Day 1:
I always get a little bit of travel anxiety, but for once there was no delay on the train and I rolled in well in time for the first panel, on police procedurals. The historical crime writers claimed to have the easier job, but were much more insistent that their contemporary counterparts on research and accuracy. But Leigh Russell summed it up best by focusing instead on the sheer joy of the creative process, and the ‘holiday from reality’ that this gives to the readers.
Second panel came with a surprising local flavour for me, with Southampton/New Forest author Andy Hill, and Heidi Perks from Bournemouth, discussing a novel set in Lymington. The number 6 bus to Lymington stops right outside my house! And I did very recently see it depicted in crime fiction, when I read City of Tiny Lights, one scene of which takes place there.
The panel I’d been most looking forward too was up next, Paul Finch, Andrew Child, Nadine Matheson, Alex Shaw and Zoe Sharp discussing thrillers. I was especially interested in Matheson’s responses, as I’m working on a paper partially about The Jigsaw Man. Torture was mentioned, and she did confess to aiming for shock value.
Final panel of day one was on plot twists, and debut author Paul Durston waited until the very end to read the chilling opening lines of his new book.
At which point, it was time for me to leave to make my way to a cheaper hotel – which turned out to be a long way up a very steep hill. As I dragged my case all the way there – and then up two flights of stairs because there’s no lift, I resolved to stay in the convention hotel next time, whatever it costs.
Day 2:
The second day began with a decent breakfast, and a post-breakfast descent. I could have skied down! Unfortunately, I took a wrong turn and rolled in about ten minutes late, and decided to miss the first panel rather than go in late. I cast my votes for Jamie Bernthal-Hooker and the late, great Christopher Fowler, and then headed to the James Bond panel early.
Charlie Higson had just recently published a timely adventure in which Bond saves the Coronation from attack – which sounds a bit like the plot of Johnny English – and it was also interesting to hear from Kim Sherwood, who has expanded the universe to write about other Double O’s.
Between panels I ran into leading Agathologist, the aforementioned Jamie Bernthal-Hooker. I rarely see much overlap between the commercial and academic crime conventions, other than myself, so it was great to see the two worlds collide. I wished him luck at the awards, and told him about my academic paper featuring Nadine Matheson, Graham Masterton, and Jeff Lindsay.
Matheson was on the next panel and again discussed torture and extreme violence, but grandfather in waiting Neil Lancaster stole the show when he talked about his role in the arrest of real-life serial killer Levi Bellfield.
Next up came the most eagerly anticipated, and densely attended panel of the day, with Mark Billingham, Vaseem Khan and Martin Edwards discussing the Golden Age, and its potential second coming. Richard Osman was again mentioned in less than positive terms, and it also again helped convince me that the crime fiction world is awaiting exactly the kind of hybrid fiction proposed in my (unsuccessful) PhD project.
After that I went back to being a fan boy and autograph hunter, picking up signed books by Mark Billingham (two), Caroline England, Felix Francis, and Neil Daws. But due to a calamitous mishap, Daws’s signed book ended up in toilet, barely a minute later! I pounced swiftly on it, dried it as much as I could, and wrapped it in toilet paper before I returned to the panels, but distracted as I was not much of anything made an impression or demanded that I remember it.
There was still time to take a drink at the CWA Dagger shortlist announcements, where glasses were raised to lifetime achievement winner Walter Mosely, and judging by the in-room reaction, Vaseem Khan emerged as favourite to take the prestigious Gold Dagger Award.
After that, what better way to finish the day, than a long steep climb, and taking a hotel room hairdryer to a soggy signed paperback. Why does it always happen to me?
Day 3:
With the hotel not doing breakfast until 8am, and the Con starting at 9, I had to realistically concede that the first panel was a write off. A shame, because last year I got the strongest energy from the debut authors panel, but at least there would be another on Sunday, starting at 9.30. Also Sunday morning though, was a Great Bristol Run, a half marathon that would be extremely testing judging by my walks, during which I was getting flashbacks of playing Crazy Taxi back in the day. It would be the most running up hills since the last series of Stranger Things.
My first panel was on genre, which featured Jane Shemilt coming fresh from a TV interview. It was also an opportunity for me to scout Paul Gitsham, and assess his prospects of winning Sunday’s convention-closer, Criminal Mastermind. He has a PhD in biology and used to be a science teacher – but does this undoubted braininess translate into knowing about the Lincoln Lawyer?
From there I went to the Cornell Woolrich panel/book launch. This is an author I was not really aware of, but I did know the films that emerged from his stories, The Bride Wore Black and Rear Window. What I also learned was his tragic demise, from gangrene in his foot from wearing a pair of slippers that were too small for him!
Next it was to the beautiful Wessex Room for Elly Griffiths’ Guest of Honour interview. This also gave me chance to check out another Mastermind contest – although I’ve lost betting on her before, last year’s St. Hilda’s Crime whodunnit, where I thought it was her, only for it to end up being Abir Mukherjee as the Inspector. The conversation meandered to treatment of Italian immigrants in World War 2, the fact that archaeologists deliberately plan car parks over sites of potential interest, and less welcome, Barry Forshaw’s suggestion that creative writing courses don’t do any good.
I remember Caro Ramsay making a special effort as a moderator last year, and so it proved again on this year’s police procedural panel, with hats and helmets for all, and even the uniform for Ramsay herself. She also ambushed Peter Guttridge with a series of quiz questions, at which he struggled with, especially at first. But as quizmaster of the Thursday night quiz, which I have still never attended yet, he wasn’t in line for Sunday’s quiz anyway.
Up next was Mark Billingham’s Guest of Honour interview. Previously considered for the ‘Brit Grit’ chapter of my PhD project, he now appears to be the latest to ‘go cosy’ with his new series, starting with The Last Dance. But any doubt was removed when Vaseem Khan introduced ‘an hour of cosy goodness’. Billingham though contends that he is still writing a gritty serious series, albeit laced with humour, “Serious and humorous are not mutually incompatible”. He then followed with the revelation that Hitler liked Blackpool, and ordered his bombers to leave it alone, that he might make it the cultural centre of a German-occupied Britain. Discussing cosy crime, and seeking a new definition for it, Billingham chose tragicomic to describe his work, and in closing questions, a member of the audience made a point I agree with, that including some humour actually makes for a more realistic experience.
The last panel of the day was on how crime fiction reflects society, with Elizabeth Chakrabarty in particular having a race hate crime to report, and largely avenge through her writing, with all the panellists also shining a light on injustice and corruption in their novels.
After grabbing something to eat, it was time for the award ceremony, or in my case – since I was scandalously snubbed in the nominations once again – the pre-awards reception, just for a quick one to return to my hotel, where I would be keeping tabs on the awards.
Partial good news regarding the toilet book. I’d put it on the windowsill to get some to dry it out, which it did, but also seems to have had a volumising effect. So now I’ve placed all the other books on top of this one to try and flatten the pages. Meanwhile Christopher Fowler’s posthumous prize for the final Bryant and May was the most welcome result of awards night, and well deserved.
Day 4:
Convention Sunday is always something of an anti-climax, with many having gone home on Saturday or first thing Sunday without going to any panels. Lost that remain are typically hungover, wistful, maybe even with a touch of con-drop starting to set in. FantasyCon kept things fresh by having their awards on the Sunday afternoon. Eastercon did it by having their convention carry on and include Monday. This had only the mastermind quiz to provide a novelty. Oh, and 15,000 runners pounding the streets of Bristol all around us.
It’s worth noting that last year’s memorable debut authors panel came on the Saturday; it seemed a big ask to expect this year’s crop to replicate that vibe. Nevertheless, it was a fairly packed audience for that first panel. And Emma Styles went straight into my good books by shooting down Barry Forshaw’s theory on the uselessness of Creative Writing tuition. She also did a good job of pitching her novel No Country for Women, as did Paul Durston with If I Were Me.
That was the last out and out panel, but there was still Peter Guttridge’s Toastmaster interview, in which he divulged his past touring with Mike Oldfield, failing to meet Madonna before she was famous, and as a nude model for an art class. Describing his writing, he addressed the balancing act between serious and comedic subjects.
This was followed by the Mastermind quiz, last event of the convention, and a chance to win tickets for next year’s con. I invested in Paul Gitsham to win with a score of 19, and after he scored 10 in his specialist subject, I thought I was well set, only for Zoe Sharp to blow him out of the water with a stunning 13. However, both of them suffered badly in the general crime fiction round, allowing last year’s winner D.V. Bishop to retain his crown. Looks like I’ll have to pay for next year, but pay I will for this excellent convention. Interestingly, one of the free passes was won by Neil Daws, so if anyone believes my toilet drop was a good omen, they are welcome to give me a signed book to ritualistically dunk in the bowl next year.
I still had a tricky task to weave in and out of tired mile 12 runners to get the train station. It had evidently proved to be as demanding as I’d feared, up and down so many hills on a warm day, because on that short section alone there were two runners receiving medical attention.
I always come away from conventions as inspired and determined as any long-distance runner. I have a few months writing essays and papers, and then I will be let loose on fiction writing again, full of ideas and ambition.
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