A Public Service

For one reason or another, I shall probably get into trouble for posting this, but if you haven't read Twenty Major's wee snippet in the Review section of today's Sunday Tribune, I think you should. It is both funny and accurate. The Trib ran a feature today about the state of the arts in Ireland, asking writers, actors, sculptors, musicians, etc., which art best sums up modern Ireland. The winner of best blog at the Irish Blog Awards (as he is identified in the piece) has this to say:

The idea that Cecilia Ahern's first book spawned million-euro advances and film companies couldn't wait to snap it up says everything about the state of Irish fiction at the moment. One or two exceptions apart, it's all tediously safe, formulaic and fluffy. It's like a toilet seat with one of those furry covers on it. Looks nice on the outside, but under the covers it's full of . . .

That's no real criticism of Cecilia - she's dead right to milk it for all it's worth, but it's a bit sad that a country with such a rich literary history is not producing much of note at the moment. Then, to counter it, stuff like The Sea by John Banville is lauded as great work when it's as tedious and up its own arse as the chick-lit stuff.

Now we'll have a P.S. I Love You movie, merchandise, a spin-off TV series starring Angeline Ball and eventually we'll have a Chick-Lit Idol to find the next Cecilia while the real talent goes ignored and underpaid.

Nice one, Twenty.