March 3, 2008
Fifteen minutes until pick up in the school yard and I’ve managed to waste most of the day. Just one of those Mondays, I guess.
I do, however, have a wonderful piece to point you to at Literary Mama. Vicki Forman does an amazing job with her review of Roadmap to Holland by Jennifer Graf Groneberg. Vicki also has a new column up.
Click the links. It’s thoughtful (and thought-provoking) reading for a Monday.
February 14, 2008
Therese Fowler’s debut novel, Souvenir, which hit bookstores this week, is a richly woven tale of things that are lost and things that are found—love, hope, regret and impossible choices. All skillfully handled by a novelist I’m sure we’ll be hearing more about in the weeks, months and years to come.
Souvenir is the kind of story that stays with you, long after the last page has been turned. The characters are rich, the storyline is compelling and the writing is beautiful.
After getting to know Therese a bit by reading her blog and exchanging emails, I couldn’t be happier for her or her success. Therese is a generous soul, always willing to help another writer or a friend. Her blog posts on craft and technique are like an MFA refresher course.
You can get to know Therese better here and read more about Souvenir here and here and here.
February 8, 2008
There are, easily, 30 boxes of books in our attic. Orphans from our move from an apartment to this house four years ago. Books that used to have a home on a shelf, but in this new place were left stranded.
Our apartment had a long entry hall that was lined with bookcases. The space swallowed stuff up and still there was always room for more. Here, in the house, the walls are taken by windows and furniture, cabinets filled with vinyl (8,000 records at last count) and the hallways are narrow. The two library cases we have in the living room are modest, not a big enough home for all the books we own.
So when I went looking for an old Raymond Carver book the other day, I was pretty sure I wasn’t going to find it. Digging through the boxes in the attic is a dreary and disheartening chore. To my surprise, the Carver book—Where I’m Calling From—was right here, in the living room, on the shelf, waiting for me.
I’ve fallen in and out of love with Carver’s writing countless times over the years. Sometimes his words have spoken to me in the way that words should. And other times, I have been unmoved.
A friend who teaches writing recently told me that she teaches a lot of Carver in her classes. That’s what motivated me to look for the book. I love rediscovering something that’s been languishing on the shelf, in the stacks, or in a box—that’s why I have a hard time letting my books go. That’s why I have 30 boxes of books in the attic.
I think I’m going to pick my way through the Carver again. I won’t reread every story, but certainly some, enough. Because there’s something to be learned from the way he captures that moment when life takes a wrong turn, the way he takes an everyday event and hands you the horror hidden in the folds. And a hint of possibility—he gives you that too. And that’s not an easy thing to do.
“That’s all we have, finally, the words, and they had better be the right ones, with the punctuation in the right places… “
~Raymond Carver
~~~~~
Thanks, too, for the kind words and get well wishes. Our boy is home again today, but more like his old self. He’s even a little bossy and demanding, like someone sprinkled him with seasoned pepper during the night and left him to marinate. Peppery, that’s it. Yesterday he was weepy and sad, today he’s coughing and sneezing and spicy and spirited. Guess that means he’s feeling better.
January 26, 2008
Still no snow. And as far as I can tell, there’s none in the forecast. We are simply cold and gray, the sky like sheets of glass (despite the fact that the neighborhood kids are wearing their pajamas inside out and doing a nightly snow dance).
One of my son’s favorite books, Stranger in the Woods, by Carl R. Sams II & Jean Stoick, is a charming snow story. In it, a menagerie of woodland animals and birds discover a stranger in their midst. The stranger—a snowman, left in the woods by a boy and his sister—is the cause of much speculation. But as the animals work up the courage to investigate, they find that the stranger is friendly. His cap is filled with birdseed, his eyes are nuts, his nose a carrot. The animals and birds settle in for a feast, while the boy and his sister quietly look on from the shelter of the trees.
The last page of the book offers a recipe for a snowman. Last night, after we read the story together, GP asked if we could follow the recipe as soon as we get snow. Of course, I said, though I wonder what the winter will bring. In the meantime, should you find yourself with an abundance of the white stuff, I’ll leave you with this, courtesy of Sams and Stoick:
Recipe for a Snowman
May substitute or add any of the following ingredients: scarf, ear muffs, sunglasses, acorns, pine cones.
Makes one serving. May last for several days.
January 25, 2008
I am reading Irene Nemirovsky’s Suite Francaise. And though I am only halfway to the end, I am already in awe of this extraordinary work of art. According to the translator’s notes, the two novellas were still a work-in-progress when they were discovered some 64 years after they were written.
Work in progress? Wow. If Nemirovsky’s first draft is this good, I can’t imagine how much more polished her completed work would have been. Nemirovsky died at Aushwitz in 1942.
And while there’s plenty to be said about the beauty of her writing, the honesty and harshness of what she portrays, there’s also something to be said about the way she gives life to a history most of us learned from an outdated textbook and a world map.
In the back of the book (yes, I skipped ahead to peek), there is an appendix filled with the author’s handwritten notes and her plans for the novel. Reading this is a gift; a glimpse into the mind of a brilliant writer.
This book has been sitting on my shelf for months—I cannot stress how glad I am that I finally picked it up and opened to the first page. That first page was, in fact, all I needed to pull me in.
What a rare and unique treasure, a novel written in real-time. Events documented as they unfold. To be taken right into occupied France, to be immersed in the day-to-day struggles of those who tried to flee, those who chose to stay, and those who fought against evil on every front—the arrogance and entitlement of the wealthy, the misery of the poor, and the complex web that binds us, all of us, in the disagreeable reality of wars being waged.
From the author’s notes: Keep it simple, tell what happens to people and that’s all.
That’s all? Yes. Perhaps. But it is, in fact, what Nemirovsky has elected not to say that speaks volumes here.
January 18, 2008
One of the things I love about this site is that I can build pages, in addition to posts. You may have noticed, in fact, that I’ve added a page called Library.
Back in the days when I was riding the subway to and from work, I easily read between 50 and 60 books a year. And I kept track. In my Filofax. (Bet that brings back some memories.) In the last few years, however, I have been a little less bookish.
Okay, a lot less.
Despite the fact that I love to read and am an active member of a book club, I am still not reading as much as I should.
To that end, I’ve decided to keep a record. Again. To motivate me. The Filofax is gone. The Library page is much cooler. I will never end up with a to-be-read pile as daunting as this, but I hope to keep an interesting stack on hand. Enough to encourage and inspire me in my own writing. And enough to carry me away to another time, another place, when I am in need of an escape.
What should I add to my pile? What have you read lately—and loved?
