Related to: 'Brian Kimberling'

Headline

Untitled Novel

Brian Kimberling
Authors:
Brian Kimberling

Tinder Press

Snapper

Brian Kimberling
Authors:
Brian Kimberling
Tinder Press

Snapper

Brian Kimberling
Authors:
Brian Kimberling

With wry humour and real freshness, SNAPPER charts the disastrous love affair between career birdwatcher Nathan Lochmueller and the place that made him.Set in a brilliantly observed rural Indiana, 'the bastard son of the Midwest', SNAPPER is a book about birdwatching, a woman who won't stay true, and a pick-up truck that won't start. Here turtles eat alligators for breakfast, Klansmen skulk in the undergrowth, and truckers drop into the diner of a town named Santa Claus to ensure that no child's Christmas letter goes unanswered, while Nathan grapples with the eternal question: should I stay, or should I go? Kimberling's vision of small-town life is as characterful as Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon, but bristling with the tensions of race, class, poverty and prejudice, it makes for a bracing read.

Tinder Press

Nationwide

Brian Kimberling
Authors:
Brian Kimberling

A promotional taster of the charismatic world of SNAPPER: this free, ebook-only extract from Brian Kimberling's forthcoming fiction debut will draw you into a place not a million miles from Garrison Keillor's Lake Wobegon. When birdwatcher Nathan Lochmueller's car, the Gypsy Moth, breaks down in the Indiana town of Santa Claus, he must throw himself upon the mercy of the staff of the local diner. NATIONWIDE is a delightfully quirky comic episode in a charmingly unconventional coming-of-age story.

Tinder Press

Nationwide

Brian Kimberling
Authors:
Brian Kimberling
Tinder Press

Small Island: Winner of the 'best of the best' Orange Prize

Andrea Levy
Authors:
Andrea Levy

Small Island by bestselling author Andrea Levy won the Orange Prize for Fiction, as well as the Commonwealth Writers' Prize and the Whitbread. It is possibly the definitive fictional account of the experiences of the Empire Windrush generation. Now a major BBC drama starring Benedict Cumberbatch and Naomie Harris, its enduring appeal will captivate fans of Maya Angelou and Zadie Smith. 'A great read... honest, skilful, thoughtful and important' - GuardianIt is 1948, and England is recovering from a war. But at 21 Nevern Street, London, the conflict has only just begun. Queenie Bligh's neighbours do not approve when she agrees to take in Jamaican lodgers, but Queenie doesn't know when her husband will return, or if he will come back at all. What else can she do? Gilbert Joseph was one of the several thousand Jamaican men who joined the RAF to fight against Hitler. Returning to England as a civilian he finds himself treated very differently. It's desperation that makes him remember a wartime friendship with Queenie and knock at her door. Gilbert's wife Hortense, too, had longed to leave Jamaica and start a better life in England. But when she joins him she is shocked to find London shabby, decrepit, and far from the golden city of her dreams. Even Gilbert is not the man she thought he was...

Posted by Leah Woodburn, Editorial

Blog: Announcing Tinder Press!

It is no ordinary day here at Headline Towers, for it is the day that we finally announced the arrival of our new imprint, Tinder Press. It's a hugely exciting endeavour for us, and we can't wait to tell you more about the fantastic books we'll be publishing – do keep an eye out for them here. And, despite the fact that we're not launching till next year, we're already chattering away: do follow us on Twitter @TinderPress, have a peek at our website: www.tinderpress.co.uk/, and, lo! we’re even on Pintrest: pinterest.com/tinderpress/ The stories are coming…

News

Headline Snaps up Kimberling

Headline has acquired two novels by Brian Kimberling, the inaugural winner of the Janklow & Nesbit Bath Spa Prize.

Posted by Brian Kimberling, Author

Blog: Accidental Twitcher

Brian Kimberling discusses insect repellent and his inspiration for his brilliant novel, SNAPPER published by Tinder Press.

Elaine Egan, Publicity

Blog: Tinder Press goes to the Edinburgh Festival

Team Tinder donned their kilts and gamely hopped onto the East Coast rail in search of historic architecture, chillier climates, crowds of musicians, actors, acrobats, circus performers and all the many varied folk who make up the phenomenal event that is the Edinburgh Festival. Oh, and to see some of our fantastic Tinder Press authors in action at the Literature Festival, of course. Here’s a little snapshot of our Tinder authors’ events: Peggy Riley's Amity & Sorrow offers an incredibly uncomfortable insight into the lives of a small family who've recently run away from an obscure, albeit fictional, religious cult. But in her event with fellow writer Jenn Ashworth, On Faith and Family, Peggy described how, though the cult and world of Amity & Sorrow is fiction, many of the aspects and idiosyncrasies of cult life she describes are very much based on real events and case studies. Both authors admitted to being a tad obsessed with how extreme faith affects everyday family life, but it is because of this obsession that the audience were treated to such an interesting discussion, and so there were certainly no complaints from the crowd! Amity & Sorrow is available now, priced £7.99 Ben Willis, Publicity Sitting in the audience at Maggie O’Farrell’s sold out event in Edinburgh, I took a quick glance around the room and could see that everyone was enthralled. Maggie’s reading from her latest novel, Instructions For A Heatwave, had the crowd laughing in many places and awed in others with her lyrical prose and beautiful turn of phrase. Delving into the issues of literacy and feminism which she has tackled in Instructions, Maggie spoke about how she believed there was no such thing as gender in writing stating, ‘I wouldn’t pick up a book just because it was written by a man’. Intriguing questions from the audience about Maggie’s style of writing: her use of intricate characters and the importance of time and place in her writing, coupled with the warmth and sincerity of a much loved author made it a very enjoyable event. Although it was raining when we emerged from the tent, the audience were all aglow from what many told me was the highlight of their festival. Instructions For A Heatwave is available now, priced £7.99. Elaine Egan, Publicity Brian Kimberling’s discussion of Snapper with chair Serena Field and fellow author Allan Wilson, author of Wasted in Love, was a fascinating one to watch. The two authors are, in many ways, very different – Brian writes about Indiana and the Midwest whereas Allan writes in a gritty, urban setting about the lives of Glaswegians. Both writers are very sharp and incisive, however, and their novels share similar themes: those of young people’s connection to the place that they come from, and the challenges they face as they grow older. Both are very funny writers, and speakers – Brian’s dramatic reading from Snapper had me in stitches (particularly when he had to pick the lectern up to be nearer to the microphone, as he’s so tall) – he read out one of my favourite scenes: the Gypsy Moth, the barely-roadworthy old bus driven by Nathan, the main character, pulls into the town of Santa Claus, where all the residents club together to reply to all the letters they receive yearly from children who believe they are writing to the real Father Christmas. The best kind of literary events, I find, are those which are thought-provoking yet funny too, and leave the audience grinning from ear to ear: I certainly came away from this event with a big smile on my face. Emily Kitchin, Editorial Snapper is available now, priced £7.99.

By Brian Kimberling

Blog: Our Man in Indiana

The other day I went to a bluegrass festival with no music, which is typical for Indiana. I was assured that 'Barn Damage' was taking the stage later, but the afternoon's chief attraction was the Kids' Tractor Pull, in which various five or six year olds struggled to pedal a toy tractor while the grown-ups added increasing weight to a toy trailer -- if the kids make it past three or four feet the adults are clearly not doing their job. Encouragement and understanding are not really part of the Indiana parenting repertoire. Other spectacles included several dozen very large people exiting very large vehicles and driving golf carts over short distances. I'm working on a second book set in southern Indiana, like SNAPPER, and since I haven't lived here for fifteen years it seemed a good idea to spend the summer on the ground. I've been snapping photos relating to SNAPPER and to Indiana generally, and had a surprise visit from a British photographer friend. I kept trying to tell him that Indiana is not necessarily the most backward of the United States – Iowa, Illinois, and Idaho are pretty competitive, and that's leaving off the states beginning with ‘A’. I settled on describing it as Jeremy Clarkson's spiritual homeland – it is, after all, the home of the Indy 500*. But Indiana might also be, for good or ill, the most American of the states. Twenty years ago the town I grew up in had the highest density of fast food restaurants in the world, and today it claims the nation's highest per capita obesity rate. Someone should have predicted that. Whenever a major corporation wants to know what America generally will make of a new tenderloin sandwich or pickup truck they run it past the people of southern Indiana first, because they are so representative. It's now ground zero for climate change discussions, too. Look at that drought they're having, says the New Yorker. That may be what the future looks like: amber waves of extremely short corn. There are a lot of OBAMA BIN LYIN' bumper stickers out on the road, and, of course, an imminent election. I am not very good at making predictions, but I hope some years from now, when physical exercise is altogether forgotten and every registered Democrat has been sent to the guillotine, that SNAPPER and its accompanying photos will offer some clue to what happened, and how. * My friend countered, however, that a European racetrack has nuance and refinement – a dogleg here, a berm there; Formula One is an exhibition of driverly skill. In Indianapolis they go really fast in circles. But I'm sure Mr. Clarkson approves.

Our Man in Indiana

By Brian Kimberling

A few words from SNAPPER author Brian Kimberling, aka Tinder Press’s Indiana correspondent, on returning to the place that inspired him to start writing, and that will form the basis of his next novel. SNAPPER will be published by Tinder Press in May 2013.

Download a sampler

Snapper

Click here for a sneak peek at SNAPPER by Brian Kimberling. Set in rural Indiana, SNAPPER is a book about birdwatching, a woman who won't stay true, and a pick-up truck that won't start. With wry humour and real freshness, this is a birdwatcher's guide to the human heart.

13 Aug
Edinburgh

Brian Kimberling at the Edinburgh International Book Festival

8:30pm

Brian Kimberling & Allan Wilson will be in conversation at the Edinburgh International Book Festival On Tuesday 13th August, 8.30pm-9.30pm Baillie Gifford Corner Theatre How do young people cope in this age of uncertainty? Two young novelists from opposite sides of the Atlantic write about the search for humanity in dysfunctional lives. Brian Kimberling’s Snapper follows a professional bird researcher through the strange rural badlands of America, while Glasgow-based Allan Wilson presents Meat, in which one man clings on to love when the rest of his life is spiralling out of control. Brian Kimberling will also be reading at the 5.30pm Amnesty International Imprisoned Writers Series event at Peppers Theatre.

07 Jun
Crystal Palace

Brian Kimberling at Bookseller Crow on the Hill

7pm
Snapper - Brian Kimberling

Author Video

02 Sep
London

Brian Kimberling at Faber Social

7pm

Brian Kimberling will be reading from his novel SNAPPER at the Faber Social, alongside authors DBC Pierre, Emma Jane Unsworth and John Niven to name but a few. Tickets £5

Resident Birdwatcher Brian Kimberling discusses

SNAPPER

Resident Birdwatcher Brian Kimberling talks about his debut novel

SNAPPER

By Clemency Burton-Hill

New York, New York

Being a freelance writer has its upsides and its down; but an indisputable up is the ability to choose one’s office daily. As I write, I am sitting in a small café on Hudson and Charles, spotted on a whim as I crossed over the street from Seventh Avenue. It boasts walls of exposed old brick and studiedly shabby wooden furniture; a vinyl record of jazz turns on a gramophone in the corner. October sunlight slants lazily across the street and slinks in through the café windows, gilding a wall of analogue photographs depicting the proprietor’s great-grandparents in curling sepia. It is late 2012; the New York headquarters of some of the twenty-first-century’s most cutting-edge technology companies are in the vicinity; but with this chipped mug of coffee in my hands here and that Charlie Parker LP spinning there, I could be occupying the sort of contemplative corner spot that any number of human characters in New York may have occupied before me. Other years, other faces, other times. People sometimes complain that Greenwich Village, like much in Manhattan, has “altered beyond recognition” and I’m sure in many ways it has – it is in the very nature of this town; the very name of this town, to enshrine the possibility of change. But I also know, I feel intuitively, that there is still in these streets the unwavering spirit of the old city, catering generously and eternally to the needs of those whose hearts are open, curious and yearning. There’s no place like this on earth. In other words, New York’s still got it. **** When I turned eighteen, I was given a subscription to the New Yorker for my birthday. A decade later, almost to the day, I moved to Manhattan and for the first few months I lived here, the simplest and most wondrous of the inestimable gifts this city bestows seemed to be this: that I could open those storied pages, flip to Goings On About Town, and, if I so desired, “go on about town”. I could read about a jazz gig, a book reading, a film opening, a symphony or rock concert, an opera, a play, a new restaurant and, bank balance permitting, experience it that same night. Back in my hometown of London – itself a city not without wonder – reading the Goings On section of the New Yorker became a weekly act of masochism, yielding predictable twists of almost palpable longing. To read about what was happening that same night across the Atlantic; to dream, to imagine, but to only be able to imagine – to not be in New York was sometimes too much to bear. Yet this is a city that has always been created by the imagination; a metropolis lovingly constructed in ink and paper and celluloid and dreams as much as it is by bricks and mortar, steel and glass. To borrow an insight from that master observer of New York, E. B. White, there are roughly three New Yorks: that of the natives, that of the commuters, and that of the settlers. That notion was true when White wrote “Here is New York” in 1948, and it strikes me as being resoundingly true today. Like him, I believe that the third New York will always be the most important, the most vital, because it is the one whose foundations are laid first in the minds of human beings born and living elsewhere – those for whom New York City is the ultimate destination. When the settler-dreamers hit the bedrock, having crossed bodies of water, been coughed up through tubes or tunnels or deposited by planes, it is up to them – to us – to turn those dreams into something resembling reality. And because New York has a unique capacity to absorb whatever is thrown at it and whomever arrives on its shores, they invariably do play their own unique part in shaping what happens next in the mighty pageant that is life here. Although, not always: New York also spits out more dejected and disappointed souls than any other city on earth. We transplanted “New Yorkers” must also live with the lurking shadow of that possibility every day. **** The music fades, the needle lifts, and a bearded barista with complicated tattoos on his forearms whom I’d wager lives in Brooklyn goes to flip the record to its B-Side. Which reminds me of a startling fact: the first jazz disc ever to be cut in the world was cut in New York. Ever in the world! It was Nick La Rocca’s Original Dixieland Jazz Band with “Livery Stable Blues”, in early 1917. But I plucked that particular “first” from the sky; really it’s not so startling – New York is a city of firsts. A city of human beings calmly doing things that will forever alter the direction of how those things can be done. From sculptors to subway contractors; from traders of sundries to traders of derivatives; from writers of music to writers of insurance to writers of code. Right now, I wonder, how many blocks am I from wonder? A short stroll in any direction and I might run into a movie crew shooting on a corner of Bleecker whose young director, as yet unknown, will win an Oscar next year; I might walk past an innocuous office building on Houston in which employees at a start-up whose name we’ve never heard of are busy inventing the next game-changing technology that we will soon all take for granted; I may glance at construction workers on a downtown skyscraper site whose silhouette will one day be a byword, a metaphor, a symbol for something the whole world understands – or maybe will just be a building so beautiful it makes people weep. This guy sitting next to me, meanwhile, tapping away on his laptop; for all I know he could be writing the world’s next Booker-winning novel. This is New York. Since arriving at this café, moreover, I have seen through these sunlit windows every sort of human face pass along Hudson Street. Even here, in this achingly well-heeled neighborhood where a brownstone townhouse around the corner on Perry is apparently on the market at fifteen million dollars (“What the hell – I’ll take two!”) I have seen faces old and young; faces black and brown and pink and white and many shades of grey. Faces beautiful and completely unmemorable; faces brimful of life; faces seemingly close to death. Perhaps these faces come from Puerto Rico, from Sierra Leone, from Mexico, England, Haiti, Cuba, Latvia, Kenya, Russia, Ireland or Italy. Perhaps from China, Tunisia, Wales, India, Jamaica, New Zealand, Greece or Poland. Perhaps they were born in a gleaming hospital uptown, or in a railroad apartment in an outer borough; perhaps they were born half way around the world. But here in New York they are. And as White memorably observed: “the collision and the intermingling of these millions of foreign-born people representing so many races and creeds make New York a permanent exhibit of the phenomenon of one world.” The phenomenon of one world. We know all this, of course. New York as a racial melting pot, a magnet for all comers, a global crucible of creativity: all of this has been said in myriad ways, by multitudes and over many years. But just as New York has every type of potential racial problem and for the most part enjoys a continuing and frankly miraculous city-wide tolerance, an “inviolate truce” between peoples, what astounds me is how the things we know about the city – the clichés and stereotypes, the myths and legends – go on being true, and indeed, get truer. Why? How? How do you work, New York? How are you even plausible? **** When you tell people you live in New York, I have found, reactions generally divide into those whose eyes widen with envy and those who wrinkle their brows in horror – or, worse, pity. “Oh no,” they shake their head, “I could never live there – so noisy, so dirty, so smelly. And why does everyone have to be so unbelievably rude?” There are also those who grumble that New York has somehow lost its character; been homogenised and commercialised and overrun by identical shops, adverts and tourists who genuinely appear to think queuing outside Abercrombie & Fitch a valid use of time. Well, yes. Surely Broadway has its grim bits; clearly one does well to avoid Times Square. Obviously you ignore the horse-and-cart guys in Central Park and of course you don’t eat at Olive Garden or wait forty-five minutes for a Magnolia Bakery cupcake. And of course New York is smelly and dirty and busy and crowded. If White thought in 1948 that “the normal frustrations of modern life are here multiplied and amplified” he would possibly be dismayed (but not surprised) to discover that more than half a century on there is still “not enough air and not enough light, and there is usually either too much heat or too little”. But in general, I believe, New York still has more life and curiosity and character in a single city block than even – dare I say it – London. And I’m a born and bred London girl who once suspected that if you were to cut my veins I would bleed the Thames. (I have also lived in Paris, and - hit me over the head with a baguette – I’m afraid that glorious capital does not compare either.) For more than three years, for example, my local Subway stop has been Grand Central. Rushing across the Main Concourse before I head underground to catch a train, I try always to look up at the ceiling and promise myself I will never, ever take such a sight for granted. When back in London, equally, I remind myself not to sigh in inevitable disappointment when I board the Piccadilly Line to go home. It’s a grossly unfair comparison, of course: how could poor old Hammersmith, my local Tube, ever hope to win against those majestic cathedral glories on 42nd Street? But that’s the point, isn’t it? **** In January 2012, the population of the entire New York City metropolitan area hit nineteen million people. It can be lonely here; sometimes unutterably so: a teeming place of human isolation and even desperation. By Grand Central Station I have indeed sat down and wept. But as White also captured brilliantly: “Although New York often imparts a feeling of great forlornness or forsakenness… you always feel that either by shifting your location ten blocks or by reducing your fortune by five dollars you can experience rejuvenation.” Reducing one’s fortune by five dollars here, by the way, remains the easiest damn thing in the world. Another cup of coffee at this very café, especially if accompanied by one of those artisanal sea-salt cookies they bake downstairs, will barely leave me change from twice that. In a doorway down the street, some wit has stuck a poster referencing the iconic slogan: I CAN’T AFFORD TO  NY. It has probably never been more difficult or more expensive to live in New York. Yet I and so many others would not be anywhere else in the world. Shifting my location, I will take my five bucks and get another coffee at some other place, ten blocks away, twenty, or who knows where. It doesn’t matter where I go: I open the door and the universe awaits. CLEMENCY BURTON-HIL, NEW YORK CITY, OCTOBER 2012