On the road, 2012

Some other authors have blogged about the Frankfurt Book Fair: Robert Sullivan on the opening ceremony and Catherine Robertson on the whole week. I didn't blog because I was travelling without a laptop, which felt like a holiday. I used my iPhone for email. I carried a PDF of my new novel on FileApp Pro, which allowed me to fret over it anywhere, anytime. Caught without an English language version of Pack of Lies at the Mana-Verlag opening, I downloaded a backup ms from Gmail, and read from the phone at the lecturn. Not an ideal experience, but doable.

The practice of hotels charging and arm and a leg for internet access is alive and well in Frankfurt. (In Berlin, like London there is free wifi in most bars and cafés.) In the hotel lobby where the connection was free New Zealanders gathered in the mornings and evenings like smokers on a windy corner, emailing, texting and tweeting. (I've taken Twitter off my phone. It shortens the battery life and my concentration.) Internet access in the rooms was two Euros a day and limited, but at a few dollars a day for up to 25mg on a prepaid SIM, why bother?

For navigation I relied on a paper map of Frankfurt that I bought in Berlin, and for everything else a reporter's notebook and a pencil. Writing things down is still the best way to work -- you remember something better if you write it out by hand, and a pencil will never explode in your pocket.

On the final weekend when I received my Lufthansa flight confirmation I downloaded the boarding pass onto Passport, the iOS6 app. Normally I print out a paper copy of every travel document, just in case, but this time I passed through luggage check in, customs and flight boarding by showing staff the Passport screen or waving the phone across gate scanners. Lufthansa are one of the first airlines to invest in Apple's system and Frankfurt is a modern airport so this went without a hitch. At least half the people in the queue were checking in using smartphones.

The only technology I really missed on the road was a kettle in the hotel room but I knew not to expect that, especially after travelling in France for Les Belles Etrangeres. If you want tea in a European hotel you have to ask for a glass or thermos of hot water at the bar and carry it up to your room in the elevator. Barbaric. But at least then, you have tea. And so on the Wednesday night I sat up on the end of the bed in my room, drinking black tea while reading an ms off an iPhone and scribbling revision notes on a 79 cent notepad.

When all the rainy pavements lead to you

On Friday at the Frankfurt Book Fair (I'm typing this up out of order) Alan Duff, Carl Nixon and I took part in a panel discussion about the urban landscape in New Zealand literature. The subject was in contrast to depictions of the landscape in the pavilion and in other sessions. Alan came right out with it and said we weren't talking about the tourist image of New Zealand, which is why he's good value at things like this. He talked about the violent streets of Once Were Warriors. The panel moderator, Carl's publisher Stefan Weilde, was interested that Alan had renamed Rotorua as Two Lakes; Carl had also renamed the locations in his very Christchurch novel. I suggested that writers need distance from their subject -- life's hot, art's cool -- and that giving a place a different label was a way of objectifying it further, giving the author license to fictionalise. The irony of my novel Lügenspiele (Pack of Lies) is that it's the only novel I've written in which the protagonists try and get away from the city. Although Stefan did say that the hotel reminded him of the Bates Motel in Psycho, "which will give you all some idea of what to expect."

The format was very brisk given the subject matter. Any one of us on the pavilion could have gone on for hours. The allotted time was being counted down on a TV screen in the corner of the stage and the microphones were hand held. By the time it came to other sessions people were better used to it.

PS: Catriona Ferguson at the NZ Book Council blogged about this and other sessions on Friday.

Pic: From a late night train, Berlin.

'Cause I got some weird ideas in my head

Pictured: coming onstage for Sunday's crime panel at the Frankfurt Book Fair with Paul Cleave, Alix Bosco (AKA Greg McGee) and Paddy Richardson, hosted by Wolf Dorn. Paul talked about his Christchurch serial killer novels and writing unsuitable stories at school. Greg talked about how writing a female protagonist gave him the idea of creating a female pseudonym to go with it, as a way of protecting his creation. He thought the critics went much easier on unknown Alix than they would ever would have done on the author of Foreskin's Lament. Paddy talked about writing non-gory crime, and the importance of narrative. She hadn't considered herself a crime writer initially, but came to it later -- something I had a chance to talk to her about when we caught up the next day. Wolf asked me about the influence of film and music on Shirker, which was published in Germany by DTV. All of us (novelist Dorn included) write differently from one another. I said I thought crime-writing was to literature what the blues were to music: a form that has spawned countless variations.

The pavilion was packed, as you can kind of see. That big light in the corner was a lot brighter on stage, but the audience certainly sounded as if they enjoyed what we had to say. Big ups to Wolf for hosting the event.

Bedside reading

Before

This place was good....

A fine Messe

Travelling without a lap top is great but blogging on an iPhone is hard. There are iPads and smart phones aplenty at Frankfurt -- the free wifi grinds to a halt at lunchtime -- but mostly there are books, in huge quantity. If this is what the death of publishing looks like then death is nothing to be afraid of. Things were very different in 2003-2006, people tell me, in the "boom years" but again things seem pretty good. The floors of the main halls are crammed with stalls and reps taking meetings. One publisher told me the point of the Fair is to be seen, "so people know you're still alive."

New Zealand is in two places: in the sales stand in Hall 8, which is as busy as the others, and in the main forum, where stands the pavilion, the events stage and the green room, where the mood is unfailingly upbeat. The locals and publishers I've spoken to like the Pavilion and think we've done well. (Disclosure: I crashed a party that wasn't really for authors. "You must feel like you are in the tank with the sharks," someone said, in a German accent.) There is a lot of talk about hiking; I've had to bluff my way through that. My sessions are today and Sunday. I've had meetings, been interviewed for radio and the Arte tv channel and am taking part in an online event on Saturday. And it's raining, so as an Aucklander I feel right at home. Although my head does hurt this morning for some reason.

Late night

Jazz at the A-Trane, Bleibtreustraße 1. Raphael Beiter on trombone. Amazing vocal performances by Fama M'Boup, Friederline Merz, Zola Mennenech and Anna Marlene. Your host: Andreas C. Schmidt.