Meg Ryan is most fondly recalled for When Harry Met Sally, in which her simulation of an orgasm in a New York diner led the woman at the next table to declare to the waitress "I'll have whatever she's having."
That was jolly and Meg was winsome, a pleasantly undemanding quality she further mined in Sleepless in Seattle, at the end of which she finally found love with Tom Hanks. But there's more to Meg than mere winsomeness. Meg is a serious person with serious artistic intentions, and if you don't believe me, just wait until the big-budget biopic of Sylvia Plath - scripted by Meg, produced by Meg (for her own company, Prufrock Pictures, no less) and starring Meg - goes into production next winter.
No, it's not going to be called When Sylvie Met Teddy, and, no, it might not get made at all if Ted Hughes feels that the script breaches the copyright he has on Birthday Letters, his recent book of poems about his and Sylvia's life together.
This possibility arises from the fact that Meg apparently has been perusing Birthday Letters in order to "update and re-evaluate" her script, which otherwise draws heavily on a biography of Sylvia that blames Ted for his wife's suicide. This biography , by Paul Alexander, was a best-seller in the US, but legal action from the Poet Laureate has prevented its publication in Britain.
Ted may not be the only one objecting. Already the formidable Camille Paglia has described the prospect of Meg playing Sylvia as "too horrible for words. I saw her at the Oscars, all new face-tucks and shiny skin and I wanted to gag. The cutesy role model who set American women back twenty years wants to play a real woman who helped us forward? It's too depressing."
Harsh words from Camille will hardly stop Meg, whose cosy exterior is reputed to conceal a will of pure steel, but harsh writs from Ted just might. In which case, you winsome, you lose some.
British media commentators are always attacking the BBC for its philistinism, its abandoning of its glorious old Reithian values, its axing of arts budgets, and whatever else it's guilty of this week.
Now there's general dismay at plans being mooted to kill off the weekday afternoon Short Story slot on Radio 4, and Liverpool-born Irish-based author Michael Carson has joined the protestors. "At a stroke," he declares in the Guardian, "260 opportunities for writers of short fiction would be swept away . . . No longer would unpublished hopefuls be able to submit work to this nurturing address."
Michael had his own first story broadcast in the Radio 4 slot in 1986 and he recalls receiving a cheque for just over £100, a cheque that proclaimed "You might just have what it takes to be a writer; someone has paid you for your work." Three broadcast stories later, he found a publisher, and he reminds readers that among others who received their initial push from this slot are William Boyd, Bill Bryson and Sue Townsend.
Michael's current publisher is Poolbeg, and Dying in Style, featuring the "crumpled bisexual policeman" Detective Inspector Dyer, is his latest novel. Among the publicity that arrived in my post with the novel was an autobiographical piece from Michael, declaring that his life, along with his writing, "is much concerned with trying to square Catholicism and homosexuality".
He has strong views on the former: "Finding that I cannot leave Catholicism behind, I am constantly amazed at how lots of people seem to be able to. I think that Ireland is in danger of throwing out the amazing baby with the dirty bathwater of its culture. The phrase that drives me nuts here is `post-Catholic.' We wander into the desert of our future merrily setting fire to all our myths to light the way. I worry about what happens when we run out of fuel."
Michael's novel, you will either be sorry or glad to learn, is unconnected with these musings. Instead, it appears to be a devilishly complicated flight of fancy involving a novelist who writes a book that has the same title as the book he's in (got that?) and containing characters whose real-life counterparts start dying in ways the book describes (got that?). After that, I'm afraid, you're on your own.
Speaking of Poolbeg, I'd like to add my voice to all those shocked and saddened by the death of Kate Cruise O'Brien, who had been Poolbeg's tirelessly enthusiastic and encouraging fiction editor. I first met her when we were recipients of New Irish Writing awards together, way back in our youths. She was a very nice person then, and she remained a very nice person. All who knew her will miss her a lot.
Around this time last year, I mentioned details of an enterprising short story competition organised by Bookwise, the Navan bookstore, and I'm happy to do so again.
Paul Durcan is this year's judge, there's a £100 first prize and a £50 runner-up prize, and the entry criterion that separates this from other short story competitions is that you must have been born or live in Co Meath.
That, among other things, leaves me out, but if you do meet this stern requirement and if you'd like to enter, contact Geraldine O'Dea at Bookwise, 4 Kennedy Road, Navan (telephone/fax: 046-27722) and she'll provide further details.