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Read this. No don’t! Yes, do.

My new mystery thriller, Deficit of Diligence, is out now! It’s a sequel to the earlier Alternative Outcome, and follows the fortunes of downbeat journalist and would-be novelist Mike Stanhope as he settles into his new life in the West Country.

As you’ll quickly find out, he doesn’t actually get much breathing space. He’s soon on the move to the north of England, where a lot happens to him in a remarkably short time. His part-time boss has an assignment for him there, and he also has his own agenda – to find out more about a mysterious legacy.

But here’s a bit of a puzzle. I want to promote my new novel, but for people who haven’t read the first novel, the new one contains spoilers. So what should my message be? I want to say, “My new book is out, but please don’t read it – read the other one.” Yet that sounds daft!

Deficit of Diligence - link to Amazon book page

Deficit of Diligence – the new mystery drama from Peter Rowlands

I suppose it’s wonderful when anybody reads any book of mine, so perhaps I shouldn’t worry too much about who reads what, or in which order. But I don’t want to deter people from reading the first book by letting them find out too much about it in the second. Is this a problem for all series writers?

All I can say is, if you like the sound of my new book but you haven’t read the first one yet, you’ll find it will pay you to start there. But if you’re determined to lunge straight into the second, please don’t let me stop you!

 

  
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How exciting is that?

Robert Crouch (left) and Peter Rowlands
Robert Crouch (left) and Peter Rowlands.

Writing books tends to be a solitary pursuit. You think thoughts, work out ideas, then sit down at a keyboard and convert them into prose. Maybe you dip in and out of online writers’ forums, but that’s hardly the same thing as working side by side with other people. Basically you’re on your own.

So it was a great pleasure this summer to meet another novelist face to face – especially one with whom I seem to have quite a lot in common. I made the leading man in my Mike Stanhope series a logistics journalist, and I worried at first that this wouldn’t sound very appealing to readers. However, Robert Crouch has gone one better; his main character, Kent Fisher, is an environmental health officer.

What does that sum up to you? If I hadn’t read Rob’s series, I probably would have envisaged someone who was quite the antithesis of the typical leading man. No disrespect intended towards environmental health officers, but the very title sounds … well, dull.

Far from it! Kent Fisher is dynamic, inquisitive, sometimes reckless, but never dull. He knows lots of people in his area, the glorious downland of East Sussex, and inevitably he has made a few enemies in the course of passing official judgement on them. So when he develops a penchant for investigating crimes that the police seem to have neglected, he soon finds himself embroiled in all kinds of conflict, and turns out to be tough-minded and persistent.

Effortlessly attractive

Like my character Mike Stanhope, Kent manages to attract women with seeming effortlessness. In fact he seems to interact with several of them at the same time in most books in the series: not always romantically, but in various ways ranging from comradely to confrontational. The lively verbal sparring between him and them is priceless; in fact to me the vivid characters and natural dialogue of Rob’s books are the best parts.

One area where Rob and I conspicuously diverge is in that my books are written in the past tense, while Rob’s are in the present. He tells me he tends to work out the detail of his plots as he goes along, so it makes sense for his characters to be as surprised at events as he is himself.

I see the logic, but having written my first (unpublished) novel in the present tense, I found it a difficult approach to sustain. However, Rob makes it work, which makes me wonder if I should try it again some time.

Breathless or contained?

No Accident, by Robert Crouch

Another aspect in which we differ is that Mike Stanhope often travels the length and breadth of the country in pursuit of his stories, whereas Kent Fisher tends to stay in East Sussex – although he travels widely within it. Does that make Rob’s books seem more contained, or mine seem more breathless? I guess both approaches have their merits.

One thing that comes over clearly in Rob’s books is a love of the coastal downland settings – so it was appropriate that we met up at Birling Gap, adjacent to the Seven Sisters white cliffs. The location features in several of Rob’s books, and coincidentally also in one of mine, although mine are mostly centred on London. If you haven’t encountered his novels yet, they’re well worth a look. The Amazon book page for the first in the series, No Accident by Robert Crouch, is here, and there are plenty more in the series.

 

  
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Should journalists report news or create it?

The dilemma faced by journalist Mike Stanhope in Not Exactly True

I remember listening in dismay to the TV correspondents who reported on the 2008 financial crash. Night after night, they would tell us in lugubrious tones how the contagion was spreading; how it was an inevitable result of past failings; and how things could only get worse.

What they were saying turned out to be broadly true, but somehow their constant unremitting negativity seemed to me to be adding fuel to the fire. Financiers are human when all’s said and done. Like many of us, at the end of the day a lot of them will probably slump down in front of their TV with a gin and tonic in their hand. And what will they hear? That things are going from bad to worse. So will that negativity help to drive their thinking and influence the actions they take next day? If course it will! And those actions may well make matters worse still.

So do I want reporters to lie, and tell us all is well when in reality it’s not? Of course not. Sticking one’s head in the sand never did anyone any good. But if you hear often enough that something is broken and can’t be mended, inevitably you’ll start to believe it. The drip-drip-drip effect will take its toll.

If merely reporting it makes matters worse, is that an appropriate outcome?

This raises what I think is a very valid question about the role of journalists in conveying bad news. If merely reporting it makes matters worse, is that an appropriate outcome? I would seriously question it. Take the instance of a bank that is teetering on the edge of collapse. It might stand a chance of recovery if left to its own devices, but aggressive reporting of its problems could prompt a run in which consumers rush to draw their money out. Net result: a possible collapse is almost instantly turned into a certainty.

You might argue that social media has sidelined journalists in this debate; a thousand voices shouting about problems might seem to outweigh the impact of a few select reporters – even high-profile ones. But many of those thousand disparate voices will have based their comments on hearsay and speculation. By contrast, front-rank journalists bring authority and gravitas to the message. I sometimes think they don’t appreciate extent of their influence.

Mike’s predicament in Not Exactly True

In my latest mystery novel, Not Exactly True (published March 2023), I explore the predicament of a journalist who publishes a negative story about a business, but it then threatens him with a libel suit. He resolves to prove his story was true, but as he gets to know the company and the people in it he starts to feel defensive towards it, and is reluctant to hasten its demise by further negative reporting.

Here’s part of an early exchange between the journalist, Mike Stanhope, and Patrick Hurst, his publishing director, who is keen to fend off the libel suit:

Hurst sighed. “Unfortunately, Mike … adverse reports like this can turn into self-fulfilling prophecy. Simply sowing the seeds of doubt can make the story true.”

“But it can also help protect suppliers and employees.”

“Very laudable, but that’s not our job.”

At this stage Mike still feels his story was justified, but later a financial advisor tells him:

“I like the way you defended Warriners’ interests when we last met. Most journalists are utterly dispassionate about these things. If a company is going bust, their attitude is ‘So be it.’ I can see the logic of that, but sometimes it can be … tiresome, shall I say?”

Mike replies:

“Hard-core journalists would see any show of sympathy as a fault.”

“That’s why I’m not talking to a hard-core journalist.”

“Huh! Story of my life.”

He gave a fulsome laugh. “Be glad you have a bit of integrity.”

I won’t give the game away by revealing what actually happens to the company in the book. Suffice it to say that Mike plays a significant role in the outcome. But the bigger question is whether the kind of caution he exhibits is justified in the wider scheme of things, or whether journalists should simply report and be damned.

My own view? Life is seldom as simple as that. Also I don’t like self-fulfilling prophecies. I feel the press’s job is to report the news, not create it. Sometimes there’s a fine line between the two, but people with as much influence as front-line reporters should be taking the trouble to work out where it lies, and paying it the respect it deserves.

 

  
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Coronavirus – does anyone want to read about that?

Where should the coronavirus pandemic figure in modern mystery fiction? Should it figure at all? It seems to me as I write this (late 2022) that most of the world is doing its very best to forget it ever happened. By that reasoning, arguably no one wants to read about it in a novel.

Yet back in the day, it was all-preoccupying. It was a massive part of our lives. You couldn’t switch on a radio or TV, or speak to a friend or relative, or browse social media, without hearing something about it. It was everywhere. So how much of that constant awareness should be reflected in fiction set at that time?

This was the puzzle I confronted when preparing my latest mystery novel for publication. Back in early 2020, when I had the original idea for the story, the first phase of the pandemic was at its peak. People were wearing facemasks in public spaces; they were self-isolating when they fell ill; they were being told to stay home from work. Travel bans were being imposed across the world. People were dying in their thousands. And at that point there was no vaccine to combat the disease.

Packed with coronavirus plot points

As a result, the first iteration of my new book was packed with coronavirus plot points. The characters were constrained in their work and travel opportunities; couples were marooned apart from each other; businesses were failing; and some of the characters were falling ill.

For various reasons (not just coronavirus reasons) I wasn’t happy with the original draft, and in the end I put the book on hold for a year and a half. When I revisited it in 2022, I had some new ideas about how the plot should play out, and I revised it extensively. Things were looking promising.

But what about the coronavirus elements? They now seemed hopelessly outdated. Vaccines had come along. The omicron variant had proved far less invasive than the original strain. And perhaps most important, people were tired of having news about the virus pumped out at them all day long. They wanted to move on. Surely the last thing they needed was to have it thrown at them in fiction?

I decided that these concerns were justified, so I did another revision of the book, and expunged about 80 per cent of the covid references. Suddenly it seemed to work! I retained covid mentions that were essential to the plot, plus occasional comments about the strangeness of life at that time, but in other respects the story was now covid-free.

The benefits of a applying retrospective filter

The outcome? In my opinion it’s a far more effective novel now. Covid is seen with a retrospective filter; it’s there, but in small amounts, simply providing a backdrop to events at a moment in time. The story pretty much works without it.

What I’ve discovered from this experience is just how difficult it is to write a book that reflects a world crisis before there is any certainty about if, and how, the crisis will be resolved. This perhaps explains why, for example, only a limited amount of great fiction was written during the second world war. There are many war stories celebrating specific achievements or focusing on the impact of the war on individuals, but there wasn’t much attempt to present the “big picture” because no one at the time knew what the big picture was. Apart from propaganda, most great books and films about the war were created after it was over.

It seems to me that fiction requires basic assumptions to be fixed – a bit like the painted scenery that formed the backdrop of those old animated cartoon films. So before I start crafting a novel around the cost of living crisis or the Ukraine war, I’ll be reminding myself to stop, take stock, and wait until the fog clears. The result will be much better in the long run; I’m now convinced of that.

  
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Voices from 1943

The diary

The other day, poking around in the loft, I stumbled on a remarkable diary – a real-life snapshot of what now seems a very distant past. It’s an account of a cycling tour of scenic Scotland by two women in their mid-twenties in July 1943. One of them was my mother; the other was one of her closest friends. I’d seen it when I was young, but re-reading it in the present day was like discovering it all over again.

They’d had it typed so that they could send it to loved ones away at war, and my family’s copy was given cardboard covers, which probably helped to preserve it. And what a revelation it is! We tend to see the second world war through the prism of black and white photographs, bombing and devastation, battles and retreats, successes and disaster. This is another view. The grind of war is there in the background, but the diary shows that for brief moments it was still possible for the lucky few to escape.

Cast of characters

What is most striking about the diary is its freshness and immediacy. Its two voices are united in recollection of something which to them was a real achievement. They’d cycled nearly 300 miles over some extremely challenging terrain, and clearly loved every minute of it. The grandeur of the Scottish landscape shines out, but equally striking are the many different characters they encountered along the way. “You really do live, and you meet all sorts of people,” my mother wrote afterwards. “You see the country so much better than when you’re motoring.”

They never intended the diary to be seen by the wider world, but it reads almost like a series of sketches for some long-forgotten film – perhaps a cross between Powell & Pressburger and an Ealing comedy.

The text is scattered with period slang that now seems quaint, and is infused with an acceptance of wartime experiences that seem alien to us, but had become part of daily life back then – frequent encounters with soldiers of various nationalities, the sight of military convoys (yes, even in the highlands), and amphibious aircraft on the river Tay.

Quiet confidence

Beyond all that, it’s an accessible, everyday account of two people operating outside their normal comfort zone, yet apparently never doubting their ability to accomplish what they’d taken on. Maybe their maturity was borne of the rigours of life in wartime Britain. Whatever the source, they convey an air of quiet confidence that rings out across the decades.

Does it add up to anything more than a curiosity? I’d like to think so – which is why I’ve decided to do something my mother could never have dreamed of; I’ve put the whole thing on my web site. It’s intriguing and engaging, and brings to life a largely forgotten aspect of social life during the second world war. If you take a look, I hope you’ll see why I was so entranced by it.

Click here to go to the first page of the diary section.

  
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The old normal – will it ever come back?

Musings on the development of my next thriller

Novelists, like most people, tend to take a lot for granted. Characters in books may differ in detail from one to another, and may do different things with each other or to each other; but they tend to do it on a known, unchanging stage. The scenery might vary from time to time, much as it would in a theatre, but that doesn’t change the basics. The stage is solid, and the actors simply stride across it, acting out their drama in the foreground.

Then along comes a game-changer like coronavirus. Suddenly the whole context of storytelling is altered. Devastatingly, people who expected to live a lot longer are dying in their thousands. Meanwhile, world travel is vastly curtailed. Friends avoid touching each other. Strangers steer clear of each other in the street. Eating out grinds to a halt. The world economy totters. Social distancing may not always be observed as strictly as our leaders would like, but its very existence has meant a sweeping behavioral change in society. People are talking about a “new normal” which will presumably leave the old normal behind.

As a result, all past fiction suddenly looks outdated. Did couples really kiss when they’d only just met? Did people really flock to rallies, football matches, cinemas, restaurants, bars, marketplaces? Was there really a time when it was safe to go shopping without fearing unseen danger? It’s all so yesterday.

Reflecting the new reality

So what is the novelist of today and tomorrow to make of all this? To ignore it would be to deny reality in a way that verges on science fiction. Yet to reflect it presents a challenge unprecedented in modern times (yes, I know that’s a cliché) in the way the novel has to be thought about and constructed.

Ironically, the only kind of writing that is really immune to the effects of all this is science fiction. Just think of all the books and films that hypothesise a distopian world of disease and disaster. Maybe the new science fiction will end up imagining a world where there was no coronavirus?

Plenty of novels have already speculated about the possible causes of the pandemic. They’ve explored conspiracy theories and pointed the finger of blame at individuals and governments. More will doubtless follow as further information filters out in in the real world about the origins and spread of the disease.

But what about writers with a story to tell that has nothing to do with the virus? Are they now denied the opportunity to show people going about their lives as they did before – eating in restaurants, falling in love, travelling around freely, doing their jobs?

Avoiding the easy solution

One solution might be for writers to set the action of their books in the recent (or not-so-recent) past, but there has to be a dramatic imperative to do that. To shift the time backwards gratuitously might solve the coronavirus problem, but it would risk leaving a question mark dangling over everything else.

In any case, a bigger question is whether readers would actually want new fiction that disregards or denies the pandemic, and implies that the “new normal” doesn’t exist. It’s one thing to read and enjoy a book that was written before the virus came along, quite another to read one that pretends it didn’t.

All these thoughts have been running through my mind as I’ve approached publication of my latest mystery thriller, Now or Not at All. This was written before the pandemic struck, but is only seeing the light of day now that we know all about it. A part of me almost feels I should be apologising for unleashing a book into the world that doesn’t take account of what’s been happening in it.

I’ve concluded that I can’t re-work the book any more than I can rewrite history. It reflects preoccupations at a moment in time – a moment that appears to have passed. Hopefully it will stand on its merits, regardless of what has happened since.

Where do authors go next?

What I’m wondering now is where authors go next. How long will it be before the characters in novels can stop worrying about social distancing, travel constraints and the sweeping changes we’ve seen in personal behaviour? How long before the fractured stage of our daily lives is reassembled, and we can take previous norms for granted again? I accept that the virus and its aftermath will offer endless opportunities for new dramatic themes, but I’m already yearning for a world where the time-honoured delights and struggles of daily life come back to the fore, and I’m not forced to take account of a once-in-a-generation disaster (at least, I hope it is) that skews the storytelling process.

Past upheavals had much the same distorting effect on literature, and many lasted a lot longer than the experts say this pandemic will. The second world war went on for six years, and much of the writing that came out of it inevitably took it into account. The war didn’t diminish the impact of the best of the work from that period, but it did cast a pall on the subject matter and the contextual backdrop.

Eventually the new peace reasserted itself, and writers were free to turn their attention to whatever other preoccupations interested them. I wonder how long it will be before authors in our generation are equally free to make their own choices of what they write about again, without appearing to evade and dissemble if they disregard the glaringly obvious? Let’s hope for all our sakes, not just for the benefit of literary freedom, that it won’t be too long.


  
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The challenge of getting noticed

How do self-published authors sell their books? The answer, in most cases, is through a combination of hard work and hard cash (the latter being for required for ongoing advertising and promotion).

The Concrete Ceiling, by Peter RowlandsIn The Concrete Ceiling, the latest mystery in the Mike Stanhope series (out now!), Mike decides that if he focuses on the cash angle he may be able to shortcut the process. He spends a lot more than he should to promote his own book; but instead of ramping up sales, he quickly finds himself in all kinds of trouble.

In a way, The Concrete Ceiling is a mirror on itself – an offbeat look at the lengths writers of books like this need to go to in their efforts to find readers. And this means that in some respects it’s the most satisfying book I’ve written so far.

I’m relieved to say I’ve never faced the kinds of problem Mike encounters here, but like him, I’ve come to realise that getting traction for self-published books really is hard. I feel for him in his frustration, and I’ve enjoyed showing the world what it can be like. As he’s all too aware, it doesn’t matter how good your book is; people won’t read it if they don’t know about it – and putting it in front of enough readers to make a real impact is challenging. Very challenging.

Don’t worry; at heart Concrete Ceiling is a mystery thriller, not an essay on the trials of getting your book to market! It’s a breathless ride as Mike struggles to understand what he’s unleashed, and at the same time attempts to straighten out his tangled love life. His girlfriend is half-way across the world (and seems happy to keep it that way), but the new woman he’s fallen for is heading into a relationship with someone else. He has a lot to contend with.

The plot has some sudden swerves that may initially surprise you, but lead unerringly back to the beginning. Early readers have told me it’s the fastest-moving episode yet in the Mike Stanhope series.

All that being said, the underlying theme did give me the chance to air some of the issues that plague most self-published authors. A lot of those authors probably wish, like Mike, that they could simply dip into their pockets, spend as much money as they could possibly afford, and boost their book into the mainstream. I certainly do! But I sense that it would be an enormous gamble, and in any case I’m not sure where or how I would place my money. Hopefully not as injudiciously as Mike does; but then, he’s just plain unlucky.

Maybe this book about someone trying to promote their book will help me get a bit more exposure. Or maybe I need to write a book about a book about someone trying to sell their self-published book?

This could run and run.
.

  
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Book delay? Blame Brexit!

A quick apology to readers who have been looking out for The Concrete Ceiling, the next novel in the Mike Stanhope Mysteries series. It was due out in early 2019, but has been delayed until March. However, it’s nearly ready, and I hope you’ll find it just as engrossing as its predecessors. Watch this space!

If you’re wondering what happened, blame Brexit. I’ve been so absorbed by what’s going on in the UK that everything else seems to have been neglected. I simply can’t believe the massive harm the country is about to inflict on itself. I feel as if our government is wandering blindfolded over a cliff.

I wrote a thriller with a Brexit background a year ago, but what’s happening now is stranger than fiction. To tell you the truth, I’m hoping I’ll wake up one day and find it was all a dream – a bit like the death of Dallas’s Bobby Ewing, if you remember that far back. He was killed off in the series’ 1986 season, then brought back to life two seasons later by popular demand. His death, we were told, had simply been someone’s dream.

In the case of Brexit, it’s more like a nightmare. All the polls now show that if there were a referendum tomorrow, Remain would come out on top. People who were too young to vote last time would overwhelmingly vote Remain, so the balance is unlikely to shift. So why is the UK government doggedly insisting on implementing something that the majority of Brits don’t want, and will probably never want in future? It’s defies all logic.

It’s not too late for campaigners to push through with a second referendum, and that’s what I’m hoping for. Will it happen? We shall see.

 

  
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The Brexit questions the media fail to ask

Have you ever sat watching TV or listening the radio in mute outrage? I feel as if that’s what I’ve been doing endlessly for months. Almost every time there’s been an interview about Brexit, the interviewer has ignored or skated round the most obvious questions. I’d almost call it a conspiracy – except that then you’d mark me down as paranoid.

I’m writing this as we await the “meaningful vote” on the Government’s referendum deal on 15 January 2019. And I’m wondering how it can be that Britain is saddled with a Parliament packed with people advocating a policy that clearly no longer has the support of the majority of its population.

A lot of these politicians seem determined to achieve some sort of Brexit “because it was in our manifesto”, or because the public voted for it nearly three years ago. They don’t seem to care that there’s now such a strong groundswell of opinion against it. No wonder so many people have lost faith in the political process.

Meanwhile the media, who should be championing the views of the populace, are instead caught up in their own process. To take a simple example, when Theresa May’s Government says the failure to agree a Brexit deal would be “a catastrophe for democracy”, why do interviewers consistently fail to ask, “Why? Exactly what aspect of democracy would be undermined by taking stock, and testing current public opinion?”

In the BBC’s case, the organisation also seems paralysed by a terror of appearing to favour one side or the other. This is especially bizarre, given the rather contradictory fact that ever since the referendum of 2016, the BBC has adopted a base position that Brexit is inevitable. It may well have given air time to Remainers, but always with the prevailing assumption that their stance is dissonant, marginal and even heretical in some way. There’s been a hidden partiality in the entire tenor of its reporting, which rather makes a mockery of its supposed even-handedness.

Incidentally, on the day of the vote I noticed a typical example of this weighted reporting in an article on the BBC web site about the implications of the vote for the value of sterling. It suggested a small surge in its value if the doomed deal were approved by Parliament, and even went so far as to say that a delay in implementing Article 50 would also see a rise. But nowhere did it describe the implications for the pound if Britain were not to leave the EU at all. Why not? Surely that would see the biggest possible rise in sterling’s value?

I have every respect for principled Leave supporters. They’re just as entitled to their opinion as I am to mine. Of course they want to implement the 2016 referendum. So would I, in their shoes. But there’s a big difference between holding a view and claiming that it is supported by a majority, when in reality that majority has shrunk to a minority – which is what all current opinion polls suggest.

Admittedly, the claim that the Leave vote was influenced by lies and illegal spending is a nebulous one. It’s probably true, but hard to quantify – as is the belief that many people were voting against austerity and poor government, not against the European Union. Rightly or wrongly, voters in democracies are not required to explain or justify their decisions.

What is not tenable is the claim that it would be a “betrayal” in some way to disregard the result of the 2016 referendum by holding another. This is simply making a mockery of the very notion of democracy. It’s what despots do after they’re voted into power.

Sadly the media seem conspicuously incapable of pressing this piece of hard logic on politicians. So here are the questions I would ask Brexit advocates in their shoes – the questions I crave to hear, but so often don’t:

  • Given that nearly half of voters favoured Remain in 2016 in spite of the lies and disinformation spread about the alleged benefits of Brexit, how can you constantly claim that “Britain” voted for Brexit? What about the 48 per cent who didn’t, those who have changed their minds, and those who didn’t or couldn’t vote last time – perhaps because they were too young then?
  •  
  • Since the public know far more about the implications of Brexit than they did in 2016, why would it be wrong to allow them to restate their opinion in a second referendum?
  •  
  • If it could be proved that the majority of the public no longer want any kind of Brexit, would you still insist on implementing the 2016 referendum vote regardless?
  •  
  • If the 2016 vote was democratic, why would another one not be?

If I were in the interviewer’s chair, I would not allow evasions or distractions until I got answers to the above, or at least an outright refusal to answer.

That’s easy for me to say, of course, when I’m not in the hot seat. I realise a media interview is not a court of law or an inquisition, and politicians are not compelled to participate. The very process of conducting an interview and actually eliciting meaningful answers is a political one (with a small “p”), and I greatly admire the most skilled practitioners of the art. But even they are not immune to following the question sheet instead of probing for real answers.

History will not look kindly on those who have consistently failed to do that, and have allowed themselves to be obsessed with process to the detriment of substance.

 

  
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Where is this mythical pro-Brexit majority?

I’m a writer, not a politician or an activist. My fondest wish is to get my novels in front of readers. Yet as Britain stumbles towards the disaster that is Brexit, I’ve had to hijack my own blog in order to voice my anguish over this miserable, misconceived saga.

And as the UK Government embarks on a programme to convince the country to applaud the ludicrous Brexit deal it has just signed in Brussels (I’m writing this in November 2018), I can’t resist voicing my disgust at the cynical, manipulative, transparently dishonest and unrepentantly revisionist way they’re trying to convince the British people that it’s a “good thing”.

What I can’t understand is why so many politicians who claimed to be Remainers in the past are so determined to endorse this ridiculous so-called deal, instead of standing back and questioning why we need to proceed with Brexit at all. If they all stood firm and simply said, “Let’s not do this,” it would go away – and a according to recent polls, a reported 54 per cent of the population (at least) would give a wild cheer.

Instead, they insist that their Brexit plan respects the will of some mythical majority who want it. What majority? A tiny majority of voters may have opted for Brexit two and a half years ago, but why does that mean we must disregard what voters want now, with their much greater understanding of the implications of leaving the EU?

Governments are happy enough to call snap general elections if they think the sway of public opinion happens to favour their party more than it did when they were voted into office – so by that standard, what is wrong with testing the current popular view of this infinitely more far-reaching measure? Why not check whether people really meant it when they voted to leave the EU, and find out how many of them would vote that way now?

It seems to me that there is absolutely no defensible argument to justify the implementation Brexit against the apparent wish of a majority of the current population – or to deny that population the opportunity to test public opinion in a confirmatory referendum.

Therefore I can only assume that the parade of pro-Remain MPs advocating Theresa May’s half-baked Brexit deal are revealing monumental self-interest – elevating their own political fears and ambitions far above the long-term best interests of United Kingdom. Shame on them!

Either that, or we’re experiencing a “King’s New Clothes” phenomenon of unprecedented magnitude, in which politicians are not merely disporting themselves naked because that’s what their leader is doing, metaphorically speaking, but are rushing like lemmings to follow their leader over a cliff. And that’s without confronting that other kind of  “cliff edge” – the no-deal Brexit scenario we’ve been warned about for months.

I have to assume they’re not that stupid … but if not, what am I missing?

 


If you see a book cover flagged up against this blog, and it’s for my novel Alternative Outcome, I have to smile at the appropriateness of the title. Ironically, that book has nothing to do with Brexit, but I’ve written another novel that does! It’s called Never Going to Happen, and it sets the Brexit debate in the context of a fast-moving thriller. It’s on Amazon, and was published under the pen-name Anders Teller.

 

  
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Democracy means democracy: why Brexit time-lag could prove Remainers’ salvation

If I’ve heard it once, I’ve heard it a million times: the Brexit referendum vote must be implemented because it represents “the democratic will of the people”. What utter, unmitigated nonsense!

When future generations look back on this whole fiasco, this is possibly the aspect they will regard as the most bizarre. How could a flawed, two-year-old vote on a bland, unqualified question – leave or remain? – seriously be considered a true democratic mandate? Why should the citizens of today and tomorrow have their futures dictated by something so insubstantial when it’s already in the past?

Hey ho, say the Brexit supporters; that’s democracy for you. Live with it. But they can’t escape the greatest weakness – but perhaps it’s also the greatest strength – in the whole concept of any referendum, and especially this one. Quite simply, it’s the time lag between the vote and its implementation.

Whether or not you consider the referendum outcome fair or reasonable, the fact is that it couldn’t be acted on overnight. There was a process to go through. As we all know now, that process was destined to take a minimum of two years and nine months. That’s the time lag between the vote itself and the date on which Article 50, Britain’s departure, is due to take effect in 2019.

No one can lay blame anywhere for this time lag. In nation-changing developments like this, such a thing is inevitable. There are so many issues to agree on, so many decisions to make; there’s so much new law to put into place.

“The Britain which is approaching the Brexit date is not the same Britain as the one responsible for that fateful vote “

But no one can deny the reality of the time-lag either. It has happened. Brexit supporters need to live with that. What it means is that the Britain which is approaching the Brexit date is not the same Britain as the one responsible for that fateful vote. Electors are now more savvy. They know what they’ll be losing by leaving the EU as well as what they might have to gain. They are far less ready to be taken in by lies about the likely outcome.

Opinion polls in the latter half of 2018 have repeatedly shown that in a new referendum the remain camp would stand a good chance of winning. So standing back from this, what do we have? A Government determined to implement a ill-informed decision taken more than two years ago, despite widespread and growing evidence that the majority of its citizens no longer support it.

What possible, conceivable logic could there ever be in any rational society for driving through a world-changing decision like Brexit on such an utterly flawed basis?

“What possible, conceivable logic could there ever be in any rational society for driving through a world-changing decision like Brexit on such an utterly flawed basis?”

That decision, moreover, could take at least a generation to reverse. Some people compare the referendum to an election vote, but snap elections can be called overnight, and the political direction of a country can shift in a blink. Brexit can’t. If we leave the EU, for many UK citizens it will effectively be forever.

Some people worry that a second referendum would throw the country into a new period of chaos, but this is simply a fear whipped up by pro-Brexit panic. If we voted to remain in a new referendum, we could simply halt the Brexit process, and life would go on as before. Yes, there would be a lot of rethinking and some pretty massive political fallout, but we’re still in the EU now, and we still would be after the vote.

If, on the other hand, by some strange quirk we voted again to leave, well, hard or soft, Brexit would be ready to roll. Again, nothing would be lost.

The time lag is the enemy of Brexit supporters, which is why they are becoming increasingly strident in shouting down anyone who dares to suggest a rethink and a new public vote. They’re determined that yesterday’s suspect vote should dictate the shape of tomorrow.

“The time lag is the enemy of Brexit supporters, which is why they are becoming increasingly strident in shouting down anyone who dares to suggest a rethink and a new public vote.”

So should we have any sympathy at all for the fact that the Brexiteers have had to hold their breath for two and a half years before they could get their way? No! Let’s just be thankful that the time lag was necessary. Think what would have happened if we’d somehow been forced to quit the EU the day after the referendum. Decisions of this magnitude need reflection, and arguably two and half years has barely been enough.

Meanwhile, young people are overwhelming opposed to Brexit, and the longer we wait to implement it, the more of them will be around to oppose it. No wonder the leavers are so worried.

“You can’t undermine democracy with more democracy” – David Lammy, MP

But what about the Brexiteers’ insistence that the two-year-old vote was democratic, and must be upheld at all costs? The MP David Lammy has knocked that one conclusively on the head. “You can’t undermine democracy with more democracy,” he’s pointed out. In other words, it can never be wrong to ask people if they’ve changed their minds.

Two years ago the Leavers were delivering a constant cry: “Brexit means Brexit.” It’s time to put forward another one: “Democracy means democracy.” In a rational society, democracy is a dynamic thing. It doesn’t simply stutter to a halt at the casting of a vote.

“In a rational society, democracy is a dynamic thing. It doesn’t simply stutter to a halt at the casting of a vote”

To put it another way, why should a generation of citizens have to suffer the outcome of Brexit for a decade or more, when in the two short years since the original vote it has already become increasingly clear that the majority don’t appear to want it?

That’s the truly democratic question we should be asking. And we should be asking it now, in a public vote.

Peter Rowlands

 


If you see a book cover flagged up against this blog, and it’s for my novel Alternative Outcome, I have to smile at the appropriateness of the title. Ironically, that book has nothing to do with Brexit, but I’ve written another novel that does! It’s called Never Going to Happen, and it sets the Brexit debate in the context of a fast-moving thriller. It’s on Amazon, and was published under the pen-name Anders Teller.

 

  
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© Peter Rowlands 2024

 

 

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© Peter Rowlands 2024

 

 

 

 

Peter Rowlands on Facebook Peter Rowlands on Twitter

 

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