Keat's House, Hampstead
Earlier this week I went to an event organised by Daunts Books. Deborah Moggach was interviewing David Nicholls about the film adaptation of his novel, One Day.
I loved this novel. Adored it. Wept over it, snuggled up with it, laughed and wondered out loud how someone had managed to put my own life down on paper. David's only inconsistency was in calling his heroine Emma instead of Karen. An unhappy, overweight graduate cast adrift? Check. A niggling suspicion that I might be able to write? Check. I could even empathise hugely with the dreadful Dexter, a man so caught up in shallow selfishness and destructive habits that he could barely see the nose in front of his face. Except that wasn't the whole story with Dexter at all. A mother with possible addictive issues of her own, early grief at her death, a cold and distant father and just the ... amorality of being a bit of an idiot. Many cruel and selfish people start out with no intention of being either cruel or selfish. They just can't help themselves. David managed to make this pig of a man sympathetic. He also managed to reference music I loved, places I had been to or lived in, eras I'd enjoyed or endured. He was writing my LIFE, I tell you!
Actually, he was writing all our lives. I think David's clever achievement in this book (apart from the inspired hook of visiting the same day - St Swithins Day - over a 20 year period) is to take key events that every single one of us goes through, and painting them large. We can all empathise with the lonely year, the lost year, the year of not much at all, the year of realising we're growing older. We've all been there. It's the seven ages of man written for a 21st century audience.
So, can you tell? I really enjoyed this novel - first hearing about it in a Tweet from Anne Cassidy. Which meant that when a friend emailed me about an opportunity to hear David speak, I was like a greyhound out of the trap. Poor David. He had no idea what lay in store.
The event took place in Keat's house in Hampstead. This is such a lovely place and arriving at sun down made it even lovelier, walking across the lawn in the dying light towards the golden oblongs of sash windows. A glass of wine later, hastily taking my seat and shrugging off my jacket and - there was David. There were many adoring women in that room, I can tell you. I wasn't the only one. Look!
Somewhere behind all those women is an author.
David was charm personified (of course he was) and talked about the fascinating challenges of adapting a novel into a film script. Here's what I learned:
Genre is much more important in films than in novels. People want to go and see a rom-com, an action adventure or a drama. They don't want something in between. David's novel was something in between. His first challenge.
The rom-com is a strained form in these modern days. Our liberal, inclusive society with its 24-hour access to texts, skype and cheap flights means that a lovestruck couple has few boundaries to overcome. A bummer for dramatic tension - and partly why we're seeing films with grossly distorted gender stereotypes in order to supply a barrier.
Cultural references. David was invited to relocate his novel in America, but there was one big stumbling block.'An American couple would just have said what they thought,' he told us. Much better to have a tongue-tied, awkward, reticent British couple!
Films aren't authored in the same was as a novel. If you're going to use a device you can't just say 'because the author says so'. What author? 'A film isn't a book read aloud,' David summarised. This was a big challenge with a novel that takes 20 days over 20 years, some of those days hum-drum. But David says you have to make a virtue of the hindrances. I really like this way of thinking.
Script-writing and novel-writing use completely different parts of the brain. David suggests that writing a script is a much more editorial task with a certain amount of emotional detachment, millions of versions and collaborations and revisions right up to the eleventh hour and even past the stage where a scene has been shot.
After I'd finished hanging on David's every word, I joined the queue of women waiting to have their books signed. Stay calm, I told myself. You're in the industry, you don't need to be impressed by this. I felt a grin spreading over my face. Stop it! Stop it! I was beaming now, close to giggles. Finally, it was turn to hand my book over for signing.
David asked my name and began signing. He handed the novel back and made eye contact.
'I love your novel. It's as though someone wrote my LIFE!'
That was me. Those words came out of my mouth. Oh, the shame. David looked slightly nervous and I crept away, my cheeks burning. My friends were waiting for me, already laughing. They took me to the pub, where I managed to calm down. But now I know how to make a fool of myself. I just have to go see an author I love.
