I wasn't sure what to expect of Murder Most Fab, which carries the tag line 'You'd kill to be that famous'. It looked like it could be crime fiction, but it's not really; even though Ebury Press (an imprint of Random House) categorised it as 'crime and mystery'. It's also difficult to talk about the novel without giving too much of the plot away, so let's start by saying it's the life story of one fictional Johnny Debonair, formerly TV's Mr Friday Night, who, when completing his story, has found himself in a bit of a predicament. Having a high risk lifestyle, Johnny D's life has caught up with him. The questions are who, what, when, how and why and what is the outcome?
The novel opens with Johnny D's open letter to a former lover, Timothy, and it's clear that JD has never got over this lost love. JD, a very beautiful boy, born to a somewhat flaky and hippy mother with father unknown, has an idyllic childhood with his mother, apart from when she has 'funny turns' and disappears for a while - suggesting depression or bipolar disorder. Mother Alice is a free spirit who likes to roam the fields of Kent, speak to the birds, have innumerable affairs and who converses with her son in poetry. During her 'turns', JD finds home, time and attention with his stalwart, maternal (& wealthy) grandmother, Rita, in Blackheath. She provides some structure to his life - which he sorely needs.
JD moves on to the Lewisham School of Musical Theatre (unsuccessfully) and becomes a rent boy before finding success as a TV presenter. Along the way, there are 'unfortunate deaths'.
Even though there is a great deal of humour in the narrative of this novel, overall I found it to be a sad tale. The tag line suggests a driving ambition to be famous, but JD came across as someone who simply fell into things along the way: a follower and not a leader. In addition to the precarious and jittery presence of a moral compass (often lost as easily as an umbrella), JD seemed to lack any sort of compass when it came to his life, apart from when travelling geographically.
The sections of the novel on his TV stardom were outweighed by his days as a rent boy, with the TV part of his life catching the short straw in the race to end the story. More evidence of a drive to stardom would have been more credible to match the tag line, but the story did not match the marketing pitch, for me anyway, and I'll take the novel as read. JD himself is a victim of sorts, not a slave to ambition, and I'll run with that, thanks.
Clary can certainly write fiction and I look forward to reading more. He says his next novel concentrates on evil, but there is plenty of evil in Murder Most Fab, too. Major plotting curve balls? I saw two. One I had anticipated and one that really came from the left, catching me unawares.
As for the humour, given that Clary himself would be deemed a 'celebrity' in this age, he makes more than one very intelligent swipe at the culture, as well as the impact of laminate flooring.
If you enjoy Clary's humour then you will find it in this novel, albeit it's a story that is not humour itself. Not a classic 'whodunnit' scenario, this novel will still keep you guessing. If you baulk at scenes of homosexual sex, skim and skip over please, because the satisfaction comes from the final pudding.
I honestly can't say I Ioved Murder Most Fab because I was left feeling a certain way. If you read it and feel as I did, you may see my point. To disclose anything further would give the plot away and that's not something I am prepared to do; it's sheer stupidity. I hope we meet JD again, though. And I hope he finds a constructive compass...
Well, he made an entrance with eight year old Valerie close on his heels, on a lead, and both took to the stage. His first words included "This is the smallest event I've ever worked on" and, given the grand setting and content of the novel, "I've got to read from my book and it seems inappropriate".
So what came next? Yes, Julian Clary (JC) became the author of a novel and at Althrop, he was about to talk about it.
No holds barred.
But that's what we expect.
Paul Blezard (PB), interviewing, wondered how Julian Clary (JC) came to write a novel, (Murder Most Fab). His publisher had been pleased with his memoir and said "How's about a novel?" Once started, he felt he had been constrained by the facts of his own life and now had to invent.
So how much of JC was in his protag Johnny Debonair (JD)? "Not me at all", declared JC. The similarities end at both being gay and working in TV, where JC felt he needed something he knew about. JC described JD as very amoral, or immoral, asking his interviewer "Which is the right word?" Both were stumped, but JC moved quickly on "Anyway, he's not sure about the difference between right and wrong". JC reflected on himself: as the son of a policeman and probation officer, he had never done anything illegal. JD, on the other hand, is "inclined to murder people who get on his nerves". JC noted that (TV) producers can be "quite irksome and get in the way of your creative process; thus to kill off a TV producer in fiction "is quite satisfying".
Somewhere in there, PB asked about JD's mother, Alice. She is a hippy type, but, given her ability and inclination for sex, where does the importance of sex come from as opposed to a direct hit on nymphomania? And where lies the difference?
I spent quite a bit of Saturday enduring extremely bad driving - on the part of others - on Britain's motorways, in order to attend one event at Althorp's Literary Festival. After this year's experience, I shall certainly be there for more in the future. More on that below. (All pics in this post come from the Althorp site, as I forgot my camera.)
Comedian Julian Clary had a novel called "Murder Most Fab" out last year. I'm currently reading it and at the half way stage. I don't think it's something you could put in the crime fiction genre, but it's deliciously funny and does have more than one murder. I have loved Clary's comedy for years: a combination of the camp and the totally outrageous. I'd missed Clary at the Hay and Cheltenham festivals last year, so I simply had to make this event. The setting was so non-Clary perhaps, but it became ideal for Clary and his dog Valerie, who also performed.
Driving from junction 16 of the M1, the villages are lovely with the original local stone a delightfully sun-kissed yellow. When you get to the final lanes to enter Althorp itself - at this time of year - the wild, red poppies are in abundance and ever so beautiful.
It was hard to drive there in the final stages and not think of Princess Diana's funeral cortege; imagining the vehicles making their way slowly along the same roads. It is the perfect site for her burial; it's very tranquil and peaceful at Althorp. It is, indeed, a beautiful place.
After walking from the car park, the first place you encounter is the stable block, which is now a combination of hospitality outlets and (possibly?) offices.
On entry, you pass the block that is the public lavs - surely the best in the country? So clean and well attended. Solid wood cubicle walls and doors. If I have one criticism, I think they have the tap instructions up the spout. Apparently you only need to pull the tap once. Not so. You have to pull constantly to maintain the flow.
But the old stable block is transformed and inviting. On the cobble-stoned courtyard you can sit with your refreshments. The quality is well above average, but prices are not prohibitive or insane. A black coffee cost £1.50. The cobbles under your feet make for interesting table arrangements: no table is quite horizontal, so it's time to eat and drink before your victuals slide away...
The events take place in the main house, in rooms off this hall. The hall itself also provides the venue for book signings after the events.
It is a beautiful house, full of treasures. The surrounding land is beautiful too. When living closer to the venue I had never been tempted, but now I have a change of mind.
As with any other festival, people like to talk. And I wish I'd arrived earlier. Apparently, Welsh combatant in the media, John Humphrys was on top form.
Alongside Julian Clary's time slot, Charles Spencer was talking about the house and its history. I was told by someone on the walk back to the car park that he'd been wonderful, direct, open and honest, and not speaking from a script, and not at all "snobby".
Clary finished early, so Charles Spencer joined the signing tables a little later, as I was still waiting in the Clary queue. It was surprising to see Spencer in the flesh. Pictures of him in the media do not do him justice. He has a gorgeous head of hair and looks quite a few years younger than his age. His manners were perfection - he stood up for each and every person seeking a signed book, in the queue - and he was grace itself. It was also possible to see the family resemblance to Diana in his face.
Some said that the location at Althorp made for "isolation", unlike the Hay Festival, but the Hay Fest has recently experienced much criticism for being "out of town" now, albeit the shuttle bus provides a linkl.
All in all, a damn fine day out and a day to remember.
More on the Julian Clary event later.
UK-based reader of crime fiction for many years.
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