Jennie Erdal | Contributors to Slightly Foxed literary review magazine

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Jennie Erdal was a Scottish writer. She worked in publishing for many years as an editor, translator and ghost writer. The Missing Shade of Blue: A Philosophical Adventure, the first novel written under her own name, was published in 2012.

The numbers in square brackets refer to the issue of the quarterly in which the article appears.
The unbracketed numbers refer to the starting page of the article.
For entries in multiple issues of the quarterly, the occurrences are separated by semi-colons.

article by, [21] 22; Ghosting, [59] 14

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The Brick of Fate

Jennie Erdal on the novels of Peter de Vries

In the 1970s student grants went a long way. After paying for all the prescribed texts, there was still money left over for a good rummage in the second-hand bookshops. On a whim one day, I bought three novels by an author I had never heard of – Peter de Vries. I was attracted by the cyclamen red typeface on their bright yellow Victor Gollancz covers, and at 10p each they were a bargain. What I didn’t know was that 30p could set my slant on the world.

‘I shall call you Tiger’

Jennie Erdal, Ghosting in the Guardian

Jennie Erdal wrote letters, speeches and articles for a flamboyant London publisher. But when he asked her to write a novel – a passionate romance – in his name she faced her biggest challenge . . . Read an extract from Ghosting featured in the Guardian.

‘An unusually rich and entertaining memoir – hilarious, infuriating and unforgettable . . .’

The Telegraph

‘Erdal is gossipy but good-natured, and maintains a stalwart fondness for her boss . . . their partnership has generated an unusually rich and entertaining memoir – hilarious, infuriating and unforgettable.’

Tiger the Literary Lion

Hazel Wood on Jennie Erdal, Ghosting

One day in 1981 a young woman found herself travelling from her Scottish home to London to meet a publisher. So far so predictable perhaps. She had read Russian at university and had recently translated the memoirs of the painter Leonid Pasternak, father of the more famous Boris. There was nothing predictable about this meeting, however, and the man waiting for her at the door of his Mayfair flat was no ordinary publisher. This is how she describes him.

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