A book and a pint, and, ideally, a packet of crisps (cheese and onion, or we duel at dawn): now, that's an evening out. Or, at least, it's an evening out for those of us who can tolerate a side of hullabaloo with our beer-book-snack combo, because – especially as a Lady Drinker – it's unlikely that we'll get through either the pint or the chapter without fielding off The Public, who often want to know what in the blazes we think we're doing. Thus, I offer up this modest Field Guide to Reading in the Pub.
(1) Hide. Learn from the birdwatchers: twitchers keep an admirably low profile. Refuse to relinquish your empties and construct a palisade of protective glass before you. Make the book a big one and use it as a wall. Try Ted Hughes' Collected Poems in hardback: he knew the natural world and appreciated a good stout, and you can always stand up and recite 'A Kill' at top volume to deter the more intrusive predators.
(2) Retaliate. In case Hughes doesn't cut it – or, indeed, isn't to hand – and you still want to scare off whoever's demanding you 'Tell us what you're reading, love', you can reply in character. The effect will, of course, depend on what you're reading, but a dose of The Catcher in the Rye ought to deter most nosy-parkers, especially if you go for the scene where Holden is interrogating his old schoolmate Carl Luce about his sex life. Carl flees, and so will your guy.
(3) Attack. If you're the unfortunate target of a mansplainer in a 'This is What a Feminist Looks Like' t-shirt who suggests you can't really appreciate Infinite Jest if you haven't read The Pale King, ask him to rank, in order, David Foster Wallace's best short stories and/or to discuss how Wallace's espousal of what critics call The New Sincerity reinforces white patriarchy. Then whack him with your copy of Paul Beatty's The White Boy Shuffle.
(4) Advanced Attack. If you're getting to a really good bit in a popular science book – say, Finding the Mother Tree by Suzanne Simard – it's a truth universally acknowledged that you will be informed by the man at the next table that you're missing a trick if you don't try Yuval Harari or Jared Diamond. In this case, you are morally (if not legally) allowed to set a hawk on them. If you need some training advice re. birds of prey, do check out Helen McDonald's excellent memoir, H is for Hawk.
(5) Spoilers. Any time you're reading something with a twist, somebody clutching a Jägerbomb will shout out the ending – it's a lesser-known law of physics. In this case, ask them politely if they need a towel, and when, baffled, they say no, you lob your copy of The Murder of Roger Ackroyd or Fingersmith or Gone Girl right at them. They duck, their Red Bull goes everywhere, you curtsy. Exit pursued by vigorous applause from the rest of the books-and-pints crew. (You are not alone).
By
Valerie O'Riordan