Of interest:
OpenLibrary.org will soon be lending e-books to members.
LA Times Book Prizes finalists have been announced.
Of course the best book of the 20th century should have its own video game.
This week's book haul:
Hannah Pittard's The Fates Will Find Their Way
Teju Cole's Open City
Sally Ryder Brady's A Box of Shadows
Paul Auster's Sunset Park
2.25.2011
2.24.2011
The State of Editing
Jeannette Winterson, quoted at the end of a recent Guardian article about the lost art of editing, illustrates that editing is not just about catching type-os.
"Editors have become linear and timid. They worry about how things follow and Emma Bovary's eyes both change colour unexpectedly, and no one minds. As Virginia Woolf wrote, "all my facts about lighthouses are wrong". So there is wrong that is right, and that is better than rigid rightness that is wrong. I find, too, that many younger editors simply don't have the cultural resources to recognise a reference or playfulness therein. But life is getting so much worse everywhere that we must not be too gloomy about books . . . Books remain a pocket of air in an upturned boat. I cannot think in a linear way and I do not care. I can only say what I mean and often that raises editorial queries of the "translate from the Japanese, please" kind. Copy-editing is not the skill it once was. There are computer programs to do that for you because we no longer believe we need human beings. I would like to see zest for difficulty making a comeback. Must we always be transparent? Remember when TS Eliot was asked what he meant by "Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree", he said: "I meant, 'Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree'." I have no idea what that means, but I am glad it didn't get edited into "Mrs, there's three wild animals under that shrub". We should edit with good sense, of course, but with a sense that sense is not everything. This is obvious enough in fiction, but wonderfully eccentric stylists such as, say, Jan Morris or Harold Bloom don't need their magnificent non-fiction to be turned into Google Notes. Editing only looks micro. It is about the whole as well as the parts."
"Editors have become linear and timid. They worry about how things follow and Emma Bovary's eyes both change colour unexpectedly, and no one minds. As Virginia Woolf wrote, "all my facts about lighthouses are wrong". So there is wrong that is right, and that is better than rigid rightness that is wrong. I find, too, that many younger editors simply don't have the cultural resources to recognise a reference or playfulness therein. But life is getting so much worse everywhere that we must not be too gloomy about books . . . Books remain a pocket of air in an upturned boat. I cannot think in a linear way and I do not care. I can only say what I mean and often that raises editorial queries of the "translate from the Japanese, please" kind. Copy-editing is not the skill it once was. There are computer programs to do that for you because we no longer believe we need human beings. I would like to see zest for difficulty making a comeback. Must we always be transparent? Remember when TS Eliot was asked what he meant by "Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree", he said: "I meant, 'Lady, three white leopards sat under a juniper tree'." I have no idea what that means, but I am glad it didn't get edited into "Mrs, there's three wild animals under that shrub". We should edit with good sense, of course, but with a sense that sense is not everything. This is obvious enough in fiction, but wonderfully eccentric stylists such as, say, Jan Morris or Harold Bloom don't need their magnificent non-fiction to be turned into Google Notes. Editing only looks micro. It is about the whole as well as the parts."
2.21.2011
Review: Kate Pullinger's The Mistress of Nothing
One woman's efforts to live a different life than the one she was given is at the center of Kate Pullinger's debut novel The Mistress of Nothing. Sally Nedrett's difficult childhood taught her that she is not her own mistress, but when she becomes lady's maid to Lady Lucie Duff Gordon, patroness of letters, Sally believes she has found comfort and solace. When Lady Duff Gordon is prescribed an extended stay in Egypt to manage her advanced and debilitating tuberculosis, Sally is happy to leave cold, dreary England for warmer climes and a few opportunities for adventure. When the opportunities include love, learning Arabic, and dressing in airy linen rather than confining corsets, she believes that her cup runneth over - until Lady Duff Gordon tells her otherwise.
Pullinger's prize-winning novel is a treat for the senses and an authentic portrait of mid-19th century life in Egypt. Based on historical record, The Mistress of Nothing is an example of historical fiction done well. The emphasis remains on the characters and the challenges presented by the times in which they live, rather than on sex scenes or sappy romantic interludes. Though this is a love story, the novel does not default into historical romance, which is to its credit. Pullinger paints a believable portrait of what life was like in Sally's time, but the description hangs on broad strokes rather than on precise details that would have collapsed the distance between reader and 19th-century Egypt. This will be a favorite with book clubs.
2.14.2011
Review: Alice Hoffman's The Red Garden
Hoffman's latest is structured similarly to her Blackbird House: both novels are a series of linked stories that take place over time in the same location. Blackbird House follows the residents of a small summer house; The Red Garden tells the history of a town through the disparate stories of its colorful inhabitants. Hoffman is a gifted storyteller, weaving her stories around the many fables and figures of American history, such as Johnny Appleseed and Emily Dickinson. Her characters are complex, nuanced and emotionally charged. The true star of the narrative, though, is the language, which lilts and rolls through the pages.
Despite these accolades, however, the novel never quite comes together. Perhaps that is the fault of the structure - the linked stories do not provide a unifying plot arc, with the requisite satisfaction of a culminating conclusion - but the stories themselves are derivative, so that by the time I reached the end, I was thinking more about where the story was from than about the story itself.
The Red Garden attempts to assess the ways in which American history - and the accompanying stories, folktales, fairy tales, and myths - make us who we are. How do Johnny Appleseed and Emily Dickinson represent American dreams and/or disappointments? How can the history of a small New England town encapsulate our shared history? Hoffman suggests that despite our efforts to move away from our past, it is always with us. This observation is neither new nor provocative, and the novel stays within the realm of the familiar. Hoffman provides no new insights on how history and fable can impact subsequent generations, and the characters exist in their situations, largely untouched by lessons from the past: though they are aware of their town's stories, they are not shaped by them.
The Red Garden is an enjoyable read, but it does not plunge far beneath the surface. Hoffman is a great storyteller, and her language rolls off the page, but she does not penetrate the essence of human existence.
2.08.2011
Review: Rose Tremain's Trepass
Tremain's recently published Trespass (2010) unfolds along a simple plot arc: a retired antiques dealer wants to buy a villa in the Cevannes region of France, but he encounters difficulty when it becomes clear that the owner cannot sell. Trepass contemplates the various ways people can trespass: over themselves, natural boundaries, relationships, memories, and sexuality. The novel also investigates the impact of childhood, a period of time from which, the novel suggests, one must spend the rest of life recovering.
Though the plot is simple, the characters and language are not. Tremain assembles a cast of old, life-weary people, all yearning to capture an ineffable, unreachable desire. They all dwell in the past, haunted by the notion that whatever good they could hope for has already escaped them. As the novel unfolds, it becomes clear that these desires are as disappointing as their current situations, prompting the pessimistic view that life is merely a shadowbox of hopes for better things. As Tremain investigates her characters, unfolding detail by delicate detail, we find shattered, sympathetic people, aching for peace.
The intensity of the novel is acheived through nuanced language and precise details. Tremain is a master at creating simple language that supports a tremendous weight. The pace is slow and you find yourself digesting every word. This is not a fast read, but a thoughtful walk through a shadowed room, a place full of regret, old age, lost time, and most of all, bitter trespasses.
Though the plot is simple, the characters and language are not. Tremain assembles a cast of old, life-weary people, all yearning to capture an ineffable, unreachable desire. They all dwell in the past, haunted by the notion that whatever good they could hope for has already escaped them. As the novel unfolds, it becomes clear that these desires are as disappointing as their current situations, prompting the pessimistic view that life is merely a shadowbox of hopes for better things. As Tremain investigates her characters, unfolding detail by delicate detail, we find shattered, sympathetic people, aching for peace.
The intensity of the novel is acheived through nuanced language and precise details. Tremain is a master at creating simple language that supports a tremendous weight. The pace is slow and you find yourself digesting every word. This is not a fast read, but a thoughtful walk through a shadowed room, a place full of regret, old age, lost time, and most of all, bitter trespasses.
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