Tag Archives: Happening

16 Imaginary Things People Might Be Saying About Between the Bookcases * in the Future. Possibly.


 BookcaseHowie 1Bookcase


16 Imaginary Things People Might Be Saying About Between the Bookcases * in the Future. Possibly.

  1. “Like most people I hate literary events – but this one was ok.” Kevin Gildea.
  2. “It was better than sex.” Pope Francis.
  3. “This event was dynamite. It blew my brains out and splattered them over my four living room walls.” Quentin Tarantino.
  4. “This event kicked experimentation in the groin, poked convention in the eyes and dropped ice-cubes down the neck of all common-sense. Or was that my mother? Hold on, I think it was. What were you talking about again?” Your mother.
  5. “I haven’t been this excited since seeing the Dutch tax-rate for non-residents for the very first time.” Bono.
  6. “So good I threw my husband out the window.” Madonna.
  7. “This event has so much depth, you’ll drown.” Russell Brand.
  8. “Others carp that modern literary events contain too much sex, drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. But I completely disagree. In my opinion, you can never have enough of that sort of thing of a wet Wednesday evening in May.” Desperate Dan.
  9. “The only thing better than having a literary event in Ballyfermot library handy to look forward to attending, is not having a literary event in Ballyfermot library handy to look forward to.” Oscar Wilde.
  10. “James Joyce, Samuel Beckett and Oscar Wilde went in to a Dublin pub and said to the bartender – We’ll have three tickets to Between The Bookcases please with three whiskey chasers on the side.I’d advise everyone to do the same.” Brendan Behan.
  11. “You’ll want to see its most provoking parts over and over and chances are twenty minutes from the end of the show you won’t be able to remember a fecking thing. Which is very nice and decent of the organisers, I think. Bravo!” The seventh dwarf.
  12. “I’ve seen the best minds of my generation destroyed by literary events, starving hysterical naked, dragging themselves through the tax-sheltered streets at dawn looking for an angry fix. Angelheaded hipsters.” Allen Ginsberg.
  13. “Did exactly what it said on the Tintern Abbey.” Flann O’Brien.
  14. “A literary event is like a box of chocolates. You never know when you’ll bite into a hard one and break one of your teeth.” Conor McGregor.
  15. “Between The Bookcases was like an onion, having layer upon layer upon layer of meaning and with each layer making you cry more bitterly than the last.” Samuel Beckett.
  16. “Between the Bookcases was not the messiah, it was just a naughty little boy.” Molly Bloom.



Between the Bookcases Poster Official-page-001

To book tickets for this event go to –



happy cat

Rik V


Between the Bookcases: Pre-Event Conceptual Art Happening: Hugging Will Self, fictionally.

Between the Bookcases Poster Official-page-001

To book tickets for this event go to –


A Janey Macken Street Exclusive:

Pre-Event Conceptual Art Happening

Hugging Will Self, fictionally.


The BWG event, Between The Bookcases, in the International Literature Festival Dublin 2017, actually takes place at the same time as Will Self’s event at the Smock Alley Theatre on 24th May 2017 in the same festival.

By a strange coincidence, in 2014, Camillus John, writer and organiser of Ballyfermot Writers Group, had a story published in The Stinging Fly, literary journal, entitled, The Pervert’s Guide to Modern Fiction by Mrs Pimple, in which Morrissey gives Will Self a hug on International Men’s Day.  See the particular gobbet from the story in question pasted in below.

Morrissey hug

As an example of Irish hospitality at its finest, and also as a piece of modern conceptual art, Camillus John will send Will Self a fictional hug from Morrissey on the night of Will’s talk at the festival, by reading the relevant gobbet of prose from his story before BWG’s Between the Bookcases event. He will read this in private with, perhaps, other members of BWG, in Room 3 of the library at 5.55 p.m. Or read it fictionally.

Thus, in this way, Will Self will receive a fictional hug on the night from Morrissey via Ballyfermot Writers’ Group to calm his nerves and welcome him, experimentally, to Ireland (and the festival), before he goes on stage. A piece of conceptual art. A happening. As it were.

MOrrissey hug 2

However, as the act of hugging is a very private act, people can only attend this pre-event fictionally and cannot attend in person. How? They can do this by reading said gobbet of prose themselves at 5.55 p.m. on the night of the event. In fact, they don’t even need to read it in actuality but can read it fictionally in their minds instead if they wish i.e. pretend they’d read it at 5.55 p.m. on the night of the event. That would do too. The more people that are fictionally doing this at 5.55 p.m. on the night, then the warmer the fictional hug Will Self will receive.

i.e. Ballyfermot Writers Group plan to hug Will Self in fiction through Morrissey at the upcoming International Literature Festival 2017.

This is an attempt to answer the questions; What is fiction? What is reality?


The gobbet of prose in question is as follows.


The Pervert’s Guide to Modern Fiction

By Mrs Pimple

 Written By Camillus John


NYE 3 pm: Why did Will Self write Autobiography by Morrissey?

‘The horrors of my private education, Mrs. Pimple, made me feel like running up on stage and hugging. Close, very close. To get some release. The bouncers offered no resistance. I was now up on stage with both arms spread out like aeroplane wings ready to clasp Morrissey to my bosom.

‘The stage lights flashed rainbows as I moved slowly towards him. The instrumental break was fast approaching and I’d use this opportunity to hug and then go; without as much as causing a spilt lyric or a dropped note. That was the plan. Then I’d melt right back into his audience Mrs. Pimple. That was the complete plan. Full stop.

‘I reached the singer and went in for the two second hug. And was hugged back. But pop went the weasel in both my arms at that point. Crackety-crack. We locked in spasm. I couldn’t untangle, rigidly enclosing the singer who tried to finish the song as best he could, deep now in my awkward embrace.

‘The bouncers came flooding but the singer stopped them. He understood that this was an osteopathic mishap. Perhaps more. The singer and I exchanged words as the band played on in the background and the stage lights wrote fiction in colour on our faces.

‘This was the last song in the encore, so it mattered little in the great scheme of things; everyone had already received their evening’s worth. Perhaps more. The band stopped and the audience stood in silence watching, aching, unable to leave. All I had to do was wait. It would unravel itself, this most un-Gordian of knots.

‘Five minutes in, and still our hug held sway, alongside the audience’s silent participation, when up piped Morrissey:

‘Only an Irish singer-songwriter can save us now!’

‘With that, Damien Dempsey sprang up from stage left like popping toast with a tuned-up guitar primed and ready to go off. He sang about not letting all those negative vibes and comments get in on top of you and doing damage.

‘Everything loosened Mrs. Pimple. Everything released. I wrote Autobiography by Morrissey, written by Will Self, right there on stage. It was quite charming. And liberating. The first men’s liberation day proper in my book.’


happy cat

Rik V