britpulp! features stories from (in order of appearance) Michael Moorcock, Ted Lewis, Richard Allen, Victor Headley, Nicholas Blincoe, Catherine Johnson, Roy A. Bayfield, Steve Aylett, Stella Duffy, Simon Lewis, J.J. Connolly, Jane Graham, Karline Smith, Tim Etchells, Stewart Home, Jenny Valentish (née Knight), Billy Childish, Darren Francis, China Miéville, Steve Beard, me, and Jack Trevor Story.
First time around, Iain Sinclair gave us an advance quote for the cover which was inevitably cut down to a sentence or so. Looking through my papers recently, I found his original letter, which gives a great sense of the book:
britpulp! is urban, nervy, agressive. Fast-twitch prose that fizzes and spits. Narrative with a kick. Jump-cuts that hurt like a knuckle in the eye. Here are the improper (and therefore reliable) tales of the city — most of them Hackney. Here are stars who glory in their anonymity. Here too, in Michael Moorcock, Ted Lewis and Jack Trevor Story, are the best of the reforgotten (they’ve never gone away, although it has taken someone with Tony White’s sharp eye for history to acknowledge a proper debt). Pulp has always been a secret. Read by millions, remembered by few. There is no room for prima donnas in a world where gaudy-covered shockers have the lifespan of a fruitfly. There is only one rule: keep the pages turning. Get your retaliation in early, and often. Let this book read you.