The Moondish is the dark, imaginative, thought-provoking and enjoyable second novel by Isle of Wight writer Benjamin Roberts.
Set in the village of Bonchurch, near Ventnor, the plot takes place around the historic visit of author Charles Dickens to the Isle of Wight in 1849.
Jane Tench, a hard-up narrative therapist, has come to the Island to hide from her past. Her first client, troubled Adam Doe, is hard to fathom, producing strange stories about the Chinese opium trade and a shipwreck on the Isle of Wight coast, linked with a young Victorian woman called Rosie…
Could Adam’s narratives be more than just stories? Only the Moondish can help Jane find the truth, and the way to help Adam… even if she may not like the answer.
Roberts’ writing style is accessible, with flashes of particular beauty. The multi-layered plot is complicated and intriguing, and while the main characters are perhaps less sympathetic than they might be, that’s not necessarily a fault in this particular novel. However, in my view it could be argued that the character of Charles Dickens, well-researched though he is, ideally should play a more influential role in the final stages of the story.
As writers, no doubt we’re all familiar with the over-quoted saying, “The world is a book, and those who do not travel read only one page.” Whether this was really said by St Augustine or not (and there are those who have doubts), there is a lot of truth in the phrase. The world is filled with adventures completely outside the scope of the Six Wonders of the Isle of Wight.
We’ve all seen photos of Ayers Rock, the Great Pyramid, the Grand Canyon and the Parthenon, but it’s only by visiting them that we can really comprehend what they are like. It isn’t just their size and magnificence, but the whole experience.
Until we’ve heard the thunder of Niagara Falls for ourselves, stumbled through dusty Jerusalem alleyways to the Dome of the Rock or gazed down on the rooftops of Paris from the Eiffel Tower, we can’t hope to write about those places convincingly. But, more than that, inevitably, our creative writing will be enriched by those experiences, even when writing on topics closer to home.
The fourteenth-century Moroccan explorer, Ibn Battuta, had this to say of travelling: “It leaves you speechless, then turns you into a storyteller.”
A few weeks ago, Yvie waved goodbye to Island Writers and flew off to live in Dubai for the next two years. She’ll be sharing her exploits on her new blog, Delving Into Dubai.
Perhaps she could start at the vast Ibn Battuta shopping mall, containing nearly 300 shops, as well as stunning hand-painted ceilings. Now there’s an experience you probably won’t get in Union Street…
For the rest of us, back here on the Island, that doesn’t mean we won’t have any experiences to write about – far from it! Our new group project is a chance to explore the many beauties of our beloved little isle – including, let’s hope, some of the special places which grockles never find.
I chose the theme of Broken things for our last Island Writers meeting. I was feeling a bit broken myself, so it seemed appropriate.
We talked about people’s negative attitudes to broken things – I suggested that we see them as not important enough to bother keeping safe, or we feel disgust that they are now useless and only worth throwing away. They can be a visible expression of violent activity, or of a lack of care.
Some of you argued that shabby old broken items can be loved more for sentimental reasons because of their condition, and that a broken item might be kept as a reminder that we have survived bad times.
In creative writing, broken things can be used to show violent behaviour or strong emotions, such as in a TV scene where an angry or frightened character clutches a wine glass so tightly that it shatters. This particular trope is over-used, but the writing principle is sound.
The inclusion of something broken can also be used to represent an abstract concept, such as a broken relationship or psychological damage. A cracked mirror could stand for bad luck, or a broken window could be a metaphor for breaking the boundaries of normal social behaviour.
Something breaking in a story can be a turning point, representing a moment of change or a break in the cycle of events, so I asked you all to write a piece where the act of something being broken created a significant turning point in someone’s life.
I think most of you will agree that the standard of writing this topic produced was particularly high, and it was interesting that the breakage didn’t always represent a negative idea – notably, Katie’s idea of an egg breaking because a chick is hatching.
Continuing the theme, our assignment for next time is Breaking the chain.
Samuel Johnson once said, “The chains of habit are too weak to be felt until they are too strong to be broken.” He was right. We don’t always realise our patterns of behaviour until things change.
I was always the quiet, studious one of the family. Since we were children, my sister Lucy has been my opposite self: the wacky, confident, popular person I wish I could be.
As most of you will be aware, shortly after reaching home after our meeting, I heard that she had died after a long illness.
I never made friends before I learned she was dying, because I didn’t need any – she was my best friend. She was always my go-to person, as I was hers, to discuss life decisions and creative projects: weddings, child care, jobs, cooking, holidays, home décor, crazy themed parties, family problems, business ventures and writing ideas.
Now the chain that bound us together is broken after 53 years, and I am having to reach out to new people and teach myself new habits.
I won’t try to be Lucy, and I will always miss her terribly. But perhaps in having to stand alone at last, I will make the effort and find the confidence to be the lively, sociable, interesting person who was always there inside my head.
Lucy’s son James asked me to write the last post on her blog, Lucy’s Last Post. I so wish I could tell her: she would have enjoyed the irony.
It’s a delicious, roll-around-the-mouth word, and I offer profuse thanks to Yvie, one of our new Island Writers members, for adding it to my vocabulary!
So, what is moodling? Put simply, it means mulling over ideas and jotting down anything which comes to mind. Unlike brainstorming, this relaxed thought process frees the mind to come up with unfocused inspirations on a range of topics – we can worry about what to use them for later.
But after years of moodling, Yvie has decided to use some of the many ideas she’s generated and take up the huge challenge of NaNoWriMo – the National Novel Writing Month. The idea is to write a 50,000-word novel during the month of November.
Excuse me – write a whole novel in just 30 days?
Yup. That’s the challenge. 1667 words, every day for a whole month. Gulp. And only about 10% – 15% of participants make it – but even for the majority who don’t quite succeed in finishing during the time limit, it’s a fabulous spur to achieve a major chunk of that novel they’ve been moodling over for years.
Yvie’s latest blog update says she’s already written 20,000 words, so she has a good chance of making it past the halfway mark, at least. That’s a lot more than I’ve written all year!
Over 400,000 writers tried their hand at NaNoWriMo last year. So, why don’t they all keep on target? (Apart from, of course, that it’s nearly impossible?)
Yvie’s found one answer: creative writing hurts. Writing – good writing – is an emotional affair. Creating a novel based on past experiences can mean reliving heart-wrenching emotions we thought we’d locked away forever. Some days it feels like peeling off your skin to let outsiders look underneath. Fortunately, if you love writing, it’s worth it.
So we can only wish her luck – and leave some supportive words on her blog to help her along.
Want to try NaNoWriMo?
With just a few days to go until the end of November, we’re too late to join Yvie this time, but if you’d like to try completing a writing project in one month and you don’t want to wait until next November, check out Camp NanoWriMo – it looks fun!
Meanwhile, I intend to moodle as often as possible. Preferably while munching my way through a tub of Cadbury’s Roses. That’s the kind of emotional experience I can really go for.