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ENOUGH ROPE TO HANG THEM WITH

As I’ve mentioned elsewhere, being a working-class writer is fucking hard. The mainstream publishing industry is primarily owned and staffed by the middle class, and it exists largely for the benefit of middle-class authors, even though most readers, I suspect, are working class. The only available avenues of admittance to this self-serving, incestuous coterie are via education – public school, Oxbridge – or through social and familial connections. If you’re fucking a literary agent, or a literary agent is fucking you, so much the better. There are exceptions to this rule, of course, but that’s not much help if you’re a working-class writer like myself. Moreover, if you happen to hail from C

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Darlington, UK

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