Writing the Blurb

It’s possible some of you won’t know what the ‘blurb’ is, so let’s define it.

Technically, it’s the selection of words you use to appear on the back of the book with the intention of persuading the reading public to commit to it.

With nonfiction, this may be any one of a number of things. But I’m a fiction writer and that’s what I’m discussing here.

Ask yourself a simple question: What do I want my blurb to achieve?

The answer should be that it hooks the reader to the extent that he/she makes a decision to purchase (or borrow) the book.

How do you do that?

Consider the usual circumstances: that potential reader is in a library (which is a less challenging place for many reasons) or, hopefully, in a bookshop. What’s going on in there? Other people, possibly background music, staff hovering, ready to pounce on the promise of a sale, but, most importantly, there are books. Shelves and shelves of books. Books in competition with yours for the customer’s money and attention. Some of them have the dubious advantage of celebrity status (though why the name of a celebrity should sell a novel is a mystery to me: most of them seem vacuous and uninteresting). Some will be by authors already accepted as both entertaining and absorbing. Some will be part of a special deal, offering 3 for the price of 2 or half price deals. So, not only do you have to compete with all these external influences, but you have a limited amount of time to do so.

The purpose of the blurb is to sell your book. You don’t want a synopsis (save that for the agent and/or publisher who need to have more detail to determine the genre and potential market for your book). What you do need is a pithy, short piece of description that will intrigue, fascinate, tempt and impress the reader. Length will be determined either by the publisher (in which case, the blurb may well be written by a staff member anyway), or, more likely, by a combination of genre and design. You may, for example, have excerpts of quotes displayed on the back cover.

So, what can you say in 50 to 150 words that will clutch at the reader’s imagination and make him/her want to explore the interior, flick through the pages, and perhaps, just perhaps, part with ready cash? Use of strong verbs, avoidance of adverbs, and language that says precisely what it’s meant to convey are essential.

A question often works; citing the major dilemma in the book and suggesting some sort of possible conflict/danger/ambition achieved (depending on the genre).

‘Will Susan’s obsession with chocolate stop her turning the rivalry between her and siren sister, Ophelia, to her advantage when it comes to attracting ruggedly handsome Martin?’  (superficial romantic fiction)

A hint of the challenges facing the protagonist(s) will often act as a hook: ‘When James opens an envelope surreptitiously placed on the passenger seat of his locked Bentley, he begins a journey that will ultimately threaten not only his business but the reputations and lives of those he most loves.’ (thriller)

I was recently asked by Fantastic Books Publishing to provide a blurb for the first volume of my fantasy trilogy, which they’re publishing in spring. 50 words in 3 sentences was the brief. Here are a couple of examples:

‘Hatred between a corrupt leader and the rightful heir flares when a crucial prophesy is misread.

Regardless of cost, a fanatical disciple feels compelled to right a decisive wrong in a key ritual.

Against overwhelming odds, a young hunter sets out to rescue his adored betrothed.’

And

‘A false prophesy forces a corrupt leader to menace the rightful heir and start a dangerous mission.

Only the reckless kidnap of the leader’s daughter by a fanatical disciple might correct a vital wrong.

A charismatic young hunter braves hostile seas and unknown lands to free the gifted maiden he loves.’

I’ve no idea whether either of these will be used. But, for me, they illustrated the difficulty of encapsulating the essence of a story running at 200k+ words, with 3 intertwining stories, into so few words. Not, as I say, a synopsis, but a flavour, a taster, a teaser that will encourage readers to read on.

Do they hint enough at potential challenges and conflicts? Do they insert questions into the mind of the reader? Do they, most importantly, encourage the reader to open the book?

I’d love your observations and comments.

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Do You Love Words?

Regular visitors will know I love words. As a reader and a writer, I'm fascinated by these small
packets of information that allow us to communicate, imagine and to explore our world. Here is a website I came across recently that I think will interest those with similar interests. I've copied the most recent of the weekly newsletters, with, of course, the permission of the site owner, Michael Quinion. Have a read, and if you're intrigued like me, you can easily sign up for the newsletter by going to this link: http://www.worldwidewords.org/

Newsletter 843

Saturday 3 August 2013

Contents

1. Culprit.

2. Pony up.

3. Sic!

4. Useful information.

1. Culprit

This is a common word with a strange genesis, arising out of an old legal abbreviation, compounded by popular etymology.

When England was conquered by the Normans at the Battle of Hastings, French became the language of the law. It remained in use among lawyers even after the language of the courts changed to English in the fourteenth century, latterly in a stylised and degenerate form called law French. Fragments of law French survive even to this day in parliamentary proceedings.Culprit is another survivor.

The records are sparse, but the usual explanation goes like this: if a prisoner in a medieval court pleaded not guilty to the charge, the prosecutor would respond with the words, Culpable: prest d’averrer nostre bille, which may loosely be translated as “We believe him to be guilty and I am ready to prove the charge”. This was recorded in the court rolls as cul prest or cul prist.

The two key words are culpable and prest. The former remains in English in the sense “deserving of blame”, ultimately from Latin culpa, blame or fault.Prest is Anglo-Norman, meaning “ready”, which survived in English until the eighteenth century, but which has become prêt in modern French (as inprêt à manger, ready to eat, or prêt à porter, ready to wear).

The abbreviation cul prest became modified down the years and was somehow misunderstood very late on in the history of law French to be the way that the accused was to be addressed. It turns up first in the record of the trial in 1678 of the Earl of Pembroke for murder; he was asked: “Culprit, how will you be tried?”

Culprit became part of the language in the sense of the accused person. During the following century people came to believe that it meant a guilty person, perhaps in part because of a confusion with culpa.

2. Pony up

Q From David Shapiro: Where does pony up come from?

A This is a classic American expression, but one now widely known in other parts of the English-speaking world. To pony up means to pay what you owe or settle your debt. It usually refers to a smallish sum of money:

The promotion offers Virginians 16 and older the chance to fish without a license for three days in the hopes some of those folks will have so much fun they’ll decide to pony up a few bucks for the privilege of fishing for the next 12 months.

The Roanoke Times (Roanoke, Virginia), 2 Jun. 2013.

It dates from the early nineteenth century. This is the earliest example so far known:

The afternoon, before the evening, the favoured gentlemen are walkingrapidly into the merchant-tailors shops, and very slowly out, unless they ponied up the Spanish.

The Rural Magazine and Farmer’s Monthly Museum, May 1819.

(Spanish here is slang for money, a term known a little earlier in Britain — Francis Grose recorded it in the 1788 edition of his Classical Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue. It’s short for Spanish money, from an association of Spain with rich treasure fleets, doubloons and pieces of eight.)

It seems very likely that pony similarly derives from English slang. It appears in several works at about the same time, including the 1796 edition of Grose’s book. It also turns up in another famous work, which will expand even further your knowledge of long-obsolete slang terms for money:

It’s everything now o’days to be able to flash the screens — sport the rhino — show the needful — post the pony — nap the rent — stump the pewter.

Tom and Jerry, by W T Moncrieff, 1821.

The presumption is that it comes from the equine pony because it was a small horse, as relatively small as the sums of money which users were concerned with. Among the moneyed classes a pony at this time meant 25 guineas (later 25 pounds), a very large amount at the time by most people’s standards, but presumably not thought excessive by individuals who paid their bills in guineas. Horses for courses, you might say.

3. Sic!

• “The quote below,” emailed Hal Norvell, “is from a local newspaper here in central Maine. The source is the Associated Press. ‘A court in Cameroon found two men guilty under the country’s law banning gay sex on Tuesday, a lawyer said ....’”

• Nancy Miller found this in the Premier Traveler magazine for June & July, reviewing ANA business class: “The meal was expertly finished off with a decedent Pierre Hermé Paris dessert: vanilla and dulce de leche ice cream with raspberry sauce.”

• Speaking of decedents, the New York Times obituary of 26 June for the photographer Bert Stern contained this sentence, Kate Schubart reports: “His death was confirmed by Shannah Laumeister, a longtime friend, who said she and Mr. Stern had been secretly married since 2009. No cause was given.”

• It-could-have-been-better-punctuated department: in a story about acute oak decline, a bacterial disease which is afflicting British trees, the Guardian on 16 July referred to “Brian Muelaner, an ancient oak adviser at the National Trust.”

• Detlef Pelz read a Reuters report dated 1 August on the website of The Agein Australia: “Mr Chong’s lawyers have said that he was arrested at the home of friend during a raid by a drug enforcement task force investigating an ecstasy trafficking ring that included DEA agents, sheriff’s deputies and San Diego police officers.”

4. Useful information

World Wide Words is copyright © Michael Quinion 2013. All rights reserved. You may reproduce this newsletter in whole or part in free newsletters, newsgroups or mailing lists online provided that you include the copyright notice above. You need the prior permission of the author to reproduce any part of it on Web sites or in printed publications. You don’t need permission to link to it.

Comments on anything in this newsletter are more than welcome. To send them in, please visit the feedback page on our Web site.

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Featured on Goodreads.

Those who are regular visitors will know of my enthusiasm for a large-membership reading community on the web: Goodreads is an excellent site for writers to interact with readers, for readers to chat about their favourite books, read reviews, gain recommendations, and, in fact, join in almost any activity you can imagine that deals with the world of books. It is, in short, a book-lovers' paradise. If you're not already a member, I urge you to join this community.
But, just for good measure, it turns out one of my books is featured there at present. Ten Tales for Tomorrow is an anthology of dark speculative fiction, which has earned praise from those who've read and reviewed it. You'll find more details, and buying links, on the Published Work page of the blog.

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Seeking Readers’ Views on Matters of Fantasy.

Those of you who’ve followed this blog for any time will know I’m in the process of completing an epic fantasy trilogy. I’ve written the first 2 volumes and edited book one to the point where it’s ready for publication. Book 2 is currently undergoing the penultimate edit and book 3 is yet to be written, though I know where it’s heading, more or less.

So, how can you help?

Well, I’m seeking the opinions of readers on various aspects of the fantasy genre:

My book is an adult tale, containing references and descriptions unsuitable for those under 15 years of age. Would that concern you? (there’s no erotic content, but there are sexual references).

The major theme of the whole work is hypocrisy in organised religion, though this is very definitely thematic and doesn’t push the story, which is largely character driven, with the actions of those characters resulting in the drama and adventure of the tale.  Clearly, I’m not about to alter the theme, but I’d like to know if the very fact of it would deter you from sampling the book.

Book 1 is 216,000 words, or around 680 pages of a standard paperback. The other two volumes will be around the same length. Assuming the story and characters carry this length, as a reader, does this excite, inspire, worry or inhibit you?

Clearly, publication of such a tome is likely to be difficult to sell to a traditional publishing house. Would you be likely to try such a book as, A, a paperback, B, an ebook, C, both of these, D, neither, if self-published?

What sort of price would you expect to pay for such a work?

The story needs maps to allow the reader to enjoy the location of the fantasy. I’ve drawn the main map on a sheet of A1 (approx. 60x80 cms) and had it scanned electronically so I can produce it both in full and in parts to suit the story as it ranges over the wide territory imagined. How would you feel about the inclusion of such maps in an ebook? And, would you like a ‘fold-out’ map in a paper book, if possible?

I’ve decided not to publish volume 1 until volume 2 is ready for publication and volume 3 is already underway. Would that decision help you decide whether or not to sample the first volume? I know it’s not uncommon for fantasy writers to start a trilogy and then abandon it before it’s finished. I want to avoid falling into that trap and, by taking this action, wish to assure my readers that I’ll give them the full tale.

Later in the process, I intend releasing short tasters so that readers can have an idea of the quality of the writing and some clues regarding characters, theme and storyline. Would you welcome such samples?

That’s it for the moment. Later on, I’ll explain some of the techniques used in the writing, introduce some of the major characters and give clues about the imagined land I’ve used as a setting. Watch this space.

Thank you for your help in this process.

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The Best After-Dinner Stories, by Tim Heald, Reviewed.

A book better presented than compiled, Tim Heald’s The Best After-Dinner Stories is a special edition available through the Folio Society (£19.95). As is often the case with such books, the text is illustrated, in this case by Paul Cox, who does an admirable if somewhat cosy job of work with the material offered.

There’s an underlying tone to the collection and the introductory passages which will undoubtedly appeal to those of a clubbish or socially elevated nature. I found it complacent, self-satisfied and smug and not at all attractive. In fact, I was tempted to stop reading after a short while because of this slightly snobbish and superior tone. I’m glad I didn’t.

In the collection, Tim Heald introduces readers to such luminaries as Chaucer, Shakespeare, Churchill, Samuel Johnson, Horace Walpole and Her Majesty the Queen, amongst others. A few less elevated entertainers jostle for space within the pages, including Joyce Grenfell, Eric Idle, Gyles Brandreth, John Mortimer and Joanna Trollope, again, amongst others.

Of course, the very title of the book should have warned me of the probable approach: after dinner stories are, after all, mainly the province of establishment organisations such as Oxbridge, Gentleman’s clubs and various scholarly or exclusive societies. It is telling that the book was published by the Folio Society, a book club specialising in high end quality book production, where all volumes are hardbacks and most editions are presented in slip cases specially designed for the organisation. You’ll find it available on Amazon, but only in the form of the original publication; sometimes offered as ‘new’, when it is clear that it’s a book passed on to the seller by a society member.

Apart from the social snobbishness that drives the text, there’s an intellectual snobbishness that presents certain references, likely to be familiar only to scholars, as if these were common knowledge amongst common readers.

So, why did I continue to read? Well, the simple fact is that some of the stories presented were very amusing. Some. There was a good deal of comedy I could enjoy, though there was as much that left me cold due to its class basis. I skipped large portions, bored by the pretentions of the narrator. But I also learned the true sources for a number of lengthy jokes that have become popular through re-telling and clearly attributed to the wrong creative minds by that reprocessing.

I obtained the book as a returning member of the Folio Society, an organisation that attracts those of us who love real books. It was part of a free introductory package. I’m glad I didn’t pay for it but also glad I stuck it out to the end. Would I recommend it? That depends on the reader, really. The old-fashioned, club members, Oxbridge dons and graduates, and those who consider themselves upper-middle or upper class would undoubtedly enjoy a number of the ‘in’ jokes. For the rest of us less elevated readers, the pleasures are less obvious. If you enjoyed Punch, you’re likely to find something to amuse you here.

Read My Novel, Free: Chapter 21

Still enjoying this story? I certainly hope so.

I posted Chapter 1 way back on 13 January. Subsequent chapters have appeared each Friday, and will continue to be posted until all 50 have appeared here. You can find those already posted via the archive; just search for the chapter you want to read.

Missed the start? Find it here: http://stuartaken.blogspot.com/2012/01/read-free-my-novel-here.html

Read, enjoy, invite your friends to join us.

Chapter 21

Saturday May 1st

Mum arrived just before nine. The sun was already hot in a clear sky and I was pleased my cotton dress was in keeping with her outfit, even if mine was longer and Mum had followed Germaine Greer’s advice; in spite of her age, her breasts seemed quite firm enough to support themselves. Conscious of my nipples, I usually wore a bra.

Leigh and Netta were still in bed, despite Ma’s warning that they’d have to get their own breakfast if they were up late. Mum and I left at once and she seemed genuinely pleased to have my company.

‘I’m going to try to catch up on your education whenever I can, Faith. If I ask you searching questions, even seem a little personal, it’s only so I can discover what you do and don’t know. Okay?’

‘Mum, I want to learn. I want to break out of my cocoon of ignorance as soon as I can.’

‘Good. Are you on the pill?’

‘What pill?’

‘Who’s your doctor?’

‘Am I supposed to have a doctor?’

‘Who saw you when you were ill at the cottage?’

‘Fa… The B.’

‘Call him “Heacham,” love. It pays him the respect he deserves, which is none. You’ve no reason to feel anything but contempt and hatred for him so don’t harbour any guilt about using just his surname. Who’s Leigh’s doctor?’

‘A man called Paul, I think. He examined me after the B… Heacham gave me the last beating.’

‘He’d done it before?’

‘Often. If I did something wrong I was stripped and beaten with his belt. Of course, he made me wear very little anyway, so I was ready for a beating in seconds. But that last time was the worst.’

Mum was silent for a while, tears running down her cheeks. She pulled the car into the side of the road and took a little time to compose herself. She dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and looked at herself in the car mirror. ‘What a sight!’ She pulled a small case from her handbag and applied some colour to her face and her eyes.

I was fascinated, having seen the models do this in front of mirror in the studio but never from quite such close quarters.

‘Sorry about that. I hadn’t realized just how cruel Heacham had been to you. I’m sorry I left you with him for so many years. Will you forgive me?’

‘I already have, Mum. Anyway, you really had no choice.’

She drove off again. ‘Do you believe everything everyone tells you?’

‘I believe you. And Leigh. And Ma and Old Hodge, of course. I used to believe everything Heacham told me, but now….’

‘First important lesson, Faith. People lie. All people lie. Heacham lies, he lies so much that he even gives a distorted and addled version of his own peculiar truths; like most religious people. I lie. Leigh lies. Netta lies more than most, especially if she thinks she can gain from it. Ma lies. Old Hodge… Old Hodge probably only lies by omission and even then not if he can avoid it. Assume everybody lies, Faith, for their own advantage.’

‘Are you saying you didn’t need to leave me with Heacham?’

Mum shook her head but continued to look at the road. We had left the area I knew and were moving south. The terrain was much as I’d grown up with except that the new landscapes were more dramatic.

‘It’s so hard, Faith. I believed at the time I had no choice. I tried to take you with me but he was too strong for me and I was scared after the way he’d hit me. I was the guilty party. I’d been having affairs, having sex with other men. For all his other faults, he was always loyal to me that way. Not that he ever showed any interest in other women, to be honest. I suppose I felt he deserved something out of our parting. I had no real reason to suspect he’d be cruel to you; otherwise, I’d have fought tooth and nail to keep you. Hope was a lost cause and I had no concerns about her, poor thing. But, if I’d known what he’d do to you, I might’ve found a way to keep you with me.’

‘So, you did what you thought was best for everybody at the time?’

‘Are you always so generous in your judgement of others?’

‘Fa… I do hate that! Heacham taught me not to make judgements. He did it himself, all the time, of course. But he said I was stupid and ill informed and had insufficient information to make considered judgements. I believed him. I had no reason not to. So, I don’t make judgements.’

‘Christ, that man’s a shit! But I’m with him on making hasty judgements. It’s too easy to go on first impressions and allow yourself to be prejudiced against someone or something unnecessarily all your life.

‘Anyway, we were talking about you and the pill. When we get back, find out who this Paul is. Get on his books and ask him to prescribe you the pill.’

‘What pill is it?’

‘The contraceptive pill, of course.’

‘What does it do?’

‘It stops you… Oh, Faith, it’s hard to accept you’re so naïve. It stops you becoming pregnant. But you must take it regularly or it won’t work. Some types may make your periods…’

‘Don’t I have to have sex to get pregnant? I thought it could only happen if you let a man put his penis in…’

‘Yes, love. You do, as you say, have to have proper sex to risk pregnancy. Start taking it now and then you’ll be ready when the first chance comes up. You’re not safe until you’ve been taking it a while. I can’t remember how long; I’ve been on it for years.’

‘But who am I likely to have sex with?’

She shook her head again and smiled. ‘If no other man comes into your life and, with your looks, that’s unlikely, I expect you’ll want to go to bed with Leigh at least.’

I couldn’t imagine being so close and intimate with any man but Leigh. But I wasn’t going to allow even him to penetrate my body until we were married.

‘He hasn’t asked me to marry him, Mum. And he’s not likely to whilst Netta’s around.’

‘Sex isn’t dependent on marriage, Faith. Not even in your case. There’ll come a time when the opportunity presents itself, when you and Leigh have a chance to make love. You need to be ready.’

‘But I won’t have sex until I’m married.’

‘You will, Faith, believe me. I know what I’m talking about. You’ll have sex before you get married. I promise you that.’

It was pointless arguing. If it would make Mum feel happier, then I would do as she suggested. ‘Okay. I’ll sort it out as soon as I get back to Longhouse’

‘Promise?’

‘Mum, if I say I’ll do something, I’ll do it.’

‘I expect you will. Periods. What do you know about them?’

I knew the term.

‘What did Heacham tell you?’

‘He said I shouldn’t make a fuss and it’d happen every month. Funny, it was the one thing Mrs Greenhough helped me with.’

She sighed. ‘The sisterhood.’

We drove in silence for a while through countryside that had become far less rural. There were towns now, some quite large. We passed through streets thronged with Saturday shoppers and I wondered why we didn’t stop in any of these places.

‘Leeds is a big city, Faith. Wonderful shopping. I love the city. You’ll find it exciting and lively. Netta loves to come shopping, especially if we’ve got money to spend.’

‘You go shopping without money?’

‘Window-shopping. It’s wonderful. You’ll love it.’

‘Seems a bit pointless.’

She laughed. ‘Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Anyway, today I have money. I’ve been asking for cash instead of presents all this week. I don’t like to, and they know I wouldn’t normally, but I explained and they were eager to help. They wanted to meet you but I explained, told them you’re not like Netta and me but only interested in one man. They were disappointed, of course, but I’m not going to change you.

‘Actually, I’m really lucky. One daughter I can indulge in all the pleasures we share with men and another I can be more serious with. I can share the cultured side of life with you, Faith. You’re intelligent and bright, probably creative, where Netta’s just a natural hedonist and not the brightest of souls. I didn’t have to teach her to be a sexual beast, you know. Given her head, she’d have been at it even sooner. Netta’s a feline creature with all the sexual scruples of an alley cat.

‘I don’t blame her, of course. I enjoy my men just as much. I’ve no shame about accepting gifts in return for pleasure. I sometimes don’t get anything, except for my own pleasure, of course. But I generally get enough to keep me in style. Does that shock you?’

‘Are you a prostitute, Mum?’

‘Christ! Leigh said you were direct. No. I’m not. Some might see it that way, I suppose. I never charge the men I go with. I don’t hire myself out by the hour or so much for certain services. It’s not like that. But there’s an unwritten rule that says they make a gift in exchange for the pleasure I give them. I give my body; they give me the things I need to live a good life. Fix the boiler, decorate the lounge, buy groceries, that sort of thing, you know?’

I could see no material difference between this and prostitution but I couldn’t condemn her. I might have to revise my views on prostitution instead.

We reached the city and Mum found a place to park straight away in a tall building made of several floors all devoted to space for cars. I thought it a bit weird. Leeds was huge and I made a mental note to apologize to Leigh for doubting what he’d said about cities.

The day was a whirl. Mum whisked me from shop to shop to café to shop to shop to café to shop in such a rush that I experienced little but confusion and disorientation. She, however, obviously enjoyed herself enormously and I just tagged along and hoped I nodded in the right places.

Leigh had paid me in cash up to date and refused to take anything for my board and lodgings. I had some spending money and was able to buy his birthday card and present. At Mum’s insistence, I bought some new clothes, more underwear and some of the basic ingredients needed to paint my face. She bought me a razor and some skin lotion.

‘What for, Mum? I thought only men shaved.’

‘Under arms at the very least, and, if you can’t face waxing, your private parts.’

I was very happy to get into the car and leave that frenetic place for the peace and quiet of the countryside.

‘It’s been one of the best days I’ve had for ages. Enjoyed it?’

I couldn’t deflate her and I had another lesson in lying to avoid hurt. ‘It’s been a lovely day, Mum. Thank you.’

We drove in silence, which I relished after so much rush and noise.

‘You’re very quiet.’

‘Tired.’

She was thoughtful for a moment. ‘I suppose it might be tiring if you’re not used to it. Next time you’ll have a better idea what to expect and it won’t seem so daunting.’

I said nothing. I hoped the next time would be months in the future and I didn’t want to spoil Mum’s obvious enjoyment of the trip.

‘Wasn’t your idea of fun, was it, Faith?’

‘I, well there were…’

‘I’m your Mum. It’s all right. You can be honest with me.’

‘It’s all so overwhelming, Mum. I found York quite intimidating. It was only because I was with Leigh that I managed to deal with it so well…’

‘That’s fine. Honestly, it is. I’m glad Leigh was more able to entertain you and keep your mind off the negative aspects than I was. It shows you have deep feelings for a man. It’s obvious you’re not a city lover and you clearly don’t like shopping. But that’s no problem, Faith. I’ve got Netta to go shopping with. We’ll find something else to enjoy together. Do you like walking?’

‘Yes. I like being with you, Mum. For the moment, that’s enough for me. And I’d rather have you to myself than share you with strangers.’

‘Do you at least like what you’ve bought today?’

‘Yes. And the things you’ve bought me. Thanks, Mum.’

‘Pleasure. Not keen on the idea of makeup, though, are you?’

‘It seems like a cheat. Not natural. Like showing the world someone else.’

‘God, you’re like your dad. He was a lover of the natural and unadorned. He certainly loved me unadorned. The less adorned the better, in fact. Oh, he was a lovely man.’

‘Miss him, don’t you?’

‘I’m still in love with him. Always have been. Always will be. Hopeless case, you see?’

‘Perhaps not so hopeless. Tell me more about him.’

We were out of the city and back on roads I found more comfortable with their reduced traffic and fewer buildings.

‘David was a lecturer at my college. He was older than me. He tried very hard not to fall in love with me even though I fell for him at once. He thought it was unfair for someone so young to waste herself on an old fogy like him. His words. But I loved him. God, I love that man! He was clever and kind and good and funny and serious and talented and wise and oh so wonderful. I cried every night for weeks when he left. Every night.’

‘Why didn’t you tell him about me?’

‘Things were different then, Faith. He wanted so much to make his mark in the world of literature. I’d have held him back. If I’d told him I was pregnant, he’d have been back on the first plane to marry me. It would’ve ruined his chance of the professorship he wanted so badly.’

‘But you loved him.’

‘Exactly. That’s what love is, Faith. Love is giving the person you love whatever will be best for them, not whatever will be best for you. I knew I’d be bad for him, so I let him go. I’ve never regretted it, but I still hurt. I always will.’

‘Did he get what he wanted?’

‘I don’t know. That’s the irony. I’ve no idea what became of him. I know he had a book of poetry published in the States. He dedicated it to me and sent me a copy. I’d told him not to write to me as I’d married a jealous man who might hurt me, you see? Heacham thought he was my first and he’d have been furious if he’d known about David. I managed to keep all that from him, thank God.’

‘May I read it?’

Mum said nothing for a long time but I knew she’d heard me. She concentrated on her driving and I saw her wipe her eye with a fingertip. ‘It’s in my bag. I carry it with me everywhere. You deserve to read it, Faith. Take it. But don’t let any harm come to…’

‘Mum, it’s obviously precious to you. I’ll guard it with my life.’

She smiled. ‘Not your life, Faith. I’d go as far as your honour, but not your life. It’s a book, when all’s said and done and you’re my daughter, my living reminder of David.’

I rifled through her bag and discovered things I didn’t recognize. I thought it better not to ask. The book was quite small. A slim hardback volume with a black cover, tooled in gold. It had been well thumbed.

I opened it and found the name and address of the publisher, as I’d hoped. My smile was secret. I had a starting point to make my search for David Lengdon, my real father.

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