The protagonist of the novel, Raf, has a peculiar syndrome called non-24-hour sleep/wake syndrome that affects his circadian rhythms (and therefore his sleep). Did you do anything to inhabit this logic while writing Glow?
Well, I did have a plan to try and live for a month as if I had non-24-hour sleep/wake syndrome. I thought that’d be really interesting to do, but I decided it was not viable with roommates, because if you do that you’re nocturnal, and you just can’t put people through that. It also means that you don’t have a social life. I wish I had done it, but there just never did seem to be the perfect time.
Apart from that, because I travel so much, I am kind of obsessed with jet lag and how you overcome it.
I’ve heard that you have this theory about jet lag.
About anti-jetlag fasting. It has completely changed the way I travel.
What is that?
Well, someone claimed recently that there is no scientific basis for it, but I also read that the US Air Force uses it… so basically the theory is that if you don’t — in a way it’s weird that this is not in the book — but if you don’t eat for 16 to 18 hours your circadian rhythms are suspended. So they’re much easier to reset. You pick a meal, usually breakfast, in your destination. And you count 18 hours back from that. You don’t eat during that 18 hours, you just drink a lot of water and sleep. It reduces the process of getting over jet lag by several days. It now never takes me more than a day. It’s just so great. On the way back from Mexico, I ended up having to fast for 28 hours, but it was worth it.
Also, I went to boarding school, and I slept in a dormitory. We were all woken up at the same time every morning by people coming in to make us go to breakfast. Later when I read the research that adolescent brains just have different circadian rhythms. The reason that adolescents want to sleep late and stay up late is not because they’re lazy, it’s because they literally have different brains. There is nothing they can do about it. When I read that research, it made me so furious in retrospect — and I kind of am still furious about it — that they would make us get up every morning, and imply that we were morally at fault. It is now known that if they had let us sleep in and start our lessons a few hours later, we would have actually performed much better academically. So I never had sleep issues or a sleep disorder, but it has penetrated my life.
Every novelist has a different approach to listening to music. But Glow is tied to a specific culture of music in South London a few years ago. Did you listen to specific music while writing the novel?
Actually, if you look on my website, there is the playlist from when I was writing it. I would listen to the same 12 or 13 tracks in the same order, over and over again, when I was writing it. Eventually I could listen to the opening notes of the first track of the playlist, and it would have this Pavlovian effect of putting me back in the right state of mind to be writing a book.
I found the music incredibly helpful because I chose this heavily edited playlist of the most evocative songs I could find. They really set the atmosphere. I’ve never done that with a book before, and I don’t think I’ll ever do that with a book again. Except…the one I’m writing now there’s a few albums that harmonize with it. But Glow was in an exceptional way a music-led book.
Well, are you ready to talk about what you’re working on now?
Well… not really…
Yeah? OK. Well, I read the Ukrainian Combat Dolphins thing, which I thought was great. And I was thinking about the radio play you did. Are you aiming to do a collection of short fiction anytime soon?
I probably write a couple of short stories a year. I went to Mexico… well… I went there to work on my novel, and I actually ended up writing short stories the whole time. The result of that was that I wrote one and half-finished two. I find short stories really hard. In the long run, I’d like to have a collection, just so they’re all in one place. But I imagined that a) there is so little demand for a Ned Beauman short story collection, and b) that short stories are so marginal in the UK that if it ever happens it will probably be, like, e-book only. So it’s not a milestone, but I’d like to have that one day.
You recently met with William Gibson, who I know is a writer you really admire. When I interviewed him a few months ago, he talked about how much he admires your work. What was it like to meet him?
It still feels a bit unreal that I can email him and call him Bill and he’ll reply. So that is one of the most amazing things — maybe the most amazing thing — that has happened to me as a writer. Just because I’ve been reading him since I was twelve.
As I kind of say in the piece, it was a weird experience because I had quite a lot of time to spend with him. But I wanted to be hanging out with him, not interviewing him. Inevitably a lot of the best stuff he said to me was off-the-record. So every minute I was aware that I could ask him about his career for an audience of Observer readers who don’t necessarily know who he is, or asking him incredibly fine grained off-the-record questions — and also just try to be a normal person with him.
But I met him one time since. And hopefully I’ll meet him again in the future, even though we’re on different continents now. I’m really glad that I did the interview, firstly because in the UK he’s bizarrely underknown. Secondly, it did mean that I got to ask him questions that it would actually be awkward to ask someone if you were just being two human beings. When you meet a writer you really admire, you do feel uncool to ask certain questions. And obviously going to an izakaya with William Gibson and talking about technical menswear was one of my all-time top life experiences.
You once told me that you were no longer reading your own reviews. When did you stop reading your own reviews?
Well… that ended up not really working. I decided it was not helpful to read reviews. I actually turned off my Google alerts a long time ago, but I asked my publicist not to show me anything, etc. But because everything is online, and because I have a smartphone now, and because I’m sometimes drunk and not in a good mood — well, and/or not in a good mood — it’s like being an alcoholic or something. You have to have self-control every minute of the day. “You’re not going to look at these reviews!” After a couple of weeks of keeping it together, I did look at some. And you find them in the most unexpected places. Like I was in an airport newsagent, and there was an issue of a literary review, and I just picked it up, and a review was there. In that second you don’t have time to prepare yourself, so you just kind of look at it automatically before you know what you’re doing. So I failed at this quarantine. And I’m relieved that more newspapers have paywalls now.
I think you have to fail at least once at an endeavor like that so that you get punished. I think in the future I’m going to be able to do it. It’s better, too. You become much less interested in your own profile. It’s incredibly positive not to read this stuff. But I’m not really that sensitive to bad reviews. The main way it bothers me is that it suppresses sales. And in that case I feel bad for my publisher.