A Fame of Two Halves - author interview
By: Alexp1 (27 May 2009)
Kevin Mahoney's debut novel, A Fame of Two Halves is a story about a particularly unlucky manager of a particularly unlucky football team. The book has been described by Joanne Harris, author of Chocolat, as "a tremendous first novel – wry, funny and clever." I caught up with Kevin to find out a little more about his motivations behind writing it.
When did you start writing A Fame of Two Halves? What inspired you do it?
I started writing the novel back in 1998, and I set myself the deadline of completing it before that year's World Cup. So, I took a week off from Ottakars, locked myself away, and completed the first draft in 9 days. I have, of course, been coming back in the intervening decade to revise and edit the novel. I guess my love of football was my main inspiration, along with a whole of other things!
Did you know how the story would end when you started writing?
Yes, I had a pretty set idea in my mind as to where the story would end up, and the trials and tribulations that Elliot Gold, my anti-hero, would face along the way.
Do you have any particular influences?
I guess Douglas Adams would be the biggest influence on this book. He was script editor of Doctor Who when I was growing up, so I think that's where the comedy mixed with horror tone comes from.
Football obviously plays a big part in the book, but it's really not a book about football, is it? How would you describe it?
What do you mean? As Bill Shankly once said, "Football's not a matter of life or death… It's more important than that". What else is there beyond football? Within football, you can find metaphors that cut down to the bare essence of life. As I'm writing this on the day of the Champions' League final, I must add, at the risk of offending Man Utd fans, "Come on Barcelona!"
How much of your personal experience is in this book?
Quite a bit. The first place I went abroad on holiday when I was a kid was Malta, so it obviously left a deep impression on me. I also went to Duxford once, to shoot a promotional video for the museum, although the Duxford in the novel is actually based far more on nearby Cambridge. Mr Spud is based on a real shop sign in Slough that was forever being nicked when I was growing up. All of the more surreal episodes in the book are complete inventions, of course!
There is a definite change in tone and pace in the second part of the book – is this deliberate and if so, what lies behind it?
Well, in the second half of the novel, Elliot goes to Malta to visit his parents to recuperate. So, there is more of a holiday feel to the second half. However, Elliot still faces many challenges in Malta, such as his bid to win the heart of a local tour guide, his fear that his parents' marriage may also be on the rocks, but the overriding question of whether he will ever win again still remains. I do also change tenses at points throughout the novel, which I did deliberately to change the pace at key moments.
In places, I get the feeling that A Fame of Two Halves isn't quite set in the 'real' world – rather, it seems to be a caricature of the world in which we live: at times, almost a parallel universe. Is that a fair statement?
Yes, that's very fair, as I did very much aim for the book to be a satire. To paraphrase Mr. Spock, "It's the real world, but not as we know it". Let's just say that I do sometimes have a fairly skewed view of the world!
Without giving too much away, is there a message in the book?
Well, the title for the book for a long time was Always Believing. Elliot's fundamental problem is that he lacks faith in himself and others. Which is quite a fundamental problem for anyone!
Chinese hopping vampires?
It really does surprise me that Chinese hopping vampires are not that well known. They're quite like Western vampires, except that they do little bunny hops. So, as well as being very frightening, they're also quite funny – that comedy/horror mix again. They really need to up their profile, and maybe invite Ang Lee to make a movie about them.
I was going to ask if there will be a sequel, but our hero has quite a past. Perhaps it would be more appropriate to ask if there will be a prequel?
Elliot does have quite a back story, so I do have quite a few prequels as well as sequels in mind, such as Duxford Ducks, Duxford Dux, Duxford Redux – the possibilities are endless!
A Fame of Two Halves is available from Amazon, but for now, here is a preview...
If you stay in one place long enough, then you are bound to pick up its mannerisms. Take, for instance, the accent. Why do people in one particular place speak the same way? Is it because we are all imitative creatures at heart, without minds of our own, who have to copy the rhythms and speech patterns of others? And who is copying whom?
Take, for instance, the New World. How did the American accent come about? How did people from many different places converge in one spot and end up speaking the same? Of course, there would seem to be exceptions for every rule, since Spanish is far more dominant than English in some parts of America now. Or so I've heard. Do we ever forget our roots? I've heard of immigrants who've reverted to their primary tongue when old, and find that the language of their adoptive land suddenly becomes confused, foreign.
Of course, I had no real trouble adapting to the language of my new land, since I spoke the tongue already. What New Englander could fail to converse with an Old Englander? Yes, I am - was - a Yank, but now I do the English talk, the English walk. Well, the talk anyway, as I'm liable to walk through walls, and I'm not sure that all the English have got round to doing that yet. So, why do I do the English talk? I've been here over sixty years. Is that long enough to have blended in completely? I mean in one sense I have blended in completely, because people rarely see me now unless I want them to.
I suppose that I'll never revert to being a Yank. My mind cannot get dementia. I don't know if you can hear my whispers. They're carried by radar or something spooky like that. If you can hear me, does it really matter where my voice is coming from?
I can only truly make myself coherent with people who are close to me, and even then it is a strain. I spend the whole time hearing their thoughts, listening to their words. At night, I often observe their dreams. Not out of some perverse voyeuristic pleasure. It's not something that I can help. I'm just there when you have that dream of sinking with the Titanic, or that nightmare where you walk the streets with no clothes on. But there are moments when my friends are at some level that even I can't reach. Call it a higher plane, or just plain stupidity. There are times when my friends are asleep at nights and their minds are empty of all thoughts, and I realise that I do have a consciousness of my own, and that I could be said to 'exist'.
Let's look at Elliot now. What is he doing? From the outside, he is staring into a brown study, although he is out in the open. There is a dead look in his eyes. He obviously needs some stimuli. I cannot tell you what he is thinking, for there are no thoughts there. Time itself has slowed down for him. What's left for Elliot Gold?
Elliot's mind is empty as he sits on the bench, unmoved for so long. No one has missed him. Mallard never really meant that offer of a drink, and couldn't leave the ground fast enough to avoid the couple of fans who might be angry with him. Helen is in a drunken slumber, guilty at what she too has done. Should she run to her husband and welcome him back with open arms? I think not. Helen's burnt his bridges and gone to seek her own fortune. I applaud her. You do not realise how limited this time is, you who have not yet invented the Nessun Dorma device and cheated death.
So I guess it's down to me. I mean, let's face it. If the guy stays out here any longer, he's going to die from cold. Well here's goes nothing. Wish me luck. I hope I don't forget my...
Elliot wishes that someone would just place an arm around him, like Grandma Marge used to. Grandma would sit with him on the top of the stairs whilst he listened to his parents arguing below. Or he imagined her being there, which was just the same. Not that his parents had really argued about anything major. Any upset in the house disturbs a child, shattering their cosy little worldview.
The snow pours down still. It is almost as if time itself has stood still. Sure, the flakes are in motion, but they're unavoidable. Then Elliot realises that part of the background has changed. Out of the corner of his eye, he realises that something is different. Something has arrived. The fact that it is a US pilot wearing full combat gear does not surprise. The fact is that he is there. And that he is something so peaceful, despite the martial dress.
"Mind if I join you?" the pilot asks.
"Do what you like," Elliot says complacently. It's the first thing he's said for hours.
The pilot does not sit. Somehow, that does not seem appropriate. It is almost as if his presence is enough. And so it would seem to be, as Elliot asks
"Who are you?"
"Thaddeus."
"I know you, don't I?"
"Not as well as I know you."
"I can't think where it is we could have met. There seems to be a fog in my mind. No, don't tell me. Did we go to school together?"
"If I'm not mistaken, I would say that I was at least fifteen years younger than you, and maybe even forty five years older."
"Not school then," said Elliot scratching the back of his head. It was still a little sweaty under the Stetson.
"Perhaps you should go into the warm. You don't seem very coherent."
"No, I'm fine here. I just want to sit. I could sit here for the rest of my life."
"That may be truer than you think."
"If I leave here, I may never come back. And I have always been here, in this place."
"It is not you who has always been here, but I."
"Hey, I know who you are now. You're that guy from the Duck and Cower. Has Dave sent you out to fetch me?"
"Dave doesn't even know I'm here."
Elliot frowned.
"No, you can't be that guy. He's supposed to be dead. Or he'd be eighty by now. But you don't look a day over twenty."
"I'm not."
"Well, then, you can't be Thaddeus. You can run back along to Dave and tell him I really enjoyed his little joke."
Then Elliot was lost his own thoughts for a while.
"You still here?" Elliot asked. "It's cold out here. You'll catch your death."
"I already have."
Elliot looked at the pilot.
"Next you'll be telling me that you're a ghost."
"Every football ground has its ghosts."
"Well, that sounds very grand, but I'm not interested. Why don't you go back and spook someone else? You can see I'm not scared. I've got a lot to think about and I don't need anyone jerking me around."
"I'm afraid I can't. I'm tied in with you. You're my marker buoy."
"Well, I'm the buoy and I'm untying you. So will you please now fly away?"
"That's the last thing I want to do."
"Look, are you my guardian angel or something?"
"No."
"You look like the kind of guardian angel I'd have - bookish and impractical. What happened to your wings?"
"They failed me."
"How do you mean?"
"My Mustang went out of control as I was flying back into Duxford."
"What went wrong?"
The pilot looked up into the sky.
"Bad weather."
"Snow?"
"Yep."
"Bet that really ruined your year," Elliot joked.
"I never really got over it. I had just married my wife, after her father proposed with a shotgun. I would have been happy here, I guess. I have been happy," said the pilot with a sudden realisation. "I suppose I got to see my kid grow up, without ever having the stress that rearing a child brings. And I did try to always support my girl, even though she never really knew I was there. But I think everything worked out for the best."
"Are you trying to say to me that you had a wonderful death?" Elliot asked.
"No, just that nothing's as bad as you think it'll be. I didn't choose to die, obviously. All I'm saying is that there are always positive aspects to any given situation. But until I talked to you, I'd never really realised that."
"Have you finished?"
"I guess so."
"Good. Because I'm going to get very drunk, and I'm going to do it by myself, do you understand?"
"That's fine," said the pilot defensively. "I'm just here to help you."
"Well, I don't need any help," snarled Elliot as he lurched off into the night.
"Whatever," said the ghost. "It's not as if I came back from the dead or anything."
But the ghost was speaking to itself. Elliot had vanished long ago.
Well, I tried my best. But there's just no helping some people.
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Comments on this post:
"Ok you've got me there. My appetite is whet wanting to find out more about Elliot. Great interview. "
serenebeauty (27 May 2009)
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"Alex, this sounds great! Apt coming on footie night too. Kevin thanks very much for agreeing to interview for TMHO and we look forward to getting a post or two from you sometime soon!"
tmhogirl (27 May 2009)
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