional state from dropping to this level, where you feel it’s hopeless, etc., and you do that by always being ahead of schedule.
In Conclusion
Reading has made me a much better, more complete, and happier person. All the world’s wisdom is contained in books– most of it is not on the internet or known by people in your social group, so this can really help you expand, if you let it. So start today.

To write should choose a best time

　　I have been reading Claire Tomalin's bicentennial biography of Charles Dickens – the latest in a long line that begins with The Life of Charles Dickens by the novelist's friend and adviser John Forster, and includes important studies by Peter Ackroyd, Michael Slater and, most recently, Becoming Dickens by Robert Douglas Fairhurst.

The thing I always take away from reading about the Inimitable, as he styled himself (half-joking), is his prodigious energy and his Victorian capacity for sheer hard work. Reviews, letters, petitions, journalism, stories, plays, scraps of poetry, more letters on myriad topics (from interior decor to prison reform), and finally of course the 14 great novels themselves.
But then, as you go deeper into Tomalin, you discover that Dickens, in his prime, used to compress his literary energies into five hours, roughly 9am to 2pm, after which he would walk incessantly, and put his mind into neutral. He might return to what he'd written in the morning later in the evening, but those five hours held the key to his output. Which raises the question: what's the best time of day to write? and its corollary: how many hours are necessary?
Some writers (Dickens among them) are larks. Others – more nocturnal – are owls. Robert Frost, whose remote Vermont cabin I visited recently in company with his biographer Jay Parini, never started work till the afternoon, and often stayed up till two or three in the morning, not rising until midday, or even later. Proust, famously, worked night and day in a cork-lined room. I remember reading somewhere that Raymond Chandler observed that it was impossible to write well for more than four hours a day. What do you do in the afternoon?
There's also the question of how long it might take to complete a novel. Here, you encounter literary legends. Faulkner claimed to have completed As I Lay Dying in six weeks. In the mid-1930s, PG Wodehouse, who wrote fast once he had the mechanics of his plots straight, polished off the last 10,000 words of Very Good, Jeeves! in a single day. In his autobiography, A Sort of Life, Graham Greene describes writing Stamboul Train on benzedrine, to pay the bills, working against the clock. Further back, Samuel Johnson wrote Rasselas, which is short, in a fortnight to defray the expenses of his mother's funeral. Or so it's said.
More usually, a 60-70,000 word novel seems to take at least a year to complete, allowing for two or three drafts, although often the first, rough outline can get written in a matter of weeks. The strange truth about a lot of fiction is that the dominant moments that animate an entire novel can occur to the writer in a matter of minutes. After that, in the words of one New Zealand writer I recall with affection, "it's just typing".
Dickens, of course, lived in the golden age of the typesetter. His strong, decisive manuscripts (he boasted a very clear hand) were swiftly transformed into galley proofs, for endless re-writing, the really time-consuming part of the process. The revision is the bit that many writers really enjoy, once the heavy lifting of the first draft is done.

The Landmark Books of Haruki Murakami

　　We simply haven’t showcased enough of Japan’s writing talent so let’s start with Haruki Murakami. He writes novels, he writes short stories, he writes non-fiction, he has a shelf filled with literary awards and he’s sold a lot of books.
Murakami is one of the most important figures in modern literature and is always prepared to challenge readers and critics with books that don’t conform to traditional narrative structures. Acclaimed as his fiction is, one of Murakami’s most engaging titles is about running – his 2008 book, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, shows another side of his character.

He started writing at the end of his twenties and his debut novel was called Hear the Wind Sing. He followed that book with a sequel called Pinball, 1973. A Wild Sheep Chase completed his ‘Rat’ trilogy.
In the mid-1980s, Murakami penned a fantasy called Hard-Boiled Wonderland and the End of the World, and then wrote Norwegian Wood – a two-volume bestseller about nostalgia, loss and sexuality that really put him on the map.
The 1990s saw The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle (a novel about an unemployed man that shows an apparently mundane life is actually very complicated) and Sputnik Sweetheart (a novel about loneliness and conforming to society’s expectations).
This century he was been acclaimed for Kafka on the Shore (an unconventional narrative with two plots running side by side) and also published an anthology called Birthday Stories, which is just that, and includes work from Raymond Carver, David Foster Wallace and Paul Theroux.
Haruki Murakami has climbed two distinct literary mountains – first making the grade in Japan and then having his English translations acclaimed by literary critics in North America and Europe. His team of translators deserves a nod of appreciation.
Murakami latest novel is 1Q84, published in Japan in 2009 but the English translation did not appear until 2011.

Is reading on the loo bad for you?

　　From the moment Ron Shaoul took it upon himself to investigate the practice of reading on the toilet, scouring medical literature and turning up nothing of note as to its public health consequences, the situation became clear that here, on his hands, was a big job.

Shaoul's curiosity was driven by his work as a doctor specialising in paediatric gastroenterology. He mustered some colleagues, drew up a questionnaire and had hundreds of people of all shapes and sizes complete it. What resulted was perhaps the most scientific attempt yet to shine light on a habit that rustles unseen behind closed doors.
Shaoul, who published his study in 2009, lamented that toilet reading was woefully neglected by scientists, considering the habit probably dated back to the emergence of printed books. Writers, on the other hand, have shown no such aversion. For some, their authority on the matter has bordered on the connoisseur.
The anonymous author of The Life of St Gregory couldn't help but notice that the toilet of the middle ages, high up in a castle turret, offered the perfect solitude for "uninterrupted reading"; Lord Chesterfield too saluted the benefits, recounting the tale of a man who used his time wisely in the "necessary house" to work his way through Horace. This was but the beginning.
No writer owned the arena of toilet reading more than Henry Miller. He read truly great books on the lavatory, and maintained that some, Ulysses for instance, could not be fully appreciated elsewhere. The environment was one that enriched substantial works – extracted their flavour, as he put it – while lesser books and magazines suffered. He singled out Atlantic Monthly.
Miller went so far as to recommend toilets for individual authors. To enjoy Rabelais, he advised a plain country toilet, "a little outhouse in the corn patch, with a crescent sliver of light coming through the door". Better still, he said, take a friend along, to sit with you for half an hour of minor bliss.
From a medical standpoint, there are plenty of questions to ask of toilet reading. Most can be worded in vague, euphemistic terms that convey the gist without delving into coprological detail. Does reading material become irreversibly infused with nasty contaminants when carried into the toilet? How long can unpleasant microbes live on glossy magazine covers or, for that matter, the pages of a newspaper? And what does the straightforward act of reading on the toilet do for bowel movements?
Val Curtis, director of the Hygiene Centre at the London School of Hygiene and Tropical Medicine, is a self-confessed toilet reader. There is, she says, a theoretical risk. To be blunt, bugs in your poo can get on your hands, be transferred to your reading material, and on to the hands of some other unfortunate. That risk is quite slim though. As Curtis says, "we don't need to get anal about it".
"The important thing is to wash your hands with soap after using the loo to get the bugs off," Curtis says. This way, even if you flicked through a shit-smeared copy of the Metro left on the toilet floor at Reading station, washing your hands before leaving should keep you quite safe. Of course, if you ran your hands over the most soiled pages, picked your nose and rubbed your fingers in your eyes, you might well get an infection. For the determined, there is always a way.
Microbes don't fare too well on absorbent surfaces, and might survive only minutes on newspaper. But plastic book covers and those shiny, smooth surfaces of Kindles, iPhones and iPads are more accommodating, and it's likely bugs can live on those for hours. A recent study by Curtis suggests that in Britain one in six mobile phones is contaminated with faecal matter, largely because people fail to wash their hands after going to the toilet.
Curtis, who is writing a book on disgust, says evolution has honed our sense of infectious risk. Hence our revulsion of bodily fluids and all things excremental, particularly when they are other people's. But a squeamishness of reading in the toilet is probably our primitive selves making us over-sensitive. "Disgust helps us avoid the bugs that make us sick," she says, "but it evolved in ancient times. We now have this psychological tendency to over-detect contagion."
Shaoul, who works at the Bnai Zion Medical Centre in Haifa, Israel, agrees that there is little to fear from unpleasant bugs when reading in the toilet. Most people who indulge in the habit – and his questionnaire pointed to more men and more educated, white-collar workers – do so at home or at work with their own material, rather than in random excrement-spattered lavatories.
More interesting to Shaoul is whether the simple act of reading on the toilet has an impact on bowel movements. "We thought sitting and reading while you were on the toilet might be relaxing and make things go better," Shaoul says. "We thought we might cure the world of constipation with our research."
Shaoul cast his net wide. He received completed questionnaires from 499 men and women, aged 18 to over 65 – some unemployed or students, others builders and academics; some from rural villages, others from the city. More than half of the men (64%) and 41% of the women confessed to being regular toilet readers. More often than not, they described their reading material as "whatever is around". In practice, this usually meant newspapers.
It transpires that toilet readers spend more time on the loo and consider themselves less constipated than non-toilet readers, but other measures of their defecation habits show the two groups hardly differ. Shaoul's work hints that toilet readers suffer more haemorrhoids – something that made for cautionary news stories around the world – but the effect is neglible.
Finally, Shaoul concluded that reading on the toilet is widespread, alleviates boredom, and is ultimately harmless. This rings true to Curtis. "I always have New Scientist by the toilet. I use it as distraction therapy. I don't particularly want to think about crapping."

The Booker's narrative arc must change if its cultural dominance is to continue

A week is a long time in Grub Street. It seems only yesterday that the Man Booker was in the grip of an apparently terminal crisis provoked by the announcement of a rival, the Literature prize, and compounded by the worst shortlist in living memory.

Now, with Julian Barnes declared the 2011 winner for The Sense of an Ending, and the annual Guildhall dinner safely negotiated, the air of panic and atmosphere of annus horribilis has dissipated. Strangely, even Dame Stella Rimington's bizarre and defensive speech from the chair (aptly described by Sam Jordison) now seems like the buzz of interference you get on a radio before tuning into the right station. So how did the Booker get out of the locked room of "readability" into which it had incarcerated itself?
By a whisker, is the answer. On the night itself, it seemed as if former chairman of Booker plc Jonathan Taylor would continue his impersonation of those post-revolution Bourbons who had "learned nothing, and forgotten nothing". He insisted on telling the Booker's diners the sales figures for last year's winner, The Finkler Question, and providing details of its foreign rights deals. You could see people shaking their heads in dismay at remarks that were barely appropriate for the works outing of a book warehouse union. What about contemporary fiction? Whither the culture of the English-language novel?
Well, eventually, we were allowed to think about books – specifically, about this year's winner. As is often the case in the book world, it's the quality of the work that provides a reality check, and prevents a drama from becoming a crisis. Barnes's 11th novel is perhaps not his best, and nowhere near as original as Flaubert's Parrot, but it is a work of art, and conforms to the high standard set by previous winners.
This is not a negligible point. Say what you like about this prize – and most of the commentariat have done that pretty freely this year – Booker has a record of picking winners, from In a Free State (Naipaul) and Rites of Passage (Golding) to Oscar and Lucinda (Carey) and Disgrace (Coetzee). Among UK literary prizes, only the Orange comes close in providing an appealing mix of the literary and the commercial – choosing titles that stand the test of time, at least in the short term. A lot of the credit there, I think, goes to Kate Mosse, who is as spirited and youthful as she is tough and brand-conscious. The Booker could do worse than find itself a Mosse to enunciate its vision for the future.
And that brings up another thing: compared with all the other great literary prizes, even the Orange, the Booker is impressively global. This is why its choice matters, why so many readers around the world are exercised by it. Indeed, part of the trouble it has got into lately derives from the disjunction between its 21st-century appeal to a global English-language audience and its 20th-century, literary London origins and organisation. The one is contemporary, the other in danger of becoming hopelessly outmoded.
I wrote last week: "The forthcoming prize dinner at the Guildhall next Tuesday will be fraught with interest." That proved true. In the end, however, there was a palpable sense of relief that good sense had prevailed, and that justice had been done to the best book on the shortlist.
In preparation for 2012, let's hope the placemen and women of the Man Booker don't sit back with a sigh of relief, and refuse to address the issues raised by their critics. The prize is in need of some urgent reforms. Many close to the heart of the organisation are privately anxious to address the way to ensure another 25 years of prize patronage. The Booker's dominant place in the cultural landscape is neither guaranteed, nor automatic; it has to be earned. Otherwise others, such as the Literature prize, will step in and take its place. The Guildhall evening speaks of grandeur, security and a certain cultural arrogance. But it's completely out of sync with the reality of the creative society whose activity it adjudicates.
For instance, it's notable that, with the exception of the winner and his publishers, everyone associated with the shortlist – writers, agents, publishers and so on – was under 45. Contemporary fiction is, generally, not about the old. Yet the Booker persists in handing the judging process to pensioners and retirees such as Rimington, who will go down in the Booker annals as the woman who compared London's literati with the KGB.

Snuff (Discworld Novels) by Kindle Edition

     The new Discworld novel from the master features the popular Sam Vimes, Commander of the City Watch.

 

    It is a truth universally acknowledged that a policeman taking a holiday would barely have had time to open his suitcase before he finds his first corpse.And Commander Sam Vimes of the Ankh-Morpork City Watch is on holiday in the pleasant and innocent countryside, but not for him a mere body in the wardrobe. There are many, many bodies and an ancient crime more terrible than murder.He is out of his jurisdiction, out of his depth, out of bacon sandwiches, and occasionally snookered and out of his mind, but never out of guile. Where there is a crime there must be a finding, there must be a chase and there must be a punishment. They say that in the end all sins are forgiven.But not quite all...

The Conjurer by Hieronymus Bosch

The Conjurer, by Hieronymus Bosch, depicts a medieval magician performing for a small crowd, while pickpockets steal the spectators' belongings. The painting, on display at the Musée Municipal in St.-Germain-en-Laye, France, illustrates that magicians have long known how to hack into our mental processes. The principles of magic, refined and perfected over the centuries, provide neuroscientists with new ways to study the brain and could help them in their quest to reveal how the organ performs the greatest trick of all - consciousness itself.
Studies of inattentional blindness show that focused attention can make us oblivious to sights that would otherwise be glaringly obvious, while studies of change blindness show that dramatic changes in a scene can go unnoticed if they occur during a brief interruption, even when we look directly at the scene.

Magicians take advantage of this to manipulate their spectators' attentional spotlight. They know, for example, that the eyes give off important social cues, and that people have a natural impulse to pay attention to the objects that others are attending to. They exploit this 'joint attention' by using their eye movements to divert the audience's attention away from the 'method' – the secret action behind the trick – and towards the magical effect.
They also know that the sudden appearance of a new and unusual object will immediately draw the audience's attention. Hence, producing a flying dove gives them an opportunity to perform other hidden manoeuvres.

"11th annual meeting of the Association for the Scientific Study of Consciousness," Martinez-Conde explains. "Traditionally, this was a very academic conference that had no impact outside the specialist field. We wanted to reach the general public as well, but we weren't sure exactly what to do."

The wife-and-husband team went to Las Vegas, where the conference was to be held. It was then, while scouting for potential conference venues, that the idea first came to them. "We saw a lot of ads for magic shows and realized that was the connection we were looking for. We contacted a number of magicians, such as Penn and Teller, James Randi and Apollo Robbins and invited them to a special symposium [at the conference], to share their insights into what makes magic work in the mind of the spectator."

Fighting talk from the prophet of peace

Pinker's assault on the common reader began in 1994 with The Language Instinct, an accessible introduction to the idea that humans are "language animals", biologically wired for linguistic communication. In 1997 he published How the Mind Works, which went beyond language to offer a similar portrayal of the rest of the mind, from vision and reasoning to emotions, humour and art. In 1999 he returned to the question of language with Words and Rules: The Ingredients of Language, which drew on his research on regular and irregular verbs as a way of explaining how language works in general.

And in 2002 he published The Blank Slate: The Modern Denial of Human Nature, which is basically an attack on what Pinker sees as three great misconceptions about human behaviour: the idea that the mind is a tabula rasa, a blank slate that is wholly shaped by one's environment; the notion of the "noble savage", the idea that humans are intrinsically good but get warped by society; and "ghost in the machine" theories that postulate the existence of a non-biological agent in the brain that can alter human nature at will.

This is a big idea if ever I saw one, and it requires a massive tome (700 pages plus footnotes) to deal with it. In the first place, Pinker has to locate, analyse and explain the empirical and other data that support his thesis: that, however you measure it, the past was not just a different country, but also a far more violent one. And then he has to provide some explanations for why the long-term reduction in violence happened. To do that he ranges far beyond his own professional territory – into forensic archaeology, political philosophy, intellectual and social history, population dynamics, statistics and international relations. He identifies a number of forces that were key factors in curbing mankind's capacity for inhumanity: the slow emergence of states capable of playing the role of Hobbes's "Leviathan"; the pacifying impact of commerce and trade on behaviour; the impact of the Enlightenment on the way people thought about others; the evolution of notions of etiquette over the centuries; the way print and literacy expanded the "circle of empathy" beyond people's immediate family; the importance of women in civilising men; and the "long peace" that followed the second world war.

Orson Scott Card's novel Enders Game

Lavie Tidhar explores one of those realities in his new novel from PS Publishing, Osama. Tidhar is not a writer to mess around with half measures when confronting a ticklish subject. The Israeli born novelist's short story collection Hebrew Punk features thrilling tales of Jewish vampires, while Jesus and the Eightfold Path argues that Christ was actually a Buddhist. His recent short story The School, a satire of Orson Scott Card's novel Enders Game, started a minor internet meme when it called out a number of Tidhar's fellow SF writers for their militaristic and homophobic attitudes.

And now Tidhar gives us an evil-eyed, turbaned silhouette, standing behind the smoking name of the world's most hated terrorist, as the cover of a novel featuring one Osama Bin Laden: Vigilante, even if only in an off-stage role. If this brief introduction to Osama brings to mind Philip K Dick's seminal science fiction novel The Man in the High Castle, that is because Tidhar has deliberately co-opted a number of trademark Dickian techniques in his latest work. PKD's most accomplished literary novel describes a world where the German and Japanese Axis Powers won the second world war, and dominate the North American continent between them. The novel's central characters are fascinated by and slowly drawn into the world of The Grasshopper Lies Heavy, a novel within a novel which describes an alternative history in which America and her allies won the war.

One common problem for all science fiction writers is reconciling the wondrous world we could have with the one we have negligently stumbled into. At this exact moment in time, in an alternate reality governed by the Grandmasters of Sci-Fi, there is a version of you living a life of luxury in a post-scarcity paradise where your every whim is met by your own robo-butler. Of course, that may already be your daily reality if you are a hedge-fund manager or MP on expenses, while the rest of us are simply grateful to avoid stacking shelves in Tesci. There are certainly worse realities, but there are also so many better ones.

PKD was at his best when happily tinkering with the constructed nature of modern reality, in which he believed "spurious realities are manufactured by the media, by governments, by big corporations, by religious groups and political groups" and "we are bombarded with pseudo-realities manufactured by very sophisticated people using very sophisticated electronic mechanisms". Today, the sophisticated people manufacturing our reality have more sophisticated ways to do it than ever, through the television and computer screens, smartphones, the internet and social media. The collapse of our financial system is exposing just how spurious and manufactured, even fictional, much of our reality is. From banks using mathematical algorithms to extract vast sums of non-existent money from an automated stock market, to a presidential candidate whose main claim to power is his ability to execute wrongdoers, little of our contemporary history would seem out of place in the fiction of a paranoid, acid-tripping, hack SF novelist.

Digested read, by James Corden

Tell us what you think: Star-rate and review this book. To be honest, I'm a bit all over the place.I've never written a book before and how do I begin to tell you about my life? Especially as I'm only 32 and haven't done very much. In fact, I've just realised you may not actually have purchased this book and are just reading the first page to see if you're interested. I'm guessing you're not overly impressed so far, but then I'm not that bothered as I've already banked more than £1m as an advance and there's no chance of the book earning out.

My gorgeous wife Jules, the most gorgeous talented wife in the world, was due to have a baby in a week's time and I had been planning to get the book knocked off before the birth but she's gone into labour early so I'm going to have to get a bit of a bend on and bash it out before they both come home from hospital. Have I told you I haven't written a book before? What shall I do? Hey, just had an email from my publisher that any old drivel will do as long as I make the word count. So is this OK? I really hope so, because I really, really want you to like me. Hey, that's one chapter down. This book writing is easier than I thought. So let me tell you a funny story. On second thoughts, let's just call it a story.

My parents were both in the Salvation Army and I knew from the first time I stood on a chair at my sister's christening that I was going to be a performer. Fascinating. So what else can I tell you? We lived near High Wycombe and we were the happiest family ever. It may surprise you to know that when I was 11 my parents sent me to secondary school. I wasn't the brightest kid on the block, but somehow I always had this faith in my acting talents and when I left school and got a part in the West End musical Martin Guerre – definitely up there as one of the best musicals ever written, in my opinion. I was the happiest person on the entire planet as I was working with some of the most talented people I have ever met.

The Church of Alan Darcy, starring Bob Hoskins. I don't suppose many of you saw the movie but it is definitely one of the best films ever made and Bob is one of the most iconic actors of his generation and taught me more about acting than anyone else apart from all the other extremely talented actors I went on to work with later. I should also mention that it was at this time I met Shelley, the most talented and beautiful girl in the world, and we stayed together for eight of the happiest years of my life. "Are you sitting down, James?" It was my agent on the phone. "Mike Leigh wants you to star in a film alongside Alison Steadman." Can you believe it? Me, working with Mike and Alison the two most talented people in the world. Ever. I was like, "Yes. When can I start?" it was just such a totally mind-blowing experience working with such talented people and I wondered if I would ever get to work with such talented people again, but luckily I got to work on Fat Friends and Teachers with some more of the most talented actors and directors in the world. Ever, ever.

Nobel literature laureates as role models

Regarding Nobel literature laureates as role models would be a mistake. Half the American winners alone – Faulkner, Ernest Hemingway, Sinclair Lewis, Eugene O'Neill, John Steinbeck – were alcoholics. Hemingway killed himself; Kawabata Yasunari probably did too, and the aforementioned Harry Martinson tried ineffectually to end his life with scissors during the outcry over his questionable shared victory. Maurice Maeterlinck was exposed as a plagiarist, Günter Grass as having fought with the Waffen-SS. André Gide's long-running relationship with Marc Allégret began when the latter was 15. Sartre has been portrayed as benefiting from, in effect, the procuring of distressed young women by his partner, Simone de Beauvoir.

Tomas Tranströmer joins a curious club in which giants such as WB Yeats, Rabindranath Tagore, TS Eliot and Jean-Paul Sartre are outnumbered by obscure figures (often Scandinavian realist novelists or poets from Mediterranean or Latin countries) you've never heard of. Several should not be in at all, according to the contemporary interpretation of the prize's rules as excluding anyone except imaginative writers; the roll of honour includes the philosophers Henri Bergson, Rudolf Christoph Eucken and Bertrand Russell, the Roman historian Theodor Mommsen and Winston Churchill, whose chronicle of the second world war (put together by young researchers) secured his entry as a historian. Erik Axel Karlfeldt, a Swedish poet, was not only dead when awarded the 1931 prize but until his death had been permanent secretary of the awarding body, the Swedish Academy.

Two more little-known Swedes who were then academy members, Eyvind Johnson and Harry Martinson, were scandalously jointly honoured in 1974. Politically, the laureates range from Knut Hamsun, who eulogised Hitler, to Pablo Neruda, who composed an ode to Stalin, and Mikhail Sholokhov, who had been a Supreme Soviet member under him; left-of-centre views perhaps predominate (Jorge Luis Borges's support for rightwing regimes is said to have put paid to his chances), but conservatives such as Eliot, François Mauriac and VS Naipaul have received the nod too. Creatively, authors at the avant-garde end of modernism or writing experimental novels, plays or poetry after 1945 are scarce – Eliot, William Faulkner, Samuel Beckett, Claude Simon and José Saramago are the most obvious adventurers. Conversely, Proust, Joyce and other difficult authors have been shunned.

Nobel prize for literature liveblog-2

The Post points to comments from Peter Englund, permanent secretary of the Nobel committee, in which he said that the academy "has started to work actively to broaden its scope beyond Europe and the English-speaking world". You can listen to an interview Richard Lea did with him earlier this year, here. Looking around at what people are reporting, most are buzzing about Bob Dylan's streak up the odds, but there's a good Washington Post piece asking whether this is the year when the Nobel committee will turn its gaze east, towards Asian and Middle Eastern literature. South Korean poet Ko Un and Syria's Adonis have featured in the favourites list for years; both would be worthy winners, and there's a particular sense that to award the prize to a Syrian author in the year of Arab Spring would be timely.

Just tuned in to the webcast, and I can exclusively report that we are currently looking at a room of people, milling around, waiting - much as we are - for something to happen. There's some up-tempo muzak, though, and several nice chandeliers.

It looks as if the Nobel website has gazumped itself: go to the front of the Nobel prize for literature site, and they appear to have posted the name of the winner: Serbian author Dobrica Cosic.

"Serbian author Dobrica Cosic recipient of 2011 Nobel prize in Literature
"We lie to deceive ourselves, to console others, we lie for mercy, we lie to fight fear, to encourage ourselves, to hide our and somebody else's misery."
Citation from the novel trilogy Divisions (Deobe)
The Nobel Prize in Literature for 2011 is awarded to the Serbian author Dobrica Cosic, the last dissident of the 20th century, witness of a declining era, as well as the prophet of an emerging one.
All his life Dobrica Cosic has been writing one continuous story, one novel. One doesn't easily forget his characters and the meaning of their universal love, hate, pleasure and pain"

 We'll have more content as the day goes on, including poems from the New Collected Poems, and reaction from critics. Stay tuned for all of that, and happy Nobel day to you all.

Nobel prize for literature liveblog-1

Good morning, and welcome to our first-ever Nobel prize for literature liveblog. The prize is announced at 1pm in Sweden - that's 12 noon our time. You can watch a live webcast of the announcement here (and I strongly advise you to do so: sitting around watching a webcast of a pair of gilt doors constitutes my favourite moment of the literary year. The excitement when the doors finally open is quite out of proportion). We'll post the winner as soon his or her name is announced, and then round up reaction, extracts and whatever else we can lay our hands on.

Odds can be a good indicator for the Nobel - in 2009, Herta Muller zoomed up the rankings on the morning of the announcement, and sure enough, yomped off with the prize. But as MA Orthofer points out over on the excellent Literary Saloon, "remember that at closing last year it was Cormac McCarthy that led the pack at 3:1 (with Murakami at 5:1)" - and Maria Vargas Llosa came from nowhere to win. It doesn't do to get carried away. What news so far? Well, the odds have shifted around again in the night. Dylan continues to lead the pack at 5:1 (inexplicably, in my view - but there's a good discussion going on on yesterday's blog about his candidacy as to why he would in fact be a deserving winner). Hot on his heels is Algerian-born Académie Française member Assia Djebar, who is currently tying for second place in with Haruki Murakami, both at 6:1.

Journalists hate the Nobel because it's such an unknown quantity: there's no shortlist, so no way of knowing whether you're going to be confronted with a winner about whom you know very little (I refer you to the now-infamous Year of Jelinek, about which the less said, the better). But what's nerve-racking for us may well be conversely entertaining for you, on the other side of the computer screen. Either way, it certainly adds some spice to the proceedings.

Here's a full list of the winners of the prize to date, and let's while away the minutes until the announcement with some idle speculation. For the record, my money's on Adonis - but I've never guessed one right yet, so I beg of you, don't take me word for it .

I am like reading

I don’t like that. I feel like I’ve lost something – my creative edge – my brains. I feel like I used to be smarter.

I started reading a book called Off the Grid, which I agreed to review for Globalshift.org, so it was more of an obligation read than a fun read. Three pages in and I’m hooked. It’s a fascinating look at what it takes to live outside of a community with water and power and 9-5 jobs. The author references Thoreau’s Walden and I remembered reading that book in college and studying the whole Walden Pond movement, which was somewhat akin to the hippie commune concept of the sixties.

I was born a reader. I read fiction books and biographies, history books and books about movies and how to books, poetry and scripts.

If I collected every word I read in day and put it on a piece of paper, I’d probably find that I read the equivalent of a novel, every day. But they’re scattered words.

It reminded me of Los Alamos phase a few years ago where I read everything written on Oppenheimer and the bomb. I miss being that invested in a subject.

Thoreau said, ‘How vain it is to sit down to write when you have not stood up to live.’

I think this is why I haven’t written any good fiction lately. Because I’ve stopped learning and stopped living. Though I did learn how to move a database, but I don’t know that that really counts.

Slavery By Another Name

."Book is a Pulitzer prize-winning historical account of racial oppression and racial bias in the Southern United States [which] does not advocate violence or a violent ideology, nor does it attempt to incite violence based on race," writes Equal Justice Initiative director and lawyer Bryan Stevenson in the complaint.Stevenson said in a statement that banning an award-winning book about racial history in the South was "not only misguided, but … injurious to anyone who is trying to advance our society on issues of race". The news comes as the US marks Banned Books Week, an annual nationwide celebration of the right to read.

The complaint claims Melvin, serving a life sentence after being charged at 14 with helping his older brother commit two murders, was denied access to the book because of regulations which allow officials to withhold mail if it could be "an attempt to incite violence based on race, religion, sex, creed or nationality". Based on original documents and personal narratives, Slavery By Another Name tells of the tens of thousands of "free" black Americans who were bought and sold as forced labourers decades after the official abolition of slavery.

"The era of racial violence, lynching, and convict leasing in the South following Reconstruction is a deeply disturbing part of our country's racial history that is important and must be understood if we are to make progress overcoming the legacy of slavery and racial subordination. We can't cope with the racial history of this country by banning books or preventing people from reading about it – even incarcerated people, who retain basic rights and protections that were violated in this case," he said. "The need for more informed thinking about race and discrimination is especially critical in prisons, which are disproportionately filled with people of colour."