Bluestalking

Event: Daniel Handler (aka Lemony Snicket) & Maira Kalman

What larks, Pip!

Starting off 2012 with a bang. It's only January and I've chalked up one author reading. Daniel Handler and his illustrator Maira Kalman spoke at the Barnes & Noble in Skokie, IL this past Wednesday evening, the two of them playing off each other like a comedy act. Reader, I have seen nothing like it and the two of them had me laughing so hard I was in tears.

 

 

The two of them together were like watching a Monty Python skit, American style, complete with a PowerPoint presentation featuring a woman on a fainting couch, a picture of a lost umbrella, a napkin with four grease stains - from onion rings, of course - and more.

They've collaborated for a number of works and obviously have a wonderful working relationship. He lives in San Francisco and she in New York but they met in Bologna, Italy at a children's literature festival. The two hit it off immediately and thank goodness for that. They've created so much together but you'll have to look that up yourselves, sorry.

 

 

This was the first author reading my daughter's attended, because it's the first author she actually recognized and whose books she's read. I don't think she read all the Lemony Snicket Series of Unfortunate Events books but she read quite a lot (as did I) and saw the film with a few friends, as one of her birthday parties. One at which I came close to having a nervous breakdown - quite literally. I was already emotionally stressed from the recent devastating loss of a close friend and then had these girls running around like idiots, nearly reducing me to tears. It's a wonder I wanted to see Daniel Handler after that but years pass and yadda yadda.

She was incredibly intimidated approaching an author for the actual signing, hiding behind me as long as she could before I made her put her own book on the table. She was afraid he'd talk to her, you see, and expect her to answer. I tried convincing her authors are, for the most part, normal human beings who eat food, smell badly if they don't shower and have to breathe now and then to stay alive but she'd have none of that.

"BUT IT'S LEMONY SNICKET!" she said.

And your point is?

As it turned out all he said was, "Is this your book?" signed it, and she thanked him. He was already on to the next in line before she'd even stepped away.

Kids.

 

 

Daniel and Maira were promoting their latest collaboration, Why We Broke Up. It's ostensibly a YA novel, though the two said they don't distinguish YA from adult. The audience was made up mostly of adults, so I kind of see their point. But then there were a few teens clasping copies of Lemony Snicket, as well as some with other books Kalman has illustrated.

What I found utterly fascinating was how they produced the book when they live on opposite coasts. Yes, I'm aware there's this thing called the internet, but their description of the process enthralled me. Sometimes she'd send him a picture she'd drawn and he'd write around that. Other times it would be the reverse, he'd write something and ask for a specific drawing.

I WANT THAT LIFE!

 

 

Part of the reading involved taking a "How Romantic Are You?" quiz, another first in my author event experiences. The higher the number (1 - 25) the more romantic you are.

 

 

And I scored 18! Me, 18! I would protest but this was obviously a scientific test.

Meanwhile, my daughter scored something in the range of 8 or 9. I've lived long enough to become jaded and sour and she's just 18. For some things I have no explanation.

 

 

 

Daniel Handler and Maira Kalman you are lovely. Thank you for the most silly author event I've yet attended, the red plastic combs we received as a bonus gift and for getting my daughter past her fear of actual writers. Thanks also for educating me as to my true romantic nature, of which I've been ignorant. And please remind me to advise my daughter's husband (when she's 35 and I allow her to marry) of her distinct lack of same.

Finally, here's a priceless bit of Daniel Handler humor for your viewing pleasure:

 

Review: A Long Long Way by Sebastian Barry

 

 It had to happen eventually. Though I was determined to read it slowly, once I hit the last quarter there was no putting it down.

A Long Long Way is slowly paced. Not as in oh my God when will this thing get going, as I found opined on another blog written by a reader struck, initially, by an unfortunate episode of dubious taste.

Think of lying back in a boat, reaching over the side trailing a finger in the water, wearing Edwardian dress and holding a parasol to protect  milky white skin. Of course, if you're male you may wish to make substitutions. You'll be rowing the boat so the lady may laze, reposing comfortably upon cushions downy soft. Because a lady neither breaks a sweat nor exerts. She is better suited to daydreaming, occasionally sighing gently.

Now that we have that settled.

I've mentioned already how easy it is to sympathize with Willie Dunne, the sweet young man sent off to fight in the fields of Belgium while his heart is back in Ireland with his love, Gretta of the green eyes. It's wrenching witnessing horrors through Willie's eyes and difficult knowing such a large part of his motivation for serving is the need to impress his father, because his son is not manly enough for his taste. Doesn't make one feel inclined to sympathize much with the man, even after his speech about having been a loyal policeman putting his life on the line as Ireland's beginning to split apart at the seams. But dear God things shift so cruelly by the end.

Though the plot is certainly attractive and keeps a due amount of tension it was for me far more about absorbing the language. I swear, this man's tax returns must be more romantic and poetic than the average love letter. Each time I open the book I tell myself I'm going to figure out the formula for how he does this but each time I'm so pulled in by his magic I forget I'd even had an agenda.

I know he does it by use of long, lulling sentences and keeping that slow pace mentioned above. But there is action and that's when any idea of analysis slips away. It's a time of war. Men are alternately being blown to bits and desperately seeking solace, living for weeks in filthy, sometimes flooded trenches with no food or water for days. And through it all Sebastian Barry manages that incredible flowing prose I'd know anywhere. I believe I may admire him for it, too.

I don't believe I need tell you the plot because really it's all here. Willie Dunne does his duty with a mixture of bravery and raw fear. There are friendships and losses, misery followed by brief furloughs. Back home are his sisters, his policeman father and his love, Gretta. And he misses them terribly when allowed the luxury of thinking beyond basic survival. Ireland is on the brink of civil war before WW I interrupts but the rifts have started and there is violence in the streets, part of which Willie's father finds himself in the midst of, his life and those of his comrades on the line. All the time Willie is away he awaits word from Gretta, and yes I assumed she must be a horrible person when the letters are from his sisters, instead. There's nothing more I can say, really, without giving away too much.

For this book Sebastian Barry was nominated for the Man Booker Prize. You may recall how I felt when his On Canaan's Side didn't make it to the Shortlist in 2011 and I would rather not go into my feelings on the Booker in general, thanks very much, though many congratulations to Julian Barnes. However, the stars did align for The Secret Scripture (the first of his books I read), winning him both the Costa and James Tait Black Memorial Prize, which are proof some judges on this earth know their business quite well. And did I mention A Long Long Way was chosen for Dublin's One Book One City read in 2007? Because it was.

Overall I guess what I'd like to say I've already said. I love many styles of writing from the florid prose of Dickens to the stripped down minimalism of much contemporary fiction but Sebastian Barry is on an entirely different plane. And you may not agree, that's fine. Though I'd rather not speak to you if that's the case.

Next, I'm not sure if I'm supposed to go backward to Annie Dunne or re-read The Secret Scripture and then Annie. But I'll figure that out. I found an affordable copy of his first novel, Macker's Garden, which I believe has no relation to these about the Dunnes but I won't read that 'til I've read through to On Canaan's Side again. However, neither love nor a reasonable amount of money will get me a copy of The Engine of Owl-Light, as of the last time I nosed around. This was his second novel and I've had no luck at all adding it to my collection. If I have to I'll fork over more money than I was comfortable with before but I'll deal with that when it's time. Mayhaps  a miracle will happen in the interim and I'll luck upon it in a used bookshop.

Speaking of time, his novels take quite a bit of that and being a playwright as well there's his tendency to write those when I'd rather he worked on a novel. Far be it from me to dictate to a genius but, well...

Let's face it. I'm going to be forced to start on the plays,  now, won't I. I may have a wait between novels and I'm not sure I can sway or hurry him with stories of my tears falling upon the keyboard, my wails splitting the ears of my family as I wallow in abject misery. Being a gentleman he'd pat me gently on the head and express his regret, which would not be a bad happening, mind, but in the meantime it's read and re-read and hope.

Sigh.

 

 

 

 

Writing - the Boring Business Part

Seems logical while I'm in the Great Voting Race for The Top Writing Blog contest I should post a bit of what I know about writing. You learn a few things when you've been reviewing as long as I have, more than a decade all told, things I wish someone had told me when I first started. Imagining myself in your shoes, starting all over again, there's a lot of knowledge I can pass along, things I've picked up along the way about how the writing market works and what you can expect once you're out there. As long as I have people swinging past to check me out, err..., check out my BLOG I may as well help you a bit if I can.

First depressing truth: your odds of making a living as a writer are roughly the same as winning the lottery. Before you decide this is what your gut tells you your heart wants, prepare yourself. Have another job in mind. You're going to need it. Writing isn't what it used to be. Competition is fierce, sometimes downright ugly. Never has it been so rough. Behind you are thousands just like you, some equally talented, some less and some more so. Writers are completely replaceable. If you give up your place in line, let up on relentless marketing and networking, you may as well hang it up. It is that cut-throat. You need to market yourself every, single day. Make connections, pop up on writing forums and blogs, Tweet writers (but not in a needy, "look at me!" way).

And when I say networking, I mean schmoozing: getting out there, shamelessly self-marketing yourself, using every avenue open to you. Keep cool, don't press or be obnoxious. Be CONFIDENT. You're a writer and you're good, goshdarnit!

You'll need a blog to act as your portfolio and it's crucial to be as active as possible in social networking. When you're blogging and networking develop a persona, an identifiable and consistent writing style. That's easy to say, and takes the longest time, but it's necessary if you're going to stand out from the herd.

Approach literary journals first, and local papers/publications, the ones that pay nothing or very little. They're everywhere online. Be open to cranking out quality work you'll need to give away. But always be on time and don't miss deadlines. Treat every writing assignment as if you're getting paid and get to know your editors. They are connected and invaluable.

The goal here is to build a portfolio you can present to the next rung up the ladder, an easily accessed electronic source a busy editor can skim over when she has time. Editors are going to ask for proof you can write well, wide-ranging styles showing your versatility. Have that ready and organized, with a URL you can give for a busy editor's convenience. And if you contact an editor who doesn't respond don't take it personally. They are barraged by requests. Give them a few days, then write them back to let them know you're still interested, still available. But don't be obnoxious about it. Wait a bit longer, try again but then move on to the next editor. You can always come back to the first editor later and if you come back with a published piece you're more likely to be heard.

And, speaking of connections, join LinkedIn! It's beyond invaluable. Friend request me; I know loads of editors, publishing house editors and marketers, magazine editors and established writers. Get to know how you can use it. I'd recommend checking a book out of the library or buying a manual on how to use it. It's amazingly helpful in building that all-important network.

When you're out and about, have business cards. Writing is a profession and should be treated seriously. If you have a niche, journalism or what not, reflect that clearly on the cards and carry over a consistent brand in everything you present. For instance, use the same typeface, colors, tagline or whatever. Get connected with a specific look that's solely yours.

That's a bit about the business end of it. Not thorough by any means but that's why there are so many books out there on writing. But, speaking of those, don't get caught up spending more time reading them than writing. Such an easy trap to fall into! Writing itself should be primary on your schedule. Read the books as an extra.

More advice from a veteran reviewer/columnist tomorrow! Hope it helps/gives you food for thought. Any specific questions, just ask.

 

Get out the vote!

If you look to my right sidebar you'll see a button announcing my nomination as a Top Writing Blog. If you click on that you may vote for me (me! me!) which would be much appreciated.

This award competition operates via Chicago voting rules, meaning you can vote as many times as you'd like before the deadline, which will continue through February 3, 2012 at 5 PM EST.

Also as per Chicago tradition, the deceased are more than welcome to cast their ballot. We don't even require a pulse, one of the reasons we're one of the greatest cities on earth.

I'm Lisa Guidarini and I approved this message. Thank you and God Bless America.

 

Unrelated to books in any way, but...

Oh dear God, I have to share:

 

 

Musings on NBCC Finalists - 2011, redux

So sorry about yesterday's mysterious disappearing post. Once again Typepad gobbled a long piece I'd been working on for more than an hour. It upset me that I'd expended all that time and energy only to lose it all. At least it wasn't a novel, eh? I know, I know, perspective... yadda  yadda. But when you're already having a bad life day stuff like this doesn't do a person any favors.

Regardless, it's embarrassing Tweeting I'd posted a new blog post, only to send visitors to a blank page. And Twitter's customer service? Underwhelming, to say the least. I'm still irate at how little they cared, giving the most cursory response, solving nothing. I've been with them six years, giving them a big chunk of money for the privilege. I could go elsewhere for free, yet I've stayed here. You'd think that would mean something but I suppose apathy rules, as it does pretty much everywhere.

As I'd been saying before my post went amiss, my personal nomination for the fiction prize didn't make the cut. My choice was Goldie Goldbloom's The Paperbark Shoe, the book that was for 2011 what Jon Clinch's Finn was for my 2007 - an unexpected smack to my gob. It's these first-time novelists I love discovering; it's such a rush being among the first to see their skill and future potential. And it was satisfying Finn went on to make a big splash, being added to several university reading lists as a companion to Huckleberry Finn. I can't claim responsibility for all that but I spread the word every chance I got. I can only hope I brought The Paperbark Shoe to a wider reading audience. Who knows? Maybe.

This year's out of nowhere nomination is Dana Spiotta's Stone Arabia. Just so happens I've read it, when The Rumpus chose it as a bookclub selection a few months ago. Because I was late to the discussion and wanted to participate I read it quickly, not giving it much time to impress me. Then again, when a book knocks me sideways I know it right away. The first sentence is key and the first paragraph almost always seals the deal. And that didn't happen with SA. I'll give it one more go but honestly I don't see it as the winner. But just to be nominated is an incredible honor for one of the more obscure titles.

Then there's Alan Hollinghurst's The Stranger's Child, another underwhelming read, one I dumped halfway through when a major character fell off the scene, angering me and making me lose interest. Hollinghurst's prose just wasn't there for me, either. I know the critics fell all over themselves praising it. I just don't quite understand why. Maybe it took a turn for the better after I left off but a prize-winning novel shouldn't lose the reader, ever. As with SA, I'll try it one last time, reserving final judgement 'til I do.

Teju Cole's novel Open City was an exception to my first paragraph rule. For the first half to three quarters I would have given it a full five stars, no reservations. Then came a long, dull political screed interrupting the narrative. Political themes are all well and good but don't slip them in halfway through a novel. Give the reader a little inkling what's coming earlier on, include a transition.With no major segue the politics turned a fantastic book into a slog. I didn't even finish the book. And, okay. I'll try it again.

I'm seeing a theme here. You?

That leaves Eugenides and Pearlman, the only two whose nominations I haven't tried. They're both queued up on my Kindle, so I officially own all the fiction finalists. This one category is all I can handle this year but I'll have my pick ready before the board declares the winners in early March. Disclaimer: And, so you know, though I have nomination privileges I have no part or influence over the winners.

Alas, the rest of my original post is lost to the ages. I recreated a lot of the original but it pains me knowing a lot of it was lost. Maybe it would have pained you had my little disaster not happened. Sometimes things work out for the better.

If you have any thoughts on the 2011 nominations/awards I'd love to hear them. Just drop me a comment in the usual place, and, again, sorry about Typepad's gaffe. I'll post thoughts on the fiction finalists as I read. I, for one, will be interested to see if re-reading any books I disliked the first time changes my opinion. Truthfully, I doubt it. Without that prior knowledge my early prediction (and don't hold me to this...) is either Eugenides or Pearlman, though Hollinghurst has gotten an awful lot of critical acclaim. And sometimes awards go to critically beloved books which have been passed over for other awards, intentionally or not I honestly don't know.

One book I'm surprised didn't make the list is Jesmyn Ward's Salvage the Bones. What a masterwork! Yes, she won the National Book Award but frankly I don't think there's an award out there this book doesn't deserve. It's just that magnificent. If she wasn't a consideration I'd be shocked. Guess you can't let every deserving book make it into the finals. I recommend putting this novel on your reading list, if you haven't already. Then try and tell me it didn't deserve a spot here.

Congratulations to all the nominees. I wish you the bet of luck.

But here they are, the finalists for books written in 2011:

 

NBCC Finalists 2011

 

Fiction

Teju Cole, Open City (Random House)

Jeffrey Eugenides, The Marriage Plot (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)

Alan Hollinghurst, The Stranger’s Child (Knopf)

Edith Pearlman, Binocular Vision (Lookout Books)

Dana Spiotta, Stone Arabia (Scribner)

 

Nonfiction

Amanda Foreman, A World on Fire: Britain’s Crucial Role in the American Civil War (Random)

James Gleick, The Information (Pantheon)

Adam Hochschild, To End All Wars: A Story of Loyalty and Rebellion, 1914-1918 (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt)

Maya Jasanoff, Liberty's Exiles: American Loyalists in the Revolutionary War (Knopf)

John Jeremiah Sullivan, Pulphead: Essays (Farrar, Straus, & Giroux)

 

Autobiography

Diane Ackerman, One Hundred Names for Love: A Stroke, A Marriage, and the Language of Healing (W.W. Norton)

Mira Bartók, The Memory Palace (Free Press)

Sharifa Rhodes-Pitts, Harlem Is Nowhere: A Journey to the Mecca of Black America (Little, Brown)

Luis J. Rodríguez, It Calls You Back: An Odyssey Through Love, Addiction, Revolutions, and Healing (Touchstone)

Deb Olin Unferth, Revolution: The Year I Fell in Love and Went to Join the War (Henry Holt)

 

Biography

Mary Gabriel, Love and Capital: Karl and Jenny Marx and the Birth of the Revolution (Little, Brown)

John Lewis Gaddis, George F. Kennan: An American Life (Penguin Press)

Paul Hendrickson, Hemingway’s Boat: Everything He Loved in Life, and Lost, 1934-1961 (Knopf)

Manning Marable, Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention (Viking)

Ezra F. Vogel, Deng Xiaoping and the Transformation of China (Belknap Press: Harvard University Press)

 

Criticism

David Bellos, Is That a Fish in Your Ear?: Translation and the Meaning of Everything (Faber & Faber)

Geoff Dyer, Otherwise Known as the Human Condition: Selected Essays and Reviews (Graywolf)

Jonathan Lethem, The Ecstasy of Influence (Doubleday)

Dubravka Ugresic, Karaoke Culture (Open Letter)

Ellen Willis, Out of the Vinyl Deeps: Ellen Willis on Rock Music (University of Minnesota Press)

 

Poetry

Forrest Gander, Core Samples from the World (New Directions)

Aracelis Girmay, Kingdom Animalia (BOA Editions)

Laura Kasischke, Space, in Chains (Copper Canyon Press)

Yusef Komunyakaa, The Chameleon Couch (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux)

Bruce Smith, Devotions (University of Chicago Press)

 

Black dog of the bleak mid-winter

"I used to think the mute incoherent daily suffering of ordinary life was too big for words. Now I think the words are too big for it. There are no words trivial enough to say how terrible it is." - Sam Savage, Glass