Stumped

"Such extraordinary innovative talent" - write Hal Duncan's publishers about his forthcoming novel - "that it causes a sharp intake of breath and wonder."

So far so good.

"Twenty-one years ago," they go on, "Macmillan discovered such a work with THE WASP FACTORY by Iain Banks. Now, in VELLUM by Hal Duncan, Macmillan is proud to have discovered another Scottish writer destined to make similar impact."

Being compared to drivel-merchant Banks would instantly make me scrape out my own eyes in disgust, and then, on reasoned reflection, slice both of my arms clean off, just to fully ensure that I never wrote anything ever again. (Although, if you've only got one remaining arm, what do you lop that one off with?)

Yet Duncan remains not only intact, but also writing. For instance, in this 9,463 word blog entry from the 1st of March, he describes how, in the history of literature in the twentieth century,

the Modernist monster proceeded to rampage through the literary establishment [...] in the end, it was such a damn FREAK that the resulting backlash of horror and incomprehension left it out on the frozen wastes. The Modernist experiment and the post-Modernist fall-out left all but the most intellectual, academic audience recoiling in horror [...] Take your Finnegan’s Wake and get the hell away from me, ya goddamn loon

I'll quite happily get the hell away from you Duncan, just as soon as you correct your punctuation, apologise to the Joycean shade, and reduce your arms to stumps.

Good luck with the book, too.



UPDATE! Duncan has since corrected his hideous error. See Comments for more.