Category: A Real, Live Book

The next few days are going to be pure Treadmilling.  Sure, I’ll take breaks for food and showers and teaching, but I’ve scheduled myself for about 25 hours of Treadmilling in the next four days.  Wednesday night I’ll print out my ol’ manuscript.  Thursday I’ll copy and bind it, then off she goes to my dissertation committee.  It’s not going to be as polished as I’d hoped, but I don’t think I’ll be embarrassed by it, either.

Yesterday I saw MacBeth at BAM.  I’ll write up a review next weekend, but let me just say that if you’re able to get to New York to the Lyceum Theater (where the production is set to run next)–dude!  It’s an amazing production.  Seriously.

Before I get back to work, I wanted to note that I’ve joined Thoughts of Joy’s 2008 non-fiction five challenge.   I plan to take a little time off from writing early in the summer, and this challenge seems like the perfect replacement for my treadmill time.  I’ll decide on a list of books next weekend.  Do you see a theme here?  Next weekend is getting a mighty long to do list!

Hope you have a great week–I’ll catch you on the other end!

A friend gave me Suite Francaise for Christmas; it was one of the best gifts I could have gotten.  I had not heard of the book, despite its rave reviews.  As I’m in the process of revising a novella, I was especially interested in reading Nemirovsky’s two novellas, discovered in the 1990s by her daughter.  Imagine.  Nemirovsky wrote these novellas while the events she describes were happening.  Are there flaws in the novellas?  Probably.  Do they bother me?  Not a whit.  I’m so impressed with the unique spirit that she engenders in each of her characters that any flaws in the piece are erased.  Too, the fact that she did not have the opportunity to revise any more before her death makes the works even more impressive.

There is an immediacy in both of the novellas that makes the fiction blur.  The first, "Storm in June" has a lengthy cast of characters, but at no point did I confuse them.  This is not a piece in which, by the end, we’ve seen every character affect another one from a different walk of life, but rather, Nemirovsky creates a vivid and frightening setting and peoples it with rounded characters to give the reader a true understanding of those early days of occupation.  In the second novella, "Dolce," the author settles in with some of the characters from "Storm in June" and shows us their reaction when their village is occupied by the Germans.  Again, she presents a variety of characters; again, her characters are allowed to behave as they will.  Not once as I read either novella did I feel that the author was heavy handed.  The control Nemirovsky has is subtle, yet always present.

After regretting the speed with which I had read the book, I entered L-time (did I get the term right, Blog-Free Kim?).  I wandered about the stacks of my town library, not sure what I wanted.  There it was:  Fire in the Blood, another Nemirovsky novel.  I won’t say too much as the story is exquisite, and a spoiler from me would be cruel.  Again, the characters are rich, and again, the writer exhibits beautiful control and pacing.  This is a book that I will have to buy; I want to keep it near me as I write.  Nemirovsky accomplishes all that I strive for in my writing.  Her understanding of human behavior translates into a captivating plot.

Let me know what you think if you read (or have read) these.  Mona, I know you’d love them.  Lizzie, what about you?  Nora, may I suggest them for future book club material?

As an aside to the writers who read my blog, one of the treats in the end material of Suite Francaise is a description of Nemirovsky’s writing progress, including heartbreaking copies of her hand written manuscript.  I say heartbreaking because, of course, there was a shortage of everything at the time she was writing.  Imagine knowing that your paper supply was limited?  Imagine fearing that your lifespan was nearly over?  Truly, Nemirovsky has become one of my writing heroes, one whom, when I finish my degree, I plan to apprentice by reading everything by her and studying how she achieves her graceful, powerful stories.

This entry is a part of my 101 in 1001, item #19.  I’m a bit behind, but at least two reviews helps me to catch up a smidge.

As I supped my soup for lunch, I finished the first novella in Suite Francaise.  I’ll wait until I finish the second novella before I give you my review.  Already, though, I’d recommend picking this one up, especially if you like character-based fiction.  Brilliant.

I haven’t just been reading books of late, though.  I joined a swap for mini notebooks on Swap-bot, and I had a blast learning how to put a book together.  In fact, I was so delighted by the results that on Saturday I picked up some new supplies to supplement a few sheets of paper I’d purchased in Albuquerque when the notion to try this out hit me.

Want to see my first books?


There is a ton for me to learn still, and I can’t wait to try different papers and binding techniques.  For these I used an excellent tutorial.  If you know of any good instructional books or sites, would you let me know?

I’ve done my Chaucer reading for the week, and I’m prepared for classes for the next few days.  I could stay up late and Treadmill, but I think I’ll give in to the temptation of snuggling with a good book under freshly laundered sheets.

Thanks for your comments on the previous post.  For the record, I want to say that despite my distaste for her book, I think Elizabeth Gilbert would be a delightful guest at a dinner party.  I would much rather hear her talk about her paid spiritual journey than read about it.

Over the weekend I read another book, The Wee Free Men by Terry Pratchett.  Blog-free Kim first mentioned the book on a bike ride over the summer.  During our winter break, she loaned me the audio book, but I wasn’t able to focus enough as I listened, so off to the library went I.  As a fan of Harry Potter, I found this installment of the Discworld series just as engaging. 

Pratchett takes all sorts of fairy tales and children’s stories–including one of my faves, Peter Pan–and mashes them into his own tale about Tiffany, a nine-year-old witch in training.  Tiffany is gutsy, smart (she’s got First Sight and Second Thoughts; I need to develop both myself!), and ethical.  In the same way I wanted to be Jo March when I first read Little Women, I can imagine any girl selecting Tiffany as a role model.

Pratchett never writes down to his reader; instead, he seems fascinated by the world he’s created, and that fascination  comes  through to the reader.  He loves his characters, and renders them with precision and care.  He has created a number of strong females in this book, and lord knows we need more of those in kids’ lit.  The author’s sense of play comes through, and the wisdom he grants Granny Aching informs the novel throughout with such gems as Tiffany’s observation that Granny Aching used words "as though they cost money" and Tiff’s own realization that

"Yes!  I’m me!  I am careful and logical and I look up things I don’t understand!  When I hear people use the wrong words, I get edgy!  I am good with cheese.  I read books fast!  I think!  And I always have a piece of string!  That’s the kind of person I am!"

I don’t know about you, but Tiffany’s just the sort of girl I wanted to be.  And Granny Aching?  Well, she’s certainly a paragon among women.

Later…knitting progress and fun with paper.  Happy Monday!

Edited to correct per Kim U.’s comment; this is actually the second in The Discworld series!  Thanks, Kim!

But you know what your mama always said about covers and judging books.

While visiting my sister I finished The Gravedigger’s Daughter early than I anticipated.  For once in my life, I’d only packed one book.  Usually I pack three or four for a long weekend, and I end up irritated by the extra weight when I haven’t even finished the book I was reading.  I perused MB’s shelves, and she loaned me Eat, Pray, Love.  If you adore this book with the heat of an active volcano, maybe you should just click away now. 

I’ll be frank.  The only reason I finished the book was so I could review it here.  My MFA mentor once said that one shouldn’t review a book about which one has nothing nice to say, but I’m thinking she meant for paying gigs.  I argued with myself about writing this review.  Elizabeth Gilbert and I are the same age, and she’s got a whole lot more publications to her name than I do.  These facts made me think "well, she’s doing something right."  So I grant that she knows the business better than I do, but I will not grant her much more.  Okay, I’ll grant her a good heart.  She did raise money to buy a homeless woman and her kids a house.  That’s a good thing.

From the start I chafed while reading the book.  I feel like the entire thing is so constructed, so contrived.  I’d very much like to see her book proposal.  How, I wonder, does a person write a proposal for a book about a spiritual journey that has not happened?  Did Gilbert just know to the core of her being that she would have a spiritual experience?  I can almost buy into it, except I believe, based on my own spiritual experiences (which, again, I’ll grant are individual, so how can I know?) that they are not something to be anticipated.  The fact that she sold this book, which enabled her to take the journey, which is the subject of the book, just smells to me.  Like three-day old fish.  I can’t help but to question her credibility.  I often felt suspicious, wondering "did she do that so she’d have something about which to write?"

I was intrigued by the controlling metaphor that Gilbert sets forth for the reader in the introduction.  She sets up her book to be a sort of japa mala. I don’t think she delivers, though.  Throughout, I don’t see the reason for dividing certain sections into their own "beads" other than, perhaps, to ensure that she makes it to the 108 she needs for the trope to work.  This isn’t the only trope that doesn’t work.  Throughout the book, Gilbert uses metaphors and similes that make no sense if the reader really thinks about them. 

On the sentence level, the book disappoints over and over.  Gilbert shifts tense within sentences, which speaks to me of a lack of control on the writer’s part.  Sure, this is acceptable on a first draft, even on a blog (I don’t edit my blog much, so I’m sure I’ve made the same mistake here).  But to do so in a published draft?  Is this an editor’s error, as Neal suggested to me?  Maybe I’ve turned into a snotty MFA chick, but the sloppiness of the book felt like fingernails on a chalkboard to me.  At times she drifts into addressing the reader as "you."  Is this meant to be chummy?  Again, inoffensive to me on a blog, but sloppy in a memoir.

I visited Gilbert’s website in hopes of learning something that would make me feel differently about this book. I read a page of her thoughts on writing, and while some of them rang sound to me (get your work out there, missy!), I find her casual take on craftsmanship deplorable.  Does every writer need to be an MFA?  Of course not.  Should every writer study her craft, learn how to write clearly on the sentence level?  Absolutely.  If I’ve learned nothing else over the years, not only from my own graduate school experience, but also from being married to an artist and having close friends who are artists, it is that art demands discipline. 

Sort of the same way meditation and spiritual growth require discipline.  I wish Gilbert had applied the same focus (which, by the way, she says she hoped the japa mala structure would give her) to her book as she did to her Yogic practice.

Knot Much of a Knitter is hosting a discussion of the book on her blog if you’ve read it and want to discuss it more.  My next book review will be on a book that I’m loving, so stay tuned!

I have a love/fear relationship with Joyce Carol Oates.  I admire her work, her work ethic *(I especially like pp. 5 and 9 of that interview), her productivity.  Her characters linger in my mind long after the book is back on the shelf.  After I read Blonde, though, I began to fear Oates a little.  Nothing serious, I promise, but the dexterity with which she writes, and her ability to bite her thumb at the conventional novel make me uncomfortable.  I opened the cover of The Gravedigger’s Daughter with a touch of trepidation.  Where would Oates take me this time?  Did I really want to go there?  I don’t trust Oates the way I do other authors like, say, Jane Austen, but I’m willing to try what she offers me.

In this, her latest novel, Oates takes the reader through the entire life of Rebecca Schwart, who later transforms herself into Hazel Jones.  The first section of the novel is difficult.  Rebecca, born in New York harbor on the boat in which her German-Jewish family has emigrated to the "Yoo-Ess," is raised haphazardly by an increasingly numb mother and bitter father.  Tragedy strikes over and over, and when she becomes an orphan, Rebecca’s life really begins.  After a marriage that leaves her both abused and lonely, Rebecca runs away with her piano prodigy son, becoming Hazel Jones.  I don’t want to give away much more than that.  Rebecca/Hazel’s understanding of herself as a performer is the highlight of the novel for me.  While other characters are less rounded, Rebecca/Hazel is so real that I can almost hear her laugh and see her lipstick.

In parts, especially in the first section, the novel made for slow reading, but persistence with this one pays off.  I had good reason to fear where Oates would bring me; it’s so rarely to someplace pretty.  Don’t get me wrong; I don’t like sentimentality and am the first to mock it.  The Gravedigger’s Daughter is so dark in places, though, that I feared for the characters.  Having finished it, though, I can’t get Rebecca/Hazel out of my head. 

An easy, pleasant read?  Not at all.  An interesting, compelling, disturbing read?  You better believe it.

Let me know if you’ve read this one and what you think.

*Edited to fix interview link

After I finished the first draft of my novel I was uncertain how to go about revising it.  I knew there was a great deal of work to be done, but I lacked the skills to do that work.  As part of my newly-separated-dreading-divorce-but-I’m-gonna-make-the-best-of-it mindset, I enrolled in a one-week workshop at the Iowa Summer Writing Festival.  I packed enough books to last me for weeks.  I figured, though, that during the morning, when I was done with my writing, I’d have plenty of time to read before I headed to workshop.  I didn’t realize how much reading the workshop would entail.  I did manage to finish one book, which, by the way, I purchased in Iowa City.  I don’t remember who recommended Ian McEwan’s Atonement, but I’m glad it was recommended to me.   I learned a lot about point of view from the novel.

Two years ago, in  one of my MFA workshops, the professor had us read McEwan’s Saturday.  I usually can’t spend the extra money required for hard covers, but I liked the other book enough that I figured this would be a keeper.  Besides, it was required, and it wasn’t in soft cover yet.  I slogged through the novel, only sticking with it because I needed to prepare for our class discussions.  As soon as I was finished, though, I couldn’t stop thinking about it–the sign of a brilliant novel for me.  I’ll re-read it again someday, and I wonder if I’ll like it better during the reading the next time.  I often return to the novel in my mind and think about what McEwan achieved and how he achieved it.

I trolled my library’s shelves a few weeks ago, and when I saw McEwan’s latest novel, On Chesil Beach, I picked it up.  It’s a compact little book, probably more of a novella than novel.  I read it at bedtime a few evenings, and I finished it up between student conferences.  Here’s what I wrote:

Just this minute I finished Ian McEwan’s short novel On Chesil Beach.  It wounds my soul.  The mistakes of the characters are sad, but easy to understand.  McEwan adds to that sadness, rendering it poignant and heart breaking by projecting forward 40 years to show us the man who would have been able to make a success of his marriage if only he’d had the experience of his later life in the great moment of conflict.

How often are we silent when we ought to speak?  How often do we close ourselves off when happiness requires that we open ourselves?  McEwan crafts his novel with his typical restraint, which belies the passion and wild emotions of the characters.

I asked Neal to read the book when I finished.  He’s finding it to be less fascinating than I do, but I’m urging him to get to the end.  I see myself in these characters; I see my struggles to communicate in the most intimate of relationships in their own.   I’m grateful to McEwan for his ability to capture the feeling of being unable to say that which most needs to be said and for reminding me to continue to strive for better communication in my relationships.

Let me know if you’ve read any of these novels; I’d love to hear what you think of them.  What else has been rocking your reading time lately?