Check out this interesting article from the NY Times, in which publishing bigwhigs debate about the industry and how little they know about the marketplace:
...other industries...have made a point of using new technology to gain a better understanding of their customers. Television stations have created online forums for viewers and may use the information there to make programming decisions. Game developers solicit input from users through virtual communities over the Internet. Airlines and hotels have developed increasingly sophisticated databases of customers.
Publishers, by contrast, put up Web sites where, in some cases, readers can sign up for announcements of new titles. But information rarely flows the other way — from readers back to the editors.
“We need much more of a direct relationship with our readers,” said Susan Rabiner, an agent and a former editorial director. Bloggers have a much more interactive relationship with their readers than publishers do, she said. “Before Amazon, we didn’t even know what people thought of the books,” she said.
Most in the industry seem to see consumer taste as a mystery that is inevitable and even appealing, akin to the uncontrollable highs and lows of falling in love or gambling. Publishing employees tend to be liberal arts graduates who enter the field with a starting salary around $30,000. Compensation is not tied to sales performance. “The people who go into it don’t do it for the money, which might explain why it’s such a bad business,” said WilliamStrachan, editor in chief at Carroll & Graf Publishers.
Apparently, little has changed in the industry since Guttenburg's press:
It’s the way this business has run since 1640,” he says. That is when 1,700 copies of the Bay Psalm Book were published in the colonies. “It was a gamble, and they guessed right because it sold out of the print run. And ever since then, it has been a crap shoot,” Professor Greco said.
There is a “business model” that supports this risk-taking. As Mr. Strachan puts it, “Lightning does strike.”
5.16.2007
5.14.2007
Turning on, tuning in to Proust
If reading is a drug, then Proust is the literary equivalent of an LSD trip.
You read Proust, and you see writing and the world in an entirely different way. You've glided through the doors of perception, tuned in, experienced the Divine Truth.
Then you wake up the next morning and try to explain the experience to someone.
And you cannot find the words. And you start thinking, what was it that I really experienced? Has my reading comprehension really degraded that much? Do I really understand English?
Although I'm about 2/3 of the way through In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, I couldn't tell you the plot. I think Marcel is going from adolescence to adulthood. He breaks up with Gilberte. He goes to a hotel. He meets a few snobs. He acts like a cry-baby.
But he's at his most hallucinogenic when he reflects on life.
Here, for example, is a striking passage about artists and friendships:
Friendship is a dispensation from this duty [to live for the artist's self], an abdication of self. Even conversation, which is friendship's mode of expression, is a superficial digression which gives us nothing worth acquiring. We may talk for a lifetime without doing more than indefinitely repeat the vacuity of a minute, whereas the march of thought in the solitary work of artistic creation proceeds in depth, in the only direction that is not closed to us, along which we are free to advance--though with more effort, it is true--towards a goal of truth. And friendship is not merely devoid of virtue, like conversation, it is fatal to us as well. For the sense of boredom which those of us whose law of development is purely internal cannot help but feel in a friend's company (when, that is to say, we must remain on the surface of ourselves, instead of pursuing our voyage of discovery into the depths)--that first impression of boredom our friendship impels us to correct when we are alone again, to recall with emotion the words which our friend said to us, to look upon them as a valuable addition to our substance, when the fact is that we are not like buildings to which stones can be added from without, but like trees which draw from their own sap the next knot that will appear on their trunks, the spreading roof of their foliage.
Now, I ask you: How can you explain this passage to someone, without destroying the experience of actually reading it? That, to me, is what makes Proust a writer like no other. His prose can only be experienced by the reading of it. Not by making it into a film, not by reading a book review or Cliff's Notes or a few chapters. No cheap bottle of Ripple or bong hit will do. You have to lay yourself open to the entire experience to get the buzz.
You read Proust, and you see writing and the world in an entirely different way. You've glided through the doors of perception, tuned in, experienced the Divine Truth.
Then you wake up the next morning and try to explain the experience to someone.
And you cannot find the words. And you start thinking, what was it that I really experienced? Has my reading comprehension really degraded that much? Do I really understand English?
Although I'm about 2/3 of the way through In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower, I couldn't tell you the plot. I think Marcel is going from adolescence to adulthood. He breaks up with Gilberte. He goes to a hotel. He meets a few snobs. He acts like a cry-baby.
But he's at his most hallucinogenic when he reflects on life.
Here, for example, is a striking passage about artists and friendships:
Friendship is a dispensation from this duty [to live for the artist's self], an abdication of self. Even conversation, which is friendship's mode of expression, is a superficial digression which gives us nothing worth acquiring. We may talk for a lifetime without doing more than indefinitely repeat the vacuity of a minute, whereas the march of thought in the solitary work of artistic creation proceeds in depth, in the only direction that is not closed to us, along which we are free to advance--though with more effort, it is true--towards a goal of truth. And friendship is not merely devoid of virtue, like conversation, it is fatal to us as well. For the sense of boredom which those of us whose law of development is purely internal cannot help but feel in a friend's company (when, that is to say, we must remain on the surface of ourselves, instead of pursuing our voyage of discovery into the depths)--that first impression of boredom our friendship impels us to correct when we are alone again, to recall with emotion the words which our friend said to us, to look upon them as a valuable addition to our substance, when the fact is that we are not like buildings to which stones can be added from without, but like trees which draw from their own sap the next knot that will appear on their trunks, the spreading roof of their foliage.
Now, I ask you: How can you explain this passage to someone, without destroying the experience of actually reading it? That, to me, is what makes Proust a writer like no other. His prose can only be experienced by the reading of it. Not by making it into a film, not by reading a book review or Cliff's Notes or a few chapters. No cheap bottle of Ripple or bong hit will do. You have to lay yourself open to the entire experience to get the buzz.
5.10.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Bury the plot at Wounded Knee
Apparently, there is some controversy over the upcoming HBO film production of "Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee." (How fortunate for HBO's publicity department.)
According to a rather high-handed NY Times article, the film's producers took license by adding a new character: a man who was part Sioux, was educated at an Ivy League college and married a white woman.
The truly not-fortunate reasoning being, according to the writer who adapted the book for HBO Films, "everyone felt very strongly that we needed a white character or a part-white, part-Indian character to carry a contemporary white audience through this project."
Ouch. And, I might add, WTF?
I might as well mention now that when I'm not being the Literate Kitten, I am busy channeling my Pop-Tart Culture alternate personality. To that end, I fork over inordinately large percentages of my salary to Comcast Cable so I can devour such uplifting media fare as Project Runway, Ghost Hunters and Wife, Mom, Bounty Hunter. (In my defense, I do watch PBS and The Learning Channel more often than I do the Food Porn network.)
Seeing as how I have made a huge investment in HBO and the fact that the Bury My Heart production features Aidan Quinn, I owe it to my Evil Remote-Hopping Twin to tune in.
In homage to my Literate Kittenish self, however, I intend to read the book first. (I think because this book was released when I was a freshman, it didn't make my High School Required Reading list. So, no, I have not yet read it.)
I cannot imagine how the film can remain true to the plot, when an extra character has been thrown willy-nilly into the mix. Oh, and when that extra character is described as a much-needed protagonist. (Why didn't they call it Dances with Prairie Dogs and be done with it?)
The movie premiers May 27. I will duly report on Book versus Film, Kitten versus Pop-Tart.
5.09.2007
5.07.2007
May reading: New in the stacks
Life is so crazy right now, I completely overlooked the ringing in of a new month of reading. Technically, May is for books that are "new in the stacks." I am taking a loose interpretation, so that "new in the stacks" can mean one of two things: 1) new to me 2) newly published.
To that end, the "new to me" contribution will be Jean Rhys's Voyage in the Dark, which I finished. Whew, one down. The newly published (anywhere from 2005-present) selection is yet to be decided...contenders include the Maryse Conde novel and the Hermione Lee book on Edith Wharton.
May is also going to be an extension of classics month, as I am still reading Proust and just starting Cervantes.
The TBR pile is leaning crazily like the Tower of Pisa. Four recent additions! Last Friday, I found Kerouac's The Subterraneans in a free pile. And a few weekends ago, I scored three at a going-out-of-business sale:
A Victorian Romance: Letters of Beatrix Potter and Sydney Webb. (I can't even find this one on Amazon.com. Will post excerpts for sure.)
The Web and the Rock, Thomas Wolfe (first edition).
First Fiction: An Anthology of First Published Stories by Famous Writers.
To that end, the "new to me" contribution will be Jean Rhys's Voyage in the Dark, which I finished. Whew, one down. The newly published (anywhere from 2005-present) selection is yet to be decided...contenders include the Maryse Conde novel and the Hermione Lee book on Edith Wharton.
May is also going to be an extension of classics month, as I am still reading Proust and just starting Cervantes.
The TBR pile is leaning crazily like the Tower of Pisa. Four recent additions! Last Friday, I found Kerouac's The Subterraneans in a free pile. And a few weekends ago, I scored three at a going-out-of-business sale:
A Victorian Romance: Letters of Beatrix Potter and Sydney Webb. (I can't even find this one on Amazon.com. Will post excerpts for sure.)
The Web and the Rock, Thomas Wolfe (first edition).
First Fiction: An Anthology of First Published Stories by Famous Writers.
5.04.2007
Reading list - oh my!
Well, I am still having some sort of internal upheaval. Blood tests on the way.
In the meantime, since I had so many requests about my book bingeing, here is a small taste of what's on the dockets (ones I haven't yet mentioned in the blog. These are in addition to Proust and Cervantes):
Fiction:
Voyage in the Dark, Jean Rhys. Couldn't help starting this one (it's relatively short). If you can stand the patented Jean Rhys downer, this is GREAT.
Margherita Dolce Vita, Stefano Benni. Just started this one, too. (See what I mean?) I MUST quote passages from this next week in blog. I actually burst out in giggles while reading. Brilliant voice. Stay tuned to hear more!
The Stories of Stephen Dixon. I've read two of these so far. He's very original; I haven't decided on how much (or little) I really like his stuff, though.
The Story of the Cannibal Woman, Marsye Conde
Why Did I Ever, Mary Robison
Everyman, Philip Roth
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Kafka on the Shore, Huruki Murakami
All Aunt Hagar’s Children (Stories), Edward P. Jones
The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis
Nonfiction:
Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter, Simone de Beauvoir
Muhammad, Karen Armstrong
The Perfect Summer: England 1911, Just Before the Storm, Juliet Nicolson
Edith Wharton, Hermione Lee
The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls
Tales from the Heart: True Stories from My Childhood, Marsye Conde
Criticism/Theory:
The Lonely Voice: Study of the Short Story, Frank O’Connor
Expanse of Vision: Essays on the Craft of Henry James, Laurence Holland
Lectures on Don Quixote, Vladimir Nabokov
Just to leave you hanging, I'm going to save the three "finds" I pounced on at a local bookseller that, alas, is being forced out of business. (To make room for some Gigantor Sports Equipment Store. As if we need another one of those!--)anyway, one of them in particular I think is a real score. I couldn't even find it on Amazon.
In the meantime, since I had so many requests about my book bingeing, here is a small taste of what's on the dockets (ones I haven't yet mentioned in the blog. These are in addition to Proust and Cervantes):
Fiction:
Voyage in the Dark, Jean Rhys. Couldn't help starting this one (it's relatively short). If you can stand the patented Jean Rhys downer, this is GREAT.
Margherita Dolce Vita, Stefano Benni. Just started this one, too. (See what I mean?) I MUST quote passages from this next week in blog. I actually burst out in giggles while reading. Brilliant voice. Stay tuned to hear more!
The Stories of Stephen Dixon. I've read two of these so far. He's very original; I haven't decided on how much (or little) I really like his stuff, though.
The Story of the Cannibal Woman, Marsye Conde
Why Did I Ever, Mary Robison
Everyman, Philip Roth
The Road, Cormac McCarthy
Kafka on the Shore, Huruki Murakami
All Aunt Hagar’s Children (Stories), Edward P. Jones
The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis
Nonfiction:
Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter, Simone de Beauvoir
Muhammad, Karen Armstrong
The Perfect Summer: England 1911, Just Before the Storm, Juliet Nicolson
Edith Wharton, Hermione Lee
The Glass Castle, Jeannette Walls
Tales from the Heart: True Stories from My Childhood, Marsye Conde
Criticism/Theory:
The Lonely Voice: Study of the Short Story, Frank O’Connor
Expanse of Vision: Essays on the Craft of Henry James, Laurence Holland
Lectures on Don Quixote, Vladimir Nabokov
Just to leave you hanging, I'm going to save the three "finds" I pounced on at a local bookseller that, alas, is being forced out of business. (To make room for some Gigantor Sports Equipment Store. As if we need another one of those!--)anyway, one of them in particular I think is a real score. I couldn't even find it on Amazon.
5.02.2007
Houston, we have a problem!
Impulse control: zero, and falling...
1. I just said, "What do they expect me to do, pull it out of my butt?" to my boss about some statistics Sales asked me for.
2. Two nights ago I injected fried calamari and two shrimp tacos into my piehole and washed it down with 3 glasses of Sangiovese. All within two hours. (I didn't have to drive. I just nattered some poor innocent BART rider's head off for 25 minutes.)
3. I just toggled this screen up in front of my boss, who eagerly read the title and will certainly run a web report on it.
4. I can't seem to stop buying books. I suppose that will end once I lose my income.
GOOD GOD. I am OUT OF CONTROL. Thank god, I do not seem to have enough street smarts to connect with pushers on the street, and nurse a distinct aversion to needles and smoking. Else, I would be writing a chick-lit version of Trainspotting morphed with Naked Lunch. "The Devil Snorts Smack."
1. I just said, "What do they expect me to do, pull it out of my butt?" to my boss about some statistics Sales asked me for.
2. Two nights ago I injected fried calamari and two shrimp tacos into my piehole and washed it down with 3 glasses of Sangiovese. All within two hours. (I didn't have to drive. I just nattered some poor innocent BART rider's head off for 25 minutes.)
3. I just toggled this screen up in front of my boss, who eagerly read the title and will certainly run a web report on it.
4. I can't seem to stop buying books. I suppose that will end once I lose my income.
GOOD GOD. I am OUT OF CONTROL. Thank god, I do not seem to have enough street smarts to connect with pushers on the street, and nurse a distinct aversion to needles and smoking. Else, I would be writing a chick-lit version of Trainspotting morphed with Naked Lunch. "The Devil Snorts Smack."
5.01.2007
Penny for somebody's thoughts, not mine
Work: bad.
Me: irritable beyond human endurance and outside the scope of being attributable to PMS.
Speak, Eudora, speak!
From The Eye of the Story, Selected Essays & Reviews, Eudora Welty:
A narrative line is in its deeper sense, of course, the tracing out of a meaning, and the real continuity of a story lies in this probing forward. The real dramatic force of a story depends on the strength of the emotion that has set it going. The emotional value is the measure of the reach of the story.
Me: irritable beyond human endurance and outside the scope of being attributable to PMS.
Speak, Eudora, speak!
From The Eye of the Story, Selected Essays & Reviews, Eudora Welty:
A narrative line is in its deeper sense, of course, the tracing out of a meaning, and the real continuity of a story lies in this probing forward. The real dramatic force of a story depends on the strength of the emotion that has set it going. The emotional value is the measure of the reach of the story.
4.26.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - General mayhem
First of all: I'm so very excited about the great and varied response to the Short Story Short Challenge and my post on 10 favorite short stories! Will definitely be exploring this topic periodically. I hope everyone is inspired to read at least one or two new authors or, if you're not a short story aficionado, to try one. (I dare you to read one on my list and not be blown away.)
Second: Can't let David Halberstam's death go by without comment. In my undergrad years, as a journalism student, I read his "The Best and the Brightest" (the Kennedy Administration and VietNam War) and "The Powers that Be" (on the American media). He was of the old school: exhaustive research, in-depth analysis, and above all, accuracy, accuracy, accuracy.
He died by being broad-sided.
Second: Can't let David Halberstam's death go by without comment. In my undergrad years, as a journalism student, I read his "The Best and the Brightest" (the Kennedy Administration and VietNam War) and "The Powers that Be" (on the American media). He was of the old school: exhaustive research, in-depth analysis, and above all, accuracy, accuracy, accuracy.
He died by being broad-sided.
Third: About 100 pages in to Proust vol. 2. God, I just love Proust! You really have to give yourself up to him. I don't try to "understand everything;" a reader simply can't. There is too much. You just read and enjoy the process of reading and then, suddenly, when you are not quite aware, the prose clicks. I imagine it's how a child learns how to speak. I feel I am such a better reader for having read Proust, and I'm sure I will feel that way about my writing.
Four: Joined up with the Tilting at Windmills group! Going to start Don Quixote in the midst of reading Proust. What a masochist. But, this is a group and an objective too stellar to miss out on. I imagine I will cower on the sidelines, shocked and awed by everyone else's insights and progress. Sort of like the bunny-slope skier straggling behind a group of Olympians. But, that's how one learns. Thanks, Dorothy W., for organizing. Good call!
4.25.2007
Short Story Short Challenge - Reading List
Great response on the Short Story Short Challenge! As promised, I compiled a list of all the recommended short stories. Lots of new names and titles to explore.Thanks to the participants: NOVAREN, CLIFF BURNS, SNACKY WOMBAT, TAI, SUSAN (at A LITERARY RESPITE), WISHY THE WRITER, THE TRAVELLER, JADE PARK, COURTNEY, DARK ORPHEUS, BHADD, EDDIE, LITLOVE , ISABELLA, SFP, D CHEDWICK, KATE S., HENK, BLOGLILY, AMANDA A., VERBIFORE, and ANDI.
Please e-mail me your reactions to the short story you committed to reading: writerlylife at yahoo dot com. And stay tuned for an upcoming Horror Story Short Challenge in October.
Please e-mail me your reactions to the short story you committed to reading: writerlylife at yahoo dot com. And stay tuned for an upcoming Horror Story Short Challenge in October.
Short Story Short Challenge List
The Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter
Call My Name, Aimee Bender
Civilwarland in Bad Decline, George Saunders
Dirty Wedding, Denis Johnson
Disentangling, Peter Rock
Floating Bridge, Alice Munro
The Hotel Capital, Olga Tokarczuk
Planetisimal, Keri Hulme
The Toughest Indian in the World, Sherman Alexie
White Angel, Michael Cunningham
Hunger, Lan Samantha Chang
Rock Springs, Richard Ford
The Bloody Chamber, Angela Carter
Call My Name, Aimee Bender
Civilwarland in Bad Decline, George Saunders
Dirty Wedding, Denis Johnson
Disentangling, Peter Rock
Floating Bridge, Alice Munro
The Hotel Capital, Olga Tokarczuk
Planetisimal, Keri Hulme
The Toughest Indian in the World, Sherman Alexie
White Angel, Michael Cunningham
Hunger, Lan Samantha Chang
Rock Springs, Richard Ford
Miss Gentibelle, Charles Beaumont
It's a GOOD Life, Jerome Bixby
Roses, Rhododendron, Alice Adams
A Christmas Memory, Truman Capote
Sonny's Blues, James Baldwin
Love, William Maxwell
Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Katherine Anne Porter
In Dreams Begin Responsibilities, Delmore Schwartz
Love Day, William Styron
The Shawl, Cynthia Ozick
Bartleby the Scrivener, Herman Melville
On Seeing England for the First Time, Jamaica Kincaid
Death of a Pig, E.B. White
The Long Loneliness, Loren Eisley
Chatwin Revisited, Paul Theroux
Good Country People, Flannery O’Connor
White Angel, Michael Cunningham
Fiesta 1980, Junot Diaz
In the Gloaming, Alice Elliott Dark
Hunger, Lan Samantha Chang
The Bear Went Over the Mountain, Alice Munro
Floating Bridge, Alice Munro
Bullet in the Brain, Tobias Wolff
He’s At the Office, Allan Gurganus
Brokeback Mountain, Annie Proulx
Penance, Matthew Crain
A Temporary Matter, Jhumpa Lahiri
It's a GOOD Life, Jerome Bixby
Roses, Rhododendron, Alice Adams
A Christmas Memory, Truman Capote
Sonny's Blues, James Baldwin
Love, William Maxwell
Pale Horse, Pale Rider, Katherine Anne Porter
In Dreams Begin Responsibilities, Delmore Schwartz
Love Day, William Styron
The Shawl, Cynthia Ozick
Bartleby the Scrivener, Herman Melville
On Seeing England for the First Time, Jamaica Kincaid
Death of a Pig, E.B. White
The Long Loneliness, Loren Eisley
Chatwin Revisited, Paul Theroux
Good Country People, Flannery O’Connor
White Angel, Michael Cunningham
Fiesta 1980, Junot Diaz
In the Gloaming, Alice Elliott Dark
Hunger, Lan Samantha Chang
The Bear Went Over the Mountain, Alice Munro
Floating Bridge, Alice Munro
Bullet in the Brain, Tobias Wolff
He’s At the Office, Allan Gurganus
Brokeback Mountain, Annie Proulx
Penance, Matthew Crain
A Temporary Matter, Jhumpa Lahiri
Dance in America, Lorrie Moore
Pie Dance, Molly Giles
Home Sweet Home, Hannah Tinti
Mirrors, Carol Shield
Mirrors, Carol Shield
My Grandmother’s Tale of How Crab-o Lost His Head, Robert Antoni
Light Can Be Both Wave and Particle, Ellen Gilchrist
Leaf Season, John Updike
The Birds for Christmas, Mark Richard
The Man to Send Rain Clouds, Leslie Marmon Silko
The Horse Dealer's Daughter, D.H. Lawrence
Blue Tigers, Jorge Luis Borges
The Way We Live Now, Susan Sontag
Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?, Joyce Carol Oates
Babylon Revisited, F. Scott Fitzgerald
Winter Dreams, F. Scott Fitzgerald
Love is Not a Pie, Amy Bloom
Silver Water, Amy Bloom
Meiosis, Italo Calvino
Also, please support your fellow blogger and writer, Kate Sutherland, by preordering her new collection of short stories, All in Together Girls. Personally, I can't wait to read them!
As for me, I commit to reading the Italo Calvino story (sure it will be way over my head, but I've never read this author's works) and the Jean Stubbs piece (had to get the collection, don't you know). And that's just for starters...The Horse Dealer's Daughter, D.H. Lawrence
Blue Tigers, Jorge Luis Borges
The Way We Live Now, Susan Sontag
Where Are You Going, Where Have You Been?, Joyce Carol Oates
Babylon Revisited, F. Scott Fitzgerald
Winter Dreams, F. Scott Fitzgerald
Love is Not a Pie, Amy Bloom
Silver Water, Amy Bloom
Meiosis, Italo Calvino
The Johnson Girls, Toni Cade Bambara
The Marquise von O., Heinrich von Kleist
For Esme with Love and Squalor, JD Salinger
Making Love While the Kettle Boils, Kate Sutherland
La plage (The beach), Alain Robbe-Grillet
Cousin Lewis, Jean Stubbs
The Book Club, Ali Smith
The Marquise von O., Heinrich von Kleist
For Esme with Love and Squalor, JD Salinger
Making Love While the Kettle Boils, Kate Sutherland
La plage (The beach), Alain Robbe-Grillet
Cousin Lewis, Jean Stubbs
The Book Club, Ali Smith
The Schartz-Metterklume Method, Saki
The Overcoat, Nikolai Gogol
The Overcoat, Nikolai Gogol
Also, please support your fellow blogger and writer, Kate Sutherland, by preordering her new collection of short stories, All in Together Girls. Personally, I can't wait to read them!
4.23.2007
Short Story Short Challenge!
I just had a scathingly brilliant idea.
The Short Story Short Challenge!
Here's how it works: See my post below on Ten Favorite Short Stories.
1. Pick one story from the list you haven't read, that you vow to read.
2. List in the comment to this post which story you selected, PLUS a favorite story of yours that you want others to read.
I will compile a new list from all of the comments, and I will make my own selection of new short stories to read.
Ten favorite short stories
I've been wanting to make this list for a while. It is tough to put together. How do you not include Chekhov, Munro or Fitzgerald? Which story do you include from the works of Hemingway or O'Connor?
I have so many more short stories to read from the hundreds of truly excellent stories out there. And lots of great stories and authors didn't make this cut!
Why did these chosen few make the list? First of all, these were ones that I recalled even without a reference guide -- I remembered them because they literally stuck with me. Each one hit me in the gut, not only on the first reading but on multiple readings. They made me think, feel, ponder, wonder.
1. A Good Man is Hard to Find, Flannery O’Connor
2. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
3. The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Leo Tolstoy
4. The Dead, James Joyce
5. Cathedral, Raymond Carver
6. Barn Burning, William Faulkner
7. Greenleaf, Flannery O'Connor
8. The Babysitter, Robert Coover
9. Sea Oak, George Saunders
10. A Clean, Well-Lighted Place, Ernest Hemingway
Want to learn about more short story titles? The Danforth Review asked various authors and teachers for a list of stories the would teach in an introductory course. Please list your favorite short stories in the comments, or I "tag" you to post your own top 10 on your personal blog.
I have so many more short stories to read from the hundreds of truly excellent stories out there. And lots of great stories and authors didn't make this cut!
Why did these chosen few make the list? First of all, these were ones that I recalled even without a reference guide -- I remembered them because they literally stuck with me. Each one hit me in the gut, not only on the first reading but on multiple readings. They made me think, feel, ponder, wonder.
1. A Good Man is Hard to Find, Flannery O’Connor
2. The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka
3. The Death of Ivan Ilyich, Leo Tolstoy
4. The Dead, James Joyce
5. Cathedral, Raymond Carver
6. Barn Burning, William Faulkner
7. Greenleaf, Flannery O'Connor
8. The Babysitter, Robert Coover
9. Sea Oak, George Saunders
10. A Clean, Well-Lighted Place, Ernest Hemingway
Want to learn about more short story titles? The Danforth Review asked various authors and teachers for a list of stories the would teach in an introductory course. Please list your favorite short stories in the comments, or I "tag" you to post your own top 10 on your personal blog.
4.20.2007
Friday Buzz - Who's afraid of Virginia Tech?
The recent shooting at Virginia Tech has sparked some debate about creative writing professors and the position they are in to judge a student's mental state.
Writers tackle disturbing subject matter all the time. NPR asks how to you tell troubled subject matter and a troubled individual?
Richard Blair in the Louisville Courier Journal furthers that line of thinking, asking "if Edgar Allan Poe would have been sent for counseling by a university for some of the works he published, had he submitted them in a college creative writing class. What is the difference that makes a man like Poe a literary genius and Cho Seung-Hui a mass murderer?"
In Cho's case, it seems obvious that his creative writing professors, poet Nikki Giovanni and novelist Lucinda Roy, were able to separate fact (in this case, troubled behavior) from fiction.
(Petty aside: Speaking as one of the many who suffered through an MFA program and all of its competitive fallout, how the hell did this clearly crappy writer get the opportunity to study with such stellars as Giovanni and Roy???)
From the few snippets I've seen of Cho's writing, I would say the prose differs immensely from Poe's in that the latter is lucid and empathic. And, from my admittedly safe and comfortably far vantage point, I venture to say that it seems those professors recognized Cho's instability and rang as many alarms as they dared, short of robbing Cho of his basic civil liberties.
(Not-so-petty aside #2: Where are the parents and families in these cases? I am thinking also of the Columbine shooting. Clearly, all three of the young men involved in these shootings displayed bizarre and anti-social behavior. Yet, the parents just let their sons loose in the world, with apparently little oversight and guidance.)
Could Virginia Tech's isolated case of literal psycho-babble lead to a kind of witch hunt with creative writing students? Gordon, in his impassioned After the MFA blog post on the subject, says: "...imagine what damage can happen to socially marginalized students — who pose no danger to themselves or others — when they feel like they will no longer be able to express themselves in the so-called safe environment of the writing workshop."
Sadly (and cynically, I suppose), I think this all will blow over with the next Anna Nicole Smith paternity hearing or some other headline-grabbing story, with little lasting effect on creative writing programs. But, two issues interest me that I haven't seen addressed as of yet:
1. Cho clearly could barely articulate verbally and had a severe identity problem. Yet, he was studying creative writing. Was he attempting, through writing, to work out his identity issues, or was he merely using writing as a stage for (or mirror of) his own grandiose ideals? Was he always interested in writing as child? Did he write in other genres other than screenwriting? (Screenwriting suggests to me that he may have been projecting himself into Hollywood fame, more indication of histrionic/grandiose thinking, or maybe he wasn't effective in prose because he was so inarticulate.)
2. What is the role of creative writing and self-expression in a larger sense? If channeled effectively, can it prevent an individual from expressing hostility through violence? If so, maybe the question about Edgar Allan Poe isn't so far-fetched. But, what happens if one isn't talented in writing -- do you have to be "talented" or "recognized" for writing to be therapeutic?
No clear answers, but many intriguing questions. Any thoughts, readers?
On a lighter note, Dickens as theme park? Sounds like fun, I must say. Just think of the literary possibilities for future amusements: Bronteland, where you can run across the misty moors looking for Heathcliff or Rochester, or Dorothy PARKer, for the utmost fun in insults?
Writers tackle disturbing subject matter all the time. NPR asks how to you tell troubled subject matter and a troubled individual?
Richard Blair in the Louisville Courier Journal furthers that line of thinking, asking "if Edgar Allan Poe would have been sent for counseling by a university for some of the works he published, had he submitted them in a college creative writing class. What is the difference that makes a man like Poe a literary genius and Cho Seung-Hui a mass murderer?"
In Cho's case, it seems obvious that his creative writing professors, poet Nikki Giovanni and novelist Lucinda Roy, were able to separate fact (in this case, troubled behavior) from fiction.
(Petty aside: Speaking as one of the many who suffered through an MFA program and all of its competitive fallout, how the hell did this clearly crappy writer get the opportunity to study with such stellars as Giovanni and Roy???)
From the few snippets I've seen of Cho's writing, I would say the prose differs immensely from Poe's in that the latter is lucid and empathic. And, from my admittedly safe and comfortably far vantage point, I venture to say that it seems those professors recognized Cho's instability and rang as many alarms as they dared, short of robbing Cho of his basic civil liberties.
(Not-so-petty aside #2: Where are the parents and families in these cases? I am thinking also of the Columbine shooting. Clearly, all three of the young men involved in these shootings displayed bizarre and anti-social behavior. Yet, the parents just let their sons loose in the world, with apparently little oversight and guidance.)
Could Virginia Tech's isolated case of literal psycho-babble lead to a kind of witch hunt with creative writing students? Gordon, in his impassioned After the MFA blog post on the subject, says: "...imagine what damage can happen to socially marginalized students — who pose no danger to themselves or others — when they feel like they will no longer be able to express themselves in the so-called safe environment of the writing workshop."
Sadly (and cynically, I suppose), I think this all will blow over with the next Anna Nicole Smith paternity hearing or some other headline-grabbing story, with little lasting effect on creative writing programs. But, two issues interest me that I haven't seen addressed as of yet:
1. Cho clearly could barely articulate verbally and had a severe identity problem. Yet, he was studying creative writing. Was he attempting, through writing, to work out his identity issues, or was he merely using writing as a stage for (or mirror of) his own grandiose ideals? Was he always interested in writing as child? Did he write in other genres other than screenwriting? (Screenwriting suggests to me that he may have been projecting himself into Hollywood fame, more indication of histrionic/grandiose thinking, or maybe he wasn't effective in prose because he was so inarticulate.)
2. What is the role of creative writing and self-expression in a larger sense? If channeled effectively, can it prevent an individual from expressing hostility through violence? If so, maybe the question about Edgar Allan Poe isn't so far-fetched. But, what happens if one isn't talented in writing -- do you have to be "talented" or "recognized" for writing to be therapeutic?
No clear answers, but many intriguing questions. Any thoughts, readers?
On a lighter note, Dickens as theme park? Sounds like fun, I must say. Just think of the literary possibilities for future amusements: Bronteland, where you can run across the misty moors looking for Heathcliff or Rochester, or Dorothy PARKer, for the utmost fun in insults?
4.19.2007
Thoughts for Thursday
Okay, this doesn't have to do with anything literary, but I just had to get this off my chest:
Americans and the American media are rightly in mourning over 33 deaths in Virginia, yet 127+ deaths and woundings in Iraq (the day after the VT incident) are barely noticed. The President said of the Virginia Tech shooting: "It's impossible to make sense of such violence and suffering. Those whose lives were taken did nothing to deserve their fate. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they're gone -- and they leave behind grieving families, and grieving classmates, and a grieving nation." Couldn't the same be said of innocent Iraqi citizens? Where is the compassion for them?
I don't understand how we can express outrage over the killings of Americans, yet keep an administration in office that wrongly attacked another country and insists on perpetuating a pointless war. I don't understand how we can express shock over a shooting rampage when our culture -- from the president to the NRA to the defense and entertainment industries -- glorifies violence. I don't understand how we can put a premium on our own lives and so little on the lives of others.
It makes me ashamed.
Sort of related News
Great tribute to the late Kurt Vonnegut in the New York Observer: "The idea of Vonnegut Day is simple: Wearing Kurt Vonnegut mustaches and wigs, we will try, for one day, to live by the principles he espoused in his beautiful books: honesty, outrage, righteous grumpiness, kindness, and the incantation, in plain speech, of certain truths normally considered too naïve to even speak aloud, much less to live by."
Americans and the American media are rightly in mourning over 33 deaths in Virginia, yet 127+ deaths and woundings in Iraq (the day after the VT incident) are barely noticed. The President said of the Virginia Tech shooting: "It's impossible to make sense of such violence and suffering. Those whose lives were taken did nothing to deserve their fate. They were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Now they're gone -- and they leave behind grieving families, and grieving classmates, and a grieving nation." Couldn't the same be said of innocent Iraqi citizens? Where is the compassion for them?
I don't understand how we can express outrage over the killings of Americans, yet keep an administration in office that wrongly attacked another country and insists on perpetuating a pointless war. I don't understand how we can express shock over a shooting rampage when our culture -- from the president to the NRA to the defense and entertainment industries -- glorifies violence. I don't understand how we can put a premium on our own lives and so little on the lives of others.
It makes me ashamed.
Sort of related News
Great tribute to the late Kurt Vonnegut in the New York Observer: "The idea of Vonnegut Day is simple: Wearing Kurt Vonnegut mustaches and wigs, we will try, for one day, to live by the principles he espoused in his beautiful books: honesty, outrage, righteous grumpiness, kindness, and the incantation, in plain speech, of certain truths normally considered too naïve to even speak aloud, much less to live by."
4.18.2007
4.16.2007
The Portrait of a Lady, Henry James
Of course, finishing this book now, as opposed to my undergrad days when I should have read this, is rather embarrassing, but all I can say is: Wow! This novel ranks as one of my all-time favorites!
About one-third of the way into the novel, I was sucked into it and literally could not put it down. I imagine I will reread and the subsequent readings will only deepen and broaden my understanding of the novel.
I have much to say and research about Portrait, but one completely uninformed observation I wanted to comment on is the character development of Isabel Archer.
In the beginning third of the novel or so, the reader learns about Isabel through comments by the omnisicent narrator or through the other characters (usually dialogue. James, I noticed, likes to reveal characters by having other characters talk about them. A neat trick.). I was a little put off by this, because I was being told about Isabel rather than seeing her in action.
As I read on, I realized that James was allowing me to develop my own ideas about Isabel through these revelations. When it came time for Isabel to act on her own, the impact was powerful: All of the insights I took on as a reader came to fore and added depth and poignancy to the action.
At least, that was my impression.
I'd like to hear about this from others who have read this novel or James.
4.12.2007
Thoughts for Thursday
I had an insight about why I am buying and hoarding books like a squirrel with its acorns before a lean winter: I think I am searching for inspiration on my own novel.
On a very subliminal level, I know what I want to do. And, every once in a while, the fog clears, the clouds part, and I can see into that subliminal level (sort of looks like the bargain basement at Filene's), and my rational mind can pick out the gem of insight from amongst the clutter. And everything comes together, purposes seem clear, the tunnel-end opens into illumination.
But, in general, my unconscious works in its own mysterious, murky and fascinating way. Which means my greedy, ever-grasping, impetuous mind has to wait and let the intuitive part work in its own fashion, in its own good time. Which makes for a schizoid-feeling LK.
This waiting and percolating part really bugs the Conscious Me. There is always that niggling fear of "I'll never write again." But, as the years have taught me, there is nothing to do but be patient.
On a very subliminal level, I know what I want to do. And, every once in a while, the fog clears, the clouds part, and I can see into that subliminal level (sort of looks like the bargain basement at Filene's), and my rational mind can pick out the gem of insight from amongst the clutter. And everything comes together, purposes seem clear, the tunnel-end opens into illumination.
But, in general, my unconscious works in its own mysterious, murky and fascinating way. Which means my greedy, ever-grasping, impetuous mind has to wait and let the intuitive part work in its own fashion, in its own good time. Which makes for a schizoid-feeling LK.
This waiting and percolating part really bugs the Conscious Me. There is always that niggling fear of "I'll never write again." But, as the years have taught me, there is nothing to do but be patient.
RIP Kurt Vonnegut
This is very sad news: Novelist Kurt Vonnegut dies at 84
Certainly, he was one of the great lights of contemporary American literature.
Some quotes from Vonnegut:
I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.
If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you're a one-eyed man in a kingdom of the blind.
Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.
Life happens too fast for you ever to think about it. If you could just persuade people of this, but they insist on amassing information.
Certainly, he was one of the great lights of contemporary American literature.
Some quotes from Vonnegut:
I want to stay as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all kinds of things you can't see from the center.
If you can do a half-assed job of anything, you're a one-eyed man in a kingdom of the blind.
Laughter and tears are both responses to frustration and exhaustion. I myself prefer to laugh, since there is less cleaning up to do afterward.
Life happens too fast for you ever to think about it. If you could just persuade people of this, but they insist on amassing information.
4.10.2007
New Edith Wharton biography
Everyone get in line to order the latest bio on one of America's major female authoresses. Check out what John Updike has to say in The New Yorker:
Lee is at her best with Wharton’s books. Her close and ingenious explications reveal formal patterns of design and persuasive, sometimes subtle connections with Wharton’s experiences; as with most authors, her life was her ultimate subject, whether she was projecting her imprisoning marriage and thwarted romance into the rural misery of “Ethan Frome” or using her own broad experience of authorship in the wide-ranging satire of “Hudson River Bracketed.” Lee gives the later, critically shunned novels respectful readings, and is keen enough on the short stories to rouse guilt in a susceptible breast over their less than canonical status.
Other reviews: UK Guardian, London Times
Hermione Lee on Edith Wharton short stories
Edith Wharton In the News
Lee is at her best with Wharton’s books. Her close and ingenious explications reveal formal patterns of design and persuasive, sometimes subtle connections with Wharton’s experiences; as with most authors, her life was her ultimate subject, whether she was projecting her imprisoning marriage and thwarted romance into the rural misery of “Ethan Frome” or using her own broad experience of authorship in the wide-ranging satire of “Hudson River Bracketed.” Lee gives the later, critically shunned novels respectful readings, and is keen enough on the short stories to rouse guilt in a susceptible breast over their less than canonical status.
Other reviews: UK Guardian, London Times
Hermione Lee on Edith Wharton short stories
Edith Wharton In the News
4.09.2007
What I'm reading
As I am in the midst of reading several interesting books (and far away from finishing them), thought I'd share what is in the NBR (now-being-read) pile.
Portrait of a Lady. I'm about a third of the way through. The story and characterizations are fully engrossing. Based on this and Turn of the Screw, I note that one device James employs is the repetition of words or phrases. I don't know if that is conscious or not, but I suspect on some level it is. For example, in this book, I am underlining the words "lady" or "young lady," and they appear every other chapter at least. In Turn of the Screw, the catch-phrase was "innocent." I believe James is examining (or, at least, presenting) the various meanings such words or phrases can hold, and then letting the layers build. Another observation: James is not the most mellifluous of prose writers, is he? His sentences often are murky, convoluted and awkward. Despite this, his characters deepen and his plots thicken.
Ghost Hunters. Oh, yes, something light! And still in the Victorian age -- and related to the James family! This is about the movement, led by Henry James's brother William, to study psychic phenomena at a time when religion and science were polarized into two camps. These folk were trying to bridge the gap and at least open the dialogue between what is known and what is taken on faith.
Making of Victorian Values. Not too deep yet into this book, but it all relates quite nicely with Portrait and Ghost Hunters. Something happened during the Victorian Age that I believe is parallel to a sea-change that is happening now: A questioning in how we look at morality and ethics, and how religion and science fit into that.
Autobiography of Margaret Oliphant. A slim book, and a bit difficult to find. I'm about two-thirds of the way through. It is an odd little book, because Oliphant took her whole life to write it. She wrote a bit, then put the book away for many years, then picked it up again, put it away for years, etc. But it's very touching. In the first part of the book, she deals with absolutely devastating personal events (namely, the death of her only daughter and namesake and of her son. All except one of her six children, I believe, predeceased her.) honestly and nakedly; reading the account is as painful as looking at a raw wound. In the last third of the book, she writes in an objectified, distant way -- "then this happened," "then that happened." Both styles are legitimate and effective; it's just sort of unusual to have them jammed together in the same book. (The explanation is that the book was published posthumously; the author obviously didn't shape the narrative.)
I did manage to finish one novel: And Then We Came to an End. This is a smart and funny examination of the corporate culture in America. I really enjoyed how the author used the corporate "we" as a narrator for most of the book. Highly recommended!
Portrait of a Lady. I'm about a third of the way through. The story and characterizations are fully engrossing. Based on this and Turn of the Screw, I note that one device James employs is the repetition of words or phrases. I don't know if that is conscious or not, but I suspect on some level it is. For example, in this book, I am underlining the words "lady" or "young lady," and they appear every other chapter at least. In Turn of the Screw, the catch-phrase was "innocent." I believe James is examining (or, at least, presenting) the various meanings such words or phrases can hold, and then letting the layers build. Another observation: James is not the most mellifluous of prose writers, is he? His sentences often are murky, convoluted and awkward. Despite this, his characters deepen and his plots thicken.
Ghost Hunters. Oh, yes, something light! And still in the Victorian age -- and related to the James family! This is about the movement, led by Henry James's brother William, to study psychic phenomena at a time when religion and science were polarized into two camps. These folk were trying to bridge the gap and at least open the dialogue between what is known and what is taken on faith.
Making of Victorian Values. Not too deep yet into this book, but it all relates quite nicely with Portrait and Ghost Hunters. Something happened during the Victorian Age that I believe is parallel to a sea-change that is happening now: A questioning in how we look at morality and ethics, and how religion and science fit into that.
Autobiography of Margaret Oliphant. A slim book, and a bit difficult to find. I'm about two-thirds of the way through. It is an odd little book, because Oliphant took her whole life to write it. She wrote a bit, then put the book away for many years, then picked it up again, put it away for years, etc. But it's very touching. In the first part of the book, she deals with absolutely devastating personal events (namely, the death of her only daughter and namesake and of her son. All except one of her six children, I believe, predeceased her.) honestly and nakedly; reading the account is as painful as looking at a raw wound. In the last third of the book, she writes in an objectified, distant way -- "then this happened," "then that happened." Both styles are legitimate and effective; it's just sort of unusual to have them jammed together in the same book. (The explanation is that the book was published posthumously; the author obviously didn't shape the narrative.)
I did manage to finish one novel: And Then We Came to an End. This is a smart and funny examination of the corporate culture in America. I really enjoyed how the author used the corporate "we" as a narrator for most of the book. Highly recommended!
4.06.2007
Friday Buzz - Becoming Jane
I hate the thought of Anne Hathaway starring as Jane Austen in a movie about Jane Austen. Hathaway was too insipid even for the intrinsic insipidness of The Devil Wears Prada. I can't even imagine that she'll do justice to the Empire-waist fashion, much less the great authoress herself.
And now I suppose we'll see Hathaway's doe eyes and pouty lips on all future editions of Jane Austen novels. Publishers apparently are already touching up images of Austen, tarting poor old Jane up like the media whore they want her to be.
Verlyn Klinkenborg (with a name like that, she had to be a writer! Go, Veryln!) poses the sensible question in a New York Times op-ed piece: Why should we care what Jane Austen looked like? As Verlyn says, "No amount of biography — no grasp of the details of the life as it was lived — ever accounts for the transfiguration that takes place in the work itself. You can search all you want in the life, but you will never find the ghostly separateness, the act of imagination, in which the work emerges." Maybe it's a good thing few letters and no diaries of Austen's survive; her work truly must stand on its own, independent of a possible dumpy physique or bad temper or unfortunate habit like nail-biting.
I liked what Verlyn had to say about reading, too:
One of the great pleasures of a reading life is picking up an old, familiar novel thinking that rereading it will mean a kind of reminding, when, in fact, the novel makes itself new all over again. It is as if the novel holds itself apart, waiting for real life to erase enough in us to make us suitable readers once more.
I think that's exactly why I have a hard time letting go of my books.
And now I suppose we'll see Hathaway's doe eyes and pouty lips on all future editions of Jane Austen novels. Publishers apparently are already touching up images of Austen, tarting poor old Jane up like the media whore they want her to be.
Verlyn Klinkenborg (with a name like that, she had to be a writer! Go, Veryln!) poses the sensible question in a New York Times op-ed piece: Why should we care what Jane Austen looked like? As Verlyn says, "No amount of biography — no grasp of the details of the life as it was lived — ever accounts for the transfiguration that takes place in the work itself. You can search all you want in the life, but you will never find the ghostly separateness, the act of imagination, in which the work emerges." Maybe it's a good thing few letters and no diaries of Austen's survive; her work truly must stand on its own, independent of a possible dumpy physique or bad temper or unfortunate habit like nail-biting.
I liked what Verlyn had to say about reading, too:
One of the great pleasures of a reading life is picking up an old, familiar novel thinking that rereading it will mean a kind of reminding, when, in fact, the novel makes itself new all over again. It is as if the novel holds itself apart, waiting for real life to erase enough in us to make us suitable readers once more.
I think that's exactly why I have a hard time letting go of my books.
4.05.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Kerouac haunts
Here are some places in North Beach, San Francisco, where Jack and the Beats hung out (and where I hung out on my anti-birthday)...
The new Beat Museum, across the street from Vesuvio's and City Lights. (Cool stuff: A check to a liquor store signed by Jack Kerouac and the original shirt worn by Neal Cassady when he drove Ken Kesey's bus Furthur.)
City Lights Bookstore on Columbus (and Jack Kerouac Alley)
Inside Vesuvio's, where the Beats got drunk.
The new Beat Museum, across the street from Vesuvio's and City Lights. (Cool stuff: A check to a liquor store signed by Jack Kerouac and the original shirt worn by Neal Cassady when he drove Ken Kesey's bus Furthur.)4.04.2007
April - Read a Classic Month
Hi, everybody, I'm baaaack. Anti-birthday birthday was great: Good food, good company, good hiking and just enough drinks to keep me merry.Many, many thanks for your good wishes!
Now, we're into April (already???!!!) Time for me to report on my essay reading for March and prepare for a month of classics.
I finished only the Woolf essay book in its entirety, but managed to read essays by a range of authors, including Berlin, Emerson (Self-Reliance) and Didion. I wish I could expound on Emerson as eloquently as Dorothy W. or Stefanie, but, alas, I simply feel to harried to think that deeply. (Even as I type this, I must hurry off to my third meeting of the day.)
Heading into the classics month, I narrowed my choices to two:
1. In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower by Marcel Proust
2. Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
Holy cow, that's a lot of reading! I am looking forward to them both.
In other reading notes: Just started The Making of Victorian Values by Ben Wilson. I am going to try to fit this in with my classics reading for the month. Cross your fingers that my eyes hold out!
3.29.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Ti(red)
Tomorrow is my birthday -- well, anti-birthday. I refuse to have a birthday this year. Theoretically.
As birthdays do, this one got me to reflecting upon the year past. It seems to me that the American culture in general has gone into hyperspeed. I don't think I'm the only person who feels that way, either.
How it affects me is that I do not have time (or energy) to reflect and think, and that in turn affects my quality of life. (I can even see a degradation in my blog posts over the past dozen months, from lengthy and rather complex to quick and dirty.) What to do to change the dynamic...? Answer is not clear yet.
First things first: I'm taking a few days off. I'll be doing some fun things to celebrate my anti-birthday (yes, you can still celebrate, even if it's an anti-birthday) and generally slacking.
So, see you soon. Until my next post, here is a link you might enjoy perusing.
As birthdays do, this one got me to reflecting upon the year past. It seems to me that the American culture in general has gone into hyperspeed. I don't think I'm the only person who feels that way, either.
How it affects me is that I do not have time (or energy) to reflect and think, and that in turn affects my quality of life. (I can even see a degradation in my blog posts over the past dozen months, from lengthy and rather complex to quick and dirty.) What to do to change the dynamic...? Answer is not clear yet.
First things first: I'm taking a few days off. I'll be doing some fun things to celebrate my anti-birthday (yes, you can still celebrate, even if it's an anti-birthday) and generally slacking.
So, see you soon. Until my next post, here is a link you might enjoy perusing.
3.28.2007
I am not a big fantasy/sci-fi buff, never have been. I figure this world has enough interesting people and plots to deal with; why add distant planets or goofy names to the mix? But, I'm trying.I think I'll check out the Best American Fantasy 2006 for starters. (Here's a sneak peak, via Edward Champion.)
Then there's Carl V.'s Once Upon a Time Challenge (god, I love Carl's challenges!). He has listed some damned fine choices (I also think Kailana chooses some good examples of the genre.) While I cannot devote so much time to the entire challenge, I thought I'd try one or two. (I hope Kate Mosse's Labyrinth counts, since I already have that one.) I'll sleuth around and see if something, anything strikes my fancy.
It's perfectly okay to have strong reading preferences, and I certainly don't want to waste my time on crap when there are so many classics I need to read but...doesn't hurt to keep an open mind. Who knows? I might develop a taste for intergalactic romance or Hobbity type creatures. Anything's possible.
3.26.2007
10 (+2) Books I Couldn't Live Without
I should subtitle this: "10 books that make me want to write." Because I cannot separate "books I cannot live without" from books that influence me as a writer: The two activities, for me, are irrevocably intertwined.
These are books that use language, plot and/or character in delightful and astonishing ways, that engross me even upon multiple readings, that make me gloriously happy and terribly humbled over the human capacity for language. The +2 are books that I loved as a young reader. In some way, these books touched my core and spoke some truth. I hope, too, that I have many books left to add to my list.
This is for Kailana, who asked the provocative question in the first place. (No particular order).
1. Jane Eyre
2. Pride and Prejudice
3. Swann’s Way
4. Shakespearean Sonnets (or, to really cheat, Collected Works of Shakespeare)
5. On the Road
6. Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath
7. Bleak House
8. To the Lighthouse
9. Anna Karenina
10. Crime & Punishment
+2:
Little Women
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
These are books that use language, plot and/or character in delightful and astonishing ways, that engross me even upon multiple readings, that make me gloriously happy and terribly humbled over the human capacity for language. The +2 are books that I loved as a young reader. In some way, these books touched my core and spoke some truth. I hope, too, that I have many books left to add to my list.
This is for Kailana, who asked the provocative question in the first place. (No particular order).
1. Jane Eyre
2. Pride and Prejudice
3. Swann’s Way
4. Shakespearean Sonnets (or, to really cheat, Collected Works of Shakespeare)
5. On the Road
6. Collected Poems by Sylvia Plath
7. Bleak House
8. To the Lighthouse
9. Anna Karenina
10. Crime & Punishment
+2:
Little Women
A Tree Grows in Brooklyn
3.23.2007
Friday Buzz - Didion on Broadway
This is either going to be really, really bad or really, really good. Plus: Vanessa Redgrave. Minus: The theatre may have to close the balcony so people don't jump off of it.
Now, if YoMT is ever made into a TV movie starring Mary Tyler Moore -- then it will be official that Didion has sold out.
3.22.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Book covers
As if you really could tell a book by its cover, publishers spend a lot of thought on cover design. There is even a web site dedicated to the subject! And, of course, when a publisher can nab a movie tie-in to the cover -- In Cold Blood and Pride & Prejudice come to mind -- the sales can be phenomenal. (My God, if you can add Johnny Depp to the mix, you might just trump Donald Trump in annual earnings.)
But does a cover really sell a book?
I would like to think I am above all the crass commercialism and shameless huckstering. Buying a book strictly because of a pretty cover is like buying a McRib Sandwich because of the blinking menu sign at the drive-through. Or shopping at Wal-Mart.
Logically, I tell myself as I enter a bookstore and inhale a whiff of fresh ink and crisp paper, I seek books of compelling content, written by elite authors. As I peruse the shelves, a quirky and interesting title might inspire me to read the dustjacket and critical blurbs. Otherwise, I'm discerning. I'm in charge. I'm an informed consumer.
That's what I tell myself.
I had one experience, however, in which a cover impelled me to buy the book. It was Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated. As I moved through the portal of a reputable independent bookseller, a book with an acid-green cover and pink lettering caught my eye. In fact, a literal phalanx of these books barricaded one entire wall of the reputable independent bookstore in a dazzling burst of neon: blues and oranges and yellows. The same book, different color combinations. Could this bold marketing strategy be heralding the launch of a new literary voice? Perhaps the publisher was communicating to me: This is something "New" and EXCITING and innovative, the Next Generation's shouted mantra, an Enlightened Messenger arriving in a hallucinogenic spectrum of spilled ink. This was the prose you've been searching for since A Confederacy of Dunces. The cover told the story!
I behaved exactly like a sucker. I got into line, barely glancing at the contents, and handed over my hard-earned dollars. When I got home, I immediately opened it up and began reading.
Jesus. Another bull$hit self-conscious meta-fiction piece of crap.
Now my face was neon pink with bile-green tinges.
Would I be hustled again? Oh, yes. By titles (The Devil Wears Prada) and blurbs (The Ruins of California) and most definitely by that biggest Sucker Magnet of all, The Pre-eminent Award List. But, by George (Eliot), not by a pretty face.
Which leads me to my pointless reader poll: Do you judge a book by its cover? Have you ever bought a book for inglorious reasons? Did you ever get hooked just by a title or blurb? Tell your story and win...well, nothing. But you will feel that guilt lift from the depths of your literary soul, I promise.
But does a cover really sell a book?
I would like to think I am above all the crass commercialism and shameless huckstering. Buying a book strictly because of a pretty cover is like buying a McRib Sandwich because of the blinking menu sign at the drive-through. Or shopping at Wal-Mart.
Logically, I tell myself as I enter a bookstore and inhale a whiff of fresh ink and crisp paper, I seek books of compelling content, written by elite authors. As I peruse the shelves, a quirky and interesting title might inspire me to read the dustjacket and critical blurbs. Otherwise, I'm discerning. I'm in charge. I'm an informed consumer.
That's what I tell myself.
I had one experience, however, in which a cover impelled me to buy the book. It was Jonathan Safran Foer's Everything is Illuminated. As I moved through the portal of a reputable independent bookseller, a book with an acid-green cover and pink lettering caught my eye. In fact, a literal phalanx of these books barricaded one entire wall of the reputable independent bookstore in a dazzling burst of neon: blues and oranges and yellows. The same book, different color combinations. Could this bold marketing strategy be heralding the launch of a new literary voice? Perhaps the publisher was communicating to me: This is something "New" and EXCITING and innovative, the Next Generation's shouted mantra, an Enlightened Messenger arriving in a hallucinogenic spectrum of spilled ink. This was the prose you've been searching for since A Confederacy of Dunces. The cover told the story!
I behaved exactly like a sucker. I got into line, barely glancing at the contents, and handed over my hard-earned dollars. When I got home, I immediately opened it up and began reading.
Jesus. Another bull$hit self-conscious meta-fiction piece of crap.
Now my face was neon pink with bile-green tinges.
Would I be hustled again? Oh, yes. By titles (The Devil Wears Prada) and blurbs (The Ruins of California) and most definitely by that biggest Sucker Magnet of all, The Pre-eminent Award List. But, by George (Eliot), not by a pretty face.
Which leads me to my pointless reader poll: Do you judge a book by its cover? Have you ever bought a book for inglorious reasons? Did you ever get hooked just by a title or blurb? Tell your story and win...well, nothing. But you will feel that guilt lift from the depths of your literary soul, I promise.
3.20.2007
Michael Chabon has a new book coming out (May). Yay.
Other cool books on the way:
Selected Letters of Philip K. Dick (June)
Flight: A Novel, Sherman Alexie (this month)
The Sea Lady, Margaret Drabble (May)
Alentejo Blue, Monica Ali (June)
The Gravedigger's Daughter, Joyce Carol Oates (May)
Up in Honey's Room, Elmore Leonard (May)
Stalin's Ghost, Martin Cruz Smith (April)
The Ministry of Special Cases, Nathan Englander (April)
Falling Man, Don DeLillo (June)
3.19.2007
Investigating Nancy Drew
Maybe it's just because I have the TBR Girl Sleuth: Nancy Drew and the Woman Who Created Her, but take a look at what are purported to be Nancy Drew dolls from Madame Alexander (circa 1967):
Tell me: Don't they look more like a funked-up version of a Ladybird Johnson collection than our Titian-haired detective? These gals look like they couldn't find their way to a nail salon, much less solve the secret of the old clock.
Now, this is more like it:
Geez, if I only knew this existed, I would have asked Santa for one of these instead of dumb old Parcheesi.
3.15.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Favorite film adaptations
It's Thursday, I've the bilious type of hangover, and surely this fluorescent overhead light is bad for my reproductive system. So, it's time for a list. Nothing like a list to restore order to chaos.
Today's list: Favorite film adaptations of books. Pretty easy. I'll do my Top 5. What makes all of these films work for me is that they don't detract from my enjoyment of the novels. I can watch the movies and enjoy the film genre, and I can go back to the book without the film version interfering. Pretty nifty. Now, I "tag" you to do your own list.
1. Jane Eyre (1944). Tagline: A Love Story Every Woman Would Die a Thousand Deaths to Live! Most memorable scene: When the young Jane wakes up to find Helen Burns dead.
Come on: Orson Welles, Joan Fontaine, Elizabeth Taylor, Margaret O'Brien, Agnes Moorehead. You can't beat the casting. And the cinematography evokes a grim stark Bronte-ness. Add a Bernard Hermann score--magic.
2. Gone with the Wind (1939). Tagline: The most magnificent picture ever! Most memorable scene: Scarlett entering the hospital ward in Atlanta, as the camera pans to show the hundreds of wounded men.
This is a no-brainer. Okay, after nearly 70 years, the film is starting to become dated, and, yes, with all of our newfound racial sensitivity, the treatment of blacks in this film makes one cringe. And, as for Clark Gable...frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. But Scarlett is still a compelling, flawed heroine, and Vivien Leigh does the mythic role justice.
(By the way, you notice I did not include another great film from 1939, Wizard of Oz. That's because I never read the book!)
3. A Christmas Carol (1938). Tagline: Greater than "David Copperfield" ! Most memorable scene: The skeletal finger of The Ghost of Christmas Past pointing to Scrooge's tombstone as Scrooge cringes on his knees.
You know, Dickens would have made a great screenwriter. There are myriad versions of this novella -- which just begs to be filmed -- but this one is my favorite. You can't beat its evocation of Victorian London. Sure, I would rather have seen Lionel Barrymore as Scrooge (he was originally cast, then I believe broke a foot). But Reginald Own fills the bill nicely. Look for a young June Lockhart among Bob Cratchett's brood.
4. Persuasion (1995). No tagline. Most memorable scene: The girl falling and clonking her head on the waterfront.
I actually saw the film before I read the novel -- which I normally avoid. But, the film did not detract from my discovery of the novel, yet it was also a very credible interpretation. No frills, no mainstream actors. Just a good, sensible, brooding rendering. Sort of like the book in the Austen canon.
5. A Room with a View (1986). No tagline. Most memorable scene: Lucy fainting in George Emerson's arms.
It's tough to live up to the book, but this film version does. Helena Bonham Carter perfectly captures Lucy Honeychurch's blend of snobbish affectedness and rebellious honesty, and Maggie Smith as Charlotte Bartlett is priceless. Daniel Day-Lewis (what the hell ever happened to him?) steals the show as Cecil. And the soundtrack is to die for. One of those movie experiences that leaves me sighing and reaching for a Baedeker.
...............
And, just to jerk your train of thought around like a carnival ride, I like this, from James Hynes. (Weird, 'cos just yesterday I ordered his book on a whim from Amazon.com.:::Play Twilight Zone theme here.)
I had an epiphany one soporific mid-morning when I stood up in my cubicle to stretch myself awake. Turning slowly in place, I scanned a complete 360 of the cube horizon. The scene was slightly underlit, and while I could hear all sorts of human activity—talking, phones ringing, keyboards clattering—I couldn’t see another living person. I felt as if I was working in a room full of ghosts. The alienation of cube life was suddenly revealed to me as something gothic, a variation on the creeping dread of a Poe character. I could be walled up alive inside my cubicle and no one would even notice—the Cube of Amontillado. Immediately I dropped to my seat and jotted down a paragraph that appears almost without revision in my new book, Kings of Infinite Space.
Today's list: Favorite film adaptations of books. Pretty easy. I'll do my Top 5. What makes all of these films work for me is that they don't detract from my enjoyment of the novels. I can watch the movies and enjoy the film genre, and I can go back to the book without the film version interfering. Pretty nifty. Now, I "tag" you to do your own list.
1. Jane Eyre (1944). Tagline: A Love Story Every Woman Would Die a Thousand Deaths to Live! Most memorable scene: When the young Jane wakes up to find Helen Burns dead.
Come on: Orson Welles, Joan Fontaine, Elizabeth Taylor, Margaret O'Brien, Agnes Moorehead. You can't beat the casting. And the cinematography evokes a grim stark Bronte-ness. Add a Bernard Hermann score--magic.
2. Gone with the Wind (1939). Tagline: The most magnificent picture ever! Most memorable scene: Scarlett entering the hospital ward in Atlanta, as the camera pans to show the hundreds of wounded men.
This is a no-brainer. Okay, after nearly 70 years, the film is starting to become dated, and, yes, with all of our newfound racial sensitivity, the treatment of blacks in this film makes one cringe. And, as for Clark Gable...frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn. But Scarlett is still a compelling, flawed heroine, and Vivien Leigh does the mythic role justice.
(By the way, you notice I did not include another great film from 1939, Wizard of Oz. That's because I never read the book!)
3. A Christmas Carol (1938). Tagline: Greater than "David Copperfield" ! Most memorable scene: The skeletal finger of The Ghost of Christmas Past pointing to Scrooge's tombstone as Scrooge cringes on his knees.
You know, Dickens would have made a great screenwriter. There are myriad versions of this novella -- which just begs to be filmed -- but this one is my favorite. You can't beat its evocation of Victorian London. Sure, I would rather have seen Lionel Barrymore as Scrooge (he was originally cast, then I believe broke a foot). But Reginald Own fills the bill nicely. Look for a young June Lockhart among Bob Cratchett's brood.
4. Persuasion (1995). No tagline. Most memorable scene: The girl falling and clonking her head on the waterfront.
I actually saw the film before I read the novel -- which I normally avoid. But, the film did not detract from my discovery of the novel, yet it was also a very credible interpretation. No frills, no mainstream actors. Just a good, sensible, brooding rendering. Sort of like the book in the Austen canon.
5. A Room with a View (1986). No tagline. Most memorable scene: Lucy fainting in George Emerson's arms.
It's tough to live up to the book, but this film version does. Helena Bonham Carter perfectly captures Lucy Honeychurch's blend of snobbish affectedness and rebellious honesty, and Maggie Smith as Charlotte Bartlett is priceless. Daniel Day-Lewis (what the hell ever happened to him?) steals the show as Cecil. And the soundtrack is to die for. One of those movie experiences that leaves me sighing and reaching for a Baedeker.
...............
And, just to jerk your train of thought around like a carnival ride, I like this, from James Hynes. (Weird, 'cos just yesterday I ordered his book on a whim from Amazon.com.:::Play Twilight Zone theme here.)
I had an epiphany one soporific mid-morning when I stood up in my cubicle to stretch myself awake. Turning slowly in place, I scanned a complete 360 of the cube horizon. The scene was slightly underlit, and while I could hear all sorts of human activity—talking, phones ringing, keyboards clattering—I couldn’t see another living person. I felt as if I was working in a room full of ghosts. The alienation of cube life was suddenly revealed to me as something gothic, a variation on the creeping dread of a Poe character. I could be walled up alive inside my cubicle and no one would even notice—the Cube of Amontillado. Immediately I dropped to my seat and jotted down a paragraph that appears almost without revision in my new book, Kings of Infinite Space.
3.14.2007
I hate everything I write
I hate everything I write.
I hate everything I wrote
that I'm currently rereading.
That's a sign of one of two things:
Either I am going to make a breakthrough, a leap forward in development, progress.
................Or...............
I am going to quit.
The moment every writer half-dreads,
half-anticipates and half-prays will happen
at some point.
Obviously, I've always gone down Route 1.
Is it time now for the road-less-travelled?
The only thing now to do is wait. To find out.
I hate everything I wrote
that I'm currently rereading.
That's a sign of one of two things:
Either I am going to make a breakthrough, a leap forward in development, progress.
................Or...............
I am going to quit.
The moment every writer half-dreads,
half-anticipates and half-prays will happen
at some point.
Obviously, I've always gone down Route 1.
Is it time now for the road-less-travelled?
The only thing now to do is wait. To find out.
3.13.2007
Thinking blogger -- who, me?
How cool is this? I was nominated for a "Thinking Blogger Award" by Stefanie and Courtney! (Thanks, guys!) My head is swelling so to such outlandish proportions, I had to stretch out my thinking cap (which is, by the way, a shocking shade of pink, encrusted with rhinestones.)
Now I'm supposed to nominate 5 other bloggers for the honor. But, I simply cannot choose! (This might be a good time to share that, although I may be The Literate Kitten, I have much more in common with The Cowardly Lion.) I will say that I regularly read all of those bloggers on my Blogroll -- a group I tend to keep selective to make sure I can enjoy all of the collective wit and wisdom. I nominate all of them.
And, here's some news you all might enjoy: Annie Dillard has a new novel coming out in a few months, called The Maytrees. Here's the description from HarperCollins:
Set in the wild sand dunes of post-war Provincetown, Massachusetts, The Maytrees is the story of Toby Maytree, a free-thinking poet, and Lou, a quiet summer resident who reminds people of Ingrid Bergman. After his service in the war, Toby Maytree returns to Provincetown where a community of artists and writers has settled at land's end. It's the town he grew up in, and where he and Lou have now started a family. They share a simple life and a circle of close friends, and when their son Peter is born, it is their friend Deary who helps to care for him. But years later it is Deary who suddenly comes between them, creating a fault line in their marriage and forever changing the course of their lives.
3.12.2007
Happy Birthday, Jack Kerouac
"The American Haiku is not exactly the Japanese Haiku. The Japanese Haiku is strictly disciplined to seventeen syllables but since the language structure is different. I don't think AmericanHaikus (short three-line poems intended to becompletely packed with Void of Whole) should worry about syllables because American speech is something again...bursting to pop. Above all, a Haiku must be very simple and free of all poetic trickery and make a little picture and yet be as airy and graceful as a Vivaldi Pastorella."
Jack Kerouac
(partial Haiku, Jack Kerouac)
Early morning yellow flowers,
thinking about
the drunkards of Mexico.
No telegram today
only more leaves fell.
Nightfall,boy smashing dandelions
with a stick.
Holding up my
purring cat to the moon
I sighed.
3.09.2007
Friday Buzz - History + Fiction
I was visiting my local indie bookstore the other day, and standing before the rack of recently released paperback fiction, I noticed an inordinate number of titles related to historical personages. Here is a sampling of such--mind you, a sampling:
Dreamlife of Sukhanov
Memoirs of Helen of Troy
Anxious Pleasures (A Life After Kafka)
The Mercuy Visions of Louis Daguerre
I, Mona Lisa
Rasputin's Daughter
Secret Memoirs of Jackie Kennedy Onassis
Great Lady: The Notorious Gorgeous Life of Emma Lady Hamilton
Okay, I can accept some of this as a wave in the cyclic nature of publishing trends; after successes like The Other Boleyn Girl or The Dante Club, naturally publishers chase after more of the same and glut the market.
Dreamlife of Sukhanov
Memoirs of Helen of Troy
Anxious Pleasures (A Life After Kafka)
The Mercuy Visions of Louis Daguerre
I, Mona Lisa
Rasputin's Daughter
Secret Memoirs of Jackie Kennedy Onassis
Great Lady: The Notorious Gorgeous Life of Emma Lady Hamilton
Okay, I can accept some of this as a wave in the cyclic nature of publishing trends; after successes like The Other Boleyn Girl or The Dante Club, naturally publishers chase after more of the same and glut the market.
But why is the reading public hungering for fictional accounts of people who really lived? (Honestly, I don't get it. To me, the facts are infinitely more interesting. How could any author improve on the story of Marie Antoinette, for example? Wouldn't you rather know about the real Jackie O. versus some stranger's made-up account of her? And why would readers buy into a contemporary writer's interpretation of the memoirs of a famous historical personage?)
This is saying something about our society and culture, though I'm not quite sure what. I simply don't have enough pieces of the puzzle. To me, there is some sort of intersecting between the fictionalized personage trend and the recent spat of "dramatized" memoirs. Real life crossing over with fiction, that sort of thing. For some reason, we are not prone to distinguishing between "fact" and "fiction," "truth" and "theory": We are willing, maybe even eager, to blur the lines. Why?
On another tangent, could the fictionalizing of historical person's memoirs be a reaction to our own (recent) lack of tangible, permanent records of our days and thoughts and history? Think about it: We soon will have no more letters or lengthy correspondence and few written diaries to document the processes, personal musings, daily accounts of our great thinkers. No more Samuel Pepys or Viriginia Woolf diaries. No more letters between Jean Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir. (Yeah, I can just imagine how helpful Blackberry messages will be: RUwriting? :) )
Just some random, rambling thoughts. Something about this nags at me, though: Somehow, it's telling us something we must pay attention to. That's the feeling I get.
I'd like to hear some of your thoughts on the subject.
3.08.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Thinks & Links
"I usually steal a line from Yeats and it goes, 'Read what gives you pleasure, write what you must.' I think that’s pretty good advice. Read, read, read, and then explore your obsessions because I think that’s where the energy comes from. Especially when you want to do a novel because to sustain yourself through a longish project you really have to be, not just committed, but you have to be really interested in it. There’s nothing worse than starting something and then getting bored with it when you’re halfway through. "
- Vikram Chandra advises fledgling writers, in a long, unpretentious interview with Tony DuShane at Bookslut.
(Beryl Bainbridge, meanwhile, reprises the old 'write what you know' principle: "I don't think you should ever try to make things up. We all lead such strange lives that there is no need to. Use your own experiences and then twist it a bit.") (all of the above via Prufrock's Page)
**********
"Writing is rewriting. A writer must learn to deepen characters, trim writing, intensify scenes. To fall in love with the first draft to the point where one cannot change it is to greatly enhance the prospects of never publishing." Richard North Patterson (via Sarah's Writing Journal)
**********
International Women's Day Pioneering Women Writers Quiz (Cool, but not that easy.)
Salon's take on Oprah and The Secret (Shh, here's The Secret: Keep envisioning Oprah's show cancelled!)
Big thoughts: Evolution and religion (Could GW's God who told him to go to war be merely an evolutional byproduct?)
- Vikram Chandra advises fledgling writers, in a long, unpretentious interview with Tony DuShane at Bookslut.
(Beryl Bainbridge, meanwhile, reprises the old 'write what you know' principle: "I don't think you should ever try to make things up. We all lead such strange lives that there is no need to. Use your own experiences and then twist it a bit.") (all of the above via Prufrock's Page)
**********
"Writing is rewriting. A writer must learn to deepen characters, trim writing, intensify scenes. To fall in love with the first draft to the point where one cannot change it is to greatly enhance the prospects of never publishing." Richard North Patterson (via Sarah's Writing Journal)
**********
International Women's Day Pioneering Women Writers Quiz (Cool, but not that easy.)
Salon's take on Oprah and The Secret (Shh, here's The Secret: Keep envisioning Oprah's show cancelled!)
Big thoughts: Evolution and religion (Could GW's God who told him to go to war be merely an evolutional byproduct?)
3.07.2007
Bookaholic Step 4: Making an inventory
As an admitted Bookaholic, I decided to take a little inventory and post a few titles that are currently awaiting my attention on my TBR shelves. Maybe surveying the gluttony, like standing nude before a full-length mirror after a two-month couch vacation, will shame me into submission. Maybe I'm hoping I'll be able to skip back to Step 2 and believe that the Greater Power of Eyestrain will restore me to sanity.
Or maybe it will merely whet my appetite for more...
I keep finding that one book leads to another which of course begs me to investigate yet another that naturally refers to several others...I'm like a damned hunting hound on the scent of a pack of foxes.
But, just in case you're secretly wondering "which does LK have that I don't?" or "I could use a book on how to make time for writing myself," here are some of the good, the bad and the ugly from my current TBR list:
The Autobiography of Margaret Oliphant / Hester by Margaret Oliphant. Naturally, you can't read a writer's autobiography without reading some of her work. What intrigues me about Margaret Oliphant is that she suffered much but still wrote, against all odds. Born in 1828, she truly was burdened in the manner of 19th century women: nursing sick relatives, bearing six children (and losing 3 in infancy), being widowed and supporting her family with her incredibly prolific writing. The novel Hester is about an older woman who risks her own personal fortune to lead her family's banking business to safety. Will I ever get to these two books?
Twenty-eight artists and two saints by Joan Acocella. Somewhere I ran across this title and thought it would be a great addition to my Essays Month. I don't know, there's something maddeningly cool about portraits of Bob Fosse, Dorothy Parker and Mary Magdalene residing in the pages of the same book.
The Other House and The Outcry by Henry James. What can I say? NYRB had a sale. Two books by James that I'd never heard of. One a comedy of manners, one depicting uncontrollable passions lying beneath the veneer of civilized life. Tell me, truly: what would you have done?
The Fiction Editor, the Novel, and the Novelist: A Book for Writers, Teachers, Publishers, and Anyone Else Devoted to Fiction by Thomas McCormack. This guy's the CEO of St. Martin's Press. I want to write, teach and publish. Not necessarily in that order. What else is a Kitten to do to avoid writing, teaching and publishing -- but buy a book about those endeavors? To further aid in my paralysis and guilt, I have A Writer's Time: Making Time to Write (a tip of the hat to Kate from Kate's Book Blog, who always posts tantalizing quotes from tantalizing tomes).
This is just a tip of the bookish iceberg, my friends. I pass along these titles to you in hopes that you might find a gem or two to pick up yourself in time...Now, off I go to enroll in an Evelyn Wood Speed Reading course.
3.06.2007
New TBR: American Bloomsbury by Susan Cheever
Oh, dearest God in heaven, another book for the TBR pile:
Susan Cheever's latest work, however, brings new life to the well-known literary personages who produced such cherished works as "The Scarlet Letter, Moby-Dick, Walden," and "Little Women." Rendering in full color the tumultuous, often scandalous lives of these volatile and vulnerable geniuses, Cheever's dynamic narrative reminds us that, while these literary heroes now seem secure of their spots in the canon, they were once considered avant-garde, bohemian types, at odds with the establishment.
I have no willpower, I must have it!
You know, I figured out why I've been so compulsive about book buying the past few months (and I mean a true bookaholic, like when you get into debt from book buying binges or get a hangover from too much reading over the weekends): I am avoiding writing.
Yes, just when you thought all forms of writer's block have been discovered and cataloged, yours truly comes up with another, potentially lethal (at least in the bank account) form.
In other news, if you live in the Bay Area, by all means see the Berkeley Repertory Theater's production of To the Lighthouse. It's a top-notch production and amazingly true to Woolf's novel.
Upon seeing it, I immediately rushed home to reread my copy. And I've started Julia Briggs' Virginia Woolf: An Inner Life (amazing) and found in a used bookstore a text called Virginia Woolf and the Real World.
I think I need to start a 12-step program just for bookaholics. Step one: Admit you are powerless over the power of the written word!
Susan Cheever's latest work, however, brings new life to the well-known literary personages who produced such cherished works as "The Scarlet Letter, Moby-Dick, Walden," and "Little Women." Rendering in full color the tumultuous, often scandalous lives of these volatile and vulnerable geniuses, Cheever's dynamic narrative reminds us that, while these literary heroes now seem secure of their spots in the canon, they were once considered avant-garde, bohemian types, at odds with the establishment.
I have no willpower, I must have it!
You know, I figured out why I've been so compulsive about book buying the past few months (and I mean a true bookaholic, like when you get into debt from book buying binges or get a hangover from too much reading over the weekends): I am avoiding writing.
Yes, just when you thought all forms of writer's block have been discovered and cataloged, yours truly comes up with another, potentially lethal (at least in the bank account) form.
In other news, if you live in the Bay Area, by all means see the Berkeley Repertory Theater's production of To the Lighthouse. It's a top-notch production and amazingly true to Woolf's novel.
Upon seeing it, I immediately rushed home to reread my copy. And I've started Julia Briggs' Virginia Woolf: An Inner Life (amazing) and found in a used bookstore a text called Virginia Woolf and the Real World.
I think I need to start a 12-step program just for bookaholics. Step one: Admit you are powerless over the power of the written word!
3.01.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - March Essays
Yeah, it's World Book Day, whatever the hell that is: I'm sure you'll find other bloggers celebrating away, shredding pages of old books into confetti and urging readers into bookstores with little tin horns.
Not here. (Oh, no, I'm not against the World or Books or even Days. I am just being cranky, pure and simple, about invented celebrations.)
Today is March 1, and that ushers in my Month of Essays. And do I have some beauties!
The London Scene: Six Essays by Virginia Woolf (doubles as a travel guide, too!)
First and the Last by Isaiah Berlin (includes his final essay, My Intellectual Path)
Why Do I Love These People: Understanding, Surviving and Creating Your Own Family by Po Bronson (as I rarely mention my family, you must get an inkling of why this book appeals)
Hundred White Daffodils by Jane Kenyon (I've been inspired by all of the Kenyon poetry bloggers posted in the past year, plus she discusses her battles with depression)
... among essays I intend to read by Ralph Waldo Emerson, Joan Didion and whoever else strikes my fancy.
AND I am expecting delivery this month of a new book of essays on Sylvia Plath.
Not sure I'll make it through the entire list, but that's what I like about essays: You can dip and delve into them, one by one, versus having to devour volumes whole, as novels require.
Not here. (Oh, no, I'm not against the World or Books or even Days. I am just being cranky, pure and simple, about invented celebrations.)
Today is March 1, and that ushers in my Month of Essays. And do I have some beauties!
The London Scene: Six Essays by Virginia Woolf (doubles as a travel guide, too!)
First and the Last by Isaiah Berlin (includes his final essay, My Intellectual Path)
Why Do I Love These People: Understanding, Surviving and Creating Your Own Family by Po Bronson (as I rarely mention my family, you must get an inkling of why this book appeals)
Hundred White Daffodils by Jane Kenyon (I've been inspired by all of the Kenyon poetry bloggers posted in the past year, plus she discusses her battles with depression)
... among essays I intend to read by Ralph Waldo Emerson, Joan Didion and whoever else strikes my fancy.
AND I am expecting delivery this month of a new book of essays on Sylvia Plath.
Not sure I'll make it through the entire list, but that's what I like about essays: You can dip and delve into them, one by one, versus having to devour volumes whole, as novels require.
2.28.2007
Rules for writing
This is from BikeProf, who is a credible source because he actually finished a book draft!
The Hobgoblin's Rules for Writing
Write every day. At the worst, your typing will improve to the point that you can write more quickly than ever before. More to the point, though, writing every day will help in two ways: 1) you will nurture the sense that you are making progress; and 2) you will eventually generate a large stack of pages.
Do not revise. I cannot state this strongly enough. Do not look at what you have written until you have finished a draft. Trying to revise in the middle of things will send you to that circle of hell where you are paralyzed and cannot write a second sentence until the first is so perfectly written, so immaculately phrased, that writing all over the world will instantly become meaningless and superfluous in comparison.
Have fun. You are all big readers; you love to read. So writing is the production of joy. The production of joy should have some element of joy in it, or you're just not doing it right.
Daydream. For me, writing was nothing more than imagining an entertaining scene, seeing it play out in my head, and then describing what I saw. Daydreaming is fun and does not seem like work, and soon, writing a little every day did not seem like work either.
Don't think about your audience. This goes against something I usually teach my freshmen composition students, and, to a certain extent, it is not advice to be followed closely. However, when writing fiction, if you think about every reaction of the readers, and if you worry how your mom will react to the character who swears, then you will wrap yourself up in a sheet of neurosis so completely that you will not be able to write at all.
Write truthfully. Genres don't matter. Labels are for bookstores and not authors. If you really want to write erotic sword and sorcery fantasy novels, then write the best, most truthful erotic sword and sorcery fantasy you can.
Write who you are. This goes along with writing truthfully, but is more personal. You have a voice, so use it. Don't try to write in a voice that will not work for you. Those who try to be Hemingway ventriloquists usually end up sounding more stupid than Hemingway-esque, after all.
The Hobgoblin's Rules for Writing
Write every day. At the worst, your typing will improve to the point that you can write more quickly than ever before. More to the point, though, writing every day will help in two ways: 1) you will nurture the sense that you are making progress; and 2) you will eventually generate a large stack of pages.
Do not revise. I cannot state this strongly enough. Do not look at what you have written until you have finished a draft. Trying to revise in the middle of things will send you to that circle of hell where you are paralyzed and cannot write a second sentence until the first is so perfectly written, so immaculately phrased, that writing all over the world will instantly become meaningless and superfluous in comparison.
Have fun. You are all big readers; you love to read. So writing is the production of joy. The production of joy should have some element of joy in it, or you're just not doing it right.
Daydream. For me, writing was nothing more than imagining an entertaining scene, seeing it play out in my head, and then describing what I saw. Daydreaming is fun and does not seem like work, and soon, writing a little every day did not seem like work either.
Don't think about your audience. This goes against something I usually teach my freshmen composition students, and, to a certain extent, it is not advice to be followed closely. However, when writing fiction, if you think about every reaction of the readers, and if you worry how your mom will react to the character who swears, then you will wrap yourself up in a sheet of neurosis so completely that you will not be able to write at all.
Write truthfully. Genres don't matter. Labels are for bookstores and not authors. If you really want to write erotic sword and sorcery fantasy novels, then write the best, most truthful erotic sword and sorcery fantasy you can.
Write who you are. This goes along with writing truthfully, but is more personal. You have a voice, so use it. Don't try to write in a voice that will not work for you. Those who try to be Hemingway ventriloquists usually end up sounding more stupid than Hemingway-esque, after all.
2.27.2007
Trilby by George du Maurier
This is a book of its time and place, fin-de-siecle Europe. What interested me most about this book was the fact that it was the sensation of its time, selling more than 200,000 in Britain and America, spawning a successful play and leaving a permanent mark on the English language by popularizing two terms that endure today: "Svengali" and the "Trilby hat".
What was it about this book that caused such a fuss?
Not the prose, certainly. Syntax is awkward, prose purple, and characters are of the Victorian stripe -- described in sentimental superlatives such as "most ravishing," "transparent as crystal," or "most unclean." There are numerous references to fashion, literature and other cultural phenomena of the day. (I won't get into the anti-Semitism displayed here, but it is unpleasant. And it helps to speak French, as there are lots and lots of untranslated passages in that language.) Here's a taste (one of the better passages, I think, capturing some of the wit that occasionally bubbles up), an elaboration of the narrator's musings about literature:
Feydeau, or Flaubert, let us say -- or for those who don't know French and cultivate an innocent mind, Miss Austen (for to be dead and buried is almost as good to be French and immoral!) -- and Sebasitan Bach, and Sandro Botticelli -- that all the arts should be 
represented.
represented.I'll agree in part with the introduction to the Penguin Classics version, authored by Daniel Pick, that says: Trilby"seems to occupy several key crossroads of its time. It hesitates between elitism and egalitarianism; amateurism and professionalism; between enthusiasm and horror of the marketplace in general and the merchandizing of talents in particular..." I think, too, what he's getting at in a polite way is that the writing is very uneven; some passages are fine and ironic, while others are confusing rather than merely ambiguous.
I would speculate that Trilby hit a chord with people who were still coming to terms with Darwin's new theories on evolution and survival of the fittest, mysticism versus scientific fact, industrialization and dehumanization. Hence, the character of Svengali, who mesmerized his protege to the point of total control, literally mesmerized the reading public as a kind of elaborate conceit of these issues.
Svengali is in fact the most memorable character in the book -- and he takes up suprisingly little real estate within the pages! For me, the novel fell flat when old Svengali wasn't up to his tricks; everyone else was so "noble," "brave," "naive," or otherwise brimming over in Victorian virtues that I welcomed a character with some less than sterling qualities -- especially one who was so successful at something that is portrayed as unethical at best, evil at worst. He's more human because he's complex. Maybe that's why the term has still stuck around.
I wish I could stomach reading this again to try to hit on the nuanaces Daniel Pick outlines in the introduction. But this is a rather obscure, outdated novel. I'd say it's worth the read for anyone interested in late-Victorian literature. But I don't think I can read it again.
2.26.2007
Monday mish-mash
There's so much reading-related activity happening lately at Planet Kitten, I thought I'd just do one of those catchall posts.
1. Finished Trilby. An odd book, surely, dated and very late-Victorian in tone and topic. But I'm very glad I stumbled upon it and managed to read it. (A long analytical post to come, I promise. I need to digest it a bit.) I'm thrilled that I managed to finish 3 books during my Month of Romance Reads!
2. Memoirs of a Muse by Laura Vapynar. About halfway through this one, and I am really enjoying it. I think the subject matter (a girl obsessed with Dostoevsky and his muse, who aspires to be a muse herself) is compelling to me, and the author's prose is clean and sure. A future post on this, absolutely. With any luck, I will finish in time to add a fourth romantic read for February (and all that in a short month!). I don't recall how or where I heard about this book, but if it came from a fellow blogger, many thanks.
3. Book-buying binges. Well, I've maxed my credit cards on Amazon.com and the QPB site, and my new bookshelves already are bulging at the seams. Check out my (partial!) TBR list on Library Thing, if you don't believe me. And what did I do this weekend? I stopped by a sidewalk sale on my way home from the DeYoung Museum in Golden Gate Park and, for $2, picked up: Alias Grace and Bluebeard's Egg (short stories) by Margaret Atwood and If I Told You Once by Judy Budnitz. Isn't it fortunate that I happened across the two Atwood books, just after finishing Cat's Eye -- and being determined to read more of her? I am planning to delve into the short stories during my evening bus commute. But, with all of these books waiting impatiently for me, covers closed and silent and begging to be exposed to light and sight, I am so overwhelmed, I don't know where to start! There are too too many good books in the world for one poor little reader.
Lucky for me, the monthly list of reading seems to help me focus. And, so far, feels doable and satisfying. I'm gearing up for essay reading in March -- a nice change of pace from novels, with room built in for whatever else strikes my fancy.
How are your reading adventures going lately?
1. Finished Trilby. An odd book, surely, dated and very late-Victorian in tone and topic. But I'm very glad I stumbled upon it and managed to read it. (A long analytical post to come, I promise. I need to digest it a bit.) I'm thrilled that I managed to finish 3 books during my Month of Romance Reads!
2. Memoirs of a Muse by Laura Vapynar. About halfway through this one, and I am really enjoying it. I think the subject matter (a girl obsessed with Dostoevsky and his muse, who aspires to be a muse herself) is compelling to me, and the author's prose is clean and sure. A future post on this, absolutely. With any luck, I will finish in time to add a fourth romantic read for February (and all that in a short month!). I don't recall how or where I heard about this book, but if it came from a fellow blogger, many thanks.
3. Book-buying binges. Well, I've maxed my credit cards on Amazon.com and the QPB site, and my new bookshelves already are bulging at the seams. Check out my (partial!) TBR list on Library Thing, if you don't believe me. And what did I do this weekend? I stopped by a sidewalk sale on my way home from the DeYoung Museum in Golden Gate Park and, for $2, picked up: Alias Grace and Bluebeard's Egg (short stories) by Margaret Atwood and If I Told You Once by Judy Budnitz. Isn't it fortunate that I happened across the two Atwood books, just after finishing Cat's Eye -- and being determined to read more of her? I am planning to delve into the short stories during my evening bus commute. But, with all of these books waiting impatiently for me, covers closed and silent and begging to be exposed to light and sight, I am so overwhelmed, I don't know where to start! There are too too many good books in the world for one poor little reader.
Lucky for me, the monthly list of reading seems to help me focus. And, so far, feels doable and satisfying. I'm gearing up for essay reading in March -- a nice change of pace from novels, with room built in for whatever else strikes my fancy.
How are your reading adventures going lately?
2.23.2007
Friday Buzz - War & P has Tolstoy rolling in grave
Oh, for God’s sake: Just when you thought publishing couldn’t get any sillier with the scrotum controversy and crasser with O.J. Simpson and Judith Regan, HarperCollins decides to trim down War & Peace and add a happy ending.
All in the name of reaching the “masses:”
A spokesman for HarperCollins predicted it would have mass appeal. "The new version is of course aimed at students of Tolstoy," she said. "But we are sure it will also prove fascinating to the general reader."
Bullsh*t. They don’t give a damn about reaching students or otherwise enriching the minds of “the general reader,” as the spokesperson so condescendingly puts it.
And how about this for advertising-cum-propaganda?
HarperCollins…describes the novel's brevity as "something to celebrate" while in Russia, the book is already being marketed as "half as long and twice as interesting" — despite the new book still running to a challenging 1,000 pages.
Any schools, any readers who allow HarperCollins to make one dime off this stunt are worse than fools. They are contributing further to our cultural demise. Maybe they'll PhotoShop Tolsty's photo, too, to make his looks more appealing to the masses. Give him a nose job and haircut and get rid of some of those wrinkles.
Hey, folks, it’s just another new frontier in the Land of Commodification. Why not ruin a piece of literature to make more money? Religion, wildlife -- hell, people sell their own psyches for a buck. Go out and make it a great day!!!
Other (happier) news
Call for papers for “Celebrating the Golden Age of Science Fiction.”
Sign up for Paul Cohelo’s newsletter, “Warrior of the Light Online.”
All in the name of reaching the “masses:”
A spokesman for HarperCollins predicted it would have mass appeal. "The new version is of course aimed at students of Tolstoy," she said. "But we are sure it will also prove fascinating to the general reader."
Bullsh*t. They don’t give a damn about reaching students or otherwise enriching the minds of “the general reader,” as the spokesperson so condescendingly puts it.
And how about this for advertising-cum-propaganda?
HarperCollins…describes the novel's brevity as "something to celebrate" while in Russia, the book is already being marketed as "half as long and twice as interesting" — despite the new book still running to a challenging 1,000 pages.
Any schools, any readers who allow HarperCollins to make one dime off this stunt are worse than fools. They are contributing further to our cultural demise. Maybe they'll PhotoShop Tolsty's photo, too, to make his looks more appealing to the masses. Give him a nose job and haircut and get rid of some of those wrinkles.
Hey, folks, it’s just another new frontier in the Land of Commodification. Why not ruin a piece of literature to make more money? Religion, wildlife -- hell, people sell their own psyches for a buck. Go out and make it a great day!!!
Other (happier) news
Call for papers for “Celebrating the Golden Age of Science Fiction.”
Sign up for Paul Cohelo’s newsletter, “Warrior of the Light Online.”
2.22.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - A request for help and a poem
Hi, everyone! I am here to ask for help: I have decided to make a transition from the corporate world to teaching. I know a lot of you out there are teachers, and I thought you might have some advice, sources or other sagacious insights to impart.
Here's my situation: I've got an MFA in Creative Writing. I've taught a copyediting class at a prestigious adult education facility. I've gotten a number of stories published, won some awards -- but nothing earthshaking.
I'd like to teach at the college level, but I am concerned that a PhD is almost a requisite (unless one has a published book).
Any and all information about how to make the transition would be much appreciated.
As promised, here's a poem from Gerard Manley Hopkins:
The Candle Indoors
SOME candle clear burns somewhere I come by.
I muse at how its being puts blissful back
With yellowy moisture mild night’s blear-all black,
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.
By that window what task what fingers ply,
I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack
Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack
There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.—
Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire
Mend first and vital candle in close heart’s vault:
You there are master, do your own desire;
What hinders? Are you beam-blind, yet to a fault
In a neighbour deft-handed? Are you that liar
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?
Here's my situation: I've got an MFA in Creative Writing. I've taught a copyediting class at a prestigious adult education facility. I've gotten a number of stories published, won some awards -- but nothing earthshaking.
I'd like to teach at the college level, but I am concerned that a PhD is almost a requisite (unless one has a published book).
Any and all information about how to make the transition would be much appreciated.
As promised, here's a poem from Gerard Manley Hopkins:
The Candle Indoors
SOME candle clear burns somewhere I come by.
I muse at how its being puts blissful back
With yellowy moisture mild night’s blear-all black,
Or to-fro tender trambeams truckle at the eye.
By that window what task what fingers ply,
I plod wondering, a-wanting, just for lack
Of answer the eagerer a-wanting Jessy or Jack
There God to aggrándise, God to glorify.—
Come you indoors, come home; your fading fire
Mend first and vital candle in close heart’s vault:
You there are master, do your own desire;
What hinders? Are you beam-blind, yet to a fault
In a neighbour deft-handed? Are you that liar
And, cast by conscience out, spendsavour salt?
2.21.2007
2 books to change your life
Okay, now that it's all over, I can confess: The last few weeks have been pretty horrendous. I will spare you the details.
I will say, however, that if you are -- or even if you don't think you are -- in the market for some life-changing books, here are my latest picks:
1) Dark Ages America: The Final Phase of Empire by Morris Berman
Depressing? Yes. Disturbing? Indeed. Why read it? We all must face reality in order to change it, that's why. This book lays out how and why America is going wrong (and includes some very interesting titles as source references, which I plan to cite in a future post). I am sure the jingoistic Horatio-Alger types among Americans will snort derisively at such tales of woe -- as then turn off their TV, plug in their cell phones and jump in their SUVs for a two-hour straight-highway commute. This book is not for the feint of heart; everyone, even the most aware souls among us, will find themselves faced with the fact that we've been sucked, in spite of our best efforts, into the consumer culture. If we can take the medicine, we might be ready to begin the cure.
2) What Should I Do With My Life? by Po Bronson
This one has been around a while, I grant you. And it's not a self-help book, true enough. It kind of defies any easy literary category, which I find strangely endearing. What I like about this book is that Bronson doesn't present any easy solutions or sure-fire steps to solve your career or add meaning to work. Call me idiosyncratic, but I find his un-pander-y approach rather refreshing. I find the stories interesting and thought-provoking, and I find comfort in the fact that others are grasping with the same soul-searching as I am. It makes me feel less alone.
I will say, however, that if you are -- or even if you don't think you are -- in the market for some life-changing books, here are my latest picks:
1) Dark Ages America: The Final Phase of Empire by Morris Berman
Depressing? Yes. Disturbing? Indeed. Why read it? We all must face reality in order to change it, that's why. This book lays out how and why America is going wrong (and includes some very interesting titles as source references, which I plan to cite in a future post). I am sure the jingoistic Horatio-Alger types among Americans will snort derisively at such tales of woe -- as then turn off their TV, plug in their cell phones and jump in their SUVs for a two-hour straight-highway commute. This book is not for the feint of heart; everyone, even the most aware souls among us, will find themselves faced with the fact that we've been sucked, in spite of our best efforts, into the consumer culture. If we can take the medicine, we might be ready to begin the cure.
2) What Should I Do With My Life? by Po Bronson
This one has been around a while, I grant you. And it's not a self-help book, true enough. It kind of defies any easy literary category, which I find strangely endearing. What I like about this book is that Bronson doesn't present any easy solutions or sure-fire steps to solve your career or add meaning to work. Call me idiosyncratic, but I find his un-pander-y approach rather refreshing. I find the stories interesting and thought-provoking, and I find comfort in the fact that others are grasping with the same soul-searching as I am. It makes me feel less alone.
2.20.2007
Love in Excess by Eliza Haywood
Romance to the nth degree is what you get with this novel.
What initially intrigued me is that this book was as popular in its time as another tome you may have heard of: Robinson Crusoe. And its author was a woman -- possibly the author of the first novel in the English language.
Why, then, I wondered, had I not heard of Eliza Haywood or this novel?
The explanation may lie in the book's major theme: society's disapproval of women who declare their love for men. From this book through Pride & Prejudice and on through The Thorn Birds, women protagonists have been punished for actively pursuing men. The prose, while not altogether overtly sexual, is sexually charged enough (termed "amatory," e.g., a bit more elevated than a bodice-ripper or romance but not quite literary fiction) which must have been quite scandalous at the time. (I can't help but wonder who its main readers were: women or men? Were women made to feel shamed for reading it?) Could a book centered around women with sexual desires have fallen out of favor with the arrival of the Victorian Age?
Another reason why this book may not be as well known as Robinson Crusoe is that the characters are archetypal. This is a plot-heavy book, with a case to make about desire. Character development takes a back seat.
The hero of the book actually is a mimbo (male bimbo), Count d'Elmont. This guy would put Brad Pitt to shame; apparently, no woman could resist his charms. The book's plot centers around all of the women who fall for him (lust or love or a combination thereof). And there are quite a few of 'em.
The book is truly well-crafted. I won't spoil the fun for potential readers, but trust me: You'll need a GPS to navigate the numerous plot lines! Despite the lack of rounded characters, I enjoyed this novel immensely.
Another novel of Haywood's, The History of Miss Betsy Thoughtless, is considered to have heralded an important change in the 18 century English novel, focusing on marriage versus courtship. (Chalk one up for another TBR!)
Ultimately, however, Eliza Haywood may be much more tantalizing than her own characters.
Apparently, she was quite prolific, supporting herself and her two children (there is no record of a husband, interestingly) through writing and acting, translating and publishing. (How busy must she have been!) Her writing drew fire from some of the heavies of her day: Pope and Swift, among others. Beyond that, not many details are known about Haywood's life ... we can only hope some enterprising biographer will choose to go excavating and dig up some dirt. She seems to have been quite the enterprising, energetic woman.
2.15.2007
Thoughts for Thursday - Robert Frost
Here's an excerpt from The Notebooks of Robert Frost (ran across this on a web site -- sounds like a great book, but dig the price tag! Ouch.):
Adventurous is not experimental. Experiment belongs to the laboratory. Adventure to life. Much of recent art has been merely experimental. It tries poetry with first one element then another omitted. It leaves out the head. Then it is too emotional. It leaves out the heart. Then it is too intellectual. It leaves out the feet. Then it is free verse. Adventure ends in the poorhouse. Experiment in the madhouse.
Surely, this could apply to prose as well as poetry.
But what is Frost getting at here? I agree that "experimental" prose and poetry that I've read strikes me as contrived, overly conscious and overanalytical. Head games.
However, maybe a little experimentation is in order to pave the way to a true adventure.
I am not a huge fan of experimental fiction; I like a little story with my reading, thank you very much. But I also feel I need to be more open to it, to take what it gives in terms of pushing the boundaries so the heart can follow the head into the next enlightenment.
What do you think about so-called "experimental" work? What types of experimental fiction have you read, that you would recommend to one who does not prefer to be working in the laboratory?
Adventurous is not experimental. Experiment belongs to the laboratory. Adventure to life. Much of recent art has been merely experimental. It tries poetry with first one element then another omitted. It leaves out the head. Then it is too emotional. It leaves out the heart. Then it is too intellectual. It leaves out the feet. Then it is free verse. Adventure ends in the poorhouse. Experiment in the madhouse.
Surely, this could apply to prose as well as poetry.
But what is Frost getting at here? I agree that "experimental" prose and poetry that I've read strikes me as contrived, overly conscious and overanalytical. Head games.
However, maybe a little experimentation is in order to pave the way to a true adventure.
I am not a huge fan of experimental fiction; I like a little story with my reading, thank you very much. But I also feel I need to be more open to it, to take what it gives in terms of pushing the boundaries so the heart can follow the head into the next enlightenment.
What do you think about so-called "experimental" work? What types of experimental fiction have you read, that you would recommend to one who does not prefer to be working in the laboratory?
2.14.2007
Happy Valentine's Day
Happy Valentine's Day Current Romantic Reads
Persuasion, Jane Austen
Love in Excess, Eliza Haywood
Trilby, George duMaurier
2.12.2007
A book for the unread
A book about how to talk about books you've never read? (Written by a man who is a judge for The Booker Prize? Ah, you are saying, it's all becoming clear how Black Swan Green made the Booker Prize longlist...)
This book is a bestseller in airports where, presumably, busy travellers must frantically find conversation starters before arriving at their next destination. ("Whatcha know about Proust, dude? Wasn't that Madeleine gal a real hoot?")
But a book about talking about books you've never read? I thought that's what Cliff's Notes were all about.
This book is a bestseller in airports where, presumably, busy travellers must frantically find conversation starters before arriving at their next destination. ("Whatcha know about Proust, dude? Wasn't that Madeleine gal a real hoot?")
But a book about talking about books you've never read? I thought that's what Cliff's Notes were all about.
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