The Minotaur and the Silver Spoon
As she continues her work on the London Library’s ‘Emerging Writers’ programme, rural writer Electra Rhodes blogs on the moral maze of privilege in writing and publishing.
I have got lost enough times that I have taken to carrying a compass in one pocket and a ball of silver string in the other. The compass is for walks in unfamiliar places, the silver string is for the stacks of The London Library.
What this comes down to isn't my rubbish sense of direction - with enough waymarks I do ok - it's about classification and stratification. This isn't just because the London Library has its own cataloging system, and there is a labyrinth over several floors beneath St James's Square, but because as a rural, working class, newbie writer I'm subject to other kinds of obstacles and obfuscations. In the library there's plenty of reassurance that I'll get used to the maze. In the world of nature and place writing the route to publication seems especially torturous to an outsider, and there are a number of twists and turns I've still to navigate, and gateways I’ve yet to pass through. My compass doesn’t work in this unfamiliar landscape, so, though I'm no Theseus, it's the silver string for me.
Apart from the getting lost business, the library is wonderful - there are miles of books, as well as electronic access to all the main on-line libraries, and organisations that deal with the landscape and its history. I can borrow books, have them posted to me, and post them back as well. The on-line system is straightforward, and if a text has been uploaded, practically anywhere in the world, I can read it. Every time I look for something, find it, make a few notes, and then close the tab, it is an instant reminder of the privilege such access affords.
As a rural writer I am both thrilled by this and keenly aware of the difficulties in getting hold of specialist references outside of university settings. My local library has been valiant in its efforts, but cuts to staff and opening hours, limitations on book buying, and the time that interlibrary loans take has meant that some texts were previously simply unavailable to me. But, The London Library, like all the big private membership libraries, charges an annual fee, and I'm not sure I could have stumped up the £525 it costs, even with the fantastic benefits it brings.
I say this, because for many emerging writers in the throes of drafting a manuscript or proposal, there's no contract or advance or even the royalties from previous books to fund research or writing. This takes me back to the issue of classification and stratification, who gets to write about the landscapes we inhabit, and what this means for the stories that are told and the lives that are represented. Excellent writing may not be the prerogative of those with an independent income, or who come from privilege, but the time and capacity to do the research and pull a debut manuscript together too often is.
As I get lost once again in the stacks, it's an ongoing regret to see such disparities of representation in the books on the shelves. Working class, rural writers are constantly making up ground. And even with awards like The London Library's or The Nan Shepherd Prize as both maps and compasses, I'm reminded that too often, what's needed to find the way along the route to publication isn't just a silver string, but a silver spoon too.
Electra Rhodes
Electra Rhodes is an archaeologist who lives in Hertfordshire, and is one of the 2022/23 cohort of The London Library’s ‘Emerging Writers’ Programme. Her nonfiction manuscript, My Family & Other Folklore was longlisted for the 2021 Nan Shepherd Prize. Over the coming year she’s discussing the research and writing of this new collection of essays on landscape exclusively with Dialect. Find her on Twitter @electra_rhodes
