Dispatch from the Razor's Edge

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or "The Death of Launch Parties"

"And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press,
End in what All begins and ends in – Yes;
Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY
You were – TO-MORROW you shall not be less."
- Omar Khayyam

"What the hell, I've been waiting twenty years for something interesting to happen."
- Celeste, THE MANUSCRIPT

And so at long last, a week after publication actually, we had our third and final launch party. This one was put on by the truly lovely gentlemen (David and Daniel) who run Goldsboro Books in central London – the UK's leading specialist in signed first editions. (I've signed something on the order of 150 of mine for them so far.) They have this fantastic tiny little space crammed with first-edition Hemingways and whatnot, in a little bookshop-stuffed alley between St. Martins Lane and Charing Cross Road. However, they rented out the restaurant across the way for this nice event. The best bit was it was the only launch party that was totally open, so I could invite as many friends and partisans as I wanted. Tons of my lovely mates turned out. Sara photographed them.

© 2006 SLPP

Afterwards, naturally, we all repaired to The Wheatsheaf in Fitzrovia (Orwell's local) for pints and good conversation. Lamentably (or not), I think everyone was far too busy drinking to hold a camera. Adaora showed up! – fresh from the triumph of the debut of her feature film, RagTag at the ReelWorld Film Festival in Toronto! (And with Gigi – fresh from climbing Kilimanjaro – in tow, no less . . .)

Anyway, a million thanks to all who turned out, for all the really lovely support, and for making it such a fun evening. And thanks as always to all at Macmillan for being the greatest. And special thanks to Goldsboro, for being so nice to us (and for selling an awful lot of books 8^).

And, oh, finally, I can't resist pointing out that the first (erm, not-entirely unsolicited) customer reviews are now up on the Amazon page. Cheers, guys! (Well, you know, whoever you guys are that wrote these things . . .)

Really sweet picture of Uncle Chris and Aunt Valerie – who not only turned out yet again, but actually got there before I did. (hide)

Me, erm, scratching my back. I wasn't exactly in fine form this evening. To my right you can see a bit of Barney (aka St. Barnabas) – and to the right of him, a bit of young hotshot Macmillan editor (and totally lovely guy) Will Atkins (with the impeccably-trimmed beard). (hide)

Here are some heads. (One of them's Barney's.) I just like this shot. It gives a nice sense of the packed cocktail-party feel of this thing. (hide)

Me doing my bit. In front of the now rather over-exposed backdrop. (Here are my introductory comments, as I recall, if you care to read them.) (hide)

Me doing my bit, with the flash turned on, and thus in focus. (I looked rather better blurry.) (hide)

Me, yes, yet again. (hide)

An all-too rare Anne-Ga�lle sighting! Everyone's very favourite charming and glamourous (and overworked) Frenchwoman sweetly turns out in support. (In a scandalously sexy skirt/fishnet/boots combo, which sadly escaped the camera.) (hide)

The back of St. Barnabas again. (Saints are retiring?) (hide)

Jolene came out! Yay! So did Stu! (hide)

Most of the rest of Team Fuchs: Richard "Hilbs" Hilburn, Paul Edmondson, Henry "Henly"/"'Ennery" Clout, Sinea Lew, "St." Barnabas Palfrey, and Alistair "Ali" Keddie – happily making the most of the nibbles and champagne. (Which David of Goldsboro actually popped over to La Belle France to pick up. Any excuse, I suppose.) (hide)

So I went back across the street to inscribe (or "line" as they say - write out a random line from the book) some copies for some collectors – or, more probably, the types of guys who flog these things on eBay. And Adaora called, charmingly late and charmingly lost as usual, so I was trying to guide her in. And Sara took this very cool shot through the window of the shop. (hide)

And plus this close-up. I think I'm actually leaning, or nearly, on a stack of my books. (hide)

And but so while I was over there, and not even around for it, my mates sweetly toasted me. At least Sara was on station! (hide)

And Henry sweetly thought to hold up the book. And plus Jolene half-faced the camera, which is worth the price of the exposure alone. (hide)


2010 >> 2009 >> 2008 >> 2007 >> 2006-12-25 2006-12-21 2006-12-03 2006-11-30 2006-11-23 2006-10-11 2006-10-09 2006-09-30 2006-09-27 2006-09-26 2006-09-25 2006-09-24 2006-09-23 2006-09-22 2006-09-21 2006-09-20 2006-09-19 2006-09-18 2006-09-17 2006-09-16 2006-09-15 2006-09-14 2006-09-13 2006-09-12 2006-09-11 2006-09-10 2006-09-09 2006-09-08 2006-08-24 2006-08-15 2006-08-14 2006-08-13 2006-08-01 2006-07-21 2006-07-11 2006-07-08 2006-07-07 2006-06-22 2006-06-14 2006-05-29 2006-05-15 2006-04-12 2006-04-09 2006-04-07 2006-04-06 2006-03-25 2006-03-16 2005 >> 2004 >> 2003 >> 2002 >>	email this subscribe 2006.04.12 : Reading Redux! or "The Death of Launch Parties" "And if the Wine you drink, the Lip you press, End in what All begins and ends in – Yes; Think then you are TO-DAY what YESTERDAY You were – TO-MORROW you shall not be less." - Omar Khayyam "What the hell, I've been waiting twenty years for something interesting to happen." - Celeste, THE MANUSCRIPT And so at long last, a week after publication actually, we had our third and final launch party. This one was put on by the truly lovely gentlemen (David and Daniel) who run Goldsboro Books in central London – the UK's leading specialist in signed first editions. (I've signed something on the order of 150 of mine for them so far.) They have this fantastic tiny little space crammed with first-edition Hemingways and whatnot, in a little bookshop-stuffed alley between St. Martins Lane and Charing Cross Road. However, they rented out the restaurant across the way for this nice event. The best bit was it was the only launch party that was totally open, so I could invite as many friends and partisans as I wanted. Tons of my lovely mates turned out. Sara photographed them. © 2006 SLPP Afterwards, naturally, we all repaired to The Wheatsheaf in Fitzrovia (Orwell's local) for pints and good conversation. Lamentably (or not), I think everyone was far too busy drinking to hold a camera. Adaora showed up! – fresh from the triumph of the debut of her feature film, RagTag at the ReelWorld Film Festival in Toronto! (And with Gigi – fresh from climbing Kilimanjaro – in tow, no less . . .) Anyway, a million thanks to all who turned out, for all the really lovely support, and for making it such a fun evening. And thanks as always to all at Macmillan for being the greatest. And special thanks to Goldsboro, for being so nice to us (and for selling an awful lot of books 8^). And, oh, finally, I can't resist pointing out that the first (erm, not-entirely unsolicited) customer reviews are now up on the Amazon page. Cheers, guys! (Well, you know, whoever you guys are that wrote these things . . .) Um – does anyone have a copy of this book? No? Ah, I guess I'm off the hook, then. Oh, here comes Sara to the rescue, I guess I'm back on the hook. While we have a second here, let me make a brief prefatory comment: I should apologise in advance for the egregious profanity in this reading. Some of my characters are a little bit, um, uncultured. Nothing to do with me, of course . . . Thanks, Sara. Okay. "*Do I always* have to be bailing you motherfuckers out," FreeBSD wanted to know –** Um, in fact my dear mother has now left the island, so I can even use that word. Ahum. "Do I always have to be . . ." [You'll just have to reference the book if you want to see the rest of the passage. 8^) ] (hide) Really sweet picture of Uncle Chris and Aunt Valerie – who not only turned out yet again, but actually got there before I did. (hide) Me, erm, scratching my back. I wasn't exactly in fine form this evening. To my right you can see a bit of Barney (aka St. Barnabas) – and to the right of him, a bit of young hotshot Macmillan editor (and totally lovely guy) Will Atkins (with the impeccably-trimmed beard). (hide) Here are some heads. (One of them's Barney's.) I just like this shot. It gives a nice sense of the packed cocktail-party feel of this thing. (hide) Me doing my bit. In front of the now rather over-exposed backdrop. (Here are my introductory comments, as I recall, if you care to read them.) (hide) Me doing my bit, with the flash turned on, and thus in focus. (I looked rather better blurry.) (hide) Me, yes, yet again. (hide) An all-too rare Anne-Ga�lle sighting! Everyone's very favourite charming and glamourous (and overworked) Frenchwoman sweetly turns out in support. (In a scandalously sexy skirt/fishnet/boots combo, which sadly escaped the camera.) (hide) The back of St. Barnabas again. (Saints are retiring?) (hide) Jolene came out! Yay! So did Stu! (hide) Most of the rest of Team Fuchs: Richard "Hilbs" Hilburn, Paul Edmondson, Henry "Henly"/"'Ennery" Clout, Sinea Lew, "St." Barnabas Palfrey, and Alistair "Ali" Keddie – happily making the most of the nibbles and champagne. (Which David of Goldsboro actually popped over to La Belle France to pick up. Any excuse, I suppose.) (hide) So I went back across the street to inscribe (or "line" as they say - write out a random line from the book) some copies for some collectors – or, more probably, the types of guys who flog these things on eBay. And Adaora called, charmingly late and charmingly lost as usual, so I was trying to guide her in. And Sara took this very cool shot through the window of the shop. (hide) And plus this close-up. I think I'm actually leaning, or nearly, on a stack of my books. (hide) And but so while I was over there, and not even around for it, my mates sweetly toasted me. At least Sara was on station! (hide) And Henry sweetly thought to hold up the book. And plus Jolene half-faced the camera, which is worth the price of the exposure alone. (hide) ← before \| 4 comments ↓ \| after →
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