Transworld has acquired UK and Commonwealth rights in THE CONFESSIONS OF MRS LIGHTFOOT, WITH SOME ADVICE FOR WOMEN IN GENERAL, the first in a trilogy of novels, in 3-book deal for an undisclosed sum. The author, Hallie Rubenhold, is an authority on the 18th Century.
'An utterly riveting, edge-of-your-seat, series featuring an 18th century heroine, Henrietta Lightfoot: courtesan, adventuress, spy and erstwhile murderess. It had all of us here hooked. With potential to become a really popular series, this is a female Flashman who can show the chaps a thing or two, while deliciously rollicking through one of the most interesting and dashing periods in history. Rubenhold will be a major author for us for the future' [says Transworld]
Transworld will publish the first book in Spring 2011.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Publishing Deal - Hallie Rubenhold
From today's BookTrade, details of a series which sounds rather fun:
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4 comments:
RE the Book Trade puffery, I am not prepared to allow that a tediously telegenic writer of televisual fluffery and books devoted to Georgian whores is "...an authority on the 18th Century". There is too much of that sort of piffle these days. However, because I am a kindly and generous soul, as everyone knows, happily do I concede that she may be well-placed to write a novel of this sort, especially with an editor who cannot spell 'riveting' or 'rollicking', and who seems unacquainted with the uses of the comma, Oxford or otherwise, not to mention the form of the compound adjective. Mind you, if Ms Lawson is able to describe a single book as an "...utterly rivetting, edge-of-your-seat, series..." (all sic), her powers of divination must be so great as to allow her to foresee not only her own future solecisms, but also those of her author, and so to edit the books before they are written. This is a thing most excellent and bodes well for the future of chicklit both Augustan and Georgian.
By the by, just because it is in 18th-century vein and comes to mind, if anyone wants to read an astonishing bit of true detection by someone who, though she never to my knowledge so much as sat in an undergraduate history class, has all the instincts of a true historian, here is one: The Search for Gainsborough by Adrienne Corri (1984). Should anyone be thinking that's a vaguely familiar name, this is AC the actress. As an example of the historian as detective, it is hard to beat. She searches not for a murderer, but for the painter of a portrait, yet it is no less riveting for the absence of a corpse.
My goodness, such vitriol. Have you had a bad personal experience with the publishing industry, lately?
I sense that you have a problem with women being called experts. By the way, I've googled this author and she seems qualified enough in this subject matter to lecture in the field and seems to have a Phd. Anyway, why should anyone have to be an expert in anything in order to write fiction? You're being rather unfair.
It seems to me that your quibbles should be aimed at the publishing industry who favour selling celebrity memoirs and novels over other things.
Gee golly willickers, Anonymous, I don't normally respond to phantom commentators with unknown agendas, but I must say that your lack of any sense of the whimsical, the humorous, but nonetheless deadly gibe disappoints me. On the specifics -- where, pray tell, did I say anyone has to be an expert on anything to write fiction? I did not, but the puffer said this author is "an authority" -- which is not the same and a bigger claim, so if you have an issue, it would be with them for feeling they had to mention it, not with me. Mind you, it is pretty well a given among aficionados and critics of crime fiction that those who would write historical fiction should know the historical past of which they write. That is also not my fault, though it's always seemed very reasonable to me.
But what is this I see before me, the point toward my heart? An accusation that I have trouble with women being called experts? Hey, Anonny, no! -- did I not spend my second paragraph extolling and singing the praises of one ADRIENNE (that's a woman's name, you see) Corri who I say has all the instincts of a true historian? Did I not but days ago write on this very blog that our dear Karen should get a damery for services to crime fiction? And are not some of the historical colleagues most esteemed by me -- including some in my own department, I hasten to say, for one of them reads these blogs, we historians being notorious crime fiction buffs -- women? Do I not admire Frederique Audoin-Rouzeau as much for her stunning Les chemins de la peste as I love Fred Vargas for her novels? Well, I should jolly well say so. Did I not this very morning choke a little as I listened to Clara Haskil playing Mozart's No.27 and reflect that we are close to the fiftieth anniversary of her terrible death? Do you have even the foggiest idea what I'm talking about? No, I didn't think so, but today is a holiday so I can allow myself to waste a little time.
I think that's game, set and match, Philip!
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