Empty World

With his smart, Brylcreamed hair and sensible clothes, this man looks like a bank manager from the days when the job was synonymous with dependability, integrity and prudence. I can imagine him pouring me a whisky in his office before discussing the ungentlemanly business of borrowing money. He looks far too genial to be the author of post-apocalyptic fiction.

Empty World is a novel written for young adults about a virus that wipes out almost the entire human population. Like John Christopher's fiction for adults it offers a fairly bleak view of human nature, but as Puffin don't usually publish novels with gang rape scenes (with the possible exception of Melvyn Burgess), the drama is a little more restrained.

As with everything written by Sam Youd (John Christopher's real name), Empty World is an enjoyable work of escapist fiction that is consistently gripping and thoughtful. The average customer review on Amazon is five stars - a rare accolade for any novel - so why is it out of print?

The simple answer is that however good a novel is, unless it is heralded as a great work of literature or the author is commercially successful, it will probably go out of print.

When I worked in bookselling I remember the dreaded acronym RPUC - reprint under consideration. At first I used to convey this information to customers, who would then plague me for months, to the point where I had to hide in the stock cupboard until they left. I soon realised that RPUC was as good as OP - out of print.

It's depressing seeing a much-loved book fade into obscurity, but the beauty of the internet is that readers now have a voice. I have no doubt that Penguin's decision to reissue John Christopher's The Death of Grass has something to do with the huge demand for secondhand copies on the internet. As for Empty World, I'm sure that it will sell if only someone can come up with a better jacket than this:


The artist, David Chestnutt, has produced some highly-acclaimed psychedelic record covers, but this illustration looks like he's had some bad acid.

Rye

One of the great pleasures in life is sitting in a pub, enjoying a pint with someone you've known for years. When I lived in Twickenham, I took it for granted that I would see a particular friend at least once a week and without fail, we'd go through the same routine of drinking five pints of Guinness, followed by minor acts of vandalism towards the unsightly cluster of estate agents' signs that littered the communal garden outside my flat.

(Once I was caught by a policeman, halfway through the act of pulling up a 'For Sale' sign. He beckoned me over and said 'Now sir, we all know that estate agents are the lowest form of life, but I'd still like you to put that sign back.' What a gent)

I assumed that our weekly drink would continue until one of us died, but one day my friend decided to quit his job in the City and move to Kent. Apart from a couple of meetings in London, we saw little of each other and I wondered if we would eventually lose touch.

Then, a couple of years after moving to Lewes, I discovered that if we both left our houses at a similar time and caught trains to Rye, we'd arrive within minutes of each other. Several years on, Rye is now home to our new 'local' and we meet several times a year. I was there yesterday and, several pints later, came perilously close to buying a ukulele in a charity shop.

However, to get to the point...

If you haven't visited Rye, it's worth making a special journey. It is a beautiful, medieval town that is almost completely unspoilt and also has strong literary connections. Henry James spent the last 18 years of his life at Lamb House which, annoyingly, is only open on Thursday and Saturday afternoons. As writers' houses go, it's a little disappointing as so much of the property is off limits, but it is still worth a visit.

However, Lamb House also has other literary associations. EF Benson and his brother lived there in the 1920s and it became Mallards in the Mapp and Lucia novels. I am ashamed to say that I've never read Benson's books, but I watched the brilliant Channel Four adaptation and loved it.


Rumer Godden also lived at Lamb House for a few years, before moving to another part of Rye and set In This House of Brede in the local area. Once again, I haven't read the book, but the film's great. Any movie with the beautiful Judi Bowker and Diana Rigg dressed up as nuns can't be bad.

Rye has also been home to Joan Aiken, Dr Syn author Russel Thorndyke, Radcliffe Hall, Spike Milligan, Macolm Saville ( author of The Gay Dolphin Adventure - now sadly out of print) and Conrad Aiken, father of Joan.

Today, Rye's literary tradition is alive and well. John Ryan, author of the Captain Pugwash books lives and works in Rye. This is apt, as Rye is one of the Cinque Ports and has a strong nautical tradition, even if the town is now several miles from the sea.


However, the greatest writer living in Rye today must be Samuel Youd, aka John Christopher, the author of The Death of Grass (which is being reissued by Penguin next year). He is now 86 and I hope that he will live long enough to witness the resurgence of interest in his novels.


So that's the end of my pitch for Rye. If the local tourist board would like to send me a small token of their appreciation, I am open to offers as long as it doesn't involve those other famous residents of Rye, the Cheeky Girls.