‘Now we’re joined by literary giant Malcolm Taylor, who was among the Man Booker longlisters announced yesterday. Welcome to the show, Malcolm.’
‘Thank you for having me.’
‘Listeners may not be familiar with your latest work, your new novel, A Hundred Ways. Can you tell them a little bit about it?’
‘I’m not surprised they know nothing about it. Neither my agent nor my publisher wanted to publish it. It had a very short print run and no marketing budget whatsoever. And subsequently, it’s only sold a few hundred copies. To quote Hume, it “fell dead-born from the press”.’
‘And yet you’re longlisted for the Man Booker.’
‘I’m as surprised as you are. My publisher must have submitted it as a joke. I don’t know.’
‘What’s the novel about?’
‘I wanted to write a book that, like Miller’s, was “a prolonged insult, a gob of spit in the face of Art, a kick in the pants to God, Man, Destiny, Time, Love, Beauty”.’
‘Miller?’
‘Henry Miller. Tropic of Cancer. That was a quote. I’m not a fan of Miller, but understand his disgust.’
‘And your novel? What’s that about?’
‘A Hundred Ways isn’t about anything. That’s why no one wanted to publish it. It’s just a tiny blood clot. That’s all it is. And it’s travelling along an artery towards our collective brain – culture. Now I just want to live long enough to see the surprise in the eye of mankind as the aneurysm strikes.’
‘That’s dark. What does the title mean? What did you have in mind?’
‘Nothing. I don’t know. It’s certainly not something I recommend anyone read. Especially if they think they’re happy. “A Hundred Ways to Disappoint a Reader”? And keeping in mind A Hundred Ways was written before Trump, “A Hundred Ways This World is Stuffed”.’
‘That’s a hashtag for our Twitter followers: hashtag “ahundredways”, what?’
‘Twitter?’
‘Don’t worry, Malcolm. So you’d agree with the bookies then that you’ve an outside chance of winning.’
‘No chance. The Booker judges have it all wrong. My wife’s a far greater writer than I am but hasn’t been longlisted since the seventies. Her last novel was one of the finest pieces of writing ever published. Sold fairly well but was ignored by the critics – they get bored of excellence. Generally, I’m not a fan of awards. Except when my wife is the recipient. Then I love them.’
‘To sum up, your wife, Helen Owen, is the real writer in the family and your novel, A Hundred Ways, is a blood clot, a gob of spit and an outside chance of winning the Man Booker Prize? You’ve sold me, Malcolm. Where do I get a copy?’
‘There’s probably a pirated copy of the ebook you can download for free.’
‘Thank you for joining us, Malcolm. Hashtag “ahundredways”.’
‘My pleasure.’
Malcolm put the phone down. Helen was staring at him with her mouth open. Then they both burst into laughter.
‘I won’t give any further interviews.’
‘It’s probably for the best.’