A TINY BIT MARVELLOUS by Dawn French is the story of a modern family all living in their own separate bubbles lurching towards meltdown. It is for anyone who has ever shared a home with that weird group of strangers we call relations.
Mo is about to hit the big 50, and some uncomfortable truths are becoming quite apparent: She doesn't understand either of her teenage kids, which as a child psychologist, is fairly embarrassing. She has become entirely grey. Inside, and out. Her face has surrendered and is frightening children.
Dora is about to hit the big 18 . . . and about to hit anyone who annoys her, especially her precocious younger brother Peter who has a chronic Oscar Wilde fixation.
Families are a frightful inconvenience, true, but nowadays we are too hasty to dismiss them.
The Battle family. My family. Hmmm.
I am utterly convinced that if only a little glitter could be sprinkled on their blandness, they might yet spring up, and dance the dance of life. This, at least, is my theory where my ancient (sixty-nine whole years for goodness’ sake) grandmama is concerned. Nothing ages a woman so rapidly as a diet of relentless Jeremy Kyle and Emmerdale . Evidenced by Grandmama, who carries the horrific strains and scars of years of loyal service to both of these demanding mistresses.
I offered her the benefi t of my company this New Year’s Eve, but informed her that as of midnight I should much like to insist that she refer to me as Master Oscar at all times. For that is whom I am, and I can’t stress enough the importance of being Oscar.
Thankfully Grandmama acquiesced to this simple request. She is dreadfully dowdy but a perfect saint. Her name is Pamela. I ask you, how was she ever supposed to make anything of herself with that ghastly moniker as her albatross? As a rule, I would never trust a woman who sports anything nylon but, in Grandmama’s case, all is forgiven due to the incontrovertible fact that she is gleefully ignorant of the joys of fashion and utterly unencumbered by a shred of style. I therefore choose not to taunt or goad her, it would only be cruelty, and poor wretch, she has no idea of the magnitude of her folly.
Bless her, she is famed in those parts of Pangbourne which are her closest environs, to be something of an expert when it comes to the preparation and serving of the fi nest of banoffee pies, and ruly, in this respect, I am extremely fortunate, for banoffee pie in all its creamy bananaish toffeeish glory is quite easily one of my primary passions in life. To taste, to savour and to have culinary congress with it, is my pure rapturous delight and gives me, frankly, a reason to live. What else is there?
So, in pursuit of this pleasure, and at the set hour, I wended my way by means of two entirely separate and equitedious omnibus experiences to Grandmama’s. I wore a high collar and one of Mater’s faux fur hats against the biting wind. I fancy the ensemble was a mite enchanting, and suited me more than a little, and I detected not a few admiring comments en route.
Once at Grandmama’s domicile I was horrifi ed to realize that she had not reserved the evening exclusively for me, but had invited in, albeit briefl y, her imbecile neighbour, the appalling Janice. A woman with the kind of face that once seen, is rarely remembered. Never was there a creature more appropriately placed to be the poster girl for euthanasia.
Why was Pamela born with such hideous contemporaries? I have no doubt that Janice was once the prettiest fool in England but now she is nothing more than a dull, agèd (sixty-two years) and ugly slattern, whose foremost crime is to assume she is always worthy of the post of centre of attention. She is blissfully unaware that this position requires the skill of being even the slightest bit amusing or interesting, if that’s not requesting too much? I am accustomed to dullards, Lord knows I am surrounded by them daily in my family, but the awful Janice takes the biscuit. And the cheese and, by Jove, the crackers.
It was the hour to suffer and suffer we did. News of her wearisome family in Wales, her bargains at the sales and her monstrous bunions were among the ripest of the topics. I wished I were rather ravaged by wild dogs and torn apart and greedily gulped down than have to sit in her atrocious company, but mercifully, she was soon bumbling off muttering something about her neglected dog.
This left Grandmama and I to our familiar New Year’s traditional schedule of a hand of cribbage, followed by the notorious banoffee pie in front of Jools Holland’s Hootenanny where we both agreed that Dizzee Rascal was, frankly, dazzling. A satisfying evening with much to recommend it. I look forward to a decade of scandalous delights and I promise earnestly to remain forever Oscar.
Penguin Author Q & A for Dawn French
You’re so well known and loved through your TV work where your character is the focus and physical expression helps get the character across. What was the catalyst for you to start writing a novel, where there isn’t that visual focus?
When I wrote Dear Fatty I realised that sitting and writing alone is an absolute joy. For me, there is always a visual focus because I can’t think or write any other way. In other words, I visit the place in my imagination where I see and hear each character very clearly. The challenge then, is to describe that to the reader.
You have written for TV, for comedy sketches, for serious dramas. Was it just a natural progression for you to now turn your talents to writing a novel, or has it been a burning desire for years?
I have turned away from the thought of writing fiction in the past through what I suppose is actually, fear. The direct, raw invitation for the reader to come in and explore my imagination is fairly scary for me so I have busied myself with so much else. I am in my 50s now and it’s time to be unafraid!
Have you been a secret novelist for years and just not told anyone?
No. I had to wait until the time was right. I knew I would know when, if you know what I mean!
So how does the writing process for a novel differ from that of writing comedy sketches, scripts for TV?
The process is entirely different. Mostly, writing for TV is collaborative and I am usually in a room with Fatty Saunders or other writers. The collaborative nature of it makes each decision quick. Having entire and singular control meant I procrastinated and doubted much more. I realised I am quite harsh on myself! I would often finish a day’s work and immediately destroy it all in a fit of irritation with myself! However, the upside is that I could set a trail of motivational titbits for myself. A five-minute stop for the reading of Heat Magazine. A game of ‘I chase you, you chase me’ with my dog. A slice of gooey carrot cake. Another three slices half an hour later. A shout. A sob. A wee. All of these were reasons to persevere.
We’ve heard that you write everything out long-hand and don’t have/use a computer. That’s quite unusual, why is that?
Frankly, I am too much of a lazy arsetwot to learn how to use the computer. Plus, I love the look of the words on the page in my handwriting. The second it’s all typed up, it looks like any old body’s book. Til then, it looks like mine. I use pencil. A sharp pencil moving over crisp white paper with feint blue lines. It’s a sensual treat. It’s lead-tastic in every way.
Do you find that it frees you to be more creative writing long-hand rather than tapping into a laptop?
If I had to tap it all into a laptop, it wouldn’t be completed until I am 108 years old. I’d like to have written four more by then, rather than spend endless days sweating at a machine and looking for the ‘k’ key from breakfast til lunch.
Novelists always seem to have a special place where they like to write. Do you have a secret shed or coffee shop where you do all your writing or are you able to jot things down wherever you are?
I am Fiona Fortunate in that my office faces directly out to the sea. The light changes, the sea changes, the wind changes. It is an ever-changing delight. I am trying to learn about clouds and have a reference book on my desk for that purpose. The perfect distraction. Sometimes I see dolphins jumping about (it’s true!) while I’m trying to force my strange mind to puncture the thick pink fog of menopause and remember exactly the word I want. DOLPHINS! Come on, it’s heaven.
You are such a busy person, have you felt that writing a novel as opposed to a shorter script or sketch has given you the freedom and permission to spend time exploring your characters and their situations in depth, that you wouldn’t get writing to short TV production deadlines?
Yes to all of this. Sometimes, the time spent writing this novel has felt supremely indulgent. It isn’t. It’s necessary. But it feels somehow naughty to be loving it so much.
You write from the perspective of 3 main family characters all with very strong and different voices. How hard was it for you to flip from writing one voice to the other? Did you have to find a method of writing for Mo, Oscar and Dora on different days of the week?!
It is a natural progression from everything else I’ve done to explore different voices. I am very comfortable with that. I had to stop for 2 weeks and read a lot of Oscar Wilde when I decided to include Peter/Oscar as his own voice. Loved that so much.
What gave you inspiration for the story?
The inspiration of the story came from listening to so many of my 50’s-year-old chums rabbiting on about how their teenage children are a mystery and a challenge. And listening to the teenagers thinking the same about their Mums.
Who is your favourite character? Why’s that?
Oscar is my favourite character, because he surprised me. I didn’t know I wanted to write him until he appeared.
This is your first ever novel, have you enjoyed the process and can we see another novel from the pen of Dawn French soon?
Oh bloody hell, yes! Bring it on you lovely pencil!
Dawn French’s Five Favourite Books
Decline and Fall (Evelyn Waugh): A very funny study of British manners.
Any Human Heart (William Boyd): A huge panoramic investigation of one man's life, how he affects so many other people and what he learns on the journey.
To Esme in Love and Squalor (J.D. Salinger): A story that I read and absolutely loved as a teenager and that has always stayed with me.
Puckoon (Spike Milligan): Absolutely hilarious. The author breaks down the fourth wall by talking to and arguing with the characters in the book.
The Hobbit (J.R.R .Tolkien): Because my uncle read it aloud to us as children and we just adored it.
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