The Story Not The Author

If this truly was the undiscovered prequel to Oliver Twist, penned by the master Charles Dickens himself, then it would have his name emblazoned across the top and sell by the bucket load. So why “shoeless”? Paradoxically, for the very same reason: that the author can become more famous than the story.

It happens all the time, as celebrity triumphs over content. It doesn’t mean that the big-name authors cannot also create great works of art, just that their fame can overshadow the truth of their achievements. I always found it rather amusing the way the works of debut crime writer Robert Galbraith were received with lukewarm approval until the author was unmasked as none other than JK Rowling. Then, of course, everyone fell over themselves in their rush to reappraise the books and declare that they knew them to have been classics all along. I like to think JK Rowling oversaw the melee with a wry smile of weary perspicacity.

Not, I hasten to add, that I can claim any renown for myself. I am certainly no Charles Dickens, as you will figure out pretty quickly. Still, I am making the point that whoever I am does not matter, not like the characters matter. I take my name with a lower case “s” so that I can disappear into the shadows cast by Nancy and Bumble. This is their story, not mine.

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