Howard Carter Posts

“The Cartiers: The Untold Story of a Jewellery Dynasty” by Francesca Cartier Brickell

The Cartiers: The Untold Story of a Jewellery Dynasty by Francesca Cartier Brickell is a family history penned by the great-great-great granddaughter of the iconic jewellery firm’s founder. The Cartiers took Francesca more than a decade of research. It all began when the family gathered to celebrate her grandfather’s ninetieth birthday. Over the years he would often refer to a pile of family correspondence that seemed to have gone missing. At his ninetieth birthday celebrations Francesca went to the cellar to locate the bottle of wine he sought and to her joy stumbled upon a chest. She pried it open to discover it stuffed with letters. She decided to chronicle the family as her grandfather was the last who had actually worked in one of the firm’s branches before it was sold in 1974. She was working as a financial analyst covering the retail sector and raising a young family in London which meant that Francesca had to travel every weekend to south France to be with her grandfather to record his accounts. The result is this fascinating chronicle of a remarkable family that through its determined ambition to rise through the socio-economic ranks of French society got exactly what they wanted. From an impoverished background in the early nineteenth century to being welcomed in the courts of many prominent royal families across the world and counting amongst their clients professionals such as bankers, actors, musicians, politicians etc. Astonishingly this ambition and drive was evident across generations. With a steely determination the family knew what they desired — luxury retail, upmarket clientele, elegant and diverse product range and ensconced in the middle class. The family was clear that they had to remain clear of debt, they had to innovate and be creative and not necessarily always look at their competitors but look around for inspiration and ideas.

Alfred Cartier, grandon of the founder, with sons Louis, Pierre and Jacques

While every generation of the Cartiers had contributed constructively to the establishment of the family as a name to contend with in the jewellery business, it was the fourth generation of three brothers — Louis-Joseph, Pierre Camille and Jacques-Thoedule ( the author’s great-grandfather), who truly made the jewellery firm a name to reckon with. A name that is recognised decades later. Designs created by them continue to be recognised and attract astronomical prices at auctions as evident in the Maharajas & Mughal Magnificence — spanning five centuries — auction organised by Christies, June 2019. Museum quality jewels belonging to Sheikh Hamad Al Thani with 388 lots were up for sale. Another equally successful and prominent white glove sale, consisting predominantly of Cartier designed jewellery, was the sale of the Duchess of Windsor’s jewellery in 2010.

there were twenty-one Cartier pieces in the sale. Eight of them reached over one million dollars. One exceeded ten million dollars. In total, the number of Cartier lots accounted for just 5 percent of the overall number but ended up contributing a quarter of the final $109 million value.

“Cartier” is synonymous with luxury, fine living and power. The jewellery designed by the firm drips with elegance, power and money. It is meant for the rich. The Cartier gemstones belong to the privileged sections of society. But that does not prevent millions of others from appreciating fine craftsmanship, the stunning arrangement of gem stones especially diamonds, and the play of colours as in the Tutti-Frutti range. The benchmark set by the Cartiers for quality of work, excellence, discretion in dealing with clientele and managing the brand globally is astounding as it spans a couple of centuries. Their hallmark is to create stunning designs that wow their customers for their uniqueness. This is primarily due to the Cartier family’s keeness to experiment and look for inspiration elsewhere rather than at their competitors. These decisions helped create an iconic brand whose designs astound the world decades later. A testament to this fact have been the aforementioned auctions of December 2010 and June 2019 where the Cartier jewels were the key attraction.

The Cartiers were responsible for many innovations in their jewellery designs, many of which were a response to the times, but have withstood the test of time. For instance, the Tank watch. Louise Cartier created this watch for pilot Santos-Dumont inspired by the Renault FT-17 light tank, a mechanical hero of the Great War. Santos and Cartier were friends. Santos was an avid pilot who had begun to find it difficult to extricate his pocket watch from his clothes to check the time while in flight. He mentioned this in passing to Louise Cartier who took it on as a challenge to design something that would be convenient to wear, consult without compromising on its elegance. So far wrist watches had been designed for women with the emphasis more on the jewellery designed rather than the watch itself. So the perception in most people’s minds was that it was a feminine accessory. Louis Cartier designed an elegant unisex wrist watch where the only concession to it being designed by a jeweller was the plain sapphire winder on the right-hand side. The simple, functional, elegant lines of the Tank watch made it iconic from the word go, not least because Santos flaunted it everywhere he went. Given that Santos was a style guru of his times, Louis Cartier could not have wished for a better launch pad for a new product. Although an entire range of Cartier Santos wrist watches was released only after some years. Much later Andy Warhol owned one but not for its intended purpose. “I don’t wear a Tank to tell the time,” said the man who invented the concept of 15 minutes of fame. “In fact, I never wind it. I wear a Tank because it’s the watch to wear.” Platinum versions of some of the earliest versions of the watch are collector’s items. Here is a lovely 2017 Forbes article celebrating the Tank watch’s centenary.

Product diversification was a key to Cartier’s success. The family was keen to capitalise on fashionable trends while keeping an eye on marketable commodities without compromising on style, elegance and being recognised as a luxury brand. In order to create new designs and become the leading tastemakers in the market, the three Cartier brothers — Louis, Pierre and Jacques — began to search for alternatives. While the Tank watch is a great example of seeking inspiration from key industrial products of the age; there were other such experiments too. Such as the Cartiers were the first ones to introduce the use of platinum for setting gemstones. Fairly early on they had discovered that the metal is the most ductile of pure metals but less malleable than gold, so a perfect choice to make fine jewellery. The inspiration for using this metal came from their observation of rail carriages where the metal was often employed. It was imperative to focus on creating a range of products for various reasons. Such as the onset of war and affordability of new designs, a surge in demand to remount heritage pieces of jewellery in more modern styles, using bejewelled accessories for different social occasions and not necessarily always extravagantly set pieces. ( Here is an article on the Cartier exhibition of 2018 which showcased more than 300 pieces, many on loan from royal families and private collections.)

Art Deco Diamond Necklace, Cartier (1929)
Grace Kelly, Princess of Monaco’s engagement ring, diamond set in platinum, Cartier Paris (1956)

Using platinum in their designs enabled the Cartier brothers to experiment with fine jewellery. They created tiaras, rings, fabulous necklaces, brooches, hair pins etc. This was a brand new idea in jewellery design. So much so that when they began using it to set gem stones, this unusual use of the metal had not as yet been recognised in this manner ensuring that it did not attract any tax and helped reduce the cost of jewellery being created.

The versatility of the metal helped the wildly imaginative Louis Cartier to sketch extraordinary designs, using a range of gem stones, to create opulent pieces of jewellery, raising the bling factor by many degrees. He also was deeply influenced by the Art Deco movement. He was ably assisted in fulfiling his dreams of creating iconic pieces of jewellery when he hired Charles Jacqueau.While out taking a stroll Louis Cartier had spotted an exceptionally beautiful balcony being installed. Impressed by its avant-garde geometric style and sense of proportion, Louis spotted the young designer on a ladder supervising its installation. He immediately requested Charles Jacqueau to come for an interview to his firm but Louis Cartier’s offer was firmly rejected by the young man as he was already committed to projects. Once done, Jacqueau visited Louis Cartier who set him a test of designing jewellery with three piles of gems — rubies, sapphires and diamonds. Jacqueau excelled in the text. Cartier was delighted his instinct had proved correct and offered the young man a job on the spot. Jacqueau had trained at Paris’s famous art school, the École des Arts Décoratifs. His professional expertise was in large metal structures, not in tiny gems. But he accepted the assignment at Cartiers as he was intrigued by this new type of work.

Charles Jacqueau

It suited both employer and employee to be creatively energised for these were exciting times to be in Paris. The Art Deco movement was in vogue. Also in news were fascinating archaeological expeditions such as Howard Carter and Lord Carnarvon’s of 1923 where they discovered King Tutankhamen’s tomb. The Cartier brothers were inspired to create a new range. They would scour antique shops for remnants of ancient Egyptian art. Some dating hundreds of years back. Then these would be incorporated in new settings while being mindful of the original beauty of the Egyptian art. Simple but classic style statements were created such as hair clips, belt buckles, bracelets, brooches etc. Art Deco Egyptian revival jewellery was soon the rage. Today these creations are collector’s items as few were sold and remain in private collections, very rarely are they made available for auction. Many others remain in the Cartier collection. According to a 2015 Vanity Fair article:

… almost a century later, this refined mash-up, known as art deco Egyptian Revival jewelry, is among the most unique, and most highly-coveted in the modern market—and is priced to match. Many are considered masterpieces of the jewelry canon, but few land beneath the glass at the Met or even smaller museums. Instead, Egyptian Revival pieces are often purchased by private collectors with massive budgets and highly developed tastes.

Egyptian-inspired jewels illustrated in a Cartier advertisement, in the Illustrated London News, 26th January 1924, showing “The Tutankhamen Influence in Modern Jewelry.” The copy below the illustration which gives descriptions of the pieces and their faience antiquities, (incorrectly describing the fragment in the fan brooch as a sacred ram) says “Women interested in Egyptology, who desire to be in the Tutankhamen fashion, can now wear real ancient gems in modern settings as personal ornaments.”
Lady Abdy’s rare Egyptian-Revival Faience and Jeweled Brooch, Cartier, London. A glazed faience centerpiece, dated to New Kingdom, 1540-1075 BC, set upside down, and is framed in gemstones.
A sketch of the scarab belt buckle brooch worn by Linda Porter, Cole Porter’s wife. (1926).

Another innovative introduction in contemporary jewellery design was to make the pearl string an attractively elegant accessory. Most often than not the Cartiers excelled in using natural pearls, exquisitely graded and strung so beautifully. From a single strand to multiple strings on one necklace became a fasion statement that has once again survived decades of stylish dressing. Jackie Kennedy Onassis was known for her pearl strings. Equally well-known were the more extravagantly strung 10-string creation made for the Maharajah of Patiala.

The Patiala Necklace created by Cartier in 1928 for Maharaja Sir Bhupinder Singh of Patiala, was some of the priciest jewellery ever commissioned. It contained 5 rows of Art Deco Chains all completely covered in 1000 carats of ice, 2930 diamonds; contained the 7th largest diamond – a 234 carat De Beers rock! It took 3 years to make but mysteriously disappeared in 1948 and was recovered 50 years later with some of its stones missing, including the Burmese rubies and the massive De Beers diamond.

The Cartiers had a long and lucrative association with some of the notable royal families around the world. Some of their best clients were the Romanov dynasty before and after the Russian Revolution of 1917 and many of the Indian royal families. The Russian market was not easy to cultivate but once done the Cartiers were steadily commissioned to create new pieces of jewellery. Even after the collapse of the dynasty, many of the Russian nobles who fled the country, made their way to Europe clutching bags of jewels. These were then either sold as is or some pieces were remounted in new designs by jewellers such as the Cartiers. A classic example being the Romanov emeralds worn by the Grand Duchess Vladimir and later acquired by Edith McCormack Rockefeller and Barbara Hutton — in that order. Each time the deal was brokered by Cartier and the gems remounted as per the wishes of the client.

The Grand Duchess Vladimir wearing her emeralds for the great Court ball of 1903. Note there are nine emeralds.
The emeralds as set by Cartier into the Art Deco sautoir bought by Edith McCormack Rockefeller
The emeralds as set by Cartier into American heiress Barbara Hutton’s Indian-style tiara. Note there are now only seven stones.

Their association with the Indian royal families influenced the Cartier range of jewellery too. It brought in a profusion of colours which was unheard of in European fashion circles. A burst of colours on a string or a bracelet much akin to Indian kitsch looked good when used with brightly coloured real gems such as sapphires, rubies and emeralds. This range began to be called Tutti-Frutti or the cringeworthy term “Hindou” jewellery, coined by Jacques Cartier. “Tutti-Frutti” as a description of the jewels began to be used only in 1970 despite the first pieces of jewellery being commisioned by Queen Alexandra in 1901 to match three of her Indian gowns.

Daisy Fellowes, the Singer heiress, wearing her Tutti Frutti necklace, commissioned in 1936, using many of her own gems. Fellowes daughter Castéja inherited the spectacular necklace. In 1991, five years after the death of Casteja, the necklace along with a pair of carved emerald and diamond earrings, came up for sale with an estimate of $650,000— $950,000. When the hammer came down at the Sotheby’s Geneva auction, a new record was set for an Art Deco jewel. The final price was $2,655,172.
Countess Edwina Mountbatten, the last Vicerine of India, owned a Tutti Frutti tiara, made by Cartier in England in 1928. When the piece was sold in 2004, The British government placed an export ban on it because the tiara is so significant in the history of British jewellery making

The Cartiers: The Untold Story of a Jewellery Dynasty by Francesca Cartier Brickell is an absorbing account of a family that really carved a niche for itself. The family name became a strong brand unto itself. The generations of men in control of the firm were innovative and creative ensuring that their pathbreaking designs wowed contemporaries but have also withstood the test of time and continue to attract astonishing prices. What is truly mesmerising to read is how every single generation was very focused, determined and ambitious to develop the brand and in order to do so they recognised the need to be prudent in their business plans. For instance when their local partner in Russia was insistent that they set up a standalone store, the Cartiers refused recognising that the investment costs outweighed the profitability of such a venture. Similarly when a brother travelled to the Indian subcontinent to source gems and sell some of their recent creations, the other brothers wanted to be kept abreast of all details, with a keen eye on the profit margins made. Much of these conversations are detailed in the correspondence discovered in the trunk found in the cellar. All these tiny dots in the family’s past are connected well in the able hands of Francesca Cartier Brickell who in all likelihood has brought in her professional expertise as a retail sector financial analyst to understand the Cartiers. It certainly shows in the competent arrangement of the narrative.

The layout of the book is interesting. Peppered throughout the book are boxed extracts from the conversations Francesca had with her grandfather. They help in not only breaking up the monotony of the text-heavy book but also make much of the history “accessible” for these snippets of testimonies by a gentleman who witnessed many of the events documents. Or he recalled family anecdotes that supported many of the facts Francesca unearthed during the course of her research.

Curiously though Francesca Cartier Brickell while being intent on keeping her family’s image intact is unable to bring a modern distancing from the facts shared. While it is understandable that the Russians were amongst the best clients the Cartiers had but to be dismissive of the assassination of “the prime minister ( and Cartier’s good client), Pyotr Stolypin” by a “leftist revolutionary” is just one of many examples in the book where a more nuanced understanding of the socio-historical events in this family history would have been welcome. Another example is consistently referring to the “Hindou” jewellery despite it being factually incorrect as not all the Indian royals were Hindus apart from which it is an uncomfortable term in present times; a simple recognition of which would have been a gracious gesture. While these are tiny editorial details that perhaps were in the author’s control there are some other elements in the book production that do not seem to have been in her purview. It is almost as if many corners were cut to keep the price point of the book “affordable” than take into account the history of an iconic luxury brand which demanded to be heavily illustrated as well. There are innumerable photographs throughout the book. Most of them are in black and white. Unfortunately most of them are shoddy reproductions making it impossible to discern the beauty of the jewellery. For instance on p. 360 there is an image of a group of women wearing tiaras but it impossible to appreciate the beauty of the jeweller’s craftsmanship. There are many examples such as this in the book. Even the two sections of tipped in colour plates are frustrating to read as the provenance of the jewels is not mentioned except in fine print towards the end of the book; making it extremely difficult to consult. Or there are many situations where the text refers to a piece of jewellery but is not pictorially referenced in the text. This makes reading the book a very slow and laborious process for one has to constantly search the Internet to search for references to the jewels mentioned. Perhaps it is symptomatic of the new age of reading — a blend of the print and digital experiences but it is also tantamount to lazy book production by compromising on the quality of such a potentially fine book. It is upsetting too since this is an account of a family that is synonymous with elegance and sophistication but the book production does the Cartiers a disservice for its clumsiness. A tiny detail such as a red silk ribbon inserted as a bookmark custom monogrammed with the Cartier signature would have added a subtly elegant detail.

Be that as it may, except for these tiny hiccups, The Cartiers is an absorbing read. Many will enjoy reading it. There is much to be learned from it.

11 March 2020

An interview with Xan Brooks ( 5 June 2017)

(I interviewed film journalist Xan Brooks on his debut novel The Clocks in This House All Tell Different Times for Bookwitty. It was published on 5 June 2017. Here is the text. ) 

Xan Brooks began his career as part of the founding editorial team at the Big Issue magazine, which is one of the UK’s leading social investment businesses. He then worked at the Guardian newspaper, first as a film editor and later as associate editor, before going freelance in 2015. He published his first novel in 2017, The Clocks in This House All Tell Different Times. He kindly answered questions for Bookwitty:

Your novel focuses sharply on the darker side of society in the 1920s. It’s so sinister and the plot line is devastating. How did this story come about?

In October 2014, my father recounted a conversation he’d had with his aunt, shortly before her death. She told him that, as a girl, she’d been transported to Epping Forest, outside London, to see (in her words) “the funny men from the war”. My father had the impression that she had never told this to anyone before and she seemed so traumatised by saying it that he didn’t feel he could press her on the details. The novel came out of that conversation. It was an attempt to understand what might have happened to her and why. I would stress that the whole thing is made-up. It’s fiction. It is emphatically not the story of my great-aunt (who I only met three or four times in my life). That said, this made-up story has a kernel of truth.

To create historical fiction did you have to research the period or not? For example the fabled Eye of Thoth Amon, Amulet in the 1920s and 30s, the time of the expeditions to Egypt…

Ideally, you conduct lots of research that you then wear very lightly. I should have spent longer preparing, but I was too eager to start writing. So I only researched for about two weeks (on 1920s Britain and the effects of World War One) and then would just check details as I went along (how much did a pint of beer cost in 1923? How fast would a car typically go?). I’m not sure I’d recommend this as the best approach. There are a few historical inaccuracies in the book and these (genuinely) keep me awake at night. With regards to the Eye of Thoth Amon – yes, the news at the time would have been full of Howard Carter and Tutankhamen. It seemed likely that a fraud like Uriah – the fake spiritualist – would have tried to capitalise on that public fascination by claiming to possess an ancient artifact of fabulous powers.

Did the research extend to getting the language and expressions accurate as far as possible or were you keen to make the story relevant to a modern reader?

That’s an interesting question. On reading back over the first draft of the book, I realised that some of the dialogue was too self-consciously antiquated, almost mytho-poetic, like a parody of how one imagines people would talk “in olden times”. On the second draft, I tried to loosen the speech, roughen its edges; make it more natural and easy – possibly more modern, although I’m not altogether convinced people spoke very differently one hundred years ago anyway. By and large, I trusted my ear. If some phrase or piece of slang sounded too modern, I’d take it out.

Commonplace names like “Uriah Smith” and “Lucy Marsh” are chilling. They lull you into an ease that is horribly shaken by the story. How did you achieve this outwardly placid tone of the story with its violent undercurrents?

I knew from the start that the tone would be crucial. The story is horrible. It’s a thing of darkness and cruelty and it also has a thick vein of operatic wildness, in that it contains masked monsters and flaky magicians and debauched house parties and fiery airplanes. The danger with such ingredients is that the tale risks overheating, becomes hysterical and ludicrous. I had a faint terror of the book turning out like a bad Andrew Lloyd Webber musical, with lots of wafting dry ice and plastic foliage, masked dancers and anguished show-tunes. The best way to counter this threat was to downplay everything and observe the events very matter-of-factly, without fuss. Lucy’s perspective was crucial in this regard. She sees and questions but does not rush to judgment – partly because she is still establishing a moral framework to measure all these crimes against.

The Yellow Brick Road is meant to lead to something happy and comforting instead it is dark and twisted in your novel. Why develop a story dwelling on the nightmarish aspect to a beloved children’s tale The Wizard of Oz?

The yellow-brick road leads to The Wizard of Oz but, while not actively evil, the Wizard is a lie, an arrangement of smoke-and-mirrors, so there are some immediate parallels there. Plus I like the idea of false sanctuaries in fiction; the safe haven that isn’t. If the first half of the book is about the abuse and exploitation of childhood innocence, the second is about the gaining of wisdom, a coming to terms with an adult world that sustains and replenishes itself by exploiting the weak and the innocent. In a more traditional fairytale, the girl would survive the ordeals of terrifying forest to find a happy ending at the big house with the handsome prince. I liked the notion that the people in the big house are—at least tangentially—responsible for what has occurred in the forest. Instead of finding safety, Lucy finds herself behind the scenes at the sausage factory.

Trying to read this book, as a straightforward novel does not necessarily work although the opening pages are written in a classical manner. It’s only when one orients the mind to read the text as if it were a film camera in motion, focusing upon some details and panning out in others, that it becomes easier to engage with the story. Do you think being a film journalist has inadvertently affected your literary style of writing?

No doubt about it—but I think I’m only now realising the extent to which it has. I’ve never written a feature-length screenplay and have no desire to. That said, the story primarily came to me as a series of images and bursts of dialogue. I’m aware that I’ve framed it using what might be termed as the traditional tools of film grammar, with the occasional flashback and plenty of cutting between parallel story lines, especially during the opening half. I would stress that I didn’t want to write a sort of flat prose-blueprint for a movie. I wanted to write a novel filled with beautiful writing, interior monologues and shadowy mysteries. But I do recognise that the writing is very visual—and that this reveals my journalist background and my love of cinema. I basically saw and heard the book as I was writing it.

“Terrible things happen all the time and there is nothing to do but hope that whatever comes next will be brighter and better.” Is this what you hope to illustrate with your novel?

Well, that’s specifically Lucy’s feeling at a specific point of the book, when she is arguably at her lowest ebb. I think it’s a decent ethos so far as it goes, but it risks being a little passive—hoping for something better as opposed to actively taking steps to make it so. My opinion is that Lucy eventually does take those steps—although perhaps not entirely consciously—and that her situation improves as a result. But yes, terrible things happen all the time, there’s no arguing with that. Cruelty, abuse and hypocrisy are the constants in any era.

The use of masks by the “Happy Men” illustrates the historical fact of prosthetics being made for injured soldiers from tin and copper. Why did you decide to weave in this little-known aspect of the Great War into your story instead of just having a group of ordinary men?

Again, it goes back to my great-aunt’s account of what happened to her as a child. But it also nicely muddies the moral waters of the story. Yes, the children are the obvious victims. But then (without ever excusing their actions) you realise that the abusers are themselves victims. That they have been made into monsters, that they are cogs in the wheel of a wider, industrialised pattern of abuse. Hopefully the masks serve to make the abusers more frightening – and then more tragic too.

It’s set at the time immediately after the Victorian era and the beginning of the 20th century when there is a perceptible shift in how children are treated. Reading The Clocks in This House All Tell Different Times today with the dreadfulness of the sexual abuse of children during the Great War is very disturbing. It is captured dramatically in the conversation between Lucy Marsh and her grandfather. Was this section difficult to write?

Yes, very. I felt it was important that Lucy confronts her grandfather directly about what he is doing. Except that then—in the way characters sometimes have of surprising you with their responses—it suddenly seemed equally important that he didn’t break down and plead for forgiveness. If anything, his primary emotion is irritation at being challenged by a child. Now, partly that’s a self-defense mechanism, him not wanting to admit any guilt. But it also says something about an admittedly fairly ill-educated, un-principled man of that era and class. One, children were often viewed as just a rung or two above livestock on the social scale. Two, evidence suggests that the war had this incredible desensitising effect on the people of Britain (and Germany, France etc.). So although he’s ashamed of his actions, he’s able to brush them aside, or explain them away. Would it have even been described as sexual abuse in those days? I suppose it would—assuming anybody bothered to investigate the crime and deliver a verdict. But would it have even reached that stage? Growing up in the 1980s, I vividly recall the way that sex abusers were typically referred to in jokey, derogatory terms, as though they were pathetic little clowns—with the implication being that the actual abuse was somehow pathetic and clownish, too; some dirty embarrassment that it was best to ignore. If that was how sexual abuse was presented in the 80s, I imagine it was even more easily dismissed in the 1920s. So long as the children came back alive at the end of each day, it was possible to avoid asking too many awkward questions.

Why did you make the leap from film journalism to novel writing?

Partly it was circumstantial. My job (which I loved) was being dismantled and I figured I’d better get out quick, before the situation got any worse. Thinking back on it now, this book came out of a very strange and stressful period. In the space of six months, we had a baby, my wife fell ill, my father suffered a stroke and my job came under threat. Also, we had no money. And so at some point you just find yourself living in a perpetual state of fear and uncertainty; it becomes the water that you’re swimming in. So you think, “Forget trying to do the right thing, the sensible thing. Forget trying to play the percentages, because that clearly hasn’t worked out”. Writing a novel, then, could be seen as the equivalent of doubling down, of embracing the fear, of diving even deeper. And yes, that’s partly what it was. But it was also something I’d always wanted to try. I’ve always read voraciously and I love writing too. I loved writing features, news stories and reviews and am still able to earn money doing so. But writing a novel is a richer, more frightening, more exhilarating adventure. It was a wonderful experience. Everyone should try it.

How did you select the intriguing title: The Clocks in This House All Tell Different Times?

Actually, it was something my wife said. We were sitting in the living room, midway through writing the book, and she made this throwaway remark, which stuck in my head. I used it as the opening line of the chapter I was writing—but then we started thinking of it as a good, resonant working title for the whole book. I didn’t think it would survive because it’s too long and strange; I thought we’d certainly end up calling the book something else. But my publisher (Salt) either came around to the idea, or generously decided to give me the benefit of the doubt. Now, of course, I can’t imagine it being called anything else.

Who are the storytellers (in any form) who have influenced you?

I’m going to stick with novelists otherwise I’ll still be coming up with names in November. Off the top of my head and in no particular order: EL Doctorow, Flannery O’Connor, Robert Stone, Vladimir Nabokov, Philip Roth, Joseph Roth, John Steinbeck, Richmal Crompton, Stephen King, Nathanael West, Willa Cather, Denis Johnson, Bernard Malamud.

Xan Brooks The Clocks in This House All Tell Different Times Salt Publishing, London, 2017. 
11 June 2017 
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