Extract from "The Night Porter" by Mark Barry

The Night Porter is on Kindle Countdown this Thursday. It can be purchased here for 99p and 99c on Thursday June 19th.  

Extract from "The Night Porter"

The King of New York

It occurs to me at that very moment who Frank resembles. When I was a student, I watched a DVD called King Of New York.[1] 

I hadn’t thought about the film until this very moment for many, many years. He reminds me of the gangster in it, only much broader. I cannot remember the actor’s name, but he’s the spit moral. 

That same heavy lidded look. That same sense of me first, you nowhere. The disdain. The obtrusive, deliberate cool of it. He puts his meaty paw on Lucy’s back and ushers her upstairs.

****

Midnight Run

I go to see Sixsmith and ask for the bottle of Jack Daniels. He is perched on a barstool scanning the classified ads. I think he runs an online auction business on the side.

‘We’re out,’ he says, without looking up.

These are not the words I want to hear, particularly delivered by a man who is clearly not making much effort to hide his disdain, delivered in a rural Midlands accent, with a burr, the emphasis on the vowels. There is no hierarchy on paper, but I know where I stand. 

‘Can you nip up the Community Fayre and get some?’

‘No. Busy.’

I look around the bar. There are two punters enjoying a pint. A fire well on the way to ash and ember. The TV showing a football match.

I press on. ‘Cat says –’

‘– bollocks to Cat,’ Sixsmith says, emphasising everything and delivering it slowly. ‘I’m busy, you go.’

‘Listen, Martin. Frank wants a bottle of bourbon. He gets a bottle of bourbon. If you don’t go fetch a bottle of bourbon from the Community Fayre, or the OneStop, I’m calling Cat.’

He looks up from his paper with menace. 

‘You do that, mate. You do that. See what happens.’

‘Don’t be so ridiculous, Martin.’

‘I’m not going out in that rain,’ he says, aware he is pushing it as far as it will go and softening a little. He isn’t stupid: He’s behaving like it – nasty and stupid, malevolent even – but he isn’t.

‘Okay. Send Kerry.’

‘Yeh. Send Kerry. Where is she?’

‘Don’t know, Martin.’

‘You find her and send her,’ he says, returning to the paper and chewing on a peanut.

Annoyed, I see Kerry and rather than ask her to go to the supermarket, I ask her to hold the reception for fifteen minutes. She says she is due to go home, but says, yes. I put on my raincoat. It is lashing down, so I take my umbrella. 

I race up the High Street to the off licence, order a bottle of Jack Daniels. They will bill me – this is not the first time this has happened, and we have a proper arrangement. I pick up three bags of peanuts, giant bags. This means I can ask Gavin for olives and not Sixsmith. 

I’ve had enough of him for one night. 

When I return, I run to the kitchen and ask for a jar of olives. Gavin is cooking steaks, and my mouth waters. He gives me six on a glass petrie dish from an already opened jar, which is fair enough and soon, I am ready to take up the goods. Kerry is talking to a guest, and I don’t want to interrupt, so I take up the bottle, the nuts, and the olives myself. I am soon outside his door and knocking.

Lucy answers the door. ‘Hi.’

The TV is on, and I can see Frank’s chocolate and pale strawberry-coloured bare feet hanging off the edge of the bed behind Lucy, who, now I see her in a different light, has also been drinking most of the afternoon. She sways just a little, a blade of grass in a light breeze.

‘Frank’s order, madam.’

‘Is all this for us?’

‘Yes. All this for you.’

‘Awesome.’ She nods. ‘Yeh, awesome.’ Takes the tray from me and kicks the door shut gently without saying goodbye.

My pager goes, and it is Kerry. I signal I’m coming back. I check my watch. It is past eight, and I have another twelve hours to go. I feel as if I have been working since eight in the morning instead of two hours.

When I get downstairs, Jo is waiting with her shopping bags. Amy is on her mobile phone underneath the portrait of Charles I by the door. ‘Would you help me up with these?’ Jo asks sweetly.

‘My pleasure. Shall we take the lift?’

‘Totally,’ she says, relieved.

Jo waves at Amy, who blows her a kiss. I pick up the bags to Kerry’s consternation. I know Kerry has to leave, but this is business. She is noticeably frustrated. I carry the bags to the lift, and Jo walks behind me, slightly pickled and giggling. She burps and swiftly apologises for it. ‘I so didn’t expect that to happen. What must you think of me?’

‘I didn’t hear anything, Jo.’

‘You’re such a gentleman. I love England. Everyone has been so nice. I love it, OMG, you are all so cool.’

‘Thank you, Jo. My country appreciates that.’

We get into the lift, and I press a button.

‘Apart from the weather, that is. So amazing the rain, Wow. Never seen anything like it,’ she says,

‘By the way, Julian asked me to ask you to give him a call in his room when you get the chance.’

‘Julian? What about?’

‘He said he wants to talk to you about Friday.’

‘Oh, cool. I am so nervous. Me at a press conference. I’ve never done that before.’

‘Me neither,’ I say, and Jo laughs, as she is meant to.

I manage to get the bags into her room. She tries to tip me. This is the first time any of the guests tries this.

‘No tipping here, Jo. My compliments.’ 

Many hotels permit tips – The Saladin doesn’t, compensating the staff with an assumed tip in the hourly rate.

‘OMG– no TIPPING? How cool is that! I kinda can’t believe how awesome this is. We tip everywhere in the States.’

‘Not in The Saladin.  Will that be all?’ I ask.

‘Sure thing. Okay. And thanks.’ She says, her phone going off, a vaguely familiar ringtone alerting her to a call. I smile and shut the door behind me.

*****

I walk past Frank’s room and hear music I don’t recognise.

By the time I get back to the desk, Kerry is irritated and storms off without saying goodbye to me. I’m not offended: Any rage I have, though internalised and controlled (and hotter than molten steel), is aimed not at her, but at Sixsmith for humiliating me. He knows I won’t tell Cat. He knows I have a minimum contact policy with management – I made the mistake of telling him. Give a bully the right amount of information, and he will make it count. His mask slipped tonight.

Why? Why tonight? His resentment toward me has been bubbling under the surface, it always has been, but why did it blow tonight?

It just doesn’t work with Sixsmith and me. Maybe it’s some chemistry thing. Maybe it’s an unstable reaction that’s never going to work. We just don’t mix. I came here in March around Easter time. I don’t think we ever enjoyed a honeymoon period. He was off with me from the Induction stage onwards – the limp handshake and the cold stare.

In the early days, I tried to sit and talk to him when it was quiet in the hotel, but while he was garrulous and bluff with everyone else, he would turn into a Trappist monk with me. And it got worse as time has progressed.

Awkward, those awkward moments.

---

[1] There is a magnificent scene where the gangster walks into a fried chicken shop and orders the entire menu for him and his gang. I smile at the memory and the chutzpah. I love King Of New York. I’m going to have to buy it now.

US: Buy The Night Porter HERE

UK: Buy The Night Porter HERE

________________________________________________________________________________

Two Reviews from US

5.0 out of 5 stars The Night Porter!, March 20, 2014

By 

brenda (LADERA RANCH, CA, United States) - See all my reviews
(REAL NAME)   

Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: The Night Porter (Kindle Edition)

"Night porters are generally excellent listeners. It should be in EVERY hotel job description.";-)

The Night Porter grabs hold and invites you in. Instantly you are welcomed into the arms of the night porter. An open an honest portrayal of a man earning a living doing something he has been raised to do. Actually, that is not entirely true. He first had to drop out of university and then the wheels were in set motion. Not without a little disappointment from family...
"However, my father, with whom I had experienced a strained relationship, was livid - apoplectic, even - and because of my decision, my father and I no longer have a strained relationship, or any relationship at all..."

This guy is an interesting fellow (if I were in the UK I would say "bloke" instead). I love his chatter and how he invites us right into his world. Sharing everything in- between.

The writing as in all Mark Barry's books is sharp, clever with a fabulous sarcastic undertone. Done in the most humorous way. Reminiscence of Monty Python bits. His use of language is beyond shrewd. I read and re-read sentences as I am in awe of this authors unique writing ability. I would like to say natural talent but that would be hard for me to fathom. The detailed descriptions are beyond gifted. At times the narrative gives you the feeling that you are chatting with a friend as the dialog flows so natural off the pages.

I went berserk over the humorous footnotes which were absolutely brilliant... You will have to read for yourself! This book delighted me and and I am certain will knock the writing world off its socks. So clever!

****

5.0 out of 5 stars The Night Porter Next Door, March 27, 2014

By 

BookBelle (WashDC) - See all my reviews

Verified Purchase(What's this?)

This review is from: The Night Porter (Kindle Edition)

Another winner from author Mark Barry about a structured, discreet and very proper night porter whose hotel is chosen to host, and house, the nominees for a highly-prized authors literary award, the ALF.

No expense is spared. The only order of business is to make sure each of the honored guests is happy and comfortable, and each one comes with his or her own quirk. The porter's dry wit carries you along on a guided tour of the hotel, his activities and observations of the people he works with, and then of the guests as they start trickling in - there's the perky Young Adult author from America and the sullen male author with less than ideal grooming habits...

The footnotes feature is a mini-bar of added insight and humor. The story-telling is witty, the humor well-timed (a company named Tarzan invented the Spark e-reader). When the Night Porter shares his internal musings about meeting the upbeat Young Adult author from America there's a cuteness about it - despite the Night Porter being in his 30's, he maintains his calm and dignity in scenarios that would test the patience of a less disciplined man.

Secrets are revealed about the hotel and its guests, and by story's end, The Night Porter will have a secret (or two) of his own.

Help other customers find the most helpful reviews 

Was this review helpful to you? Yes No

Report abuse | Permalink

Comment Comment

The Night Porter - An Extract

Dear Team,

I am sending you this memo in preparation for the arrival of the authors in November. I have allocated their rooms on the bookings computer. 

They are here for two weeks all expenses paid by the Arkwright Trust, whom some of you know. 

They are to be treated as VIP guests. Remember the time we had the Qatari royalty to stay? It is that level of service I expect here. I explained why in last week’s staff meeting. 

This is an honour for the hotel, and I would like the Arkwright Trust to return in two years’ time. I have researched the authors on the internet and have combined it with information I received from the Awards Committee to produce a factsheet on each. It is not exhaustive, but it will give you some idea of the people who are coming to stay with us.  Please do not leave this lying about. THIS INFORMATION IS CONFIDENTIAL. Please return to me after reading if in doubt.

1. Mrs Amy Cook

One of the biggest selling authors in the world. Lives in Egham in Surrey. Wife of Major Archie Benson of the Royal Marines. English. Age indeterminate (she hides it jealously, though 53 has been leaked online by school friends.) Bestselling romance novelist who writes under the name Madeline France. Published author of eighteen novels including the massive best sellers ‘Sisters’, ‘Behind the Lace’, ‘Blood Red Roses’ and ‘Love in Vegas’. The third of those was the biggest seller of 2004 and made her financially for life. 

Nine of her books have been turned into films – none especially successful. She’s a winner of nine literary awards, including the Golden Rose of Romance, American Romance Author’s Award, Romance Author’s Author of the Year, le Palme’d’Amour and is the current Arkwright holder for Best Romance. 

She is a leading contender for the Gold Award for Best Writer. Her book, Amelia is a radical departure from her usual romantic fare and has been applauded for its literary nature. 

Amy is a prodigious smoker and smokes in her room regardless of health and safety. I shall speak to you all about this. Writes a regular comment for The Guardian on feminism. Highly intelligent and charming, but can be extremely demanding. She has been known to walk out of hotels without paying because of poor customer service, leaving thousands of pounds of debt. 

2. Jo Marron-Saint 

Writes Young Adult and New Adult fiction. She is single, 21, and from Orange County in California. Popular in the US. Largely unknown in mainstream UK fiction, though this will change. Writes a series about a scatty Succubus who, despite her indoctrination, falls in love with the humans she meets rather than vacuuming their souls to hell. Along with a teenage Werebear, she fights supernatural villains and is wanted by both heaven and hell for many misdemeanours, both intended and unintended. 

The series – Heart and Soul – is a big seller in the US. Arkwright-nominated for Best YA novel for her latest segment, Bloodshot. She is known for writing in a “street” vernacular – with plenty of OMG’s and Stuffs and what are known as irrelevant connectors – e.g. er, like.  This has attracted attacks from critics who accuse her of being childish. This is her first award ceremony, and her visit will be the first time she has left the US. 

Not much else is known about her except she has the reputation for being very nice.

3. Frank Duke 

Is a 56 year old author of thrillers, pure and simple. His books sell by the truckload, and they involve lashings of sex, violence, murder, torture, gunplay, political intrigue, apocalyptic predictions and double crosses. What he lacks in writing ability, he makes up for in explosions. 

His hero, Mungo Hall, is a black ex-CIA agent whose mission is to fight corruption. Based heavily on James Bond, he travels the world, shoots people, cracks jokes, sleeps with beautiful women and escapes from seemingly impossible situations. He is from Chicago and is married (to Harty, who stays in the background). Came to prominence playing lead guitar in a late seventies jazz / funk / rock band who had one hit. He served briefly in Vietnam before that. 

Frank is tall; six foot seven. A diehard Republican, who distrusts foreigners (this is his first visit to England), and he can be unkind to staff. Like Jo, this is his first nomination for any award, Best Thriller, for the book Shakedown in Chicago.

4. Julian Green

Julian, 36, is the first self-published author to be nominated for an Arkwright. He has no established profile, no audience, no distribution deal or any reputation. You will not find his books in shops. Online only. 
The reason for the nomination – in the Best Contemporary Fiction category – is that he has written a book, which the critics have compared to the greats. A fan sent it to The Guardian, who loved it.

However, the independent community doesn’t like the book – one reader said his book is the most depressing book ever written.  He is thirty six and Notes and Fears of a Middle Aged Man is his sixth novel. Compared to the other authors staying here, he writes like Shakespeare, but their earnings dwarf his. 

It has been rumoured that he claims government benefits to enable him to write, though that has never been confirmed. Little else is known about him, except to say he argues with almost everyone he meets online. Rumoured to have drink and drugs issues and several gossip websites mention incidents involving the Police.

I will be on your backs about this. When the authors arrive, they are to be treated with the utmost courtesy. Whatever they want, they get. If in doubt, say yes and tell me later. You will not be disciplined if you act on an unusual request. We aim to make their stay – and the stay of the Arkwright Trust – a memorable and comfortable one. I know I can trust you. Thank you.

Cat xx

And that was the first time I came across the Arkwright awards and the four authors. 
I was excited already. 

I hadn’t read a book in fifteen years  – to be honest, I cannot remember the book, or whether the gap was in fact, longer than fifteen years; that’s just a convenient annuity I use – but still, I felt a charge. 

Authors. Artists. Creators. 

A bit different from the sales reps and travelling carpet fitters I was used to meeting. I was sure it was going to be a most interesting two weeks. 

Carla - Reprise

Green Wizard 5: Carla (Reprise)

I wrote Carla after coming back from a family holiday in Tenerife and shortly before the launch of Green Wizard. I wasn't in the best frame of mind. My depression was at its very worst - post holiday blues, but also life's reflections - and I needed to write to get it all out.

The idea for Carla came to me two years ago in a pub called the Old Coach House in Southwell, the prosperous English town fourteen miles north of Nottingham where the book is set.

I saw a beautiful barmaid in there. Well out of my league and worse, at least twenty years younger than me. I got talking to her and discovered she was a student at Brackenhurst College. She was extremely friendly and had that wonderful, bland, middle class accent most girls seem to have round here, with plenty of likes, oh my gods, stuffs and the other fashionably irrelevant connectives which you either love or hate. I'm the former.

On a site called Tumblr, student girls sell pictures of their feet, panty photograph sets, old flip flips, shoes, bras, panties and other items for a tenner or so in order to help their education.

When I was growing up, this was unheard of.

It borders on prostitution and it would be seriously frowned upon.

Don't believe me? Type in Ilsealcorta into your Google and have a look.

How times have changed in just twenty years. You would have to be a seriously immoral old scrubber to sell your knickers through the post and here we have beautiful young girls doing the same thing through a Donate button to pay for their education. It's a headscratcher

So, being aware of this,half way through the conversation, I had this idea:

I wonder if she would sleep with me once per week if I paid her student loan.

Say, £200 per week.

A debt free education in return to fulfilling a middle aged man's fantasies.

I thought it an intriguing proposition. Naturally, I did nothing about it and walked home alone as usual and then, because I was on the sick from my then employer and living hand to mouth on ESA and the generosity of my family and friends, I shelved the idea as it was too far fetched.

I may as well have been writing about fifty games of hungry twilight thrones off Bixby Bridge or something for how realistic the idea was.

But the idea wouldn't go away. It kept hanging around in my head.

That first weekend back from Tenerife this year, I dug out my notes and the ten thousand words I had already written. Salvaged about a thousand of them and came up with an intriguing premise.

What if the barmaid fell in love with the older man?

Free.

And what if the man was a nutcase with some non-specific mental illness who had just been released from an asylum?

And how good would it be if I wrote it from a first person perspective. Of the lunatic himself?

To get context, I reread Jim Thompson, the master of the deranged anti-hero. Specifically, A Swell Looking Babe, which is just madness, utter madness from the maestro himself.

The idea had serious weight. I haven't read anything like it and I might have been onto something.

So I started to write. On Thursday April 19th. 

By Monday, I had written 42,000 words of Carla. I finished it a month or so later. 

I think its my best book.

Other Wizardwatchers disagree. Its my most personal book at least. Stuff happens in there which has happened in real life, if not to me, but to my friends and acquaintances. It draws on my experience as a lecturer in Criminal Profiling in the late nineties. It draws on my time on The Nook in America, dealing with the break up my relationship with a sufferer of Borderline Personality Disorder/Psychopathy, which left me a wreck. It deals - quite openly and non judgmentally - with mental health and it deals with love. It's written in a funky, eclectic, in and out, interactive style which involves the reader - makes the reader complicit in the relationship. I experimented with the technique in my football hooligan novel UV (not altogether successfully), but every experiment needs its trial and error and I think it works here. 

"It was extremely hard to write, coming at a totally miserable time in my life and yet, readers have noticed a deep strain of black humour all the way through the book."

If you read any Thompson - and I hope you do - all his books are flecked with an absurd, surreal sense of humour. You shouldn't laugh but you can't help it.

At heart, I'm an optimistic sort of bloke, but I suffer from sporadic bouts of hardcore Clinical Depression and that kind of vacuums the jokes out of a man.

It is without doubt my most female friendly book. Its a romance, pure and simple. A love story, a bleak love story.

I'll talk about it some more later, but here's what my good friend, avid reader and Wizardwatcher Carolyn had to say. She couldn't get the review onto Amazon, so I put it on the back of the book.

I downloaded this book to my phone using the Kindle App and really enjoyed it.  It tells the story of John Dexter, a complex character who has a history of ill mental health (to put it mildly) and his never ending struggle with everyday life, and in particular his intense feelings for a local barmaid named Carla.  The story is written from his perspective, and with the exception of his time with Carla is very much about the internal dialogue he has to endure on a minute by minute basis.  There is also some reference to life in institutions and the episodes that have lead him there, as well as his dealings with his mother and father. 

The book is intense and sinewy as it weaves its way through a few months of John’s life.  You find yourself fearing for him and fearing for Carla. I was torn between feeling a great deal of sympathy for him but on the other hand I was also angry at his clumsy and dangerous interactions with the world around him, especially as his feelings for Carla grew and other characters became more involved in the storyline. 

The writer’s take on a character like Dexter appeared to be very informed, respectful, and sensitive whilst peppered with a brutal honesty that at times was difficult to read.  I particularly enjoyed being spoken to directly by the central character especially when I was directed to do a personality disorder test myself, the results of which I found fascinating!!

I would recommend this book to anybody who has an interest in the human psyche, anybody who knows how love can consume the soul and is in itself a form of mental torture, people who live locally to Nottingham and in particular Southwell; might be an interesting insight in to such a place and also this book would appeal to people who aren’t afraid to read material that is not all hearts and flowers but instead is pulsating with a chronic and unrelenting narrative about the inevitability of the central character’s fate.

Hope you enjoy it. You can buy it here. The paperback is pricey at £9.99 which I apologise for, but the Kindle download is £3.08 and you can get free apps for your phone and laptop which translate. You don't need a Kindle.

http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0086Q7VM0

All the best,

Mark Barry

PS: Apologies for the bit in the middle above. I did something and no matter how I try, I can't get rid of that pesky HTML! Grrrrr....