British writer Maurice Asquith has taken up temporary residence in the Yukon in order, he says, to escape the hubbub of the literary world.
“I became awfully weary of book festivals, literary luncheons and book signings,” he says, after inviting What’s Up Yukon to interview him at his downtown Whitehorse condo.
Born in London, England, Asquith is the son of playwright David Asquith and poet Margaret Chisbury. He has literature in his blood, he admits, but says he avoids referring to his parentage when dealing with agents and publishers.
“It’s all very well growing up in a literary household, with books lining the walls, but it hasn’t given me the advantage you’d expect. It actually creates a great deal of pressure and immense expectation.”
Nevertheless, Asquith has chosen the literary path.
“The past year or so has been insane,” he says. “I’ve been at the Frankfurt Book Fair, the Edinburgh Book Festival, Hay-on-Wye, not to mention New York, Sydney and Toronto and, while it’s wonderful to receive so much interest in my novel, I am, to be frank, utterly shattered,” he confesses.
So what is this latest novel about?
“A young man who’s terribly constrained by the pressure of belonging to a famous literary family. Not only that, but he has to deal with the guilt of having talent that surpasses his parents’. I’ve had terrific interest from publishers and filmmakers whenever I’ve introduced myself.”
And when can we expect to see this novel on the shelves at Mac’s Fireweed Bookstore?
“Oh,” says Asquith, tapping his brow, “it’s all in here. I just need to download it, as it were, from my head and into a computer. I haven’t written it yet, but that part of the process is merely mechanical.”
Um, uh …
To fill the awkward silence that developed, Asquith offers an explanation: “The art of storytelling is 99 per cent mental. This flailing about of the fingers on a computer thingy is just a crude manner to render it in a form for others to read.
“Whenever I introduce myself to someone at a dinner party, I of course tell them I am working on a novel and it seems that is all they want to talk about.
“They are hungry for the details and I am often left spent and unable to even think about typing for at least a fortnight.”
But don’t you actually have to produce a book in order to call yourself a “novelist”?
“Pooh, pooh. Everyone tells me it is a wonderful story and that is the thing, isn’t it? Anyone can be a typist. I am a storyteller.
“I just love to see the look in their eyes as I tell them about the look in their eyes they will have when they finally read my book.
“It is such a peaceful look … in a vacant kind of way.”
