The Soap Letters was one of the last books Willie credited to the gloriously ill-tempered reactionary wetfish merchant Henry Root. It appeared in 1988, long after the original 1980 Henry Root letters had been a bestseller and, in truth, there’s not actually very much Root in it.
Indeed, readers picking up The Soap Letters expecting a cavalcade of pompous, credulous letters from BBC officials and TV personalities in response to spoof enquiries from Root should know that his name more-or-less disappears about an eighth of the way into the book.
It’s actually closer in style to his 1998 toilet book The Heartfelt Letters (which Willie wrote in the guise of Liz Reed), because, like that book, The Soap Letters is based around a series of missives from a fictitious TV production company to celebrities, journalists, politicians and other authority figures seeking the go-ahead for a tacky TV show.
But whereas The Heartfelt Letters is a series of pitches for brilliantly tasteless TV programmes (like ‘Disabled Gladiators’) from a vapid female grotesque, the titular Soap Letters in this book emanate from a group of individuals working for Film & Television Copyrights (naturally based at 139 Elm Park Mansions - Willie’s home address) on a soap opera.
Well, at least at first. Root opens the book by firing off a series of desperate pleas. He’s, as he writes to Sir Ralph Halpbern, “in deep snooker”. He weighs 22 stone, Mrs. Root has gone off with”Bath’s boy Weymouth” and he’s been commissioned by some damn fool publisher to write a book about money.
He’s also desperate to get into TV, but laments “my concepts are ignored, my letters go unanswered”. Root confesses that he’s taken the drastic, if sensible, step of attempting to fabricate the existence of both a small-screen series and a book to a TV producer and a publisher respectively - but to no avail.
Salvation comes however, when a letter arrives from a lovely old dear called Lucy Appleby who lives in a charming cottage called ‘Rosewood’ in Middleton-on-Sea. In it, the idealistic pensioner mentions she’s writing a TV script for a soap called The WestEnders.
Root adopts a dismissive tone, but asks to see a copy of the script, which Mrs. Appleby dutifully posts him. Naturally, once in receipt of the script, Root removes all traces of Mrs. A from the bundle of papers, signs his own name on the title page and begins posting it out to people.
A group of Americans get involved, who pick up The WestEnders and form a production company. Before long Root is replaced in the footer of the book’s Letter by the likes of Selina Sidey, Jeremy Cox and Max Templeton. Interestingly, the names of two of Willie’s real-life friends, Angela Picano and Julia Mortimer, are also adopted as pseudonyms for dizzy staff members at Film & Television Copyrights.
Thereafter the narrative becomes quite avant garde, with Willie writing to casting agencies, race relations people, the Pope, the Duchess of Argyll and more and playing his respondents off against one another. The story is therefore necessarily quite muddled, shapeless and lacking but, to be honest, it doesn’t really matter.
While he doesn’t elicit side-splitting responses with the frequency of his successes in the original and Further Henry Root Letters, Willie creates some astonishingly vivid personalities in his letters - indeed, he conjures up a complete cast of other selves - and is naturally playful, daring and, above all, believable.
Fans of Willie the person, not just Willie the writer, will also notice a few influences creeping in from life during the book. The WestEnders becomes a docu-drama series about scandal and the decline of morality in Britiain since the “(so-called)” Sixties called Crack-Up in fairly short order, and the title is apt given Willie’s growing fondness for crack cocaine at the time - a habit which began during his time with the call-girl Melanie Soszynski.
Indeed, just as that affair formed the basis for his 1987 novel Is This Allowed? (review :here), it’s also dealt with obliquely in The Soap Letters. For instance, the plot of Crack-Up is largely about a trial of the “disgusting” Marquess of Beauchamp, who in real life got Melanie - and consequently Willie - hooked on crack.
She turns up too, as Princess Soszynski, a “leather-clad sadist” who “with her slave, the cherry-lipped Beauchamp corrupt everyone with whom they came in contact,” and Willie talks a lot of the “Mad Christians” who, in Is This Allowed? (and in real life), got Melanie off drugs and forced her to cease all contact with Willie.
He also intersperses his letters and synopses about the series with samples of Crack-Up’s cliche-ridden shooting script - which really are a joy to read aloud in your head.
All in all, The Soap Letters is a fairly unique book. It’s an interesting blend of practical mischief, autobiography and characterisation and, in truth, one of the most personal bits of Willie’s output I’ve ever read.
‘Root’ only authored two more books after this one:1992’s Root Into Europe and 1993’s heavily recycled Root Around Britain. I own both but, because Terence Blacker says in his masterful biography of Willie You Cannot Live as I Have Lived and Not End Up Like This, the latter “shows distinct signs of authorial weariness” and the former is a tie-in with the reputedly awful Root Into Europe TV series, I probably won’t rush to pick up either.
(Incidentally, if anybody actually reads these reviews and owns the Root Into Europe TV series in some form, please get in touch!)
So, in summary, if you’re after a straight-ahead Root book, The Soap Letters may surprise you. But, hey, if you like Willie Donaldson, it’ll surprise you in a good way.
I’m currently picking through the collection of his Independent columns, The Big One, The Fat One, The Black One and the Other One at the moment, so that’ll probably be the next title reviewed here...
Indeed, readers picking up The Soap Letters expecting a cavalcade of pompous, credulous letters from BBC officials and TV personalities in response to spoof enquiries from Root should know that his name more-or-less disappears about an eighth of the way into the book.
It’s actually closer in style to his 1998 toilet book The Heartfelt Letters (which Willie wrote in the guise of Liz Reed), because, like that book, The Soap Letters is based around a series of missives from a fictitious TV production company to celebrities, journalists, politicians and other authority figures seeking the go-ahead for a tacky TV show.
But whereas The Heartfelt Letters is a series of pitches for brilliantly tasteless TV programmes (like ‘Disabled Gladiators’) from a vapid female grotesque, the titular Soap Letters in this book emanate from a group of individuals working for Film & Television Copyrights (naturally based at 139 Elm Park Mansions - Willie’s home address) on a soap opera.
Well, at least at first. Root opens the book by firing off a series of desperate pleas. He’s, as he writes to Sir Ralph Halpbern, “in deep snooker”. He weighs 22 stone, Mrs. Root has gone off with”Bath’s boy Weymouth” and he’s been commissioned by some damn fool publisher to write a book about money.
He’s also desperate to get into TV, but laments “my concepts are ignored, my letters go unanswered”. Root confesses that he’s taken the drastic, if sensible, step of attempting to fabricate the existence of both a small-screen series and a book to a TV producer and a publisher respectively - but to no avail.
Salvation comes however, when a letter arrives from a lovely old dear called Lucy Appleby who lives in a charming cottage called ‘Rosewood’ in Middleton-on-Sea. In it, the idealistic pensioner mentions she’s writing a TV script for a soap called The WestEnders.
Root adopts a dismissive tone, but asks to see a copy of the script, which Mrs. Appleby dutifully posts him. Naturally, once in receipt of the script, Root removes all traces of Mrs. A from the bundle of papers, signs his own name on the title page and begins posting it out to people.
A group of Americans get involved, who pick up The WestEnders and form a production company. Before long Root is replaced in the footer of the book’s Letter by the likes of Selina Sidey, Jeremy Cox and Max Templeton. Interestingly, the names of two of Willie’s real-life friends, Angela Picano and Julia Mortimer, are also adopted as pseudonyms for dizzy staff members at Film & Television Copyrights.
Thereafter the narrative becomes quite avant garde, with Willie writing to casting agencies, race relations people, the Pope, the Duchess of Argyll and more and playing his respondents off against one another. The story is therefore necessarily quite muddled, shapeless and lacking but, to be honest, it doesn’t really matter.
While he doesn’t elicit side-splitting responses with the frequency of his successes in the original and Further Henry Root Letters, Willie creates some astonishingly vivid personalities in his letters - indeed, he conjures up a complete cast of other selves - and is naturally playful, daring and, above all, believable.
Fans of Willie the person, not just Willie the writer, will also notice a few influences creeping in from life during the book. The WestEnders becomes a docu-drama series about scandal and the decline of morality in Britiain since the “(so-called)” Sixties called Crack-Up in fairly short order, and the title is apt given Willie’s growing fondness for crack cocaine at the time - a habit which began during his time with the call-girl Melanie Soszynski.
Indeed, just as that affair formed the basis for his 1987 novel Is This Allowed? (review :here), it’s also dealt with obliquely in The Soap Letters. For instance, the plot of Crack-Up is largely about a trial of the “disgusting” Marquess of Beauchamp, who in real life got Melanie - and consequently Willie - hooked on crack.
She turns up too, as Princess Soszynski, a “leather-clad sadist” who “with her slave, the cherry-lipped Beauchamp corrupt everyone with whom they came in contact,” and Willie talks a lot of the “Mad Christians” who, in Is This Allowed? (and in real life), got Melanie off drugs and forced her to cease all contact with Willie.
He also intersperses his letters and synopses about the series with samples of Crack-Up’s cliche-ridden shooting script - which really are a joy to read aloud in your head.
All in all, The Soap Letters is a fairly unique book. It’s an interesting blend of practical mischief, autobiography and characterisation and, in truth, one of the most personal bits of Willie’s output I’ve ever read.
‘Root’ only authored two more books after this one:1992’s Root Into Europe and 1993’s heavily recycled Root Around Britain. I own both but, because Terence Blacker says in his masterful biography of Willie You Cannot Live as I Have Lived and Not End Up Like This, the latter “shows distinct signs of authorial weariness” and the former is a tie-in with the reputedly awful Root Into Europe TV series, I probably won’t rush to pick up either.
(Incidentally, if anybody actually reads these reviews and owns the Root Into Europe TV series in some form, please get in touch!)
So, in summary, if you’re after a straight-ahead Root book, The Soap Letters may surprise you. But, hey, if you like Willie Donaldson, it’ll surprise you in a good way.
I’m currently picking through the collection of his Independent columns, The Big One, The Fat One, The Black One and the Other One at the moment, so that’ll probably be the next title reviewed here...
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