Writeresque Literary Magazine Vol Three by Writeresque

WRITERESQUE

www.writeresque.com

LITERARY MAGAZINE

VOLUME THREE WINTER 2022

Writeresque Literary Magazine

03 EDITOR'S LETTER

"If liberty means anything at all it means the right to tell people what they do not want to hear." — George Orwell ‘The Freedom of the Press’ (written 1944), in Times Literary Supplement 15 September 1972

The theme for Writeresque Volume Three is "Freedom of Speech". Often, we can't help but look back at history and shake our heads in disapproval at the ways governments have repeatedly restricted the public expression of feelings and opinions. This happened predominantly in the media, or openly, in some other declarative way, although in many places people were in danger of prosecution if they shared their contradicting thoughts with their friends or families. Disagreement or disputes were more than frowned upon, yet they were not forbidden by law ... just punished by those who executed it. And some how, people who did dare to disagree with that which was un-disagreeable ended up imprisoned, banished or even executed. Yes, we look back, clicking our tongues and thanking our lucky stars we don't live in those times anymore. We think of our existence as free, and of freedom of expression - as a basic human right. But how true is this (in recent times) and are we really free to express our opinion or disagree with that which has been labelled as 'the truth'? We asked you to think about freedom of speech as a basic human right and what this meant to you and to your writing. Would you, your stories and poems, be prepared to 'give up freedom [of expression] in exchange for convenience', as Peter Hitchens puts it in his video, 'The Slow Death of Freedom'? How would this affect the fictional and the nonfictional world, as well as creative writing and literature as a whole?

Teya Dancer Editor-in-Chief

Teya started Writeresque® shortly after creating the nonprofit project 'Anyone Can Write', dedicated to building new writers' self-esteem and confidence in the importance of the unique stories they have to share through their own creative writing. Teya has a BA (Hons) in English and Linguistics, and an MA in Creative Writing. Both her dissertations were awarded with Distinctions. Her MA dissertation consisted of a historical fiction novel based on her research on the communist coup in 1943 Bulgaria and the following decade that oversaw the building of horrific labour camps like Belene and the crushing of the free spirit. Teya was an editor and a featured author for the annual Creative Writing Anthology, Connections in 2020, and a guest author for the consecutive anthology, Uncertain Truths, in October 2021. A rebel and a dreamer by birth, Teya believes that ‘anyone can [write] ... but only the fearless can be great.’

In this issue...

"I am Afraid" YEVGENY ZAMYATIN

'YOU WILL ENCOUNTER UNFAMILIAR BEINGS ON ALIEN PLANETS WHO MAY YET LIVE IN SAVAGE STATES OF FREEDOM.' — Yevgeny Zamyatin, We (1920)

I am afraid.

For this issue, we asked writers to think about one of our most basic and important human rights – our freedom of speech. But why this topic? Beyond the obvious, it was to prove that we cared, that humanity cared enough, and that we weren't – and never will be – prepared to give up that right. The idea was to have this issue filled with rebellion-shouting, freedom-of-speech defending pieces of creative writing. However, to really imagine what your writing and the literature of the world would look like if it wasn't for the right to express ourselves freely, I thought I'd offer you a volume which seemed not quite what you'd expect it to be: perhaps a little subtle ... quiet. We received an overwhelming amount of submissions which we read with great interest and attention. We want to thank everyone who submitted their work for sharing it with us and with the world.

Cover Art We want to thank Jessica de Villiers who created the wonderful and unique art for this volume's front cover. You will find more about her and her work in this magazine's pages. With every issue, we offer talented individuals like Jessica the chance to become a part of Writeresque as a cover artist. We promote all artists and their work in a specially dedicated page within the magazine, as well as with posts throughout our social media channels. If you are interested in becoming our next cover artist, please emails us at writeresquelit@gmail.com

... We have a multitude of nimble authors, who keep a constant eye on the latest trend; they know the fashion and colour of the given season; they know when it is time to don the red cap, and when to discard it … As a result, they merely corrupt and degrade art. ... And what was contributed to literature by those who were not silent? ... [T]rue literature can exist only where it is created, not by diligent and trustworthy officials, but by madmen, hermits, heretics, dreamers, rebels and sceptics. ... I am afraid that the only future possible to Russian literature is its past. Yevgeny Zamyatin (1884 -1937), was a Russian novelist, playwright, and satirist, and one of the most brilliant and cultured minds of the postrevolutionary period and the creator of a uniquely modern genre – the anti-Utopian novel. Educated in St. Petersburg as a naval engineer, Zamyatin combined his scientific career with writing. He was brought to trial for his early written works in attack of military life, and, although acquitted, he stopped writing for some time. His most ambitious work, the novel We (1920), circulated in manuscript but was not published in the Soviet Union until 1988 (an English translation appeared in the United States in 1924). We is the literary ancestor of Aldous Huxley’s Brave New World (1932) and George Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-four (1949). Source: Britannica.com

CONTENTS 4

ARTIST'S PAGE Jessica de Villiers, Vol 3 cover artist

PYRAMID BUILDER Harry Wilding

LIBRARY OF LIES David Philip Ireland

MAD MAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD David Philip Ireland

DIVINE INTENT Tom Combley

FEATHER Daniel Tobias Behan

LAYERS Daniel Tobias Behan

PRO-SCRIBE Cora Tate

INTERVIEW Matt Turpin, Communications Manager at Nottingham UNESCO City of Literature

FROM THE EDITORS 24

CENSORSHIP AND THE NOVEL Bethanie Knappper

THE VACCINE (NOT ANOTHER COVISTORY) PART III T.Z. Dancer

ARTIIST'S PAGE "I primarily make paintings that evaluate interpersonal relationships and how these develop over time," Jessica explains. "My work is often diaristic and examines my own memory and connections, particularly within the family unit. I take broader societal themes, such as cultural identity and mental health, and situate them in everyday experiences. My practise starts from photo albums and other historical records, and selected images then undergo a light abstraction. This means a limited, unnatural colour palette with both controlled and energetic mark-making. Through this interaction of form and figure, I’m able to evoke feelings such as love, tension and nostalgia for the audience. My sound installation looking at racial activism is currently part of the online exhibition Mother Tongue (in room 4), and can still be viewed online until April 2022 at https://www.motherstongue.uk/."

FIND OUT MORE ABOUT JESSICA'S WORK: www.jessicadevilliers.co.uk @jess.de.v jessmdevilliers@gmail.com 4

PYRAMID BUILDER Harry Wilding

25 hundred years prior to Cleo you lug 2.3 million stones across canals and rivers and sand pull and push pull and push like two sides of a restricted access door your labour later attributed to aliens and transformers with some rich dead bloke remembered unlike you but perhaps your initials are hidden between joins, carved into one of the 2.3 million stones, above the hieroglyphic version of ‘woz ere’

Harry Wilding writes in Nottingham, where he fantasises about elaborate heists that steal from the rich and give to the poor. He has had poems published by DIY Poets, The Drabble and Selcouth Station. www.harrywildingwrites.wordpress.com Twitter: @harrywilding

library of lies David Philip Ireland

she’s eighty-two and no one hears her cries of despair she sits alone outside the coffee shop with a willow staff and an untamed mind

she sits forlorn bitter and battered lost and alone cradling her coffee

i stand close, offering platitudes and positivity trying to make sense of her futility this fading flower child who cannot see a way ahead anymore

blessed are the meek blessed are the peacemakers blessed are the still of tongue never allowed to speak

lips sewn shut with cowhide twine eyes wound tight with barbed wire vine yet ears can hear the starbursts of shattering glass afeared of our own kristallnacht 6

but hark, here comes the gravity bitch with facebook hate and bile bitch said she’d line them up these dissenters these dissident minds line them up against the wall bitch said shoot them all dead and laugh as they fall bitch said execute the lot of them bitch said

I read your hateful words and lord, i wept a tear cause that is what you said of them these brave souls with their voice, their choice they’re not the ones to fear no … you are the one to fear!

now I can’t call you friend cause I can’t speak my mind you’d shoot me with the others how could you be so blind?

defy the laws of gravity and put us in the ground your hateful words remind me of the litany of hate in a library of lies

David Philip Ireland | Library of Lies 7

aged and ripened in the casks of life thoughts that could not be stilled in the machinery cogs of rubied movements never giving up our fading flower child is eighty-two and no one listens anymore but I am listening I tried to say 'you’re not alone … there is still some sunshine in your heart you’ll tend the snowdrops in the spring, the hawthorn will be there once more ...' yet still she cries a silent tear for this is happening here and now in our bohemian town where free speech once ruled the streets we will not be silenced you can’t shut us down we will not be silenced we are all the voices she’s eighty-two and no one hears her cries of despair she sits alone outside the coffee shop with a willow staff and an untamed mind

David Philip Ireland | Library of Lies

aged and ripened in the casks of life thoughts that could not be stilled in the machinery cogs of rubied movements never giving up

but those evil ex-friends of mine would rather shoot her down line her up against a wall and shoot her down

they will no voice for us we are dissenters and the echoes of the ragged yellow stars are haunting me now in this new apartheid this social exclusion this tethered time

wretched are the sheep makers wretched are the bleaters wretched are the cold of heart

but blessed are the fire starters fanning the flames of truth in the library of lies

David Philip Ireland | Library of Lies 9

MAD MAN IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD

David Philip Ireland

There’s a guy on crutches With a loaded suitcase stuffed full of life Standing in the middle of the road Where the potholes used to ravage my suspension He’s out there ranting and raving With a head full of vipers Cursing the highway code Singing ‘Me Me Me Me Me Me’

He could quote chapter and verse verbatim Like a scholar with a head full of beans Like a taxi man full of Streetlife Knowledge And the day was hot as the evening neared Rains of confusion took all his words With a head full of vipers Nursing the highway code Singing ‘Me Me Me Me Me Me’

There’s a mad man in the middle of the road A mad man in the middle of the road He’s stomping on the cats eyes Tight-wiring the white lines A mad man drowning as the gutters burst Singing ‘Me Me Me Me Me Me’

There’s a guy crawling slowly up the hill A pilgrim’s route to soap and suds One stumbled step after the other One aim - to clean those duds In his bag a faded tee shirt Measured change to pay the fee Three pounds and twenty pence Singing ‘Me Me Me Me Me Me’

Mad Man in the middle of the road Mad Man in the Middle of the Road

David Philip Ireland | Mad Man in the Middle of the Road 11

Mad Man in the middle of the road Singing ‘Me Me Me Me Me Me’

David Philip Ireland is a writer, poet, musician, artist and experimentalist. Rattlesnake Jar, David’s newest book and album, is available now on Amazon. David Philip Ireland has worked in many aspects of the arts, including music, theatre and photography, publishing a number of solo and collaborative music projects, two novels, Slow Poison and Bloodstones, plus two anthologies of poetry. To discover David’s back catalogue, visit: linktr.ee/davidirelandmusic

12 David Philip Ireland | Mad Man in the Middle of the Road

DIVINE INTENT Tom Combley

The words fountained out of The Writer’s mind, pure intent spilled down his arms and pooled in his hands. The golden words filled the world, taking a physical form on bleached and reclaimed paper that barely held their form as the typewriter uncaringly slammed its metal fingers into the fragile medium. Pages and pages flew off the typewriter, the air around The Writer was filled with the musky smell of golden script, and the sound of his divine instruments using an outdated, clunky intermediary. The chatter of the ancient typewriter went on for what felt like only minutes, but as The Writer forced himself to look at the cheap plastic clock on his desk, he realized he had been channelling the divine for five hours. Fear crept into The Writer’s heart. ‘Only four hours to go,’ he thought, ‘and I’ve only done three chapters.’ The momentary bout of fear was obliterated as he started typing once more, his mind filled with fervent dedication and zealous belief. His divine instruments redoubled their efforts, typing twice as fast as before. The typewriter could only just keep up with his fastidious rhythm, its mechanisms were pushed nearly to the point of failure, but the masterful hands slamming onto its keys kept the pace just slow enough that no part fouled, and the typebars did not hit each other. The sound that was erupting from the mistreated machine was like that of the vengeful plagues of locusts that God himself thrust upon the blasphemous humans who went against his will. As this thought flickered briefly across The Writer’s mind, he understood that he was now starting to embody the divine. It all made sense. His thoughts had not been his for a while now, he had developed skills that were miraculous in nature, he had garnered a following of twelve dedicated individuals. Then it dawned on him. Despite the fact that he had been hearing voices for years now, despite the fact that his skills began and stopped at “can write really well”, and despite the fact that he had never seen or met the people that were on the other side of the monitor that he had found in a dumpster three years ago, he was becoming Jesus. The thoughts swirled in his mind. ‘No, no not Jesus, but another divine son. Another avatar of God's great will. I will not dare to rise to the heights of The Son, because he himself is part of our lord, and as we all know, “Man cannot become greater than God” and I am naught but a man doing the will of the holy father.’ The fourth and fifth chapters were done by now, the filthy paper was piling up around The Writer’s feet and had nearly covered his plastic sandals. 13

Ever-shifting streams of divine light were splayed around the cold, concrete walls of the tiny cell as the golden words reflected what little sunlight there was left coming through the barred window high up in the wall. A single note, a discordant sound interrupted his stream of divine consciousness. As The Writer glanced up from his holy work, he saw what it was that had disturbed him. A guard had been slamming his truncheon into the solid bulwark of steel that was separating him from the unenlightened masses. ‘Ten minutes,’ the guard said through the hatch in a flat, uncaring tone. Fear filled The Writer once again, and he redoubled his efforts to keep the mind killer at bay. But as he wrote, the words were losing their golden hue, the fountain was drying up, the swarms of resentful locusts were becoming more docile by the second. The Writer kept trying, kept haphazardly slamming his hands against the dirty, bloodied, passionless typewriter. He was getting desperate now, the fear was filling his mind, blocking out the divine influences that had powered him through the last four years. His god was leaving him and there was nothing he could do about it. The door opened. ‘It’s time.’ ‘That was the worst one in a while.’ ‘How so?’ ‘Well, usually people scream, or try to fight back, but this one was just silent.’ ‘People go all sorts of ways, some willingly. You get all kinds in the execution chambers.’ ‘But the way he just looked at me and said--’ ‘None of that, we aren’t to talk about last words here.’ ‘Why not?’ ‘The dead can leave parts of themselves in our heads, and it’s best not to spread their ideas.’ ‘Yes, I suppose that’s true, what with type of people we have here.’ ‘Did you see what he had left in his cell?’ ‘No, I didn’t.’ ‘Pages and pages of indecipherable text, the ramblings of a madman.’ ‘...’ ‘Want to know why he was here in the first place? He tried to write a bible.’ ‘No! He actually tried to defy the first holy litany?’ ‘Yes.’

14 Tom Combley | Divine Intent

‘I wonder what possessed him to do that? Was it a demon, one of the errant gods or-?’ ‘Come on, we’ve got to make a quick detour.’ ‘Why?’ ‘Scripture 221.b “He who questions the intent of the insane, is on the road to becoming thus.” Try not to struggle.’ ‘Wait! You can’t do that, I’m a guard t-’

Tom Combley is a first-year student at Nottingham Trent University, studying Creative writing. He recently got into writing after realising that creating worlds and characters was his biggest passion in life and decided to pursue it further. He was born and raised on the Isle of Wight.

Tom Combley| Divine Intent 15

FEATHER Daniel Tobias Behan

Birds of a feather soar together it's a sky-high education for hatchling chicks through crackling sticks and twigs tumbling, from treetop nests, and for migrant geese traversing the hemispheres. Water birds - ducks, penguins, and flamingos can only watch in wonder, and gander at the hunting hawk and eagle who shun the pescatarian diet and prefer to gorge on vole, mouse, and shrew whilst ostriches can't fly but can run extremely fast. I hear birds are descended from dinosaurs, which perhaps explains their often-magnificent strutting. 16

LAYERS Daniel Tobias Behan

I am many-layered, aromatic, and with a tough, cracking outer skin. You may peel me with diligent rhythm until tears flow until your fingers are sore with exhaustion. My taste is acrid enough to disarm a seasoned vocalist, but if you cook me long and well, sufficient to become tender, I will caramelize and sweeten. As elaboration upon my theme, I present to you my relatives: garlic, shallot, and leek for together we form

Daniel Tobias Behan is a London bornand-based poet and electronic musician. From 2017 to 2019, Daniel performed regularly at the London Irish Centre, Camden; in 2018, Daniel was interviewed by the Irish Post as part of their London Calling podcast series, and in 2020 had a short film made of ‘The Visit’, featuring acclaimed actor Nora Connolly and directed by Patrick O’Mahony. He was interviewed for Wombwell Rainbow, and commenced a poetry series, called ‘Findings’ on channillo.com.

a pungent family. 17

PRO-SCRIBE Cora Tate

Nola began writing stories at the age of eight or nine, back then mostly stories about rescuing injured animals. As a teenager she wrote longer stories about teenage romances – no surprise there – and thought about trying to get some of them published. In her twenties, she supplemented her secretarial income by writing romances for the pulp fiction market but wrote other kinds of stories and even tried her hand at a couple of serious novels. Still working as a legal secretary at thirty, Nola wrote a story lampooning her second husband, Victor. A popular magazine published the story, and Victor’s literary effigy became the butt of many jokes locally and nationally. That didn’t improve her relationship with Vic, but she rarely saw him and little friendship existed between them. She’d used another name for the character and changed enough details that only their friends knew his real identity. The success of the story improved Nola’s standing with agents and editors and increased her writing income. She managed to place one of her novels with an agent, who sold it to a respected publisher. Sales disappointed both Nola and the publisher, so she left her other novel in the drawer for the time being. She revisited the manuscript from time to time, making small changes – improvements, she hoped – and, even after a decade, still finding occasional mistakes. She wrote a few romances for the money and a few short stories for the practice and continued earning the bulk of her living as a legal secretary. Nearing forty, Nola began querying agents about her second novel – actually her first, because she had written the one already published after the unpublished one. After several rejections, she decided she would have a much better chance of selling her novel if she attended some writers’ conferences. One of the disadvantages of life in a small and remote island nation, however, is that any such pursuit required overseas travel involving long, uncomfortable flights and considerable expense. As she debated the wisdom of investing in such a trip, Nola began thinking about the tyranny of distance and then about other drawbacks to life in her native land. In an idle moment, she began making a list ... the Tall Poppy Syndrome, the high cost of dental treatment, the high cost of books, the high cost of Internet service ... the high cost of almost everything, come to that – hardly surprising in a country with a smaller population than more than fifty individual cities around the world – and don’t get me started on sandflies. The list seemed to take on a life of its own ... the tiny market for art and literature and the 18

woefully meagre selection of live music styles – “Do you prefer pop, rap, or heavy metal?”, “Swing? Isn't that something kids play on at a playground?”, “No, I don't know anything about blue grass. A friend of mine brought some amazing purple stuff back from Mexico, though.” The absurd posturing of junior colleges attempting to re-brand themselves as universities ... the equally absurd pretensions of denizens of the country’s largest city, as if they were somehow superior to those dwelling in what the urbanites called “the provinces”. New entries for her list occurred to Nola daily. What about ... the absence of street signs ... arterial streets that change their names three or four times between one end and the other, the embarrassing leader of the party in government, and the rest of his party for that matter, the extremely limited job market and career options – again, what one would expect in a country smaller than four or five dozen individual cities ... the way the whole country shut down for two or three weeks or more at the end of every year ... Nola didn't even want to think about Shore Boys, the poor quality of most houses, the leader of the opposition party ... bare bulbs – why do most houses have bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling instead of pretty ceiling fixtures? … non-mixing taps – why was Nola the only person she knew who had hired a plumber to install a mixing tap for her bathroom basin? Among several dozen friends, she didn't know three who could wash their hands in warm water instead of either cold or scalding. “My grandfather didn't need a mixing tap, so why would I?” Every time Nola sat down, she seemed to think of more items to add to her growing list. Nola loved her compatriots, loved her country, loved living there, considered it the best place on Earth to live. For her, the list was almost a joke, an outlet maybe, not a condemnation. It was more like a list of a loved one’s endearing foibles than an indictment, something she and her fellow citizens could chuckle over together. That last thought gave Nola an idea: maybe she could work her list up into a saleable magazine article, share it with her compatriots and at the same time maybe make enough money to buy an airplane ticket to a writers’ conference. A new project was born. Humor had never distinguished Nola’s prose. She possessed a good sense of humor – people remarked on it in conversation – but she’d never incorporated it into her writing. Until now. Nola began writing humorous notes next to each item on her list, even as that list continued to grow. After two weeks, she typed the list and all her comments into a document on her computer, because she’d run out of room for notes in the margins of her paper. After two months, she began writing the actual article; after four months, she realized her article contained over thirty thousand words and continued to grow. This was not an article; this was a book – but Cora Tate | Pro-scribe 19

would anybody buy it? That didn’t matter – the project carried her forward as much as she carried it. Using a gentle and often self-deprecating humor, Nola skewered her compatriots’ foibles and pretensions. Eight months of steady work left Nola with a completed first draft. After fine tuning a sample chapter and a table of contents, she put the manuscript aside and concentrated for a month on querying agents. Two agents expressed interest in looking at the manuscript even before she went back to edit it. Two more expressed interest in the course of the two months she spent editing. A year after beginning the writing, Nola had a polished sixty-six-thousand-word manuscript and three offers of representation. For nearly two decades, Nola had despaired of getting even one agent interested in her work. Now, she face a new problem: deciding which agent to entrust with her non-fiction debut. She asked writers she knew, haunted writers’ Internet forum sites, looked up sales statistics for the three agents, even asked her boss. In the end, Nola made the straightforward commercial decision and went with the agency that sold the most non-fiction to the major publishing houses. Nola’s new agent was a canny woman who began her campaign with three specific editors in mind. She managed to get all three interested in the manuscript and to develop their interest into a bidding war. Her efforts paid off with a six-figure advance and front-of-the-catalogue marketing for Nola’s book. The winning editor’s bosses weren’t disappointed: Nola’s tongue-in-cheek dig at her compatriots became flavor-of-the-month and sat at the top of the bestseller lists for three full months and in the top ten for most of a year. Perhaps fueled by a U.S. election that made many people think about emigrating, Nola’s first non-fiction work became the most popular book of the year throughout the English-speaking world and made the publishing house and Nola a good deal of money. The book didn’t achieve the same popularity at home, but Nola nevertheless became the best-known writer in her country. So successful was her book, the taxes on her royalties helped lift the government’s budget out of deficit. Despite the seemingly negative slant, the government department that deals with tourism calculated that her book alone increased visitor numbers by almost ten per cent. Unfortunately, most of her compatriots didn’t seem to take her writing in the spirit with which it was intended. Many people failed to understand that Nola wrote the book as affectionate badinage toward a land and culture she cherished, a people she loved. She didn’t receive death threats or get spat on in the street, but neither was she praised in the press or other public forums. Store clerks, gas station attendants, supermarket checkout operators recognized Nola but rarely seemed enthusiastic. Such people seemed to be nice to Nola because they felt obliged to rather than from genuine friendly feelings. Her income might be keeping the country afloat financially, 20 Cora Tate | Pro-scribe

but she was not popular. Fortunately, not all of Nola’s friends abandoned her – indeed, almost none of them did. A few teased her but most accepted her book in the way she intended it. Nola didn’t much like the image she seemed to have in the public eye, but her increased income helped assuage her discomfort. Making Nola feel even better, her agent also sold the languishing novel to Penguin Random House for six figures on the strength of Nola's name recognition. The novel sold well, as did a third, enabling Nola to leave her job and make a better, if less secure, living as a full-time writer. Nola didn't like that some of her countrymen looked down on her, but she could live with that.

Graduated as a mathematician, Cora Tate has made her living as a full-time professional entertainer most of her life, including a stint as a regular on the Grand Ole Opry. Repeated attempts to escape the entertainment industry have brought work as a librarian, physics teacher, syndicated columnist, and city planner. Cora lives and writes in Bhutan. In the past five years, her short fiction has appeared in forty-five literary journals, including the Galway Review, Indiana Voice Journal, Veronica, Scarlet Leaf Review, Wilderness House Literary Review, The Danforth Review, and Green Hills Literary Lantern, and won the 2019 Fair Australia Prize.

Cora Tate | Pro-scribe 21

INTERVIEW

What does being a UNESCO Creative City of Literature entail? It’s an ongoing accreditation: as long as we keep the level of excellence in the city that we had when we applied, we retain the title. We’re lucky to have such a vibrant scene that we are able to keep going. Aside from that, there is no set-instone instruction for what a city must do once it attains accreditation. Each interprets it differently, and it’s fascinating how they do. How has Nottingham developed since its inclusion in the list of UNESCO Creative Cities back in 2015? Nottingham has long been a city with more talent with words than most, so it would be dishonest for me to say becoming a City of Literature instantly changed the city. Yet we have been very busy since 2015, and working with partners we’ve done much more than we ever expected to make sure Nottingham is both celebrated as being a creatively vibrant city, but also ensure the next generation not only keep that spirit burning, but burn it all the brighter. We’re hearing how students have chosen Nottingham to study due to our status; we’ve witnessed poetry groups set up after seeing our events. We’ve lent support to budding writers in terms of promotion and signposting. It’s hugely gratifying to see people fulfil their potential after coming into contact with us. What does Nottingham envisage as a Creative City of Literature? Nottingham has huge, long-term structural issues when it comes to literacy: we have amongst the worst in the country. This creates a vicious circle: illiteracy correlates very closely to lowered life chances. It correlates with poverty, it correlates with your chances of having a criminal 22

record: 60% of the UK prison population has issues with basic literacy skills. Thus, the cycle perpetuates. There is no magic bullet to this, but we can work to mitigate and change that story. We work closely with experts and organisations to see what we can do to challenge this and give everyone in the city the gift of reading and writing. Much of the issue can be explained by a fundamental disconnect: ‘it’s not for me’. If struggling readers feel that they are excluded, that there are gatekeepers not wanting them to progress, then we exacerbate the issue. If we show that it is very much for them, that words and how they are expressed is powerful and free, then we liberate. I personally felt a disconnect when I was a child growing up around here: then I remember a poet coming into our school and making me laugh: this stuff is fun! This guy has an accent like mine! This is for me! It's a story that I’ve heard a great deal, often from established writers whose whole careers are in words, writers who would never have picked up a pen and started writing if it wasn’t for similar simple moments of realisation. What are Nottingham’s current project as a Creative City of Literature? We have a few projects launching throughout the spring of 2022: I’d highly recommend readers check out our website / social media / newsletter to find out what! But if you have even the slightest interest in words, then you’ll find something for you.

INTERVIEW How does NUCOL help to broaden the job opportunities in the literary sector for people of all ages? We’ve helped develop several careers, and hopefully inspire more. Through projects, we’ve attracted more funding to the cities, either directly or, through the endorsement of bids, indirectly. It’s an ongoing process though, and one we’re in our infancy with. There is a still a great imbalance in funding and opportunities between London and the rest of the UK. There has been some progress over the years in addressing this, and some progress noted, but if we want to see the literacy sector truly embrace all voices more progress is required.

Join or visit our vibrant community of readers and writers.

Nottingham is in the top 10 of UK’s greenest cities according to NatWest Green Cities Report (2021) and Nottingham Bit (2021). How important is it for Creative Cities of Literature to be environmentally responsible? Hugely. The UN has set down 17 Sustainable Development Goals: these are interlinked global goals designed to be a "blueprint to achieve a better and more sustainable future for all". Of course, environmental concerns are central to these, and thread in and out of the goals that don’t explicitly mention the environment. We see through nature the interconnectedness of things: similarly, UNESCO works to build connections through networks. Being a City of Literature gives us greater ability to do that, to share ideas, to find best practice. We also have a project launching next year that ties in very much with nature, and how we can all pull together and do our bit in this time of crisis.

How important is the nurturing of the international cooperation with other Creative Cities of Literature? It’s important - and fun! In 2019 we invited all other cities in the network over for the annual conference, which we cohosted with our fellow City of Literature, Norwich. It was wonderful to see others with the same dedication to the ideas the Creative Cities (and more widely, UNESCO) are founded on. Our erstwhile director, the wonderful Sandeep Mahal, was for some time the chair of the network: things like that really put Nottingham on the map. It’s great that Robin Hood is the thing most people from elsewhere will think of when asked about Nottingham - after all, he was a radical eco-egalitarian who lives solely in stories. But it would be wonderful if the same people would go on to say ‘DH Lawrence. Lord Byron …’. One day, perhaps. What does NUCOL hope to achieve in future? If every single resident of Nottingham, and all those who look to the city, were to know that they were part of this, and knew the tremendous power of words to change worlds, to create universes, to bend space and time … then I’d retire happy. But until then, we will work tirelessly towards Nottingham building a better world with words.

CONTACT MATT matt@nottmcityoflit.org www.nottinghamcityofliterature.com

FROM THE EDITORS

CENSORSHIP AND THE NOVEL Bethanie Knapper

As someone who has always been a curious reader, there was always an aspect of literature that fascinated me – the concept of a ´banned book´. I was always so intrigued to hear about novels that had been deemed unreadable, and couldn’t help being curious with morbid fascination about what secrets they contained and what it was about them that was so ‘wrong’ that they should not be read. When I was younger I remember getting my copy of A Clockwork Orange after hearing about the controversy and censorship surrounding the film, feeling a sense of intrigue. Recently seeing a copy of American Psycho, I again began thinking about what makes a book controversial and realised that it was maybe different to the original idea I had in mind. Whilst I had previously associated controversy with ‘pulp’, of a very particular kind of novel, I began to think more deeply beyond violence and obscenity of what was really being prohibited. Many of the classic novels that are now studied in school were once banned; we all see many lists of the novels once considered obscene that are now considered high art and examples of great literary achievement, and it seems jarring to think of books being burned and ideas being censored. There is something inherently strange about the idea of a novel being censored, particularly when many of the reasons that novels were censored for now seem to us incredibly outdated and even offensive. The link between literature and the censorship of ideas has always been an important one, and it is an interesting concept to think about if censoring a story is simply that – censoring a story – or a more complex process of censoring the ideas behind a story and the worldview of the person who wrote it. Humans have an intense relationship with art – it’s a way we process the world, our emotions and our feelings, and it can help us to process what is going on around us. Novels are used to entertain us, but their purpose has always been incredibly nuanced, with literature often being a lens in which we view society and a medium to criticise and take stock of the world. Whilst art can simply exist as a work of fiction, it could be argued that art rarely exists in a vacuum, with both internal factors of our personal lives and thoughts about and the impact of the wider society influencing and impacting writers, so it could be argued that the links between censorship and novelists involve the censorship of these concepts, too. 24

literary history, the voices of female, LGBTQ+ and BME writers have always been challenged and censored. One of the arguments that had been frequently used for censorship is the idea that writing that was deemed inappropriate could be corrupting on the reader and affect their view or behaviour, and this idea has been used as a force to suppress and stifle voices that challenge the societally acceptable way of thinking. This has affected the way that books have been written and stories have been told, with content that challenges the way that we are supposed to act, think and feel deemed unacceptable and unworthy of being read. An example of this phenomenon is the censorship of writing that challenges the way that women were believed to have to behave, with novels being banned for challenging the status quo as they would influence impressionable women to act in an unsuitable way. Content associated with LGBTQ+ topics has frequently been censored and criminalised, with books being banned for allusions to non-heterosexuality or even, as some have been described throughout history, depicting queerness in a ‘sympathetic manner’. Whilst this may seem as an outdated concept we have moved beyond, it’s important to remember the legacy of Section 28, a law banning the ‘promotion of homosexuality’ and the ‘promoting of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship’ in schools. In England and Wales this law was only repealed in 2003, a fact that demonstrates the processes we still go through with regards to censorship. Race has also been a topic that has been censored throughout history, with people reluctant to acknowledge the past and face culpability with regards to slavery and racism, a fact highlighted by the Black Lives Matter movement that is still incredibly relevant today with it being vital to understand how we acknowledge and treat history with regards to race in order to learn. By preventing certain stories from being told, censorship prevents entire narratives, histories and ways of thinking from being permitted. Despite censorship occurring, there were people who would be themselves no mater what, and would fight to have voices heard and novels published. Diana Souhami’s brilliant book, No Modernism Without Lesbians (2020) captures the courage and tells the stories of the amazing women that took huge risks for great art to be published, to champion art and to be creative and create their own work. Souhami shares how a new generation of women in a time of restriction and censorship lived their authentic lives both personally and professional, and made and championed art. She writes of Sylvia Beach, who set up Shakespeare and Company Bethanie Knapper | Censorship and the Novel 25

FROM THE EDITORS

Censorship has also been used to attempting to remove voices from a narrative; throughout

FROM THE EDITORS

a bookshop and lending library in Paris that had famous literary clientele such as Hemingway and F. Scott Fitzgerald, and gave literature lovers of Paris access to new and radical works. But Beach took her biggest risk when she met James Joyce at a dinner party. He joined her lending library and, after she heard about his struggles to find a publisher for his book, she subsequently offered to publish his novel Ulysses herself. For the sake of publishing a work she loved and saw genius in, she faced criticism, censorship, debt and the law. Shakespeare and Company was eventually shut down by the Nazis due to the content of the works they sold and lent. Another woman that Souhami discusses is Bryher, born Annie Winifred Ellerman, whose story also features. A factor to note is whilst Bryher was referred to as female and she/her pronouns are used when discussing her by Souhami, she does discuss the nuances of Bryher’s gender identity and how this might be described differently now or by her then had the terminology and understanding surrounding the gender binary we have now been available to her at the time. Bryher did progressively describe feeling between binary ideas of male and female, yet used she/her pronouns as did Souhami, so when referring to her I will follow this format whilst noting Bryher’s identity may be more accurately described in a different manner had she been around today. She was a writer and an editor who challenged the expectations of femininity and gender roles at the time through using the wealth given to her from her family’s shipping business to help out many struggling artists and fund many creative projects from artists and friends, including Shakespeare and Company. Her patronage of the arts contributed to the production of many challenging and progressive works of literature; many of her contemporaries would not be able to write and publish the work they did without her financial backing, particularly due to the fact that mainstream publishers would be reluctant to publish such controversial work. She founded film magazine Close Up and Pool production company to review and create films, and even used her finances to rescue Jewish people from concentration camps. The stories of these women show the power of providing people with access to stories and narratives and the literature they want to read and the importance of women throughout the history of literature when they have been erased. Censorship and the voices we read is still a significant factor to bear in mind when we take in 26 Bethanie Knapper | Censorship and the Novel

censored or banned. With stories and writing come ways of viewing the world that are vital for us to understand the perspectives and lives of others and to feel seen ourselves.

Bethanie Knapper | Censorship and the Novel 27

FROM THE EDITORS

information, and personally I will always find it strange to be reading a novel that was once

FROM THE EDITORS

THE VACCINE (NOT ANOTHER COVISTORY) PART III T. Z. Dancer

‘It was a beautiful thing’ Dr Hest whispered with the same note of nostalgia with which people think about the summer days of their childhood. The world had changed so much in the past ten years, and they had him to thank for that. Zero bravery capacity in the brain of 99% of the population meant that they were incapable of going against that which scared them most – the consequences of their actions. The consequence of death and punishment, to be precise, as it had always been the case, but never like this. No religion had managed to scare a murderer enough to stop them from killing, no law invented by man, nothing but the laws of neuroscience. The idea of prosecution had never been so terrifying, so disarming. As a result, there was no crime, no law-breaking of any kind. Once it had become clear Dr Hest’s vaccine worked as intended, the law became more powerful than ever. Some fifty new laws were introduced worldwide over the period of 2-3 years, both in and out of the US, in and out of the EU. Different governments acted like one because they were one. Different names, different colours, different flags – but underneath it all, it was just the one. The same one there always was. And it wasn’t a government at all. The first law introduced was to make sure protests were nipped in the bud as soon as possible. It was passed as quickly as it was suggested – at the background of a mass propaganda, everything was possible – and each country, one by one, imposed it on its citizens: the law was to restrict the right of public protests. A law, they said, for the good of the community, to keep it safe from those unvaccinated ones at the time – the evil anti-vaxxer – those right-supporters, those criminals who didn’t care about the mass good and dared to question the necessity of the vaccine. And it worked so well, especially in the vital combination with the law that followed: the legalisation of censorship across social media and in the press. And it worked well, too. So well, in fact, that after the initial law accepted by the biggest social media channels and the consecutive ever so successful brainwashing of the masses, there was hardly anything left for those who created the law to do. People, being people, did all the work for them. Inter-social and intercommunal hatred had begun to spread on international levels; good, old-fashioned witch-hunts and ostracism under the rebranded name “Cancel Culture” were dividing people into two – ant-vaxxers, and the good 28

mandatory vaccination. Those who refused were left jobless, homeless, without a citizenship, medically untreated and forbidden from having any social life as they knew it. Oh, and there was a financial fine, too. Between 100 and 200 of whatever the currency the country of residence had. Monthly. It started with the elderly and those most at risk due to whatever their medical condition. Then everyone above eighteen years of age, then sixteen, twelve, and then eight which was the law as it currently operated. One by one, person by person, country by country, continent by continent, the world at large was vaccinated with the F drug – the drug that killed bravery once and for all. Or at least it did 99% of the time. The calculation was factual, if Dr Hest was worth his salt, and if the past ten years had proven anything, it was all in support of that. But what was all this nonsense with Mehr? How could something like this have happened after all these years, all the success. To organise a break out from ADX Florence for one of the formally most famous investigative journalist, and presently – a spy – of the pre-vaccinated world would have been absurd to imagine back then, but now – now it was impossible. ‘Simply impossible,’ said Dr Hest through the thick smoke that slowly spilled out of his mouth. He was still leafing through the pink folder, but his eyes were staring right ahead of him, projecting images from his mind onto the far wall of his office like a slide projector, going through them one after the other, memories and ideas, thoughts, doubts and speculations. Soon, the images started to give him a sharp, blade-through-the-skull like headache, the type he sometimes got when things took too long and seemed too hard for him to figure out right away. Putting out his cigarette, he placed the folder on this desk and stood up to face the tall window behind him. There were towels and inflatables scattered all around the now deserted pool. He could see the blood-red lipstick on Mrs. Hest’s empty piña colada glass on the side table by the umbrella under which she had been sitting earlier and for some unknown even to him reason, it gave a feeling of reassurance, of comfort, even. Whether it was the colour or the subconscious image of the plump, soft lips of his trophy wife, it didn’t matter. He let out a deep breath and turned around to his study, crossing over to the right this time and to a vintage, mahogany liquor globe from which he took a crystal bottle half-full of his favourite honey bourbon and poured himself a generous glass. ‘Maybe I am overreacting,’ he said between small sips, ‘this is .. it can’t be ... what I think it T.Z. Dancer | The Vaccine (not another covistory) 29 Part III

FROM THE EDITORS

guys. The good guys eventually took over with the introduction of the law that followed: the

FROM THE EDITORS

is ... it’s just ... insane.’ 'Dr Hest,’ a robotic voice made him jump and spill his drink, ‘news update available for you.’ He followed the voice a few feet from him where his phone lay on the floor, screen up. It was glowing with a pulsing, purplish light that illuminated the space above it like a lantern. Placing the phone onto the larger glass pad on his desk again brought the hovering 3D image projection from earlier, only now it had gone straight to the news page Dr Hest had been browsing through earlier. There were a few new articles but none of them interested him at this moment, so he commanded for a search word. ‘Tobias Mehr,’ he said in a clear, deep voice. All but one article disappeared. The one that remained read: “ADX FLORENCE PHYSICIAN IDENTIFIED.” ‘Open article,’ he commanded and immediately, the hovering image obeyed. Left of the text was a picture of a young man. He was wearing a lab coat and had his arm around someone who was cut out of the picture. He seemed young, too young, yet there was something about him that made Dr Hest feel uneasy. It was something about his face – no, it was his eyes ... or maybe the way he smiled? He couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was definitely something about this young man that seemed off. Moving his gaze away from the photograph, Dr Hest concentrated on the article itself. “The chief doctor at ADX Florence, Dr John Kowalski, has identified the physician who reportedly called Tobias Mehr’s time of death late last night after he was found unresponsive on the floor of his prison cell as the twenty-four-year-old Ian Stark. He was appointed as a physician at the prison two months ago after graduating the California Health and Science University. Stark graduated first in his class and was hired at ADX to complete his practical experience under the recommendation of one of his university senior supervisors, the notable virologist and expert in human genetics, Prof. Dr Steven Cofield. Earlier today, Prof. Dr Cofield was also reported missing by the university where he failed to show up for his morning classes ...” ‘Cofield,’ Dr Hest said, turning his gaze away from the hovering article, ‘Cofield ... where do I know ...’ His entire face froze in a grotesque grimace at the realisation of something that seemed to have horrified him out of his normal expression. It took him five and a half seconds before he managed to pull himself out of his paralysis and reach for his phone. Snatching it out of the glass pad, he grasped it firmly in both his hands as his shaking fingers struggled to redial the last number he had called. 30 T.Z. Dancer | The Vaccine (not another covistory) Part III

over and over again before finally, the female voice from earlier said: ‘Hello?’ ‘Put him on the phone, now. NOW!’ Dr Hest roared. The usual silence followed, before: ‘Hest,’ the voice on the other end was not impressed, ‘hope you managed to cool yourself down?’ ‘Did you see it? Did you see the article?’ Silence, then: ‘So that’s a ‘no’, then. No,’ the voice said lazily, ‘I didn’t. Some of us have a life, Hest.’ ‘What? No, the article, the article about Mehr. The latest one about ... how can you not follow what-’ ‘You surprise me, you know that?’ the voice interrupted, now sounding amused. ‘Do you think I need to read the news to know what’s going on in my country? Please, Hest. A man of your position should know better than this. What’s wrong with you today, seriously? Dr Hest took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down for what he was about to say. 'Yes,’ he said steadily, ‘of course. I know that, but there was something in it that I wanted to talk about. Something I think you should know ... I mean, something that you might not- maybe you do but you didn’t-’ ‘Hest, for God’s ..., spit it out,’ the voice was back to being bored. ‘Are you familiar with Prof. Dr Steven Cofield from the university of-’ ‘Health and Science, yes,’ the voice interrupted as it was so used to doing,’ what of him?’ ‘No, I mean, are you familiar with his work?’ The voice was silent for a moment, then: ‘He’s a senior professor in virology,’ Dr Hest could hear the sound of rustling paper as the voice on the other end spoke, ‘an expert in human genetics.’ ‘Exactly,’ Hest got animated again. ‘So what?’ the voice said nonchalantly, ‘there are dozens like him worldwide. You know? I hate to break it to you, Hest, but you are not the only scientist in the world. You are quite good, but there are others-’ ‘There was this other guy,’ Dr Hest knew better than to interrupt the man on the other end, but on this occasion, he couldn’t help it, ‘This guy who came to me for an advice once years ago. I T.Z. Dancer | The Vaccine (not another covistory) 31 Part III

FROM THE EDITORS

'Pick up, pick up, pick up, pick the fuck up!’ he shouted as the ringing tone echoed in his ear

FROM THE EDITORS

was still working on my- the project I was working on before you ... before this ...’ Silence. ‘... he was planning a research and he wanted my opinion on it. At the time, I told him it was a brilliant idea, but a quite ambitious one. He was a newbie – I’d never heard of him before – and it didn’t look like he could possibly do it.’ Dr Hest put all his energy on remaining calm as he continued: ‘This project he wanted to work on, it was a research in virology and neurology attempting neural regeneration and ...’ Silence. ‘This guy – I had forgotten his name until now – he wanted to create a viral receptor map in the human brain.’ ‘What are you saying?’ ‘This guys was Cofield. Prof. Dr. Cofield who taught that boy that was on shift at last night at ADX. The one that went missing together with Mehr ... I mean, he would have had everything he needed to create ... and now he’s missing too. What if he really did? What if he ...’ Silence. Dr Hest felt like he was finally being listened to the way he hadn’t been in a very long time. This, controversially to his expectations, terrified him more than if the voice had laughed at him, ridiculed him the way he had done earlier. That he didn’t could only mean one thing, and that thing was that the person on the other end already knew what Dr Hest was about to say even before he said it. ‘I think it’s possible he succeeded, sir’ Hest said when there was nothing else left, ‘I think he might have developed a way to reverse the F drug.’

32 T.Z. Dancer | The Vaccine (not another covistory) Part III

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