HIGH SPIRITS - museums, ghosts and musings

Do you love museums? Perhaps you have a favourite museum that you visit on a regular basis, even if the displays aren’t changed very much and look a bit old and frayed. Maybe you have a particular museum that you’ve got on your bucket list to visit – mine’s The Smithsonian. Or, you might even fall into that category of people that have no interest whatsoever in the past – pass the smelling salts, Maud!

Whatever you take, museums are a vital part of our cultural heritage and help anchor us to our past or assist us in understanding the past of those with belief systems outside of our own. For that reason they should and must be preserved.

So, it’s not hard to gather that I love museums. I grew up in Dover, Kent and we had a lovely if slightly bizarre museum. It was one of the oldest in Kent being founded in 1836. Originally, the town museum was situated in the Market Square, well within the range of the cross-channel guns during World War II. It was decided to move it to some rooms under the Maison Dieu – Dover’s Town Hall. And there it stayed until 1991 when it was moved back to its original spot.

From an inconspicuous door off the side of the building, one was led into an Old Curiosity Shop of wonders.

The first exhibit to greet the visitor was a polar bear – its teeth bared, paw upraised as if ready to slice down and eviscerate its prey. It was my favourite thing in the whole place. The poor creature was brought back from the Arctic in 1897 by explorer and local doctor Reginald Koettlitz. Its paw is not raised in attack but to hold a lamp! The bear stood in the surgery of the Koettlitz family from 1890 to 1960. My mother liked to find an excuse to visit the surgery, just to see the bear.

There was limited floor space within and so every nook and cranny was utilised in a way that would probably give today’s museum professional a fit of the vapours but for a child, it was exciting and wondrous.

Unlike today’s modern and often minimalist approach to displays, Dover Museum, at that time had no definite layout or sequencing. It was as if things had been randomly housed with speed, anticipating a temporary solution to the problem. Which, I should imagine it very much was but over the years nobody altered this and that was the key to its fascination; it was as if time just stood still.

The move back to its original site in 1991 heralded a new era for Dover Museum but I think, if I were given the option, I’d like to see the cosy, strange little room of my childhood, just one more time. It was there that my love of history and archaeology was born.

The question, therefore, must arise – why do we choose to house these artefacts at all, and what value do we derive from them? Are they merely passing curiosities or do we connect with them on a deeper, visceral level? Collecting objects from the past is nothing new – archaeology has shown us countless examples of an object from one era, even from millennia before, being appropriated long after its original purpose has past.

As I’ve grown older, I’ve come to appreciate more, the artefact not as a tangible representation of the past but its intrinsic value as something that someone once owned or even cherished. All objects, even the cheap as chips items we buy from the pound store, are created for a purpose but whether we adopt that usage or turn it into something else cannot be defined with the passage of time.

In my latest novel HIGH SPIRITS, Alec, who was the assistant curator at the fictional Partridge Hall, is finding the evolution of museums and displays a struggle, even though he has had seventy-something years to acclimatise himself to these changes. The acceleration of change would have been noticeable to him over the last thirty or so years when museums began to rely more and more on available funding streams and ideas about how artefacts should be mounted and grouped have progressed.

For Alec, the museum was a place of hushed learning where the focus was ‘inward’ towards the work of the curator. This was a world into which the general public ‘the outward’ would be welcome but kept at arm’s length. From reading the words of men who would have been contemporary to Alec were he a real person; one gets the sense of a gentleman’s club rather than a service being provided for the viewing public. The museum was their passion and they were indulging in that at the very best level. I recall visiting Dover Museum with a friend as a pre-teen and the curator allowing us to view the entomology collection that was housed in heavily polished dark wood drawers. It would never occur to us to just open the drawers, which were standing in full view in the middle of the room, and take a look. No, we waited and were shown. A very different norm from today where visitors are positively encouraged to open, prod, pull and explore things through dressing up boxes and interactive activities.

It used to be common practice for the accession number – that is, the number given to an object upon its donation to the museum – to be marked on the small cards that accompanied the artefact into the display case. These days, most museums have done away with this as being irrelevant to the visitor experience. Alec finds this outrageous!

Alec was hovering by the Roman pottery case tutting to himself about the labels that had recently been added.

“How is anybody supposed to understand anything these days,” he muttered.

“Talking to yourself again, I see.”

“I’m the only one that makes sense. Look at this – third-century grey ware.”

“I don’t see the problem.”

Jean knew exactly what the problem was, but she enjoyed pushing Alec’s buttons. It was the only bit of amusement she got these days.

“How?” Alec struggled to contain himself. “It speaks for itself. No context, no site location, no accession number if someone wants to find out more. I blame those new-fangled phones they all seem to be clamped to. Soundbites, they call it, bloody sound bites!”

For the best part of 13 years I worked for the Colchester and Ipswich Museum Service and for the last few years before I left I had the good fortune to be able to transfer over to the curatorial side of the museum working first as a Curatorial Assistant in the Collections Office and then as a Project Assistant, both on secondment. Both these roles gave me unprecedented access to the collections and how to manage and look after them. I learned how to accession objects into the collection, mark them correctly, correct storage methods and how to display them.

The storerooms of Colchester Museums contain one of the most significant collections of Roman archaeology outside of London as well as an outstanding collection of costumes and accessories, natural history and post-medieval (social history)artefacts. It was to these stores and the objects contained in them, that my mind turned when describing the workings of Bethan Andrews’s world and how Alec’s was so very different.

In what was the office of the Documentations Officer sat many old, metal card files. On each postcard sized card was carefully typed the object name, sometimes the dimensions, occasionally excavation details, or from which collection they were derived (this was the time of the gentleman collectors upon whose generosity many provincial museums were founded).

Alec would have been very familiar with these gentlemen and probably dined out with them frequently at the Old Coach House.

If Alec could’ve, he’d have passed out with the shock of finding a female curator. In his day, he oft-told Jean (who wished she could put her fingers in her ears and say ‘lalalala’), women were allowed to organise the little shop that sold postcards but never, never were they allowed to be involved in actual ‘curation’.

No, that was a man’s world. The joy of academia. Of sitting in one’s office, smoking a pipe and mulling over a particular archaeological conundrum. Women had funny ideas about how things should be done, and they most certainly didn’t involve evenings in the room above the Old Coach House, where the local dignitaries gathered for a hearty meal and putting the world to rights. Many a promise of money for this repair or that case had been made by Alec glad-handing the likes of the Hedge or Morgan patriarchs. The town had been built on personal enterprise and that always but always went hand-in-hand with cultural philanthropy.

Of course, these days, the museum services have the use of a bespoke database on which to record all their artefacts and, although the cards were kept by the Documentations Officer, they were a fall back reference as a last resort, having little or nothing to tell (Quote about knowing where everything was).

What a visitor sees on display in a museum is only a very small fraction (usually) of what the museums hold in its stores. It may seem like the simplest of tasks to select a number of objects, perhaps grouped around a theme, and display them but in reality, the various consideration that must be made in order to get an object ‘display ready’ are numerous. Such things as light levels, humidity, and text all have to be carefully thought. Bethan is working on an 18 month lead into exhibitions whereas Alec would probably have had no such considerations and could redisplay at will. No wonder he likes his way of doing things

Today, museums are no longer ‘inward’ but very much ‘outward’ focusing on being seen as less elite and more accessible with displays that make the collections relatable. It was quite natural to find groups of noisy children, roaming the galleries with dog-eared workbooks, their supervisor in tow, trying to get them to focus. Being more child or family-focused sits well within frameworks around funding. No longer is it the case of simply opening the door at 10 am and waiting for the world to wander in. Whole industries and specialists have sprung up around the heritage sector, to advise on demographics and to isolate what particular group is being left out. This gives rise to focus groups which in turn lead to workshopping.

Nowadays, from what Alec could gather, they had meetings with ‘stakeholders’ and were given ‘relationship managers’ from government-funded bodies, who talked in a whole new language about such things as ‘early adopters’ and ‘twilight subsistence’.

Museums had developed in a whole new way, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“How is that any way to do business?” Alec would grumble as the next suit passed through the door and ‘hummed’ and ‘hawed’ and went away with the promise that if the bid was good enough, the money would be forthcoming.

“Since when do museums have to ‘bid’ for money?” He shook his head. “Where are the civic-minded? Do people not give any more?”

Jean would listen with ever decreasing patience to his moaning, and when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she would retreat to another part of the Hall and let him sulk in peace.

In HIGH SPIRITS I’ve tried to relay how Alec feels about his beloved museum, the changes he sees and the sense of frustration he feels. He is stuck at thirty-years-old and 1944, at a time when things were so very different but around him, the world keeps changing and moving forward. I empathise with him, in many respects. The museum of my childhood has long (and quite rightly so) gone. Wandering the galleries at Colchester, I would see children darting around, seeing but not seeing these amazing artefacts and I would wonder why they didn’t experience the same sense of fascination that I did in that one large room under the Town Hall of Dover.

HIGH SPIRITS is now available in paperback for £9.99 or to download to your Kindle or Kindle apps for £3.99

Meet my main characters - Bethan Andrews - HIGH SPIRITS

Here’s your chance to get to know the main characters in HIGH SPIRITS

So, what’s HIGH SPIRITS all about?

1944 – ALEC EDWARDS’ world was opened up when he fell in love with JEAN FRANCIS. From the quiet confines of his orderly museum where everything was catalogued, labelled and recorded, he had been propelled into the chaotic realms of romantic attachment. This was during the Second World War, a time of air raids, bombings and rationing. Then the ‘worst’ happened. Alec and Jean were in the museum after hours when the air raid sirens went. Alec, ever the vigilant curator, was loathed to leave his precious collections out of its case and vulnerable and insisted on finishing the job. Jean is less than impressed and a dispute ensued and just as she is in the middle of delivering a right royal ear bashing when a bomb lands…..

It’s 70 something years since the bomb fell and the museum is staging an anniversary exhibition. Part of the original bomb, which caused extensive damage to a wing of the museum is going on display, wit'sgside objects relating to the life and work of Alec. BETHAN ANDREWS is at her wits end. As the curator of the museum she is leading on the exhibition but there is one small problem – Alec’s life was dedicated to the curation and collection of objects and little is known in the museum about him personally. The museum’s board of trustees has insisted on the anniversary being recognized so in desperation she puts out a public plea for help via the local paper. PATRICK HARMAN, Alec’s great-great nephew, responds.

In the meantime, the local rag has pricked up its ears. Alerted by Bethan’s call for help, a reporter has unearthed a long forgotten tale of ghostly lights and apparitions in the museum; of dead curators seeking their lost treasure. This led to the wealthy but totally batty BASTIAN HEDGES, the producer of the global phenomenon The Ghost Doctor ©, to bribe the Trustees with a big fat cheque, in return for filming his Midsummer Special in the museum.

Patrick arrives with his grandfather, POP, a cantankerous old man, at the museum with memorabilia. Much to Bethan’s horror, she realizes that she and Patrick have crossed paths before as students, in particular at the Student Summer Ball, when Bethan threw her principles to the wind and had a drunken night of passion with Patrick. She is relieved when he appears not to recall her at all. However, she shouldn’t relax. He is just being a gentleman and not letting on! For him, rather than being a blur of alcohol and regret, he rather liked her but then the cold light of day dawn and Bethan was in denial. Now they are thrown back together.

What none of them could realise is…the ghost stories are true; the curator does haunt the museum. The day the bomb dropped, it did more than just damage the wing, it killed Alec and Jean and they’ve spent the past 70 years watching the world go by aided and abetted by a much older ghost, that of POL, an eleven-year-old girl from the Iron Age.

The stage is now set for some ghostly intervention and for love to conquer all.

In this post, we’re going to meet BETHAN ANDREWS

What should we know about her?

Bethan was born and raised in a small village in the Cotswolds that formed part of an estate belonging to the Farringdon family. Her father owned his own business and Bethan had grown up in the company of Tom Farrington the heir to Lassister Hall and estate. It seemed to the wish of both families that these two would marry and carry on the family name, however, an indiscretion on the part of Bethan put paid to all of that.

Bethan came to Partridge Hall by way of a London museum, which fell to the funding cuts and so she was let go. Plimpton Market and a small museum were not what she had in mind when she started out in the heritage sector and we find her at odds with her role.

What is the main conflict?

In the beginning we find Bethan attempting to reconcile herself with her role in a small museum. She has come from a dynamic environment to find that she is most definitely second place to the will of the Trustees which she finds most frustrating.

What are her personal relationships like and how do they shape her character?

Bethan moved to Plimpton Market and found that her accommodation plans had fallen through. Sal, the museum designer, immediately steps in and offers her a room which Bethan is at pains to point out will only be a short-term arrangement. Five years later and they are still living together in Sal’s old house. This connection is pivotal to Bethan and is more of a mother/daughter relationship than landlady and lodger. Sal is Bethan’s voice of reason and fiercest defender.

Her relationships with her parents are genial and homely although she nearly caused a schism when her romantic attachment to Tom broke off. They play no part in the story but clearly, there are no domestic problems. Having experienced a comfortable upbringing without stress, Bethan has turned out to be a level-headed young woman.

Her relationship with Tom was borne more of familiarity than love and it didn’t take much to expose that truth. She has steered clear of romantic attachment but that is thrown into conflict with the arrival of Patrick – a face from the past.

How do I get a copy?

HIGH SPIRITS is now available to download from across the Amazon market to your Kindle or Kindle apps for £3.99 or in paperback for £9.99

The Ghost and Mrs Muir

My next ghostly film features an actor that I've not always been particularly fond of, yet he turns up in two of my favourite supernatural films. The first is The Ghost and Mrs Muir.

It's a rather sombre tale in parts but it is a true love story albeit one that takes a lifetime to come to fruition. Set against the backdrop of the sea, it tells the story of a young widow and a roguish ghostly sea captain.

In the early 1900s, young widow Lucy Muir moves to the seaside English village of Whitecliff to rent a house by the charming name of Gull Cottage It is reputed to be haunted by the spirit of a seaman who had committed suicide. Despite this grim tale, Lucy moves in with her young daughter, Anna and their maid, Martha.

On the very first night, the ghost of Daniel Gregg, the sea captain and former owner, visits Lucy. He tells her that despite what she'd heard, he did not commit suicide but did accidentally when he fell asleep and kicked open the valve on the gas heater.

He's also not very keen on Lucy living there but, after they chat, he reluctantly allows Lucy to live there unhindered.

Unfortunately for Lucy, her finances take a turn for the worse and her ghastly in-laws arrive to persuade her to return to London. Captain Gregg steps in and scares them out of the house then comes up with a fine plan to help Lucy: he will dictate his memoirs to her and she will have them published, with the royalties going to her. During the course of writing the book, they find themselves falling in love, but as both realize it is a hopeless situation, Daniel tells her she should find a real (live) man.

Upon visiting a publisher, Lucy finds herself drawn to handsome Miles Fairley, an author of children's' books. Despite reservations, the publisher eventually agrees to publish the Captain's somewhat racy recollections. The book becomes an instant bestseller, allowing Lucy to buy Gull Cottage.

Lucy and Fairley begin a whirlwind courtship much to the disgust of the Captain but, realising that he is standing in her way, he visits her whilst she is asleep and puts it into her mind that she alone wrote the book and that he was merely a dream.

"You must make your own life amongst the living and, whether you meet fair winds or foul, find your own way to harbour in the end." His task accomplished, Captain Gregg faded away.

Lucy, whilst visiting her publisher, decides to surprise Fairley and turns up at his home, only to find that he is already married and that this is not the first time he has gone off the rails.

Heartbroken, Lucy returns to Gull Cottage and spends the rest of her life as a recluse.

The story moves on ten years and Anna, now engaged to be married returns home with her fiance. It is during a conversation that Anna reveals that she knew all about the Captain and was not afraid of her strange companion.

Lucy lives a long and peaceful life but her health ails. Complaining to the steady Martha that she needs to rest, Martha leaves her. Lucy dies and a few moments later the Captain appears at her side.

Her young spirit takes his hands and stands free of her aged body. The two stare lovingly at each other for a moment before walking arm in arm down the stairs, and out of the front door into an ethereal mist.

My latest novel features a love story in the afterlife. HIGH SPIRITS finds Alec and Jean spending eternity in his beloved museuem.

Excerpt

Alec turned the page, but there was nothing else.

“Alec?”

Alec snapped shut the diary and turned to the doorway to see Jean just inside.

She walked gracefully over to the desk and looked at the collection of photographs finally spotting the one of her and Alec. She stared at it for a moment, before she looked up at him with limpid eyes.

“Have I ever told you, how beautiful you are?” he said.

Jean smiled.

Alec stood and held out his hands in an invite to dance. Jean placed her hand on his shoulder, and he cupped her other hand inside his and waltzed around the room.

As they gathered momentum, the lights in the office began to flicker, as if someone were turning the switches on and off. Jean threw back her head and laughed as Alec guided her steps in a dance all their own.

Haunted Mansion - part two

In this post I'm taking a look at 50 Berkeley Square. Now, I don't know if this was the influence behind the name of 'The Ghosts of Berkeley Square' but if it's not then that's a bit coincidental, don't you think?

Berkeley Square sits in Mayfair, Central London, in a highly exclusive area. In the middle is a large green space around which is ranged the houses. Within walking distance is Hyde Park, The Mall, St James's Palace and Buckingham Palace.

It feels like a wildly unlikely place to find a haunting, amidst the bustle of life in the capital.

Charles Harper in Haunted Houses, published in 1907 stated that

“… It seems that a Something or Other, very terrible indeed, haunts or did haunt a particular room. This unnamed Raw Head and Bloody Bones, or whatever it is, has been sufficiently awful to have caused the death, in convulsions, of at least two foolhardy persons who have dared to sleep in that chamber…”

The challenge of sleeping in the haunting room was taken up by an unnamed man. A little after midnight, the bell the man had agreed to ring, to summon assistance was heard. Rushing to his aid, his friends found him rigid with terror, unable to tell them what he had seen. He died shortly afterwards.

The house remained empty for a number of years but not necessarily uninhabited. Passers-by told of flickering lights, disembodied screams, and the sound of a body being dragged down the stairs.

The source of the haunting was speculated to be the brother of a former owner, Mr Du Pre. This poor unfortunate was locked in a room for his own safety and was reputedly fed through a hole in the door.

Another contender was a gentleman by the name of Myers who was jilted at the altar and took to be a recluse. The sound of footsteps could be his as he wanders the house by candlelight.

In more recent times, people in the building have experienced the sense of something standing behind them, only finding nothing there.

An employee working in the accounts department of a firm that had the haunted room, reported seeing a column of brown mist that moved quickly across the room.

In my forthcoming novel HIGH SPIRITS, stories abound of lights seen flickering from room to room and local legend tell of a ghostly curator who prowls the Hall at night searching for his lost treasure.

Excerpt

Tommy Pearson was having a good few days off work. He had been in the pub since lunchtime and was now strolling through the park, taking a shortcut to his digs at the lower end of town.

He felt particularly mellow on this warm evening. He’d played the fruit machines and won, got a girl’s phone number, and was looking forward to a lie in tomorrow. Life was sweet.

As he passed by the mansion, he glanced up and saw a light moving from window to window, and his beer-addled brain suddenly recalled something he’d recently read. His first instinct was to run and, always being one to follow his gut; he did just that.

Since You've Been Gone

Since You've Been Gone

By Lisa Dyer

About the Book

Together Forever...

until the day Abigail dumped Hal, after he left for university, back in 1983. Hal was so devastated that he went home less and less until, in the end, he didn't go home at all. And he never got over her, even after he married the wealthy Julienne. Their marriage was doomed from the start; it was just a case of who caved in first.

Abigail had a secret; one she had kept from Hal, and it had defined her life for fifteen years. She was glad he never came back to learn it. That was all about to change.

Hal was on his way home. Nothing would ever be the same again...

Excerpt

​In the beginning...

…there was Hal and Abigail and they should have lived happily ever after… everything in their story shouted that to the world. Hal’s mother knew it. Their friends had no doubt about it. Hal and Abigail were the perfect pair. Having grown up together from infancy, there were no secrets, no hidden agendas; just love. All that was missing were the church bells and the first flat with the second-hand furniture and the gas fire that didn’t work, and even that would be okay because they’d cuddle up in bed to keep warm until summer.

Then Hal blew it all wide open by getting a conditional offer to study at Cambridge – in the Department of Veterinarian Medicine. To be honest, it was a total shock to everyone, but most of all to Abigail. She had supported his idea to apply, but had secretly thought that he would be out of his depth and have second thoughts. He didn’t. It was all he thought about and planned for. He locked himself away in his bedroom to study, and suddenly two people, who had been inseparable from the first moment they had met, were wrenched apart. Hal’s mother, Diana clucked about nothing else; anybody would think he was marrying into royalty. Anyone foolish enough to ask, ‘How’s the family, Di?’ soon found themselves wishing they’d kept their mouths shut.

Hal and Abigail limped through the spring, and dragged themselves into the summer. His hard work paid off and he attained the required grades then received positive confirmation that, come the autumn, he would be going up to Cambridge. There was one last night, camped down at the Bay, Hal on his guitar and the old crowd avoiding talking about what was happening, as if by doing so it may go away. And that was it. The beginning of the end of Hal Bartlett and Abigail Markham. Except, for Abigail it was the start of something new, something so big, so life changing – and its outcome would resonate down the years…

Amazon

Meet Michael Bayliss

What should we know about him? Michael Bayliss, vet, Yorkshire man, legend. On the surface, he seems a pretty uncomplicated person. He gets on with life, living in a flat above the practice and doesn't really have a long-term plan. This easy-going nature can put him at odds with people because they think he's easy to read, likes a bit of banter and therefore unable to be hurt but he is a vulnerable as the rest of us. Michael is the product of a broken home, his mum having run off with the local bingo caller. It has given him a wary perspective on relationships but that doesn't stop him having them or having opinions on Hal's. It's the commitment he has the problem with. What is the main conflict? For Michael it is keeping Hal grounded in reality. He knows that his friend has an emotional block but all the while it is kept on a low level, he's not bothered what it is. When Hal's life is thrown into confusion, Michael must be the anchor but also, he must have one eye on what the impact of going home might have on his life and the practice his shares with Hal. What is the personal goal of the character? For Michael it is getting through life as peacefully as possible. He's a grafter but with a slacker mentality. Not for him the mortgage and the kids. He doesn't want convention and, although he is wary of relationships because they seem to go to fast for him, he is really looking for someone just like him; someone a little unconventional. Since You've Been Gone was published by Crooked Cat Publishing in December 2013 and is available exclusively through Amazon across all markets and Kindle Unlimited.

Dude-Lit

We all know what Chick-Lit is, right? Chick-lit is usually light, romantic, boy meets girl; the written words equivalent of a rom-com. The cover tells you exactly what you are going to get when you open the page – girls who shop, have a great circle of friends but always has that one true best friend, can sink wine like water and have a crush on the boy next door.

Invariably, like the three act structure, there is Act 1 when the plot is set up, little bombs are primed to go off and foreshadowing is announced and the love interest is introduced. Act 2 is the fun and games, the nights out with the girls, the shoe shopping, the witty banter that is exchanged between the two would-be lovers until the mid-act turning point when it may all go south; a misunderstanding, a rival for affections, a row. Then the downward slope to the break into Act 3 when it all gets a little darker, maybe it’s all going terribly wrong but then, the eureka moment and ta-da, the protag knows what to do and the two would be lovers are reconciled and go off on a haze of pink fluff into a bright new future.

They are fun to read and the main character is always likeable in the same way as the object of her affection is always the best of men, even if she doesn’t know it at the time. So, what about those who, maybe, you know, what a little less chick and a bit more dude or have just got over Chick-Lit as a genre.

More to the point, what about men who want to read light fiction

Well, they can have a dose of Lad-Lit.

To be honest, Lad-Lit sounds a little bit too blokey for me; am I likely to find much talk of cheeky Nandos and some bant with the Archbishop of Banterbury?

Turning to Wiki for a bit of help I find this description:

Lad lit typically concerns itself with the trials and tribulations of urban twenty and thirty something men, faced with changing heterosexual mores and the pursuit of a desired lifestyle. The stories revolve around issues like male identity crisis and masculine insecurity in relationships as a result of the social pressures and the expectations of how they should behave in work, love and life, men’s fear and final embrace of marriage. In other words, the final maturation into manhood.

And it’s history:

"Lad lit" is a term of the 1990s that was originated in Britain, where it was developed for marketing purposes. Several publishers, encouraged by the increasing sales of glossy magazines (Maxim, Esquire, GQ, FHM), believed that such fiction would open up a new readership. Thus, lad lit is not its own phenomenon, but rather part of a larger cultural and socioeconomic movement. This new publishing category ostensibly sought to redefine masculinity. The protagonist of these books is the young man on the make, mindlessly pursuing booze, babes and football. His ineptitude, drunken-ness and compulsive materialism were part of his charm. The figure was created in contrast with the New Man of the feminist era and, beneath the crass surface, the lads are attractive, funny, bright, observant, inventive, charming and excruciatingly honest. They are characters who seem to deserve more from life and romance than they are getting.

Nick Hornsby, apparently, is the man for this type of genre, which is seen as a backlash against the phenomenon of chick-lit. Interestingly though, the Oxford Reference website states that in answer to the question, which came first, the chick or the lad, the answer is, the lad.

Hmm…so much for the 1990s, what about today. Is Lad-Lit still relevant or have we moved on? I think so. Welcome to the world of Dude-Lit. So, dude lit then, what is it? Who writes it? Do I want to read it?

A simple but effective description by blogger Brie Clemintine:

“Lately I’ve read books who main character is a man who goes through a self-discovering journey that make(s) me feel like I’m reading a “Chickless” Chick-Lit story, or, as I’ve come to think of it: Dude Lit”

The blogger on Giant Squid Books goes onto say:

“In many ways, dude lit seems to me to have many elements of chick lit, but told from the POV of a male narrator. It is said that if chick lit were a movie genre, it would surely be romantic comedy, and I think a lot of the same thing can be said about dude lit.”

If Lad-Lit was on the back of some kind of rebellion against Bridget Jones and her diary, or the dawn of New Main, then perhaps DL has rolled in on the crest of button down check shirts, nice leather brogues, beards and craft beers.

I don’t know, when did hipster arrive on the scene because Brie was writing about dudes in 2012 and I've found references to it from 2010.

Well, having had a fish around on the web I’ve found some links to book recommendations in the Dude-Lit range so I’m going in.

One thing that has definitely struck me is this; I always floundered when trying to describe Since You’ve Been Gone. To me, a male protagonist wasn’t symbolic of traditional chick lit yet, I didn’t feel it feel into the Lad-Lit realm either. However, now, I think I’m very happy to describe it as Dude-Lit, which doesn’t mean that it is the sole preserve of men (as Chick-Lit wasn’t and never should be considered the sole preserve of women). Getting Amazon to rethink my browse categories however, is another matter!