I have just completed The Secret Diaries of Charles Ignatius Sancho by Paterson Joseph, another actor branching into writing (who - ahem - fails my 'can they spell minuscule ?' test)
I really really wanted to like this. It's a fascinating true story, that of the black population, much larger than anyone thinks, in 18th century London : and how they were by turns accepted, infantilised, protected, reviled, petted, respected and maltreated. But it's quite tortuously written. Part of the point is that Sancho wrote very elegantly and was , in truth, a bit of a literary snob, according to Joseph. He frets over women perhaps being beneath his station , intellectually, then finds the love of his life who can - ta da!- read and write. He has extensively researched this but bits feel like plotholes (the Irish names of characters who I am lost as to who they even were seem terribly anachronistic, for example). Bits of the tale feel overly long, and others very rushed.
He throws in loads of Shakespeare allusions and constantly refers to his anxieties about his 'girth' (based on a Gainsborough painting ) and this becomes repetitious. He also alludes to picaresque novels and at first I thought this would be a jolly jaunt - but Sancho never really goes anywhere. The novelist has to despatch his beloved to the Caribbean for a change in tone, scenery and theme. There is a huge amount of rather tedious name dropping and a very exciting , celebrated court case that is done and dusted in 4 pages.
It was fine, but I can't help thinking in the hands of a truly accomplished novelist, this would be a brilliant story. Part of the problem of British writing is we may not have -yet- that fine, accomplished novelist who is black , or interested in black voices and history so the history and storytelling remains on the margins. Except perhaps Andrea Levy and Zadie Smith?
Speaking of which, Smith has a new novel coming out and it's historical which should be interesting.