On the eve of the most anticipated publishing event in years — the release of Harper Lee’s novel “Go Set a Watchman” — there is yet another strange twist to the tale of how the book made its way to publication, a development that further clouds the story of serendipitous discovery that generated both excitement and skepticism in February.
I anticipated that June would be a challenge for me because for the first two weeks of the month we were on vacation in Europe. I knew that both internet connectivity and time to write and post would be limited.
The reality turned out to be even worse than I had expected. Internet connectivity was very limited (see last month’s featured post, linked below). In addition, both my husband and I caught the cold that we shipmates so generously shared amongst ourselves. I spent a lot of my free time sleeping in an attempt to recover. These two factors combined meant that I didn’t publish any posts and wrote only outlines and bare-bones notes for each day’s entry.
I have therefore spent the last two weeks of June frantically trying to catch up on travel posts at the same time I was writing new daily posts. I just made it.
I knew that there would be nowhere near an equitable distribution of posts across my three blogs because all the travel posts belonged on my personal blog, Retreading for Retirement.
For all these reasons I’m not at all concerned with this month’s statistics, although I include them here for uniformity in reporting and for contributing to my end-of-year summary.
Here are my statistics for last month:
Number of posts written: 30
Shortest post: 110 words
Longest post: 800 words
Total words written: 13,840
Average post length: 461 words
Distribution of posts across my three blogs:
The total of posts here may not equal the number of posts written last month because I occasionally publish the same post on more than one blog. However, I have included each post only once in my total word count.
Last month’s featured post:
Here Martin Edwards, author of the new book The Golden Age of Murder: The Mystery of the Writers Who Invented the Modern Detective Story, gives a concise history of the development of the modern detective novel. Authors he discusses include the following: Edgar Allan Poe, Arthur Conan Doyle, G.K. Chesterton, E.C. Bentley, Agatha Christie, Freeman Wills Crofts, G.D.H. Cole, Henry Wade, Ed McBain, Anthony Berkeley, Patricia Highsith, Margaret Millar, Ruth Rendell, Sophie Hannah, Dorothy L. Sayers, and J.K. Rowling (writing as Robert Galbraith).
Edwards places the detective novel within the changing social, historical, and cultural characteristics of its development and argues:
Golden Age novels reflected the times during which they were written. Inevitably, many of the attitudes on display are different from those of the twenty-first century. But for too long, even the best of these books have suffered unfairly from critical prejudice. Hugely enjoyable in their own right, they give a fascinating insight into a vanished world. What is more, they set the pattern for crime fiction for decades to come. The time is ripe to rediscover the Golden Age of Murder.
In an article from last month Boris Kachka admits “it’s tempting to proclaim this the era of the Very Long Novel (VLN).” The classic example of the recent VLN era is David Foster Wallace’s 1,079-page opus Infinite Jest, published in 1996. As more recent examples of such tomes he cites Eleanor Catton’s The Luminaries and Donna Tartt’s The Goldfinch. Another illustration of this trend is the current emphasis on series works such as the Harry Potter collection and Game of Thrones.
Yet long books are really nothing new, Kachka points out (think Eliot’s Middlemarch and Tolstoy’s The Brothers Karamazov). Here’s one possible explanation for the current crop of VLNs:
“People seem to be seeking wholly immersive experiences,” says Knopf publicity director Paul Bogaards. “They’re binge-watching, they’re cooking from scratch, going on ecotours. And there’s no more immersive experience than reading a good long book.”
Another possible explanation is the concept of “_World-building_, a term once exclusive to physicists and game designers, [that] is now on the tip of every book publicist’s tongue.” Bigger books create bigger worlds. Both individual VLNs and series VLNs parallel the growing obsession with binge-watching multiple episodes of television series and online-created content.
This whole discussion reminds me of a scene from the film Amadeus, about the life of Mozart. When someone criticizes the composer for using too many notes, he asks, “Exactly which notes would you have me leave out?”
I don’t mind long books. In fact, I read eagerly through The Goldfinch by Donna Tartt, enthralled until the very last word. What I don’t like is a long book that’s longer than it needs to be. I thought Moo, Jane Smiley’s satirical take on the small world of land-grant academia, should have been cut by about one-third.
What about you? Do you like to read long books? Are there any VLNs that you’ve particularly liked or hated? Let us know in the comments section.
Novelist Ceridwen Dovey describes personal experience with bibliotherapy, or reading by prescription. Initially skeptical, Dovey discovered:
The insights themselves are still nebulous, as learning gained through reading fiction often is—but therein lies its power. In a secular age, I suspect that reading fiction is one of the few remaining paths to transcendence, that elusive state in which the distance between the self and the universe shrinks. Reading fiction makes me lose all sense of self, but at the same time makes me feel most uniquely myself.
Along the way Dovey provides a short history of bibliotherapy:
The practice came into its own at the end of the nineteenth century, when Sigmund Freud began using literature during psychoanalysis sessions. After the First World War, traumatized soldiers returning home from the front were often prescribed a course of reading… . Later in the century, bibliotherapy was used in varying ways in hospitals and libraries, and has more recently been taken up by psychologists, social and aged-care workers, and doctors as a viable mode of therapy.
And here are a couple of lists of reading recommendations, if either of these topics grabs you.
Writer Emma Straub’s most recent novel, The Vacationers, is set in Mallorca. Because a “good book is the cheapest form of transportation there is,” Straub here recommends some books you can read if you’re not traveling this summer—or even if you are.
10. In the Woods by Tana French
9. The Fun of It, Stories from the Talk of the Town edited by Lillian Ross
8. Magic for Beginners by Kelly Link
7. Savage Beauty by Nancy Milford
6. Gentlemen Prefer Blondes by Anita Loos
5. The Interestings by Meg Wolitzer
4. Going Clear by Lawrence Wright
3. Arcadia by Lauren Groff
2. The Stranger’s Child by Alan Hollinghurst
1. Bad Marie by Marcy Dermansky
About Straub’s 10th pick, In the Woods by Tana French: This is the first book in what is known as French’s Dublin Murder Series. I did not particularly like it and almost didn’t read the subsequent novels. But a good review for the second book in the series made me give it a try, and I’ve read the rest and like them all. These books are related in that each one focuses on a different character of a Dublin murder squad, but each book is self-contained and can be read on its own.
I like noir novels as much as the next reader, so I was surprised that I had never even heard of any of these books. Read why Ken Bruen, whose own most recent noir novel is _Green Hell-, singles out these titles:
10. Dark Passage by David Goodis
9. Sing a Song of Homicide by James R. Langham
8. Cold Caller by Jason Starr
7. The Lucky Stiff by Craig Rice
6. A Swollen Red Sun by Matthew McBride
5. The Shark-Infested Custard by Charles Willeford
4. He Died with His Eyes Open by Derek Raymond
3. The Fever Kill by Tom Piccirilli
2. The Whisperer by Donato Carrisi
1. Killing Suki Flood by Rob Leininger
In his poem The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, T.S. Eliot wrote “Do I dare/disturb the universe?”
Erin Haley looks at novels that present characters who dare to ask the same question as Prufrock. The main theme is independence, she says. Such characters “challenge the status quo.” Because challenging the status quo and seeking independence are classic undertakings of adolescence, many of the books about characters who dare to disturb the universe are in the YA (young adult) category.
Haley lists four books in which characters dare to disturb the universe:
- The Chocolate War by Robert Cormier
- Practical Magic by Alice Hoffman
- And One for All by Theresa Nelson
- Stargirl by Jerry Spinelli
I’m only familiar with the first two books on her list; the first is a YA novel, while the second is not.
But the question of characters daring to disturb the universe got me thinking about my own reading. I wonder if all fiction doesn’t deal with this topic in some way or other. The basic requirement for fiction is conflict, and conflict usually involves challenging at least some aspect of the status quo.
Since disturbing the universe is just about a given in YA literature, I decided to look for adult books that explore the same concept. After a quick look over my most recent reading list, I’d include these novels on my own list of books featuring characters daring to disturb the universe:
To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee
No matter what the topic, I usually turn to this classic novel to illustrate it. Not only does Atticus Finch dare to question the status quo by defending (both legally and literally) Tom Robinson, but Scout and Jem follow his example in their unusual relationship with Boo Radley, the town recluse.
The two women in Kallos’s first novel dare to disturb the universe by reaching out to each other and, in the process, by redefining the concept of family. This is one of the most memorable books I’ve ever read.
Blue Diary by Alice Hoffman
Here’s another Alice Hoffman novel. In this one a woman must rethink the meaning of her whole existence when she discovers that her current reality is based on a lie. It takes a lot of courage and strength to redefine yourself and rediscover what you believe in.
We Are All Completely Beside Ourselves by Karen Joy Fowler
I can’t say much about this novel without giving away a critical plot point. What I can say is that the protagonist admirably rises to the occasion of living an unconventional life.
One Thousand White Women by Jim Fergus
Would you be willing to betray social conventions if that were your only chance for living an independent life? The female protagonist of this novel said “yes.”
I’d love to hear what books you’d include on your own list. Please let us know in the comments section.
For as long as there have been books, there have been authors disguising themselves behind pseudonyms. Some do it for political reasons, others for personal concerns, and some simply for the joy of mischief. In any case, pseudonyms are a tpower tool for writers, allowing their pens to say what perhaps their mouths couldn’t.
Sara Boboltz has put together information on authors who have used the following pseudonyms:
- Robinson Crusoe
- George Sand
- Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell
- Dr. Seuss
- Lewis Carroll
- George Eliot
- Mark Twain
- Joseph Conrad
- O. Henry
- Pablo Neruda
- Isak Dinesen
- George Orwell
- Claire Morgan
- Ayn Rand
- Stan Lee
- Victoria Lucas
- Toni Morrison
- Lemony Snicket
Gary Fisketjon was Kent Haruf’s long-time editor at Knopf. Here he talks about their friendship and Haruf’s last novel, Our Souls at Night, the writing of which seemed to carry the writer through the final months of his life:
So this was why his mood had lightened over these months when he sounded like himself again. It is, after all, what writers do — they write. In his last interview, Kent describes the importance of concentration, and it seems to me he was a master of it, that this is what powered his ability to reveal, as he hoped to, “the fundamental, irreducible structure of life, and of our lives with one another.”
Haruf finished the copyediting of this last novel just days before his death in November 2014. Our Souls at Night is available now.
Joseph Tabbi’s outstanding new biography of postmodern master William Gaddis, Nobody Grew But the Business, is a fascinating look at a well-known reclusive writer. It also reveals that much of Gaddis’s writing was autobiographical, and that Gaddis mined his 20 years in corporate America, as well as his own family history, for characters, themes, and stories. Tabbi ranks Gaddis’s novels.
There’s something sad about encountering an author only after his or her death. But there’s something exhilarating as well, because now we have a whole new body of work to pick up and get to know.
Here’s some advice on tackling the work of William Gaddis, whom biographer Joseph Tabbi describes as “a writer who can change how a reader looks at the world.”
“No writer is better than Gaddis at portraying the corporatization of America,” Tabbi says. Read why he recommendations tackling Gaddis’s output in this order:
- J R (1975)
- The Recognitions (1955)
- Carpenter’s Gothic (1985)
- A Frolic of His Own (1994)
- Agapē Agape (2002)
Buddies Christopher Robinson and Gavin Kovite have recently published their first collaborative novel, War of the Encyclopaedists. Robinson is a MacDowell Colony fellow and a Yale Younger Poets Prize finalist. Kovite, an infantry platoon leader in Baghdad in 2004–2005, attended NYU law school and is now an Army lawyer and fiction writer.
In this piece they address the question of why they co-wrote a novel, a question they say seems to be based on the assumption that writing one’s own novel would be a greater achievement. Read the story of how their collaboration lead to this conclusion:
And yet here we are, awaiting the publication of our debut novel. It’s almost too difficult for us to believe. Without Chris’ drive, organization and friendly harassment, Gavin would never have made the time to contribute. And without Gavin’s contributions, Chris would be staring into the void. It was writing a novel together—a novel with its fair share of buoyant humor, but weighted with the melancholy and trepidation of growing up—that deepened our friendship and changed the course of our lives. In learning how to write vulnerable characters, we strengthened our empathy muscles, and learned how to be vulnerable to each other.
Eileen Battersby invites you to say Si Si to great writing from Spain, the mother country of a magnificent global literature, and salutes Hispabooks, a Madrid publisher commissioning English translations of contemporary classics
Archaeologists and anthropologists recently announced the discovery of the grave of Spanird Miguel de Cervantes (1547–1616), author of literature’s first novel, Don Quixote: The Ingenious Gentleman Don Quixote of La Mancha. Using this announcement as a springboard, Eileen Battersby writes in The Irish Times about Cervantes, the father of Spanish literature, and the literary tradition he inspired.
Her list “conveys some idea of their artistry and stylistic panache as well as their flair for very human stories with Everyman narrators” and includes authors whose work has now been translated into English:
- The Boy Who Stole Attila’s Horse by Ivan Repila, translated from the Spanish by Sophie Hughes (Pushkin Press, London)
- All is Silence by Manuel Rivas, translated from the Galician by Jonathan Dunne (Vintage, London)
- Life Embitters by Josep Pla, translated from the Catalan by Peter Bush (Archipelago Books, New York)
- Uncertain Glory by Joan Sales, translated from the Catalan by Peter Bush (MacLehose Press, London)
- Things Look Different in the Light by Medardo Fraile, translated from the Spanish by Margaret Jull Costa (Pushkin Press, London)
- The Stein Report by Jose Carlos Llop, translated from the Spanish by Howard Curtis (Hispabooks, Madrid)
- The Birthday Buyer by Adolfo Garcia Ortega, translated from the Spanish by Peter Bush (Hispabooks, Madrid)
- Uppsala Woods by Alvaro Colomer, translated from the Spanish by Jonathan Dunne (Hispabooks, Madrid)
- The Faint-Hearted Bolshevik by Lorenzo Silva, translated from the Spanish by Nick Caistor and Isabelle Kaufeler (Hispabooks, Madrid)
Battersby’s list and descriptions offer readers a good opportunity to stretch their boundaries and try reading something from another country and culture.
Back in March I won the opportunity to read John Steinbeck’s Cannery Row for The Classics Spin #9. And I mistakenly thought the completion date was May 15. In fact, it was May 5. Not that it really matters, since I’m a bit late either way. But I did finally finish reading the book on the plane flight to Europe.
Steinbeck, John. Cannery Row
Original publication date: 1945
Rpt. New York: Penguin, 2002
Cannery Row in Monterey in California is a poem, a stink, a grating noise, a quality of light, a tone, a habit, a nostalgia, a dream. Cannery Row is the gathered and scattered, tin and iron and rust and splintered wood, chopped pavement and weedy lots and junk heaps, sardine canneries of corrugated iron, honky tonks, restaurants and whore houses, and little crowded groceries, and laboratories and flophouses. Its inhabitants are, as the man once said, “whores, pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches,” by which he meant Everybody. Had the man looked through another peephole he might have said, “Saints and angels and martyrs and holy men,” and he would have meant the same thing.
This opening paragraph introduces readers to Cannery Row, where, when the “cannery whistles scream … men and women scramble into their clothes and come running down to the Row to go to work.” But at day’s end, after these workers “straggle out and droop their ways up the hill into the town … Cannery Row becomes itself again—quiet and magical. Its normal life returns.”
The book’s narrator asks, “How can the poem and the stink and the grating noise—the quality of light, the tone, the habit and the dream—be set down alive?” He decides that the way to write this book is “to open the page and to let the stories crawl in by themselves.”
And so, in the manner of Sherwood Anderson’s Winesburg, Ohio, Cannery Row tells the story of this place through the intertwining stories of its inhabitants. Set during the Great Depression, the book portrays a time when work was hard and life was even harder.
The main characters include Doc, a marine biologist based on Steinbeck’s friend Ed Ricketts, to whom the book is dedicated; Lee Chong, a local Chinese grocer; Mack, the leader of a group of unemployed men; and Dora, owner of the local brothel. The book acknowledges the characters’ many faults—drunkenness, malingering, craftiness—while at the same time portraying their good qualities—kindness, charity, friendship. After all, “whores, pimps, gamblers, and sons of bitches” are the same as “saints and angels and martyrs and holy men.”
© 2015 by Mary Daniels Brown
What I Learned in May
In March and April I concentrated on trying to keep my total word count up by writing a number of long posts (1,000 words or more). However, I changed my focus in May: I tried to go short by focusing on topics that I could develop adequately in the 500–750 word range. I still consider that to be the sweet spot for me in blogging. As a result, my total word count was down almost 5,000 words from April, but my average post length was 573 words, which is in the range (albeit at the lower end) that I was aiming for.
Sometimes life interferes with writing a blog post every day. Last month I learned to keep a couple of short post ideas in the hopper to be completed on days when time is short. This means having research done and photos planned and uploaded ahead of time..
I’ve been getting better at incorporating some personal element into posts, usually how I came upon this topic or why it interests me. But I’m still short on storytelling, or building a story with a beginning, a middle, and an end. That’s something I’ll have to continue to work on.
May’s Research on Blogging
Working from the premise that online readers scan content rather than carefully reading it, Pam Neely offers:
two primary approaches to improving reader engagement. The first is to make your content scannable. Ie, to work with readers’ existing online reading habits. Second, create content so good that at least some users will actually slow down and take the time to read it word for word.
Approach #1: Make your content scannable
- Use the inverted pyramid structure.
- Use short paragraphs.
- Use subheaders.
- Highlight keywords.
- Use scannable lists.
- Add images or video.
- Use short copy elements like photo captions, call outs, and tweetables.
- Write simply and clearly.
Approach #2: Create content so good that readers will slow down and engage with it
- Write a killer headline that draws people in from the start.
- Write for a specific audience.
- Show a contrary point of view.
- Show an unusual point of view: “Try borrowing ideas, frameworks or approaches from other industries.”
- Offer new information
- Use quizzes, polls, or other interactive tools.
- Ask for comments.
Neely’s first set of suggestions is straightforward. In addition to just plain writing well (suggestions 1 and 8), using structural elements such as subheads and lists is easy with WordPress. I even installed a plugin on my two self-hosted blogs that allows me to highlight tweetable content, and I’ll experiment with that next month.
But where I most need to concentrate is on her second area, creating content that readers will slow down and actually read. By the end of each month I usually have a bunch of open browser tabs featuring articles that I meant to engage with myself. Here, for example, are a couple that have been open for at least two weeks:
Both of these articles deal with topics with which I have personal experience and on which I have strong opinions, and I kept meaning to write a blog post about my reactions to each one. In the future I will undertake such posts when I come across the opportunity instead of waiting until some later time (that never seems to arrive).
Nonetheless, I couldn’t help but notice that Neely posted this article on the Scoop.it blog on May 18, 2015, and as of May 30 there were no comments. Maybe other people were, like me, too busy thinking about their own content to engage with hers.
My Statistics for May
Number of posts written: 31
Shortest post: 250
Longest post: 1,300
Total words written: 17,775 (down about 5,000 from April)
Average post length: 573 (down about 150 from April)
Distribution of posts across my three blogs:
The total of posts here may not equal the number of posts written last month because I occasionally publish the same post on more than one blog. However, I have included each post only once in my total word count.
Last month’s featured post:
You know the story of Cinderella. She’s a princess, dearly loved by her father, the king. When her mother dies, her father eventually marries a widow with daughters of her own. But nothing much changes for Cinderella as long as her father lives and continues to protect her and treat her like the princess she was born to be.
But then the king dies, and Cinderella’s stepmother, the new queen, gains control of the kingdom and the palace. She banishes Cinderella to a life of servitude in the kitchen and presents her own daughters as the princesses of the land.
Yes, we know how the story turns out: the fake princesses are unmasked, Cinderella shines like the true princess she is, and then marries the prince and lives happily ever after. But what I want to focus on here is the stepmother, the one who usurps power and raises her own daughters’ station above that of the true princess, whom she treats like a servant.
Fables and fairy tales supply many examples of the archetype of the wicked stepmother. Often she appears as a witch, such as the one who is jealous of Snow White’s beauty. But there is no male counterpart to this villainess. Why?
The reason arises from the medieval system of laws and customs that gave rise to many of our enduring literary tropes, such as the wicked stepmother archetype. At that time women had very few rights and were dependent on a man to protect them and provide for them. A widow left with children to support—particularly daughters who would need substantial dowries to obtain powerful husbands of their own—would need to remarry. The widow in the Cinderella story would have considered herself quite fortunate to marry a widowed king.
Once a woman was married, she and her children became her husband’s property. A man could treat his wife and children however he pleased. No matter how badly he treated them, he would not be thought of as wicked. He would simply be exercising his rights as a man to use his personal property in whatever way he wished.
No wonder women like Cinderella’s stepmother were so quick to seize power and use it to their own advantage if the opportunity, such as the death of the king, arose. The stories that develop from a particular culture not only describe that culture’s values and beliefs, they also prescribe how people should live their lives. Cinderella’s stepmother would probably have gladly accepted the epithet wicked to describe her actions, as long as she could get what she wanted for herself and her daughters. But she also would have learned, along with everyone who heard this fairy tale, what happens when someone tries to dethrone the rightful heir. She gets her comeuppance in the end, when the glass slipper will fit only the dainty little foot of Cinderella, the real princess. The king may be dead, but his interests prevail in the end.
We have patriarchy to thank for the lack of a wicked stepfather archetype. Those who hold the power control the kingdom, including the cultural narratives. The king is dead. Long live the king!
If you love literature, here’s your chance to connect with some of the most technologically savvy writers:
a few [writers] are using the etherland as a canvas for experimentation and play. They have moved their storytelling, wit and insight from page to pixel, winning fans and readers in the process.
- Neil Gaiman
- Paulo Coelho
- Margaret Atwood
- Teju Cole
- Ursula K. LeGuin
- Salman Rushdie
- Gary Shteyngart
- Haruki Murakami
- David Mitchell
- Veronica Roth
What I particularly like about this list is that it proves that technology isn’t just for the young and the hip.
Here’s Publishers Weekly’s introduction to this article:
Amelia Gray’s wonderfully dark story collection Gutshot features a giant snake bisecting a town and a man, afraid of losing his beloved, soothed by her detached sensory perceptions. Gray, a master of haunting storytelling, picks 10 of her favorite books.
And here’s Gray’s introduction to her list:
Whether it’s borne out of some kind of bizarro escapism or the desire to see the dark mind confirmed and confined on the page, the urge to read and write dark fiction has been steady in my life. Here are ten books that have left their mark on my mind and my work.
I don’t like straight horror, but most of Gray’s choices here seem to pertain more to the dark depths of the human heart rather than to supernatural or unnatural machinations.
Read why she’s been influenced by the following books:
- Zombie by Joyce Carol Oates
- Geek Love by Katherine Dunn
- The Road by Cormac McCarthy
- Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates
- Life Is With People by Atticus Lish
- Beloved by Toni Morrison
- Tampa by Alissa Nutting
- Nobody is Ever Missing by Catherine Lacey
- The Wish Giver: Three Tales of Coven Tree by Bill Brittain
- Bird by Noy Holland
I do, however, disagree with one of her choices, Katherine Dunn’s Geek Love. That’s the book that made me decide, many years ago, that I don’t have to finish reading every book that I start.
I have loved the work of Kent Haruf ever since I read his 1999 novel Plainsong, which became his most popular work. That novel dealt with life on the plains of Colorado, in the fictional town of Holt. Two subsequent novels continue the story.
Haruf died last November at age 71. He completed one last work before his death:
Normally, it took him six years or more to write a novel. But in a rush of creative energy, he wrote a chapter a day. Roughly 45 days later, he had finished a draft of his final novel, “Our Souls at Night.”
Also set in Holt, Colorado, but otherwise unrelated to the earlier novels, this novel focuses on finding love late in life. Its inspiration was Haruf’s relationship with his wife, Cathy.
Our Souls at Night will be released on May 28. I’ve already pre-ordered my copy.
The legendary writer of psychoanalytic mysteries captured the culture of postwar California better than anyone
Noir-heads and private-eye fans have long known that the detective novels of Ross Macdonald hit a sweet spot between plot-driven pulp writing and character-driven literary fiction. Inspired by the work of Dashiell Hammett (especially “The Maltese Falcon”), taught about symbolism by W.H. Auden, hailed by Eudora Welty for “serious and complex” work, he wrote 18 novels driven by the gloomy, ambiguous detective Lew Archer.
Scott Timberg interviews Macdonald biographer Tom Nolan for online magazine Salon. Says Nolan:
He felt that the character of the detective was really not the most important character in the books. In fact, he started out thinking the perpetrator was of more interest than the detective — there was opportunity for tragedy, with the criminal — but in later years, he felt the victim was the most important or significant character.
Timberg also quotes Salon music and culture critic Greil Marcus, who has read all of Macdonald’s books:
“If you read Macdonald’s psychoanalytic mysteries in order, as the theme took on greater and greater power for him, the feeling that comes up builds book by book: that just as the reader is scared to reach the ending, so is Lew Archer, and so is Ross Macdonald.”
Author Judith Claire Mitchell examines the function of ghosts in literature in this piece for The Guardian:
When Barry Hannah, the late novelist of the American south, taught fiction workshops, he would begin by writing those two words on the blackboard. All stories, he’d say, are ghost stories. Something haunts the work and the reader turns the pages to find out what it is. As a student of Hannah’s back in the day, I took these words to heart. Literary ghosts didn’t have to scare; what they had to do was haunt.
“In literature,” says the writer Tabitha King, “the ghost is almost always a metaphor for the past.” This is true for literal ghosts who manifest in graveyards, and it’s true for figurative ghosts who are no more substantive than insistent memory.
Here’s Mitchell’s list of “the phantoms that kept me turning pages, the ones I never forgot when I finished the book”:
- Michael Furey in James Joyce’s “The Dead”
- The highboy in Alison Lurie’s “The Highboy”
- Holiday in Alice Sebold’s The Lovely Bones
- A missing child in Kevin Brockmeier’s The Truth About Celia
- Rebecca in Daphne du Maurier’s Rebecca
- The parrot in Robert Olen Butler’s Jealous Husband Returns in Form of Parrot
- Americans like me in Maxine Hong Kingston’s The Woman Warrior
- The Misfit in Flannery O’Connor’s “A Good Man is Hard to Find”
- Beloved in Toni Morrison’s Beloved
- Any of the demons in Lynda Barry’s One Hundred Demons
Mary Ann Gwinn, book editor for The Seattle Times, receives LOTS of books. As a way to spread the wealth around, her spouse built her a Little Free Library for her birthday.
The Little Free Library movement was started in Wisconsin by Todd Bol and Rick Brooks in 2009. Its mission is two-fold:
- To promote literacy and the love of reading by building free book exchanges worldwide.
- To build a sense of community as we share skills, creativity and wisdom across generations.
Its goal is “To build 2,510 Little Free Libraries—as many as Andrew Carnegie.”
This goal was reached in August of 2012, a year and a half before our original target date. By January of 2015, the total number of registered Little Free Libraries in the world was conservatively estimated to be nearly 25,000, with thousands more being built.
The philosophy behind little free libraries is “Take a book. Return a book.” In other words, for every book you take, you should put one book back. The aim of the process is to promote not only general literacy, but also neighborhood community. These libraries are run on the honor system by community members, for each other.
In addition to allowing Gwinn to share her books, the Little Free Library provides “an added benefit: … a fantastic opportunity for people-watching.” Read her descriptions of these patrons of her LFL:
- The busy mom
- The insomniac
- The wannabe book critic
- The picky reader
- The cruiser
- The grateful recipient
I like her observation that “The key to having a Little Free Library is to release control.” Since patrons put in one book for every book they take out, “You can control the outbox, but you can’t control the inbox.”
Gwinn is certainly experiencing the community intent of the Little Free Library philosophy: “That is the gift of the Little Free Library; you get to know your neighbors, in all sorts of ways.”
New York Times technology writer Nick Bilton describes how books became a bond and a form of communication between himself and his mother:
As I grew up, my mother held my hand as we wandered through the fictional worlds of Harper Lee, Charles Dickens and Lewis Carroll. Birthdays and Christmases were always met with rectangular-shaped gifts.
As he got older, he and his mother spend hours discussing plots and characters.
But in 2011, Bilton and his mother got into an argument over books. When he was moving from New York to California, he decided to leave behind most of his books in favor of a Kindle and later an iPad. His mother was appalled:
She spoke passionately about being able to smell the pages of a print book as you read, to feel the edges of a hardcover in your hands. And that the notes left inside by the previous reader (often my mother) could pause time.
After his mother died in March, Bilton and his two sisters learned that she had left her collection of more than 3,000 books to her oldest daughter. Knowing the bond that books had created between Bilton and their mother, his sister offered to share their mother’s library with him, and he “gratefully accepted.”
As a technology writer, Bilton had spent much time discussing the merits of print vs. digital books. But his mother’s death and his receipt of some of her books made him realize that one is not superior to the other: “They each have their place in this modern world.” He caps this realization with a description of how his mother, knowing she would not live long enough to meet Bilton’s unborn son, inscribed her copy of her favorite book, Alice in Wonderland, to him. That book, along with some of her others, sits in her grandson’s nursery, the basis of his own growing book collection.