JADE JAGGER On rocks and rock’n’roll

24 25
literature
Picture the scene: it is 2008 and two powerful players
in London’s literary scene are having lunch at The
Wolseley. Cathy Galvin, then deputy editor of the Sunday
Times magazine, has recently introduced a weekly shortstory
slot, the magazine’s first foray into fiction in its
50-year history. Opposite her sits Lord Matthew Evans,
former chairman of the publishers Faber & Faber, now
chairman of EFG Private Bank in Switzerland. The
conversation is convivial, bookish, gossipy. They both
love writers, they both want to champion the short-story
form.
Galvin suggests a prize, something to celebrate the
best in short-story writing. Quick as a flash, Evans talks
business: “How much do you think we should offer?”
Galvin swallows, tries not to choke, and replies in a
tentative tone: “Twenty-five thousand?” Unflustered,
Evans comes back with: “I should call Geneva this
afternoon.”
By 2010, the world’s richest prize for a single short
story was launched, with a cheque for £25,000 for the
best work of no more than 7,000 words published in the
UK or Ireland. Now in its fourth year, the EFG Sunday
Times Short Story Award is still going strong, and in
March this year, the winner Junot Díaz walked off with a
cheque for £30,000.
The prize is in good company, with a growing number
of awards recognising the short-story writer’s unique
talents, among them the BBC’s national and international
short-story awards, and the Costa Short Story Award.
Most recently, the short story received tacit recognition
with the unveiling of the Folio Society Prize, which can
go to any work of fiction, be it a novel or a collection of
short stories.
After too long in the literary shadows, the short story
is having its moment. And it’s all falling into place for
Galvin, who left the Sunday Times last year. She has
followed her passion for stories and now runs a literary
salon that champions short fiction. “I love fiction,” says
Galvin with a shrug. “It’s as simple as that – people like
being told a story.”
The salon meets on the last Saturday of the month,
in a bijou café-cum-bookshop called the Society Club,
down a cobbled road just east of Regent Street. At a
long, refectory-style table crowded with books and
bouquets of white roses, the grey-haired man in a tweed
jacket can rub elbows with the girl with a geometric
haircut and big spectacles. Outside, snow is falling.
Inside, the windows fug up with bonhomie and ideas.
The exiled Iraqi writer Hassan Blasim reads in Arabic into
a respectful silence. The young Welsh novelist Joe
Short but
sweet
WITH A GROWING NUMBER OF AWARDS
CELEBRATING THE SHORT STORY, THE ARTFORM
IS HAVING A MOMENT – AS A VISIT TO THE WORD
FACTORY’S MONTHLY SALON DEMONSTRATES.
FOUNDED BY FORMER JOURNALIST CATHY
GALVIN, THE MEETINGS DRAW CROWDS OF
SHORT-STORY LOVERS, AS WELL AS SOME OF
THE BIGGEST NAMES IN FICTION. ELENA
SEYMENLIYSKA REPORTS
CATHY GALVIN WITH HANIF KUREISHI - ONE
OF THE AUTHORS HER SALON HAS HOSTED
Dunthorne reads with a poker face and makes everyone
laugh. Afterwards, writers and audience mingle and chat,
emails are exchanged, books are bought and signed. It
is easy but stimulating, informal yet polished.
“The word salon can sound elitist,” Galvin says. “It
made me uncomfortable at first. I didn’t want it to be
mimsy. I like good work but I want it to be accessible.”
Over the past eight months, her salon has hosted writers
such as Hanif Kureishi, James Meek, Alexei Sayle and
Lionel Shriver. Among those lined up for future events are
Helen Simpson, Naomi Alderman and Kevin Barry.
Galvin says she named her venture the Word Factory
because it reflects the grand idea she has not just of a
literary salon, but also of all its creative offshoots – a
website with videos of authors reading their work;
creative writing seminars and masterclasses led by
agents and published authors; an innovative writing
apprentice scheme; and possible future projects such as
a magazine and a books imprint.
The name is also linked to her experience as a
magazine journalist. For 17 years, Galvin would walk
through the doors at News International, publisher of the
Sunday Times, and think to herself: “Here I am again,
back at the Word Factory.” The features and interviews
she published were stories too but, as she puts it:
“Fiction can touch on subtle truths about the times we
are in.”
Plus, around the time she came up with the idea for
the Word Factory, she was grappling with her own,
subtly personal story: her father was dying. “He’d
worked in factories all his life,” she says. “I wasn’t part of
some literary establishment. That’s why I was drawn to
journalism – I was the outsider looking in. The Word
Factory was my way of paying homage to his labour. It
has the same down-to-earth values: you produce good
work which can get sold.”
Galvin grew up in Coventry, and has roots in Ireland.
She says she loves parties, loves to gather and mix
people who seem different. Her salons have been known
to burst into song, or be set against a background of live
jazz, or feature Irish folk musicians alongside writers at
the peak of their careers and those just starting out.
“The Word Factory is a way of sharing the things that
I love,” she says. “This feels right. I haven’t had to work
at it – it’s been hugely easy and enjoyable.” She thinks
for a moment, and repeats: “It feels right.”
For details of the next literary salon or creative-writing
seminar, visit www.thewordfactory.tv. The Society Club is
at 12 Ingestre Place, W1.