‘This is difficult, particularly because I have been studying abroad for the past four years, but from what I can observe from afar, Thais are spending more time in front of the TV and computer monitor than reading actual books! The types of publication we tend to read are newspapers (both electronic and print form), magazines, historical non-fiction, how-to books, and novels. Thai novels by Thai authors and novels in translation, in particular, are often featured in our bookstores. Film tie-ins are also widely read.

One of the most prestigious literary awards in Thailand is the SEA WRITE awards (Southeast Asian Writers Awards), presented annually since 1979. These awards are given to writers of both poetry and prose from each Southeast Asian country. Books by Thai authors who are nominated for the award enjoy immediate public attention since they they are widely reviewed and discussed in our media.’

Are there any interesting trends in Thai writing you can identify?

‘Thai people are fascinated by history. I remember how I enjoyed reading historical fiction and memoirs written by certain royal family members in my aunt’s small library when I was growing up. We Thais are extremely proud of our history, language, and cultural heritage. Nostalgia is the mood and “atmosphere” which often pervades the pages of a book and the cinema screen. Historical fiction is, I would say, our “cup of tea,” our kind of genre and trend of writing.’

What British literature is known in Thailand?

‘Canonical British literature in translation is widely read and widely circulated in Thailand. King Rama VI (1881-1925) translated three Shakespeare plays: The Merchant of Venice, As You Like It and Romeo and Juliet. I remember that King Rama VI’s translation of The Merchant of Venice was one of the compulsory texts when I was in school.’      

Is Virginia Woolf known in Thailand?

‘Before Michael Cunningham’s novel The Hours was published in translation, Virginia Woolf had been studied and discussed only in our English departments. After The Hours became a hit both on the cinema screen and in bookstores, I think people generally became more interested in and intrigued by Woolf’s life. Sadly, most people still perceive her as a mad writer who walked down a river in England with pockets full of stones. Her works are not very well-known among general readers. Mrs Dalloway is the only text among Woolf’s prodigious output which has been translated into Thai (in 2007).’

What Thai literature (in translation) would you recommend reading?

ผู้ดี (Phu Dee) or Noblesse Oblige by Dorkmai Sot (1905-1963)

Published in 1937, this is one of the very first novels of manners. Thailand is a class-based society. Its renowned patronage system, the legacy of our recent absolute monarchy past (which ended only in 1932), is succinctly captured in this book.

สี่แผ่นดิน (See Paen Din) or Four Reigns by Kukrit Pramoj (1911-1995)

This is probably the most famous Thai historical novel. It is the life story of a female character named Mae Ploy who lived through four reigns, from the time of King Rama V (1853-1910) to King Rama VIII (1925-1946).

ประชาธิปไตยบนเส้นขนาน  (Prachatipatai Bon Senkhanan) or Democracy Shaken and Stirred by Win Lyovarin (1956- )

This is a piercing investigation into the true meaning (or, rather, lack of meaning) of “democracy” in Thailand. The book won the SEA Write Award in 1997 and Thailand’s National Book Award in 1995. It has now been included in the recommended reading list for students of Political Science in most universities in Thailand. See this summary.’

Naowarat Pongpaiboon (1940- )

‘Pongpaiboon is known for his poems written in traditional metre and rhyme scheme and full of beautiful assonance and alliteration. Circulated in daily newspapers and magazines, his political poems make him one of most influential poets in Thailand. Below is a sample of his work. The translations are mine (though I do regret not being able to capture or translate his perfect rhyming, assonance and alliteration).’

การเมือง (Karn Mueng) “Politics”

การเมืองไม่ใช่เรื่องธุรกิจ

Politics is not all about business

การเมืองไม่ใช่คิดแต่จะได้

Politics is not about wanting to gain

การเมืองไม่ใช่การค้ากำไร

Politics is not about profit-making

การเมืองไม่ใช่ใช้แต่เกมกล

Politics is not a game

การเมืองไม่ใช่บ้าแต่อำนาจ

Politics is not all about power

การเมืองไม่ใช่ศาสตร์แห่งเหตุผล

Politics is not logic

การเมืองไม่ใช่การกดขี่คน

Politics is not oppression

การเมืองไม่ใช่ตนใหญ่คนเดียว

Politics is not only about “me”

การเมืองไม่ใช่เรื่องของการเล่น

Politics is not a playground

การเมืองไม่ใช่เข่นกันด้วยเขี้ยว

Politics is not shredding each other into pieces

การเมืองไม่ใช่ตามกันกรูเกรียว

Politics is not about going with the flow

การเมืองไม่ใช่เลี้ยวไปลงคู

Politics is not about flowing down the drain

การเมืองต้องเป็นเรื่องการเสียสละ

Politics must be about sacrifice

การเมืองคือภาระของทุกผู้

Politics is everyone’s duty

การเมืองเรื่องส่วนรวมร่วมรับรู้

Politics is getting involved

การเมืองต้องต่อสู้เพื่อส่วนรวม

Politics must fight for the mass

การเมืองต้องมีธรรมเป็นเข็มทิศ

Politics must have “dharma”* as its compass

การเมืองต้องมีจิตสำนึกร่วม

Politics must have a common awareness

การเมืองต้องโปร่งใสไม่กำกวม

Politics must be transparent

การเมืองต้องท้นท่วมศรัทธาอุทิศ

Politics must be overflowed with people’s faith

การเมืองต้องเคารพความเห็นต่าง

Politics must respect different opinions

การเมืองต้องสรรค์สร้างเสรีสิทธิ์

Politics must create and uphold rights and freedom

การเมืองคืออำนาจขจัดพิษ

Politics is the power to purge poison

การเมืองคือชีวิตประชาชน !

Politics is the life of the people!

Thommayanti (1937- )

‘Thommayanti is a prolific and controversial woman writer whose historical romance novels have been adapted into numerous films, drama series, and musical theatre. Her most famous novels are คู่กรรม (Khu Kam) or Sunset at Chaophraya and ทวิภพ (Thawipob) or The Two Worlds. Khu Kam or Sunset at Chaophraya is about a Thai woman and a Japanese soldier who meet and fall in love during World War II in Thailand. Thawipob or The Two Worlds is about a woman living in the late twentieth century who travels through an old mirror back in time to the Siam of King Rama V era (mid to late nineteenth century). The novel depicts the time when Siam was turned into a buffer state between England and France, the two imperial powers vying for full authority over the South East Asian region. The most celebrated adaptation is the 2004 film The Siam Renaissance.’

Win Lyovarin (1956- )

‘Lyovarin is known for his novels and short story collections which are fresh and experimental in both content and style. In terms of theme, his eclectic works explore the grey area between science and superstition, between truth and falsehood in Thai society and politics. In terms of style, his graphic books are considered to be groundbreaking.  See this sample extracted from his short story collection หนึ่งวันเดียวกัน (Nng Wan Diaw Kan) or A Day in a Life published in 2001.’

* ‘Dharma (in Sanskrit) or Dhamma (in Pali) literally means “to fasten, to support, or to uphold.” In Hinduism, Dharma means “duty” according to one’s caste, class, and gender. For readers familiar with Plato’s concept of “virtue”, Dharma is similarly that which propels one to be “of use” – to realise one’s full potential for the good of the state. However, unlike “virtue” which tends to be defined by one’s state or society, Dharma is more of a spiritual concept. In the Upanishads, for example, Dharma is defined as the universal law issuing from Brahman (“God” or the universe’s unifying spirit) and therefore stands as a moral principle of the universe. It can also be referred to by the Sanskrit word Sat (Truth). One who lives according to Dharma also lives in harmony with Brahman. “Dharma” in Naowarat’s poem means more than “moral sense.” The word in a Thai context encompasses all of the above: a true understanding and awareness of “truth” or the law of the universe. Dharma, in laypeople’s terms, therefore means upholding “righteousness” in thoughts and actions so as to achieve harmony with self and nature.’

Preparation

Find out about the programme/paper and journalist who wish to interview you and ask about their angle. Write down what you want to say then reduce it to three points. Remember you may only have chance to present one.

Start with your conclusions

You are unlikely to be quoted at length, so put what is most important first. You can always backtrack and fill in later.

Consider emailing

If you are approached by a print media journalist, ask if you can reply to questions by email. This will give you valuable thinking time and mean you have an opportunity to read through your work and correct anything you are unhappy with before submission. It also provides you with a record of your words.

The human element

Don’t just regurgitate facts, tell a story.

A rough guide….

Journalists are busy people and will probably have several projects on the go at once. They are highly unlikely to know much about your topic so it’s a good idea to draw up a rough guide. Try to think in terms of what will interest their readers or viewers. Many journalists will be genuinely grateful if you can help them get to the important questions and points.

Radio

Use your words and voice to paint a picture for the listener. Don’t wear jewelry that jingles as you talk or rustle pieces of paper. The mike will flatten your voice so be enthusiastic. Remember you can hear a smile. Imagine you are speaking to one person, not many.

Television

Research suggests that 55% of people’s impression is based on appearance, 38% on voice, and only 7% on a clear understanding of the message. Anticipate the questions and rehearse the answers, giving plenty of thought to delivery. Clothes should be unremarkable: you don’t want viewers to fix on your outfit instead of your words. Ignore the camera, mikes and lights as much as you can by focusing on the interviewer.

Language

Speak slowly. Use short sentences with no sub-clauses. Present one idea at a time and avoid jargon or acronyms.

Never volunteer anything personal

Don’t use anything from your own life unless it is relevant and you are happy for it to be made public.

Respect deadlines

Journalists often work to the tightest of deadlines, so if they say they need something by 4pm they mean it!

Dealing with difficult questions

If you are asked a difficult question, remember the ABC. First, A = answer briefly but politely. Then B = a bridging phrase such as ‘it’s also important to consider’ to steer the conversation in the direction you want it to go. Finally, C = you take control and say what you have to say.

This month I wrote an article for a new collection on historical fiction.

Here, ahead of publication, are a few writing tips for those considering the genre.

Do your research

You don’t have to be a trained historian to write a good historical novel, but you do need to know your period well enough to make your readers confident of its veracity.

Work out your ground rules

There are historical novelists who take enormous liberties with what is known, and historical novelists who only invent in the gaps. Anything is permissible under the umbrella of fiction, but remember than creativity is not the same as mangling facts. You might imagine a seventh wife for Henry VIII and win readers, but those same readers will find it hard to trust you if you inadvertently describe him switching on a light.

Never preach

You will undoubtedly discover many fascinating facts about your topic, but only weave these in if your narrative requires them. There is nothing more off-putting than a historical novel which really wants to be a history lesson.

Be specific about your location

While your characters may be fantasies, when and where you locate them should be as realistic as possible. Always choose a specific time and place – Kensington Gardens in 1792 rather than late eighteenth-century London.

Use multiple sources

Sometimes the most valuable research is a picture, or an object in a museum, or visiting the actual location. These can provide important physical details to help bring the world you are creating alive for your readers. The internet is an excellent resource here offering images and virtual tours.

Let go of a contemporary vantage point

Not only must you familiarize yourself with the world you are writing about so it becomes second-nature to imagine your character writing with a quill pen, you must also let go of a twenty-first century mindset. It might be hard now to enter the mind of a slave owner, but if that is your topic you must do so or your portrayal will lack conviction.

Forget the consequences

Your characters do not have a historian’s hindsight so try to take yourself back to the point before the outcome was known. If all those young men had realized in 1914 what awaited them in the trenches, they might have been less eager to sign up.

Idiom

While you may decide against trying to emulate the language of the past, avoid current trends. ‘Cool’ should only be used to denote temperature!!

Think about fiction

A good historical novel should have all the elements of good fiction, so consider the overall shape and story, the characters and writing as well as historical accuracy.

Different ways to tell your story

Remember stories can be told in flashback as well as chronologically, or from the viewpoint of one or more characters as well as an omniscient narrator.

Find help

Asking someone who knows about your period to go through your finished novel is invaluable. No matter how careful you have been, the chances are you will have got some details wrong.

Prolific reading

As with all good writing, the more you read in your chosen genre the better your work will be.

My blog this month is an interview with Professor Yumi Hirata, Professor of Modern Japanese Literature at the University of Osaka.

If you could recommend ten Japanese books to English readers, what would these be – and why?

I’ve drawn up the following list based on what has been translated (though I can’t vouch for the quality of the translation) while also trying to give a rough overview of Japanese literary history. I’ve also tried to pick books that will be fun to read!

(1)   Kojiki: Kojiki or Record of Ancient Matters - because it is the oldest text of historical fact and fiction.

(2)   Man’yoshu: 1000 Poems from the Manyoshu – the oldest anthology of poems including works from across all classes, age and gender.

(3)   Taketori Monogatari: The Old Bamboo-Hewer’s Story: The Earliest of the Japanese Romances - a prototypical or ancestral fairy tale from not only Japan but East Asia.

(4)   Genji Monogatari: The Tale of Genji – the world-famous Japanese classic.

(5)   Heike Monogatari: The Tale of the Heike - the most fatalistic story of the Japanese medieval age.

(6)  Watch a good interpretation of a Noh play (for example from Arthur Waley’s Noh Plays of Japan) – these are a very important part of Japanese literature and art influencing all genres.

(7)   Ihara Saikaku, Seken Munazan’yo: Worldly Mental Calculations - a representation of the literature of the Edo period and the age of popular culture.

(8)   Higuchi Ichiyo: Nigorie or Takekurabe  – introducing a famous Japanese woman writer in modern times.

(9)   Tanizaki, Jun’ichiro, Sasame yuki: The Makioka Sisters – an intriguing, well-written interweaving of Japanese and European modern history in novel form (it was banned during the war).

(10)  Oe, Kenzaburo, Man’en Gannen no Futtoboru: The Silent Cry  - the starting point for Japanese modern literature, now a world-wide text. 

For many Westerners, Japanese poetry means Haiku. Is this still a popular form in Japan?

Yes it is, for many reasons. For one thing people still write Haiku – according to the 2005 White Paper on Leisure the number of people who enjoy creative writing (including Haiku) in Japan is over 4 million. The arts and entertainment sections of Japanese newspapers usually have some pages for both Tanka and Haiku (these are the two dominant forms of traditional poetry: the former is created from 5,7 and 5 syllables and the latter from 5, 7, 5, 7 and 7 syllables respectively. Both are more popular with creative writers than novels and poetry). The three major papers (with a total circulation exceeding 30 million) have such pages and publish Haikus posted from readers (these are selected, ranked and criticized by well-known Haiku poets).

Haiku is also a collaborative form, coming from the linked verse form Renga. This was a type of collaborative verse enjoyed by people from an emerging moneyed class like wealthy merchants in medieval cities. The traces can be seen in the way people enjoy Haiku which is quite different from that of other creative writing. People usually belong to a particular group of Haiku and have periodic gatherings, where members vote for their favourite verse and a Haiku master then criticizes the result. Sometimes they go on an excursion together to find inspiration.

Then there is Haiku’s physicalized rhythm. Five and seven syllables constitute not only the basic unit of the fixed verse form of Haiku and Tanka, but also the dominant rhythm of Japanese. It is so deeply embedded in daily language that you could easily find these syllables and their combinations in slogans, watchwords, adverts, the lyrics of popular songs, the incantations of children’s play and so on.

Who are the most important writers in Japan today?

Of course this answer will vary from reader to reader, but Haruki Murakami seems to me one of the most important. He is read by scholars as well as the general public, and his books have been widely translated – into 43 languages according to Wikipedia. His official website only exists in English.

This popularity abroad has increased his reputation in Japan. Although the covers of his novels have oriental or Japanese themes, I don’t feel there is much that is inherently Japanese in the worlds he creates. I would love to hear how English readers experience his work and to understand better why it attracts such universal popularity.

Personally, I’m not convinced Murakami’s appeal will last – this will depend on the social conditions and the readers. He might become one of those writers who are forgotten after their lifetime and are then rediscovered at a later date – like the many authors of the Meiji period writing a century ago whose texts have not been read since except by scholars. In graduate school I did research on a poet and novelist of the late 17^th century named Ihara Saikaku. His work was forgotten and only rediscovered in the 19th century. This was a time of literary innovation in Japan and authors found unfamiliar ideas and a different style in Saikaku’s work. Their interest sparked a revaluation by scholars. Today Saikaku’s name can be seen in school textbooks and his writings are known but seldom read. Of course this is the fate of many masterpieces, but it reveals how the value of a literary work can vary according to the readership and times.

When Virginia Woolf wrote her now famous essay A Room of One’s Own, she began with a story. She described to her readers how she researched her topic while staying at an Oxbridge college. She ate two meals during her visit, and her account of the delicious fare she was served at a male college (sole in cream sauce, partridge, a confection for dessert that defies description), and the plain gravy soup, humdrum beef and prunes and custard she sat down to at a woman’s college, immediately pulls the reader in.

Her story is more than a way of engaging attention. Woolf uses it to make a serious point about the differences between men’s and women’s education. The men’s colleges benefit from centuries of endowment and can fund luxuries such as fine wine at lunch, while the recently created women’s colleges can afford only water.

Woolf tells another, more serious story to develop her thesis about the woeful neglect of women’s education. She invents the character of Judith Shakespeare, sister of the great playwright William, whom she imagines to be as intelligent and gifted as her brother. Judith’s trajectory is tragic. Unlike William she is not permitted to attend school. Though she teaches herself to read and write she is chastised by her parents for neglecting her household chores. When a husband is picked out for her – the son of a neighbouring wool-stapler – and she protests, she is severely beaten. She runs away to London and like William tries to earn a living by acting. Women, however, are not allowed on the stage. Finally, pregnant and in despair, she kills herself.

These stories are far more powerful than any statistic about women’s education. Through them we experience with Woolf the stark contrast in the way men and women are provided for at Oxbridge. We empathise with the plight of the imaginary Judith Shakespeare – and our frustration and anger at the waste of her life are real.

The genius of Woolf’s essay derives not only from her ability to pen gripping stories. She is a compelling writer because she is also a devoted word-smith. When she is chased from the forbidden lawn of the men’s college, she doesn’t simply invoke an irate porter, she paints for us ‘the gesticulations of a curious-looking object in a cut-away coat and evening shirt’. In her anecdote about lunch she is not content to list the menu, she engages all our senses in her depiction of partridges with ‘their retinue of sauces and salads, the sharp and the sweet, each in its order; their potatoes, thin as coins but not so hard; their sprouts, foliated as rosebuds but more succulent’. Woolf deploys language with the care and precision of a poet. She understands that words are powerful: that when they ricochet and dance together they have the potential to make us see the world anew.

There is a popular image of Woolf as relying on flashes of inspiration to fuel her writing. The truth could not be more different. Her detailed, almost daily diary entries and voluminous correspondence prove she was a voracious reader, a thoughtful planner, and a dedicated practitioner. She read French and Russian literature as well as English; classical authors alongside her contemporaries; books from a range of other disciplines. Ideas were tried and scratched out and slowly replaced by better ones; word choices were revised over multiple drafts.

I have quoted Woolf at length not only because I think story-telling and detailing particular cases are effective in presenting ideas to readers, but also because the record she left of her creative process demonstrates that good writing almost never comes fully formed. It requires feeding through wide-ranging and daily reading; ferocious hard work as well as regular breaks (Woolf was a great walker and frequently came back from an hour out of doors with a fresh perspective); and above all an incessant delight in the potency and possibility of words.

The idea of an artist’s home as a three-dimensional and multi-sensory archive feels right to me. We are sensate beings and our perception depends on a range of factors. Experiencing first-hand the colourful and exuberant art with which Vanessa Bell decorated almost every inch of her house at Charleston made me question biographical accounts of her life that depict her as silently restrained.

Imagine then my feelings when I visited Shakespeare’s birthplace in Stratford-upon-Avon last month. After paying my entrance fee, I was herded into a blackened room where I was confronted with a large screen. Closed elevator doors informed me they would re-open only when whatever it was that was to happen had ended. I was trapped in the room with perhaps thirty other visitors.

We were shown a film with voice-over accompanied by computer-orchestrated multi-media effects. When the doors finally released us, it was into a second darkened space. I am not sure how many such rooms we endured – but by the third I started to wonder if (instead of Shakespeare’s birthplace) I had inadvertently stumbled into an Orwellian proles day out from 1984.

The glossy brochure advertising the presentation describes it as a ‘state of the art’ introduction to Shakespeare. For me, it was an abomination – for several reasons. None of the largely Spanish-speaking group I was held captive with could follow the English soundtrack (there may have been the option of an alternative language, but if there was no one in the group seemed to have understood this). Yet they still had to suffer the full sequence, film by film: escape was impossible. Then there was the elderly woman searching in vain for somewhere to sit while the performances lasted. None of us had any idea how many rooms there were and consequently how long she would be required to stand for. What might have been a highlight – a chance to see a copy of Shakespeare’s First Folio – became a frustration because before I could take my turn, the computer-timed spotlight on its glass case had switched off and our attention was directed elsewhere.  In the final room, the visual display was not working and we spent the allotted minutes staring at a computer error message before the doors allowed us to leave. I wondered if pressing the return key might solve the problem – but there was no staff member to ask.

The real crime of this introduction to Shakespeare’s birthplace is its assumption our experience is homogeneous, and that consequently our visits can be managed by a one-size-fits-all computerised show. I appreciate that for some the information relayed and the special effects will register differently – but for me it remains a sad indictment of mainstream culture at its most pernicious. How Adorno would have hated it! Far from encouraging us to engage in a dynamic and multivalent way with the home of one of Britain’s greatest writers, what this ‘state of the art’ performance demands of its audience is a necessary, deadening passivity.

It seems particularly ironic that this should happen to Shakespeare….

This month I contributed a short article to one of the Arvon Writing Guides. Here, ahead of publication, are my top tips for writing. They are compiled from years of trial and error.

I’d love to hear yours…. Do leave a comment in the box below.

Never wait for inspiration.

This may come – but it will have more chance of doing so if you are already among words.

Work out when, where and how you do your best work.

The venue might be a library, a café, on a train, in bed. You might work best first thing in the morning while your mind is still wide open, or last thing at night once the day’s other tasks are done. Some writers like silence, others can only function against background noise. Experiment to see if deadlines are productive spurs or thought-crippling terrors. Do not rule out the possibility that each stage of writing (research, planning, drafting, editing) might require a different context.

Do your groundwork.

Even though you will not use all your research, the fact that you know the full picture and can select the most pertinent aspects will make your piece stronger.

Be clear about your brief.

The kind of writing you do for a scholarly journal destined for experts will be different to a piece intended for general readers. Make sure you know whom you are writing to. Give thought to their needs.

The value of planning.

A plan can be a time-saver and give your piece a more coherent structure, but bear in mind that writing is itself a way of thinking. If drafting generates important insights, don’t be afraid to modify or discard your plan. A post-plan can be useful for checking that all the necessary elements are in place and everything coheres.

Murder your internal censor.

This is crucial. Give yourself permission to experiment, explore, write rubbish. It might lead to something fresh and unexpected. You can always edit later.

Keep the writing muscle in shape.

Other artists (musicians, dancers) practice regularly. Even on days when there is no time for concentrated work, keep an actual or virtual notebook to hand.

Style.

Think about how you can best communicate with your reader. Does the piece require you to lay out all the information in the clearest manner possible, or would it be more effective if you provided an individual case study? Does the reader need facts and figures, or a scenario that will bring the situation to life? Should you list bullet points? Or tell a story?

Don’t be easily satisfied.

Good writing rarely comes ready-formed. Expect to go through many drafts.

Use your senses.

We are sensate as well as intellectual and emotional beings. Don’t just tell the reader – where appropriate, help them see, feel, hear, smell, taste.

Take regular breaks.

Words and ideas take time to ferment and mature. Leaving a piece alone for an hour or a day is part of the process. If you are writing to a deadline, factor this in to your schedule.

Do something else.

Sometimes the best angle/example/phrase surfaces when we least expect it. Harness the Eureka moment by stopping work and doing something different.

Remain open.

When your writing is as finished as you can make it, give it to readers you respect and trust. Have the courage to hear what they say: the good as well as the bad.

Feed your muse.

The more you read, the better you will write.

1. ‘Virginia’ was Woolf’s middle name: her full name was Adeline Virginia Woolf (née Stephen).

2. Woolf was born in 1882, the same year as James Joyce; she died in 1941, the same year as James Joyce. They never met.

3. Woolf’s father, Leslie Stephen, was the son-in-law (through his first marriage) of the famous Victorian novelist William Makepeace Thackeray.

4. Woolf’s mother, Julia Stephen (née Jackson, quondam Duckworth), was the niece of the pioneering Victorian photographer Julia Margaret Cameron.

5. As a child, Woolf, along with her sister Vanessa, and their brothers Thoby and Adrian, was a keen butterfly and moth collector; she also went birdwatching with her brother Thoby.

6. One of Woolf’s childhood nicknames was ‘the Goat’.

7. With her brother Adrian and a group of his friends, Woolf dressed up as Abyssinian royalty and was given a red-carpet tour of H.M.S. Dreadnought – the biggest and newest of the Navy’s warships.

8. Woolf studied Greek, History and German at Kings College London and Latin with classical scholars Clara Pater and Janet Case.

9. Woolf began reviewing for The Times Literary Supplement in 1905, when she was only twenty-three; her first novel was not published until 1915.

10. Woolf’s eighth novel, Flush (1933), was a fictional biography of Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s spaniel.

11. Woolf’s ninth novel, The Years, was number six in the list of best-selling novels in the United States in 1937, outselling John Steinbeck’s Of Mice and Men, which finished the year in eighth place. Margaret Mitchell’s Gone With the Wind occupied the top spot on the list.

12. Woolf added several new words to the English language, including ‘obfusc’ and ‘scrolloping’.

13. In Bonn in April 1935, travelling by car with her husband Leonard, Woolf inadvertently became embroiled in a motorcade intended for Goering. Given Leonard’s jewishness, this was potentially highly dangerous as the streets were lined with flag-waving Nazi supporters and armed stormtroopers and covered in banners proclaiming ‘The Jew is our enemy.’ Woolf and Leonard escaped unharmed, partly thanks to the fact that they were travelling with their pet marmoset Mitz, who distracted the attention of the crowd.

14. With her husband Leonard, she ran her own printing press, discovering and publishing many important authors of the period including Katherine Mansfield, T.S. Eliot and Maynard Keynes.

15. She had tea with Sigmund Freud. He gave her a narcissus.

16. She published one of the first essays in English on the cinema.

Allen Jones, Hatstand and Chair, 1969

This month I went to see David Fincher’s film The Social Network. It’s won a number of awards and there is much to admire. I particularly enjoyed the fact that an audience has to work hard to unravel the complex motivations of its main characters. This is a film where there is no obvious good and baddie – and it is all the better for that.

But if the psychological portrayal of the people who started facebook is rounded, the film’s gender politics are not.

I appreciate that part of the film’s strategy is to uncover a world in which boys will be boys –  and to be fair there is some come-uppance for the lamentable attempt to rate women as objects on the first face mash site Mark Zuckerberg creates. There are plenty of fun scenes such as the one where Zuckerberg and chums crash-land, drunk, from a zip-wire into a swimming-pool.

But what are we to make of the scene where the boys are wired in to their computers building facebook, while on a sofa in their midst two young women giggle helplessly in a state of near-undress? As if to re-enforce the gender stereotyping, Zuckerberg asks if the girls are enjoying themselves mindlessly watching television, while in the same breath exhorting the boys to go the extra mile. Women, it seems, are for decoration while the real work is done by the men.

And what abut the scene where two female students latch on to the now famous Zuckerberg and his pal Eduardo Saverin and proceed to initiate sex with them? This might have been liberatory – women making the first moves – except that the editing turns the women into vampires by emphasising the efficiency and ruthlessness with which they carry out out their mission. If we are left in any doubt that these women are anything other than predatory, we only have to wait. One of them turns out to be so possessive her behavior verges on paranoia. She makes Saverin’s life a misery and finally sets fire to his college room.

Then there is the party to celebrate facebook’s millionth client. What is particularly disappointing about this episode is that the only woman programmer in the film is shown snorting drugs from the table-top of another woman’s torso. ‘Shall I take off my bra?’ table-top asks, while Napster creator Shawn Fanning looks on. It might almost be a tableau by Allen Jones (see photo at top of this post).

True, Zuckerberg’s ex-girlfriend reappears to remind him there are alternatives, and there’s an intelligent young woman lawyer at Zuckerberg’s hearing. But these are peripheral figures. For most of the film, it’s as if decades of feminism never happened.

I saw the film one weekend afternoon and the only other people watching were young teenagers. They were attracted, no doubt, by the reference to what (if my young teenage son and his friends are anything to go by) is likely to be their favourite networking site.

I worry about the story these young people were given. I’m sure there was a great deal of sexism in the early days of facebook – and I’m not asking the director to change history. But did Fincher need to pile up all that gratuitous sexist cliché?

As it is, the message those teenagers will take away from watching The Social Network, is that women were only involved in the development of this planet-changing phenomenon in the most regressive of ways: as sex-toys, predators or (at best) the still, small voice of men’s consciences.