Nathanael Lessore - Steady for This Blog

Two words. Life is. Fun.  

I had a lecturer at university, an incredibly talented poet named Tim Atkins, who taught us that we, as writers, are the gods of the written form. We can do whatever we want with words. We can spell them wrong, arrange them how we want, subvert and contort them to our will, and there’s nothing anybody do can about it. He cited a poem that was the result of someone blindly, randomly scattering scrabble letters across the board, and where they landed is what formed the poem. Like Neo in The Matrix seeing the world around him as unlimited green letters and numbers of code, that is how we were to look at the English language.  

Even the rules that dictate grammar and punctuation are subvertible, in the same way that there are no rules or limits to visual art. Shakespeare made up entire words, and Picasso rearranged faces. And then there’s Growls in Steady For This, a character who’saccidentally, playfully changing the rules of the English language, because he simply doesn’t know what they are. In my mind, this made him invincible. It was perfectly in character for him to make up the rules as he goes along.  

For example, Growls’ friend, Shanks, is the only character who can “hear” Growls’ inner monologue, showing how close their bond is as friends. As the story progresses, and Growls’ friendship with Siobhan deepens, she, too, starts responding to his internal narration. 

The slang also softens and the grammar improves over the course of the story, as a direct reflection of Growls’ English lessons with Mr Rix. And then, of course, there are the malapropisms, and the endless wordplay that make up a huge chunk of the run time. The “unimpressups” and the idea that “pregnant women all have a polenta where they keep the baby, and after they’re born the baby climbs out of the womb and starts a life on the run”, are examples of creative ways in which Growls is unintentionally playful with language.  

Personally, I enjoy reading playful language just as much as I enjoy writing it. The bookAway With Words by Sophie Cameron was completely wonderful for that. The visuals that come with the use of physical words in that story feel just as important and emotive as the narrative itself. And then there’s verse novels, like The Door of No Return by Kwame Alexander, and Crossing the Line by Tia Fisher. As someone with a complete lack of visual artistry, I was blown away by the art form. The fact that every word looks like it’s been delicately placed with a pair of tweezers, while also containing an entire story, I reacted with childlike giddiness to every page. 

Funnily, a family member recently described me as an artist, and my entire body shuddered at the idea. I would describe myself as more artisanal, creating within the parameters of what’s expected of me. An artist is someone who simply creates beauty,and that’s where I differ from the aforementioned authors.I’m not being self-deprecating when I say that I’m not there yet, but a big part of me hopes to be someday. I guess my artisan/artist ratio is currently about 80/20 (if I’m being generous), which even then is something I’m immensely proudof, and I’m honestly quite thrilled to do this for a living.  

I mention artistry because I do believe in the fun, experimental nature that threads together artists like Shakespeare, Dali, Bob Marley and Gary Oldman. Which brings us full circle to Tim Atkins, the poet, a creator of beauty.  

When I read Sophie Cameron and Tia Fisher’s books, I was immediately transported back to my university lectures with Tim, and his infectious enthusiasm for the contained universe of words. He cited William Carlos Williams’poem This Is Just To Say, as one of his favourites. A poem about plums (metaphorically), he found it remarkable, notably the slow pronunciation of ‘plums’. It’s the way your mouth uses so many of its available tools on one small word when you say it out loud. It transcends the page, and kind of breaks the fourth wall between author and reader.  

I wish and hope to never lose the playfulness in my writing, the thing that makes my job so enjoyable I have to pinch myself every morning, and I’m always delighted to see it in other books. But more than that, I am proud to be a writer, a partially part-time artist who plays a small part in contributing beauty to the world (as do editors and librarians and so many of the moving parts in this industry).  

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