Luke Williams / Features / Untitled Books

Luke Williams colour credit Lucy Steeds.JPG

"Natasha and I have been invited to give a talk about our collaborative practice at the artist-run gallery, Transmission. This event is part of the gallery’s typically creative and ballsy response to the government’s increasingly hostile, spiteful, approach to arts and education funding."

Photograph: ©Lucy Steeds

Luke Williams

"Original, brilliant, inconceivable," is how Ali Smith described The Echo Chamber, the debut novel from Luke Williams, who studied creative writing under W.G. Sebald at the University of East Anglia. He describes another week pounding at the keyboard.

Wednesday

I share a flat in Edinburgh with my writer colleague Natasha. It's more like a writing studio than a flat - we've both left beloveds behind in London to bunker down and get on with the collaborative writing of Diego Garcia, a second book for both of us. But every now and then when we end up throttling one another Homer-and-Bart-Simpson style over literary disagreements, we realise it's vital sometimes to talk about something other than our book to people other than each other. And so we invite our writer friends Ben and Megan, Stuart, a screenwriter, and Patrick, an environmental engineer and former professional mountain climber, round for their tea. We talk about Ceefax, Laurie Anderson's project of photographing men who hassled her on the street, how being an ex-professional mountain climber is useful for getting into your flat when you've been locked out, and a Tumblr page called 'Kim Jong-Il Looking at Things'--a gallery of photos of, well, you can guess. Stuart tells us the story of how the wrestling scene in Ken Russell's Women In Love was famously censored so that it cut from two nude men to two nude, sweaty, panting men --the actual wrestling having been cut. Censorship FAIL, as Stu said. A fun evening and a nice break from neo-colonialism and friend-throttling.

Thursday

Today, along with the daily blizzard of kebab and pizza-shop leaflets (those leafleters are indefatigable, though possibly not by the time they get to our flat, which is six flights up), some proper post. A copy of Kaisa Lassinro's wonderful book, Born In Flames - Lizzie Borden's cult feminist art film of the same name as photo roman. An inspired reimagining and it looks stunning. And nice that Kaisa's used a form more typically associated - in this country at least --with romance stories in 1980s' teen mags. Publication of the book by the art press Occasional Papers was made possible by subscribers pre-ordering copies, and donations by friends and supporters of the project. A lot of people wanted to see this book made. And so it was. With love.

Friday

Our household is a poor one so I often make sure to browse the 'reduced' section of the supermarket whenever we pop in on the way home from the library. Natasha is morbidly sensitive about this, especially in the presence of the obscenely wealthy and (generally), obnoxious students from England who patronise this particular branch. I once called her over excitedly because I'd seen some cut-price broccoli and got soundly bollocked for it on the way home. So I have taken to calling this area the 'gourmet' section. Ah, the power of rebranding: Natasha seems much happier with this and is now only too willing to be guided there for a good forage. And today we got quite a haul. Pea shoots, fresh tuna, free range organic chicken, two cream cakes. A fine reward for a good day's writing.

Saturday

N: That cream cake is about to go off. Can I have it?
L: No. You've had yours already. That's mine.
N: But you're not eating it.
L: That's because I'm still eating my dinner. The cake is for my pudding.
N: Can I have a bit of it?
L: Yes, when I've finished eating my dinner.
N: Well, just hurry up and eat then so I can get that thing out.
[...]
N: You know what. I'm going to get it out anyway.
L: No! I'm still eating my dinner! That's it. You're not getting any.
N: Just a bit?
L: You can have a smell. Here - smell it -
N: Please?
L: OK, OK, OK. When I've finished my dinner.
[...]
L: ..... Have half. Here.
N: That's not half.
L: Yes it is.
N: In that case can I have the other half?

(This conversation occurs after an entire day spent working together on a talk we're due to give about our work. There are times when cake is the only thing we're capable of discussing).

Sunday

'This narrative, set in the late 1950s, is a comedic monologue recounted by a mute Chagossian man, Jean, who has been hospitalised in Mauritius for the previous six months for unspecified reasons. During his hospitalisation, Jean has acquainted himself with recent political events in Africa (via a Mauritian Creole hospital orderly with whom he communicates through gesture) and is excited and inspired by the growing movement of Pan-African socialism and the possibilities of this for his island. His monologue is partly a manifesto for Chagossian Independence, an island Utopian fantasy, a rant against imperialism and a quest to find shoes that fit.'

Ref: Beckett, Davis, Frame, Marachera, Walser.

One of the plotlines N and I came up with today for 'Diego Garcia'.

Monday

Who is Natasha Soobramanien? This is the title of a review of my novel - written by 'Quicksilver' and posted on amazon.co.uk--which pops up via Google alerts today. In the insightful, generous and even-handed assessment which follows (Quicksilver describes his/her failure to 'love' the book as 'a literary case of 'it's not you, it's me'') he or she picks up on the fact that the section they enjoyed the most was not written by me:

'I'm not sure I have encountered this sort of chapter insertion before. I don't mind at all, her two chapters added much to my enjoyment, but what I want to know is where is Natasha's novel? I want to read it. If she ever writes one, I'll be first in the queue to buy it.'

Natasha's reaction to the review is glum: 'Everyone will think I wrote it.' But the reviewer is part of the Amazon Vine Programme, a system of accreditation for Amazon customers who are invited by the company to join on the basis of their demonstrably fair and prolific reviewing practices. For this review to be Natasha's would be an act of such far-sighted speciousness - involving much building of trust within the Amazon community - that she could not resist boasting about it. So, no, I don't think Natasha wrote the review.

And Quicksilver, if you're reading, I don't think I'm giving anything away if I tell you Natasha has written a beautiful novel, Genie and Paul. I've no doubts at all you'll be able to buy a copy before too long.

Tuesday

To Glasgow for the day. Natasha and I have been invited to give a talk about our collaborative practice at the artist-run gallery, Transmission. This event - along with a creative writing workshop we'll run after the talk - is part of the gallery's week-long Open School, their typically creative and ballsy response to the government's increasingly hostile, spiteful, approach to arts and education funding. A fine spread has been laid out for everyone and there's a pleasingly large turn-out (no connection, we hope). We talk about our work and give a presentation on the work of writer and translator Lydia Davis, which sets up the workshop's brief, inviting participants to: 'witness or take part in a textual spectacle not meant for you - to look over someone else's shoulder at an unexpected truth (whether literally or metaphorically) - and, in words that might not be your own, make this experience - in whatever way you wish - your own. And you are invited to do so in collaboration with a fellow workshop participant.' Three hours later our participants return with an astonishing range of responses: playful, puzzling, inventive, moving, beautiful and very, very cool. Where there's art, there's hope.

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The Echo Chamber, the debut novel from Luke Williams, is published by Penguin Books.
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Tuesday, 5 July, 2011