what a story!

It's been barely a week since Winnipeg author Andrew Davidson's first novel, The Gargoyle, landed in bookstores. But it has already carved out a niche in publishing history. And made its creator comfortably wealthy.
Truth be told, it accomplished those feats more than a year ago. Last May, Random House ponied up a $1.25-million advance for the U.S. rights to the unorthodox gothic romance. Toss in other domestic and foreign rights and it's estimated the book has netted the 39-year-old Davidson north of $2 million, far and away the biggest payday for a Canadian debut novel.
But if you think it's has gone to Davidson's head, think again.
"People assume that all of a sudden there's a big party and you're popping champagne corks," laughs Davidson, nursing a glass of orange juice in a coffee shop near his home. "But that's just not the case."
Not in his case, anyway -- Davidson is a teetotaler who doesn't own a car ("I don't like to drive") and seems to perfer a quiet life of writing at night, sleeping during the day, playing old-timer hockey and spending time with his girlfriend and his family in Pinawa, Man. His one major purchase: A century-old house in south Winnipeg.
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But if he hardly acts like Canada's hottest new millionaire wordsmith, it's only fitting: The Gargoyle is hardly a typical pop-fiction potboiler.
"It's an unconventional romance," Davidson understates. "It's the story of a severe burn survivor who meets a woman who may or may not be schizophrenic, and she claims they were lovers in medieval times when she was a nun and he was a mercenary and most of her friends are ghosts. It's a love story!"
That ain't the half of it. The hero of Davidson's bizarre beauty-and-the-beast tale also happens to be a drug-addled porn star who has lost his penis along with his will to live, while his heroine -- Marianne Engel -- is a tattooed sculptress who carves gargoyles in the nude. With a plot that spans centuries and a cast that also includes feudal Japanese glassblowers, white-trash speed freaks, 14th-century German calligraphers, assorted demons from Dante's Inferno and a gay Viking, it's no surprise the 485-page novel was a long-term labour of love.
The tale began in 2000. Davidson -- who had written poetry, stories, scripts and plays since age 16, but "never had a story that deserved a novel" -- was teaching English in Japan when the character of Marianne popped into his head fully formed, wild-haired and ranting in front of a church.
"She basically said, 'You have to pay me some attention.' And what she said couldn't be contained in a short story or a play."
Five years and untold hours of research, writing and editing later, Davidson -- who writes with a computer on a bare desk facing a blank wall to avoid distraction -- had returned to Winnipeg and finished a 195,000-word manuscript. He shipped it to prominent New York literary agent Eric Simonoff, along with a wry pitch letter outlining 10 reasons why Simonoff shouldn't represent him. After offering encouragement and advice, the agent agreed. But Davidson wasn't done. Ten months later he was back after cutting nearly a third of the book and getting it bound at his own expense. His perseverance paid off; Simonoff took him on, opening the doorway that led to Davidson's stunning windfall, which was the last thing he expected.
"You'd be a damn fool to sit there and think, 'I bet this will sell.' I just put all my heart and soul and love and energy and passion into it. There was never a moment of, 'What are people gonna like?' I just did it to entertain myself."
Clearly, he's not the only one being entertained. Now "in the thick" of a massive publicity campaign that has him crisscrossing North America, Davidson is trying to adjust to fame ("I don't think I'll ever get used to being photographed") while maintaining some privacy. And then there's that little matter of a followup.
"I've been researching it," he says. "I have hundreds of pages of notes, but I still have no idea what the book is going to be about."
But if he's worried about topping himself, he doesn't show it.
"Of course there's added pressure because there's a certain amount of notoriety," he explains. "But the real pressure for me is that I want to write better. And I would put that pressure on myself even if this book were sitting in my desk drawer.''