This is an excerpt from Alexander McCall Smith’s newsletter. You can visit his website here.

Last night I went to the premiere showing in London of the film version of The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency. It was a bitter-sweet occasion: that very morning the director of the film, Anthony Minghella, that good and kind man, died in hospital from complications following an operation. We were all shocked by this sad news: Minghella was the United Kingdom’s most distinguished film director and The No. 1 Ladies’ Detective Agency is now his last film.

As I am sure you can imagine, I felt very sad. Anthony had been planning for years to make the film. I had complete confidence in him — indeed, I counted myself most fortunate that it was he who was going to make the film. And now this. And yet we must remind ourselves that the film he has made is a wonderful, joyous hymn of praise to Botswana and to Mma Ramotswe. Everything in it is perfect. The actors and actresses are just right: wait until you see Mma Ramotswe, Mr J. L. B. Matekoni and Mma Makutsi — each one of them is just exactly as he or she should be! And the whole film is permeated by love.
The film is a stand-alone feature film that was designed to set up a subsequent television series. It will be shown on television stations throughout the world, but may also be shown in some theatres. We await news on that. But there is very important news on the television front: HBO in the United States and the BBC in the UK have teamed up to commission a thirteen-part television series which will start to be filmed in mid- to late-2008 and will be shown in the USA, the UK and throughout the world in early 2009. This is wonderful news indeed, and it came in time for Anthony Minghella to enjoy it. (I am not sure, by the way, when the film will be shown in the USA: I think that it will be shown by HBO closer to the time that they begin the series.)
Anthony Minghella was a great man who brought happiness and a very humane vision to this world. I feel very happy that he loved Mma Ramotswe, and I know that she would have loved him.

Last week in our editorial meeting my colleagues and I were discussing John Boyne’s forthcoming novel, Mutiny on the Bounty (early 2009). As is bound to happen when talking about a historical event that has been documented, recreated, and interpreted by Hollywood, we fell into the debate of which film was best. Directors Lewis Milestone and Carol Reed’s 1962 film, starring the late actors Richard Harris and Marlon Brando, was the outright winner amongst our group, but this caused me to wonder (onto the keys of my computer): How does Brando’s portrayal of lead mutineer Fletcher Christian and his conquest compare to the one, and the story, of John Boyne? If we put Brando and Boyne on parallel planks and made them walk, who would sink to the bottom of the Pacific and who would float to the surface?

If we’re putting a wager on it, my money’s on Boyne to float. You may know him as the author of 2006’s young adult sensation, The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, or from one of his four other published novels.

Everyone knows the story of the Bounty. In case you don’t, the Coles notes version is thus: Captained by the now-infamous William Bligh, boat sets sail for Tahiti (or Otaheite, as Boyne’s Bligh prefers). Crew remains happy on long voyage. Bounty arrives at Tahiti. Crew enjoys island life. Bounty departs for return voyage. Mutiny, led by Master’s Mate Fletcher Christian, occurs and Captain and seventeen others are shoved of in a puny launch to return to England, or die trying. Bounty returns to Tahiti and crew abandons their King’s mission to continue enjoying island life.

You may ask, “If I know the story of the Bounty, why should I bother reading this novel? ” Please indulge me. Allow me to answer that, and to tell you why my money is on John Boyne.

Boyne’s version of the Bounty’s journey is told from the perspective of the person whose ears are privy to the most detailed information aboard and the one closest to Captain Bligh himself. In the same way he did with Bruno in The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, John Boyne puts the reader in the King’s-issued uniform of “Turnip” and takes you on a journey unlike any of the Bounty films. John Jacob Turnstile, a young orphan plucked from his life as a petty thief in the streets of Portsmouth, tells his story with more tension, excitement, and honesty than you could hope for. Boyne’s protagonist pulls you into berth his outside the Captain’s suite to rub his back as he suffers seasickness and makes you feel parched and hungry during times of strict rationing. You will explore Tahiti in a whole new way (and for those who have never visited, myself included, you will encounter for the first time). You will see ship-life in a fresh light. You will see a side of one of history’s most publicly defeated loyalists that you never have, and that you possibly never expected to. You will meet a young man whose naivety will sometimes make you roll your eyes and cause you to chuckle, and whose life story, whose belief in those around him will by turns exasperate you and break your heart (If you’re anything like me, he might make you cry).

With is careful eye and writing hand, John Boyne constructs a full crew, from quartermaster to cook. History has given us a one-dimensional sense of the achievements (a term used more loosely for some than others, I’d say) of Captain Bligh, Fletcher Christian, John Fryer, and their warrant officers, able seamen, and petty officers aboard the Bounty, but here they come alive in the most engaging way. In this novel these men are not just sailors, but friends, lovers, and free thinkers. The kind of men whose company you want to stay in for all of its pages.

On the recommendation of my colleagues I rented the 1962 Mutiny on the Bounty film. Sure, it has the credentials of its Academy Award and Golden Globe nominations and various award wins behind it, but it lacks the pure heart and passion this novel carries from the first word to the last. I can’t wait this novel to be published so I can enjoy it again in its finished form. It’s the kind of book you can, and will, get lost in. The kind of book where the pages turn themselves. The kind of book you will want to take everywhere with you go. Even on holiday. Especially to Tahiti.

(If you haven’t read John Boyne’s The Boy in the Striped Pajamas, do so. Even if you’re an adult. Actually, especially if you are an adult.)

Runway models, a world-famous fashion journalist, oysters, and a custom cocktail called the Jeannetini—these are not elements you’d find at just any book launch. But to celebrate Jeanne Beker’s new book for young adults, Passion For Fashion: Careers in Style, the glamour dial was turned up several notches. The launch coincided with L’Oreal Fashion Week where Toronto’s Nathan Phillips Square—normally a bastion of double-breasted suits and pleated trousers—was transformed into a tent-covered fashion runway over-spilling with fashionistas. My Tundra Books colleagues and I enjoyed the Diesel Kids fashion show where adorable children and tweens strutted their stuff (it was rumoured that Canadian model Stacey McKenzie’s niece was among them). Jeanne Beker then came blazing onto the runway, dressed in black mini-skirt and jacket (looking identical to the new Bratz Fashion Reporter doll made in her likeness). You know her moment has come when, after more than twenty years as the face of Fashion Television, she is immortalized as a Bratz doll!

After a few gracious words (where she gave a nod to Tundra publisher Kathy Lowinger), Jeanne was whisked away to interviews with international media and I was left admiring the fashion do’s and don’ts (trust me, a beaver fur hat should never be paired with shorts). My colleagues and I then feasted on oysters at Rodney’s Oyster Bar before proceeding to the after-party. Jeanne brought her closest friends and family together (including her adorable and elegant mother, and her two daughters) at swanky Atelier on King Street West where we sipped on Jeannetinis (vodka, Cointreau, lemon and orange juice—delicious) and watched performances by young dancers and singers. But by 10:30pm, this decidedly unglamorous publishing type had had his share of hobnobbing and so I jumped into a taxi for bedtime. Three lasting impressions from my wonderful evening: 1) my wardrobe needs a re-vamp; 2) book launches are so much better when they feature swag bags and satay beef skewers; and 3) Jeanne Beker is truly an inspiration. Passion for fashion indeed!

The strong response to The Sun Climbs Slow has truly surprised me. Like every author I hoped there would be interest in my book, but I hadn’t anticipated the Macleans bestseller list, especially a week in the top spot. Much of this is due to the topicality of my subject. The new International Criminal Court, which will open its doors for the first time this year, is a break-through for justice and the rule of law in a world made weary by war and the machinations of power politics. Imagine that the powerful of the world might be brought to account for their major crimes, such as fomenting genocide and crimes against humanity? This would never have happened in the past. Now, almost by chance, there is an independent tribunal to do this work.

That such a court came to be at the end of the violent 20th century was pretty much a fluke, since the world’s most powerful countries didn’t want it, for obvious reasons. (To learn more about this intriguing story you’ll need to read the book!) Like it or not, the ICC, as it is called, is now a reality. It is the newest institution in the international galaxy—and what it offers is cautious hope.

Canada has played a prominent role in bringing international criminal justice to the world stage. We have a right to be proud.

Four and a half years ago, on a sunny afternoon in June, my life changed. That day, on the back patio of a cafe in Toronto, I met Dr. James Orbinski. I had learned a lot about this remarkable man before that first meeting. I knew he had been active in Doctors Without Border/ Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) for over a decade; that he had been a humanitarian doctor in Somalia, Afghanistan, and during the genocide in Rwanda. I had read the eloquent and uncompromising speech he had delivered when, as international president of MSF, he accepted the Nobel Peace Prize on behalf of the organization. Still no amount of research could have prepared me for the man I would meet that day. James’s empathy, intelligence, generosity and warmth know no bounds. He embraces the world with a genuine passion that can’t help but inspire those around him. Yet behind the kindness of his eyes are memories of unfathomable human suffering and unimaginable human courage. It is these memories that James brings to life in his book An Imperfect Offering. These were difficult places for James to return to, and the book was not one that could be rushed.

In the time that it took for James to realize his story on the page, my colleagues were forced to listen to me rave about what I was reading and how James’s words were cutting me to the bone. Still I knew nothing I could tell them would come close to capturing the force of James’s work. There is a glorious intimacy that can exist between a writer and an editor, a private space where the possibilities of the text can be explored free from the expectations of others. I often experience a moment of sadness when a book is released from this secret world, but in the case of An Imperfect Offering that sadness was tempered by a deep desire to have as many people as possible know the importance of James’s message. Book publishing is a collective enterprise, so many people— from copy editors to designers, publicists to sales reps—invest their energy and talent in seeing a book through to publication. Imagine my joy when my colleagues began sharing with me their powerful reactions to James’s book. I am proud to share these impressions with you below. An Imperfect Offering will not only change the way people see the world, but the way they act within it. My colleagues no longer have to take my word for it, and come April 22nd neither will you.

“As I was working on James’s text, I was completely moved. I am proud to be involved in whatever way I can be with this book.” —Scott Richardson, Creative Director, Random House of Canada Limited

I’m delighted that the advance copies of How Jesus Became Christian have just come in. It’s certainly not the first book about Christ or religion to have been published in the past few years. From The Da Vinci Code to the the polemics like The God Delusion or God is not Great, readers have been invited again and again to appraise one of the most complex and personal dimensions of their lives through the crudest of lenses.

What we thought when we first saw the proposal for How Jesus Became Christian was that people who take these things seriouly would leap at the opportunity to read something more nuanced—just look at the reception Tom Harpur’s The Pagan Christ recieved. Barrie’s book is much like Tom’s. Only, instead of Harpur’s liberal, skeptical view, Barrie offers an historically-based, Jewish perspective. As he puts it, Harpur “maintains that the myth became the person; I maintain that the person became the myth.”

Like Harpur, Wilson is a former Anglican priest; unlike Harpur, he later converted to Judaism. What we see in this book is an assessment of the historical Jesus that takes into account the often troubled relationship between Judaism and the western religion that grew out of it. As both Jew and Christian, Wilson is uniquely positioned to tell this story and understand its implications.

I have really enjoyed working with Barrie, and I know that he is eager to have his voice heard in the increasingly important dialogue that seeks to negotiate a path for intelligent people that accomodates both faith and reason. There can hardly be a better time for that to happen.

Winning a prize of the calibre of the Charles Taylor Prize for Literary Non-Fiction, the premiere prize in its category, is like having an epiphany. You’ve spent weeks, months, scribbling and writing and re-writing, and staring out of the window and stabbing at the Delete button and then, suddenly, you’re told that you’ve actually done it—written a book that has something to say and says it pretty well, and that perhaps even says it better than have all other Canadian non-fiction writers through the past year.

There’s of course the 15 minutes of fame in the form of media interviews and the flashes of the cameras. And there’s the cash, that so far, has served to cover the cost of a splendid, if extravagant, dinner.

Neither will last, though I’ll always remember the congratulations, quick and generous, of the other four finalists.

What will last, for at least a decent length of time, is the knowledge that my peers—the jurors—judged that John A: The Man Who Made Us had actually done what I hoped it would do—to tell Canadians about our most interesting and important Prime Minister, and so to tell Canadians about themselves.

If the result will be to turn on more Canadians to their own history, and most especially so younger ones who are now taught so little about how our past remains part of our present and future, and also encourages more writers to set out to bring that past alive for today’s readers, then I just won’t be a happy guy today but a contented one for quite a while. Or at least I’ll stay that way until my research on Volume Two, which will go up to Macdonald’s death in 1891, is completed and I’ll go back to again staring out of the window and fingering the Delete button.

Here is the final excerpt from Alexander McCall Smith’s latest newsletter, with some updates on his latest projects.

During February, Scottish Opera will be performing part of the opera on which I have been working with Stephen Deazley, a composer, and Ben Twist, a dramatist. This will be part of a programme they are doing in which they are performing several works in progress, one of them being ours. It is based on my book Dream Angus. Also in February, I am going to Paris for a few days to do an event at the American School there. This has been arranged by my lecture agent in the USA, Steven Barclay, who has a strong connection with that school. Steven is great company and I look forward to being in Paris as his guest. I then go for a few days to Spain to do press interviews for my Spanish-language publishers.

In February the UK paperback edition of The Good Husband of Zebra Drive will be published. March sees the publication in the UK and elsewhere of the next Mma Ramotswe book, The Miracle at Speedy Motors, which will come out in the USA and Canada in April. In March I shall be doing a number of events in the UK and a tour of Germany for my German publishers. The details of these events will be on the website. In April I look forward to a major American tour, starting in New York and heading off in every direction thereafter. Those tours are pretty tiring, as they take me across the entire country and involve numerous flights. But they are really rewarding too, as they give me the opportunity to meet many readers of the books and I count that as a great privilege. Indeed I am very much aware of the fact that these books have given me a very great privilege in this life—that of being part of a prolonged conversation with many people throughout the world. Not a day goes past but that I think about the pleasure that that has brought me and how fortunate I am to have had that opportunity. So thank you for that. Thank you.

Finally: news of the film. It is now fully edited—the music put in etc. I have not yet seen it, but am told that it is stunning (I have seen a few excerpts). Jill Scott, who plays Mma Ramostwe, has done a really great job, as have the other actors. We will let you know when we have concrete news of when it can be seen.

Alexander McCall Smith

This is the third of a series of excerpts from Alexander McCall Smith’s newsletter. We’re rejoining him in Sri Lanka.

My wife and I also went to lunch with Geoffrey Dobbs on the tiny island that he has about twenty yards off the beach. You wade to it and are presented with a towel when you arrive on the other side. Geoffrey explained to me that when the tsunami hit he was actually swimming in the sea off the island. He was swept away, but a fisherman threw him a line eventually and he lived to tell the tale.

Back to Scotland for a week and then, I’m afraid, I set off again, this time to Florida, to carry out two public events. The first of these was in Lakeland, which is an attractive town near Tampa. I spoke at Florida Southern College there, and signed books afterwards. As always in the United States, I encountered great kindness and generosity, and had a very enjoyable dinner in an ancient Mexican restaurant with two professors of English, Mary Pharr and her husband Donald. They are close readers of the Scotland Street series and we got on extremely well.

On to Palm Beach, where I addressed the Four Arts Society and did a signing. Palm Beach is quite a place—very fashionable indeed, and I am happy to report that the ladies there do a good line in very large hats. I had lunch with the Director and the Librarian from the Society and at a neighbouring table there was a Palm Beach lady wearing a hat which was as large as the table at which she was sitting. Again the warmth and kindness of the audience was remarkable.

Now I am back in Scotland and hard at work again on the Isabel Dalhousie novel. In fact, it’s going very well and I hope to finish it this month. I have just written a scene in which Eddie, Cat’s assistant at the delicatessen, has tried out his newly acquired skills as hypnotist on Jamie—with unexpected results. Sometimes when I am writing I find that I burst out laughing. It must sound rather sinister to anybody else in the house to hear laughter coming from a room containing only one person.

Scotland Street is also going well. I should finish volume five in that series this month. Poor Bertie. His mother has arranged psychotherapy with a new psychotherapist and is also going to go to cub scout camp with him. Matthew and Elspeth Harmony are back from their honeymoon in Australia, and Domenica has recovered the stolen Spode tea cup from her neighbour’s flat (there is, however a complication in that plot-line.)