You know, book reviewing isn't all about crushing egos and indulging in petty vindictiveness. Sometimes, in those brief pauses between mean-spirited bouts of snark and nitpickery, you find yourself wanting to help someone just starting out, some talented newcomer who, though still green and unformed, may very well be on his way to something bigger.
I don't do it for the thanks, but every once in a while, when some up-and-comer thanks me personally for something I wrote – such as this first-time novelist did, for this review – I can only accept it with humble gratitude.
And then go blog it as fast as I can.
Seriously though, I try not to get starstruck, but Thewlis is a special case. And to not only get thanked, but to exchange "crazy mothers who obsessively google their sons" stories, well...
In honour thereof, one of my favourite Thewlisian moments:
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A very subtle and funny writer - one I've become obsessed with over the past year - in a decidedly Muriel Spark mood. Imagine The Pr...
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