A phone call from Danny Baror to confirm that Random House Canada have bought THE SALT ROAD and the (working title) SULTAN'S BOY: which makes me very happy indeed after the great publicity tour I did last year for THE TENTH GIFT there. Kristin and Maya, I'm so looking forward to working with you again.

Meanwhile I delivered the first 3 chapters and the much fuller outline of THE SULTAN'S BOY (otherwise known as the Moulay Ismail book) at the start of the week to Venetia at Viking/Penguin and am pleased and relieved to report that she loves them. So that gives me new heart to speed on, which is just as well since I am rather in love with my central character... though I am sure it is very bad form. I may post the first few pages up on the site soon.

I had lunch today with my children's book publisher, the remarkable Marion Lloyd at Scholastic, who will be publishing MASKMAKER in March, and the new book, THE GOLDSEEKERS, the year after that. (More Moroccan pirates and magic to come in the latter!) It has been so good to sit and talk about books and publishing and life with her and Venetia this week, both so passionate, committed and sane in the face of all the odds in this tough, cut-throat arena which is the modern book industry.

It's been quite a summer at HarperCollins: regime change, more and more and more work; and visits from some of my favourite authors. First came the wonderful Robin Hobb (Megan Lindholm) whom I've been publishing for over 20 years now, to promote her new novel, THE DRAGON KEEPER. Megan is always such a joy to spend time with: she's one of the nicest people I've encountered in my 25 years in the industry, and one of the finest writers too. I thoroughly recommend her return to the Rain Wilds:



Then in September my old friend Kim Stanley Robinson came through London on his way to guesting in Venice at a festival to celebrate Galileo's development of the telescope, coinciding rather beautifully with our publication of the magnificent GALILEO'S DREAM, showcased here in a fine piece by Guardian journalist Alison Flood.

http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2009/nov/10/kim-stanley-robinson-science

And finally, yesterday I got to spend some time with the legendary George RR Martin, over in the UK to visit the sets where HBO are filming the pilot episode of A GAME OF THRONES, which could be the finest ever tv fantasy epic. We have his superb anthology tribute to Jack Vance out this month: the signing queues went round and round the block in Belfast, Dublin and London's Forbidden Planet. Oddly, in that strange synchronicity which happens so frequently in my life, George flew out of London for Marrakech this morning, to see the desert and Dothraki scenes being filmed in and around Ouarzazate. The really exciting news, other than the potential HBO series, is that we might get the long-awaited DANCE OF DRAGONS soon. I cannot wait.

It's odd to be packing up to return to Morocco for the winter, but at the same time be planning what on earth I'm going to say in my talk at the Festival of Writing in York when I come back in April 2010 about 'keeping it real: the balance between fact and fantasy in fiction' - truth is, I've always been drawn to the exotic and the bizarre, and no matter how realistic the fiction I'm writing, it always creeps in somehow. Or just happens to me and manages to sneak in that way. Honestly, some of the research I've been doing for the new novel, set in the 1670s and 80s in the court of Sultan Moulay Ismail, the bloodthirsty ruler of Morocco who was a contemporary of Louis XIV, beggars belief.

Here's a sample: 'Among Ismail's particular treasures were his collection of cats. There were 40 of them, each of which came when he called it by name. He always fed them himself, throwing whole quarters of mutton into their cages. But one animal committed the indiscretion of eating a rabbit in the royal rabbit-warren. 'This Crime,' notes a European visitor to the court 'seem'd to deserve an exemplary Punishment. The King accordingly gave orders that an Executioner should take the Cat, that he should drag it along the Streets of Mequinez, with a Rope about its Neck, scourging it severely, and crying with a loud Voice, Thus my Master uses Knavish Cats, and that then he should cut off its Head, which was executed to a Tittle.' I keep telling my cat she has an easy life; but she just gives me that look cats have. You know the one...

Anyway, the Festival site looks terrific and the organisers have attracted a lot of experts in all fields of writing an publishing, so if you're in the region, and are interested in books, or have a novel up your sleeve, it looks like a great event to attend. Have a look, and start planning your travels:

http://www.festivalofwriting.com/wshop.shtml

image copyright Elisabeth van Bogaard

I'm happy to report that The Salt Road has gone out into the world and is already, in a short space, sold in the UK (Penguin), Germany (Bertelsmann), France (Presses de la Cite), Holland (Luitingh) and Russia (AST).

There are lots of photos up on flickr.com from last year's research trip (see the link below) if you'd like to take a look and do a bit of exotic armchair travel. I can't take credit for the beautiful photo above, though: that was sent to me by my Dutch friend Liesbeth van der Bogaard, who leads desert treks and walking tours in Morocco. (Happy to put you in contact if you want a wonderful adventure holiday!)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/22646443@N06/

Friday 8th May - The Du Maurier Festival, Fowey, Cornwall

I'll be giving a talk about corsairs and Cornwall, Moors and Tuaregs, and how my life came to imitate art, from 2-3 pm at the Du Maurier Theatre at the festival.
If you're in the area, do come along!

Sunday 17th May - The Lincoln Literary Festival

And if you can't get to Cornwall, I'll be talking Romance (capital R) at the Lincoln Literary Festival

Penguin 6.99 from the Independent Bookshop: 0870 079 8897

The Tenth Gift, By Jane Johnson
Reviewed by Emma Hagestadt


The Independent, Friday, 24 April 2009


Jane Johnson - better known as the genre writer Jude Fisher - takes a break from warrior princesses and wizards to explore a fantastical story plucked from the pages of real life. In 1625, a group of Barbary corsairs landed in Cornwall, taking captive 60 locals. Re-imagining this historical event, Johnson follows the fate of Cat Tregenna, a spirited lady's maid who surrenders herself to her new destiny, and into the arms of the infidel. Back in the present day, Julia Lovat, fresh from an affair with a married man, comes across Cat's diary entries in a needlework book. Written with charm and gusto Johnson revivifies the guilty pleasures of historical romance.

So here we are, suddenly, in April and The Tenth Gift is out in paperback in England and here I am, still in Morocco. It seems strange that my novel is out there without me, winking at people in bookshops, going home with strangers. Still, I hope that those of you who have bought and read it and come to visit here will feel more like friends than strangers now.

It's been an odd sort of month. I spent much of it on tenterhooks (not that I've been stretching any woollen cloth recently) awaiting responses to the first draft of The Salt Road. Goodness, but they've been a mixed bunch! They range from the ecstatic and emotionally bowled over to the actively hostile, thus proving the old saw, that one man's meat is another man's poison. It's the first time I've written anything that has so divided opinion, and it's really made me think about the nature of fiction, and just how subjective is the reading experience. Harold Bloom, the American literary critic and theorist once claimed that 'every reading is a misreading': meaning that there is no true reading of a text, not even the author's own intended text; that everyone makes their own version as they read a book - particularly a novel - which requires so much imaginative input from its readers (which is why a good novel is so satisfying).

And the truly terrifying thing is just how mutable and elastic a text can be, no matter how 'finished' a writer thinks it is. Asked by my editor at Viking for a number of revisions - some to do with character, some with pacing - I have been carving out the second draft and finding that a single small change in chapter 3 can have catastrophic consequences in chapter twelve, and beyond. Characters shapeshift, turning from monsters to angels and back to monsters again; or somewhere in between. Tone shifts too, from brooding and sinister to sunny and uplifting, with just a few changes of adjective, a nip and tuck here and there. I am beginning to wonder what sort of book it will be at the end of this process and whether it will have lost something profound and essential as a result, or whether it will be strengthened by its trials. Will it even be mine by the end of all this? Does, in fact, any book actually belong to its author? The answer, I suspect, is no. We think we are in control of the creative process as we write, but I know how a story can spin and turn and bite unexpectedly, even when you think you have it pinned down like a trapped snake. And then, once the revisions are made and it is delivered out of your hands, it becomes the publisher's book for a while, and then the booksellers', and finally the readers'. So I hope that when eventually this beast is published you will read it and let me know how participating in the mystical process of making a story live was for you.

I've been meaning to post a new blog for ages, had even started one to see in the new year but events overtook me. First of all, coverage of events in Gaza (unedited, Al-Jazeera) made me throw away my cheery Happy New Year note as too trite and meaningless for words; and then my mother in law fell gravely ill and I got to see exactly what third world medical facilities look like close up, which certainly put all things fanciful and book-related into perspective. And now here we are deep in recession - what a start to a year! I don't want to talk about war or the inadequacies of the human body and its treatment, so I'll stick with books and what I know best...

I've worked in the book industry for twenty years now and during that time have seen the bottom of three or four market troughs - as a bookseller, as a publisher and as a writer. All I can say is: it always comes back up in the end, but there can be a lot of casualties along the way. Already in the UK we've seen wholesalers go bankrupt and the supply chain interrupted; jobs winnowed at HarperCollins and elsewhere. As a publisher I've been dealing with the difficulties of doing deals in a falling market, and with a falling pound: a considerable complication if the last deal was done in dollars! And as a writer I've seen contracts and payment schedules stretched, cancelled or cut in half: every aspect of the industry is bearing some of the brunt, it seems.

So that leaves you, dear readers: all I can say is KEEP READING! The industry relies on you in these tough times more than ever before. And that's where we're so lucky, because what better way is there to travel to exotic times and places than by picking up a good novel? Books remain surely the cheapest and most satisfying escape from our troubles. They're completely portable, entirely private and can transport you all over the world without the hassle of security checks, tiny baggage allowances or having to pay to use the toilet on a plane (Ryanair, whatever next? Take a bottle and threaten to use it, I say.) So I'd like to thank a number of writers who have helped me get through the grey days of 2009 so far: Susan Fletcher, Victoria Clayton, Dean Koontz, Robert Louis Stevenson, Robin Hobb, Maria McCann and Frances Hodgson Burnett - I thank you.

Well, my wonderful Italian publishers, Longanesi, have given me many gifts during my promotional tour for them, including enthusiasm, a superb package, great professionality, and terrific distribution (they also worked me very hard!) but this is my favourite gift: my very own classy little Italian mini movie-trailer - do have a look:

Watch more MySpace videos on AOL Video

Looking forward to promoting Il Decimo Dono in Italy next week. Longanesi have produced an elegant edition of the book, and this will be my first visit to Milan and to Rome, though not to Venice. It will be quite an adventure, especially since we're doing the whole thing by train from Paris!

Just wanted to share this fine description of the Tuareg people in CIVILIZATIONS by Felipe Fernandez-Armesto:

'The most committed nomads in the world are the Tuareg. They are arch-resisters, defined by their indomitability. They conform to nature and are unbiddable by man. Their culture is shot through with zealously guarded peculiarities which set them apart from their neighbours: the men go heavily veiled; the copious use of the cross as a badge and a symbol; the unique status they give their womenfolk, who go unveiled, socialise freely, choose marriage partners, initiate divorce, own and bequeath their own property and transmit rights and status in the female line.'

It's the best shorthand description I've come across in all my reading, and I certainly couldn't say it better myself so am posting it up here for easy future reference.

Since we'll soon be travelling back to Morocco (ear permitting) I'm beginning to collect 6 months' worth of reading matter to take back with me. What have you read lately that you can recommend to me? I'd love to hear, since word of mouth recommendation remains the very best way to select books. The Comments links should now be working, without having to go through Blogger.

Going back to the town you grew up in makes you feel like Gulliver in Lilliput. Everything seems so much smaller! Suddenly I could see over the church wall that loomed over my head as a child; the beach where I first swam lengths seemed tiny, and everything was so much closer at hand than I remember it being, when a walk to St Catherine's Point seemed a trek to the end of the world. But some things were very familar: there was my old house on the Esplanade, looking just the same as ever, but a whole lot more expensive. Jaw-droppingly so, in fact.

Fowey Library, now down at Caffa Mill, was certainly not there in my day: it was a great honour to be invited as a guest of the Reading Group there to celebrate its 8th birthday. The last story I wrote in Fowey was also an epiC, entitled THUNDERBOLT: THE ADVENTURES OF A DARTMOOR PONY. It stretched to over 30 pages of biro-scribbled handwriting and illustrations in a feint-lined notebook, and earned me a gold star from form teacher Miss Hunkin. I came away from my two-hour session with the reading group, who seem to have genuinely loved CROSSED BONES, with the same warm glow of achievement. So thank you to Helen and Deborah, Pam and Rick and Dave for inviting me and making my day so memorable: it was tremendous fun (and very grown-up).

All different -- all beautiful in their own way.
From left to right: Page & Turner's German edition, Luitingh's Dutch edition and Presse de la Cite's French edition

It's been a convoluted and strange process, this whole title thing. Readers naively think that a writer picks a title and that's the title that's used on the book wherever it's published, with foreign publishers simply translating the title into their on language. If only it were that simple...

I had about 300 titles for the book when I started writing. I took a long time to settle on CROSSED BONES, which I liked not just for the pirate references but also because of the sense of crossed fates, and death and antiquity. However, the American publisher reported that Barnes & Noble felt the title was too close to a thriller published in the US and weren't keen on the Pirates of the Caribbean connotations. After a great deal of back and forth, my editor Allison came up with the idea of using the lovely Berber verse from the Moroccan strand of the novel to generate the title. I'll show that verse it in full here, because I get a lot of emails from readers asking why I chose THE TENTH GIFT as the title:

God divided beauty and gave it to the ten:
Henna, soap, and silk -- those are the first three.
The plough, the livestock and the hives of bees--
That makes six.
The sun when it rises over the mountains--
That makes seven.
The crescent moon, as thin as a Christian's blade--
That makes eight.
With horses and books we come to ten

In the novel, Julia's soon-to-be-ex gives her a book, and that's what starts the entire story off: hence THE TENTH GIFT. But THE TENTH GIFT didn't work with the original UK cover, with its bodice-ripping heroine and pirate ship. Publishers often change the package for the paperback edition (which will be released in March 09): but CROSSED BONES didn't work with the new artwork, which is beautiful and very un-piratey. So we decided to adopt the US title for the UK as well, and thus CROSSED BONES becomes THE TENTH GIFT throughout the English-speaking world. Confused yet? You will be.

Best laid plans... So, I was supposed to be in Amsterdam this weekend to promote the launch of the Dutch edition of the book -- DE LEGENDE VAN DE KAPERS -- but have been struck down by a vile bug which has left me deaf as a post and in danger of bursting my eardrums if I fly. I am immensely disappointed not to be there: my Dutch publishers are lovely and their reinvention of the book, with a smart classical painting on the jacket, is intriguing. I was looking forward to seeing the book in situ, as I did in France and doing my bit to support their enthusiastic launch. It is always a great buzz seeing copies of your book in foreign book shops and supermarkets (I unexpectedly stumbled on LE RAPT DE PENZANCE, the French edition, in a Carrefour in the NE suburbs while shopping for dinner with Abdel and his brother Sadik and wife Ouarda): it really brings it home that your work has gone out into the world and is living its own life, going out and chatting up readers, even taking them home without your knowledge or permission. It's pouring down with rain here in Cornwall and my smart author-promoting-her-book clothes are sitting sullenly in the wardrobe with nowhere to go: I am reduced to watching NCIS on TV with the volume turned up to deaf-pensioner loud. Ah, it's a glamorous life being an author...

It's carnival time again (of course, it's raining right now): but by 15th August surely the sun will be out and we'll be celebrating a beautiful Cornish summer. Rather extraordinarily this year I've been singled out for the honour of opening the carnival, so roll up, roll up! There will be a barbecue, treasure hunts, beach Olympics and races in the harbour, live music, fireworks; and of course the art and craft exhibition in the village hall, featuring work by all our local writers, artists and craftsmen, and I'll have a book table for CROSSED BONES and the children's books.

I thought it was about time I posted some of the research photos I took during my Sahara trip in March: you can find them on this site under Inspiration; or at flickr.com. The mini-album is called The Salt Road, and if like me you love the serene beauty of the desert, I hope you will enjoy these photos. You can go straight in by pasting this address: http://www.flickr.com/photos/22646443@N06/

It was a truly inspirational trip, but also at times alarming, not least for the fact that the Great Desert starts only a day-and-a-half's drive away from our village of Tafraout; which explains those days we sometimes endure when desert winds swirl over the town, enveloping everything in a cloud of sand, days when even the sheep and goats take cover and everyone stays indoors.

I learned a great deal on this desert trek, which was at times (as any proper adventure should be) highly uncomfortable -- riding a camel for any distance takes some practice and fortitude; sand gets in everything, and I do mean everything; temperatures soar and plummet; sleeping in a bivouac is not everyone's idea of luxury -- but the rewards were immeasurable. I've never seen so many stars in my life, except perhaps while sleeping out in Desolation Wilderness in northern California, watching them wheel overhead; on the Sahara, though, the desert peoples have entirely different names for the constellations, drawing on their own mythologies and cosmology, and everyday experiences. You'll find the Scorpion and the Dragon where we see Orion and Cassiopeia, the Seven Daughters of the Night which we know as the Pleiades.

Camels are fascinating creatures (though you have to be wary of their poisonous bite and their tendency to spit pure stomach bile); you end up admiring their stamina and patience, their remarkable adaptability to different terrains. One considerable lesson learned was that the Sahara is a vast, vast wilderness of many different characters. Rock plateaus, sharp stony wastelands that stretch for mile on endless mile, scrubland dotted with acacia and tamarisk, vibant oases, dry river beds snaking across the landscape; and then the great ergs, the sand-seas which are at once the most beautiful and most hostile of Earth's wildernesses.

We had deliberately avoided the heavily-touristed area of Merzouga, where David Lean's Lawrence of Arabia was filmed, opting instead for the lesser known and wilder area area of the Moroccan Sahara due south of Foum-Zguid, the Ch'gaga. The visit was spoiled only by the area of the desert close to the Algerian border where quad-bikers and day-trippers treat the Sahara with no degree of respect, regarding it as no more than a big beach or pleasure park. They forget where they are as they churn up the sand with blithe oblivion, frightening the camels that pass in their age-old silence, destroying the serenity of the place. We came upon one group of trippers whose 4x4 had gone off-piste and jarred a passenger's spine so badly a disc had been displaced. Very painful. They asked if we had a satellite phone. We didn't. They were desperate to call the rescue services, order a helicopter in order to get their wounded compatriot to a hospital. Our guide laughed hollowly. There are no rescue services. And, despite what you may have seen in the film Babel, there are no helicopters. Nearest city? Marrakech, 6 hours' hard drive away: bad luck. There was an army checkpoint about 40 minutes' drive away back along the desert pistes: that was their best and only chance. We rode on, sobered. We were a very long way away from safety and civilization; but then, that was the whole point of our visit.

Now, some months later, the landscapes are still vibrantly alive in my head as I write THE SALT ROAD, a story that like the desert pistes, snakes back and forth between the medieval nomadic life of the Tuaregs and modern 'civilization'. 80,000 words written, and I'm maybe halfway. It's a long one, a proper epic; but the story spans millennia, so that's not a short tale to tell!

'The Tenth Gift is wildly yet convincingly romantic... Johnson weaves together the two women's lives, exploring issues--love, desire, ambition and guilt--that transcend time. Beautifully narrated, the result is both a sensitive portrayal of Muslim culture and a delectable adventure of the heart' USA Today

'Johnson's extremely clever linkage between the present search for the truth and medieval heritage never wanes. Her historical research gives the novel a desperate edge, embroidered with classic needlework which is also at the heart of a story of entrapment and slavery.' Colin Gardiner, Oxford Times