Where did the idea of the story in A Love of Two Halves come from?

I’m from a Leeds United supporting family, mostly grown up in the south, and my sisters have done quite well for themselves. One weekend my brother in law took my sister to a game and parked his Mercedes outside a terraced home in Beeston, Leeds, near the stadium. It’s a low-income area. I imagined being challenged to write a story based on that image. I wondered if the car was worth more than the house it was parked outside; I checked online and it was. So I had the idea of a love story across the social divides. I had to point out to my brother-in-law David that the main character is not based on him!

The novel moves between the viewpoints of George and Karen, which enables the reader to get both sides of the story. Did you find it easier writing as one or the other?

I found it easier as George, as you might expect. I found the female lead role straightforward in some ways, and almost infinitely tricky in others. I think I was authentic in Karen’s desires and decisions, but getting the voice consistent, and getting details right on being a single mum, required advice. I had a brilliant beta reader Shannon Kyle, who’s a gifted author in her own right and has been a single mum; and my development editor at Unbound was brilliant – like being on a free editing course.

Novels about relationships are often dismissed as rom coms or chick lit, but it strikes me that relationships are the fabric of life and so should be of our novels too. What makes relationships your focus?

As I sometimes say when I give talks, I think it’s an absurd prejudice to regard war, violence, grief and despair as more weighty than love and romance; it’s all life. I’m out and proud as a writer of romcoms; others who have written in the genre include Mario Vargas Llosa and Jane Austen. Keep the Aspidistra Flying by George Orwell has funny moments and a genuine love affair. A relationship involves feelings of great depth, high emotional peril and complexity – so, great dramatic potential. In my books there are no baddies or corpses, but I would argue that there is considerable reflection and depth. That said, I enjoy a good thriller sometimes, too.

Your novels are set in Leeds. Is it important to you to write about a place that you know?

My first novel Close of Play is set in Sussex, then I switched to Leeds partly out of nostalgia for the region I’m originally from, but partly also for commercial reasons, as it’s easier to focus your marketing on a particular city or region. Yes, I very much place my dramas in places that I know intimately. I like to draw on first-hand experience when bringing a scene to life.

In A Love of Two Halves you look at social issues, such as the role of companies in the lives of their employees, the difficulties of surviving on low income jobs and benefits, and inequalities. What role do you think literature has in making us think about these things?

I think it’s very important that a novel shows social reality without preaching or proselytising. In A Love of Two Halves I sought always to keep the relationships and the drama central to the story arc. I do have unique insights, based on many years of journalism, both into social problems, and into how businesses are run and the impact they have. In my experience, conventional political movements do not base their policies on an understanding of actual human behaviour or social realities. I like to think I show some social and economic complexities in A Love of Two Halves – but, as I say, the story of Karen and George is the main thing. 

Your performances to support the book bring together readings, commentary, and music, in quite an immersive experience that echoes the book. Music plays a big role in the novel. Are you a fan?

I like to be a bit multi-media as it were, at an event, so that it’s not just an old man talking about his books. I enjoyed bringing in the singer and guitarist Nigel Girling. When I was young I always followed bands, and I wanted to bring characters to life who are in a non-professional band and who write songs. This features in Marching on Together. A song can have lasting emotional impact – in the case of Johnny in that book, one Beatles song will forever remind him of The One Who Got Away. So, powerful dramatic potential.

It’s only in the last few years that you’ve been publishing novels. Have you always written creatively? What changed for you and made you want to do it?

I’ve written creatively for over 20 years. I’ve only been published recently because, for me, it was a long apprenticeship. It didn’t come naturally and I had to learn the craft very patiently. The main catalyst that accelerated my learning and led to being published was joining a writing group, getting honest feedback, and realising that writing doesn’t have to be a lonely experience.

What’s next for you?

I have begun work on a fourth novel, with the working title No Traveller Returns. The theme is one of redemption for a man in his 40s who led a high, criminal life as a young adult and wants to atone. Central to his quest is to thank the supermum who lived next door when he was a teenager and tried to save him, but he discovers she’s died. But she has a daughter, and the two of them had some chemistry as teenagers…

To celebrate the twentieth anniversary of the release of Pulp’s Different Class we asked people to do the same with some of Jarvis Cocker’s finest songs.

Jarvis Cocker’s lyrical genius, acerbic wit and perceptive eye are one of the elements that enabled Pulp to connect so well back in the nineties, and continue to transcend the vagaries of time to communicate with individuals so acutely.In his book Mother, Brother, Lover Jarvis (as well as acknowledging that his lyrics are ‘alright’) states that his songs are always about narrative. It’s the story that matters.

Songs may be a story about a character. The lyrics could be shrewd and perceptive observations that make a comment on life. Or they may be an interesting blend of words and phrases that trigger an emotional response in you. You may see a tale within the tune. Or one which goes beyond its final chords. Explore what happens to the character once the song ends. Take the title and spin your own fantasy from it.

Or something else entirely.

This is the result. This is Pulp Fiction.

Paul Cooper is the author of River of Ink. His debut novel is based on a poet to the King in 13th century Sri Lanka, who tries to use poetic words to unite two warring factions. Working as journalist in the city, and  not a king, living in the 13^th century, or au fait with the Sri Lankan world of this time, he was still able to write a compelling, resonant and highly emotive narrative that speaks to audiences of all ages. Much of this success seems to be about combining things you do know – the experience of being a human and its vicissitudes of experience, emotion and life – with those more remote aspects of the period and age.

After hearing his story at the LSE Literary Festival I spoke to him to find out more about how he did this…

How long did River of Ink take you to write, and what was the process like?

River of Ink took the best part of five years to write, from conception to publication. I began with the germ of an idea – the situation of a poet translating a poem for a tyrant King, and finding through the act of translation a kind of rebellious artistic freedom. I spent a lot of time living in Sri Lanka and researching for the novel, and it underwent a great number of rewrites along the way.

Was it Sri Lanka, the historic aspect or fantasy of the stories that drew you in?

I began with that idea for a story, and through writing the novel I fell in love with the ancient Indian epics, the Mahabharata and the Ramayana. They are such incredibly rich stories, full of love and tragedy, and I felt a lot of their power draw me through the writing of River of Ink. I’m also an amateur historian, and there’s nothing more alluring to a historical fiction writer than a blank spot on history’s map. The book is set during the reign of a notorious king known to history as Kalinga Magha. During this time, the monks who had for centuries meticulously recorded Sri Lanka’s history were subject to brutal repressions, and so the period is something of a question mark. The mystery of what happened during this time became something of an obsession. I think historical fiction writers can sometimes exist as a kind of ‘god of the gaps’, thriving like a vine between the cracked bricks of history.

You eventually went to Sri Lanka – what made you decide that it was time to go there?

I went to live in Sri Lanka as soon as I could, once I’d graduated. I don’t believe it’s possible to write authentically about a place without ever having been there. There are so many details and imperceptible atmospheric concerns that are absolutely crucial to writing a believable and surprising setting, without relying on tired orientalist tropes. When I arrived, I’d studied a great deal about the country, and found it incredibly stimulating to finally visit. In some cases, I found myself in quite remote areas, and had to learn to speak Sinhala, the majority language of the island. I was able to explore the ruins of Polonnaruwa, the medieval capital of Sri Lanka, and the setting for River of Ink. Being actually able to walk those ruined streets, and wander through the crumbling rooms of the palace, where pieces of the original plaster still cling to the walls, gave me shivers. It was as if I was walking in the footsteps of my characters and seeing what they might have once seen.

Have you any plans to write another novel?

I am currently finishing my second novel. Hopefully anyone who liked River of Ink will find something to love in this one too!

Were you always creative or literary?

I’ve always loved to read, and I’ve been writing seriously for about 12 years now. I used to enjoy telling stories when I was a child, though sometimes it can be too easy to trace back your current situation to early memories. I’m sure if I was a biologist, I’d trace it back to all the time I spent in the woods near my house, fishing tadpoles from the lake. But I think I have always been in awe of the power of storytelling.

You worked as a journalist for a number of years. How did this way of writing prepare you for your novel, or differ from it?

Journalism is an art I’ve never had much talent for. It’s a job that allows you to travel a lot, which was my primary reason for staying. However it tires out the muscle that allows you to write, and I also find some of the more commercial and quasi-corrupt practises of small-publication journalism to be in some way damaging to the soul. At anything other than the highest levels of journalism, you are often beholden to powerful corporate partners, and feel yourself to be something of a cog in the PR machine.

How can you write about and relate to the experience of a Sri Lankan king from 1215? Your life is very different to this – can writers write about things they have never experienced?

The reason we invented literature is so we can imagine the lives of others – how people might have lived in other situations, other places and other times. Of course to achieve this level of literary empathy, you have to conduct a great deal of research. I would say it is also essential to learn the language of the country you are setting your story in, and develop an understanding of the idioms and metaphorical systems at work. Ultimately if you want to write outside your own experience, you need to approach your work with a great deal of open-heartedness and understanding, and begin from the assumption that despite all out differences of language and culture, humans are very similar once you get down to the level of the soul.

Paul Cooper’s first novel, River of Ink was published in January 2016 by Bloomsbury Ink.