In Progress: 'A Life in the Dark'

Nearly midway through Brian Kellow's remarkable biography of The New Yorker movie critic Pauline Kael, A Life in the Dark, and completely enthralled by the movies, art and why having honest opinions about both matter.

I'm at the part now where Kellow is summarizing Kael's 1971 The New Yorker essay, "Notes on Heart and Mind". Kael is essentially saying people can mistake the packaging, or the way the story is told, rather than the point of the story itself in their appreciations. Although she pits Pop against The Arts, and there is a significant conversation that needs to take place often about the importance of both, there is another aspect to her thinking that matters as well.

When evaluating how a work has affected me as a reader, and of its value as a work of storytelling, there are two things to consider. What is the point of the story and how was the story told? Each plays a significant role in how well the other works. A story that works on every level -- characterization, a plot that arises naturally from the characters and their situation, whether there are any layers to the story that dwell on the complexity of the human condition -- all the story elements can jell together to make a story that resonates with the mind and the heart. This is true of any genre, whether literary or horror, whether classic Victorian tearjerker or modern hard-boiled tale, whether experimental short story or traditional Regency romance. And, yes, how well the story works while operating within the conventions of its genre is another consideration, but one that is within the broad area of how the story is told.

After all, it is possible to write about the same scenario within many genres. A revenge tale will look different as a mystery, a horror story, a romance or a contemporary literary novel. And each should be considered on its own merits, not whether a mystery, a horror story, a romance or a contemporary literary novel is a more worthy work of fiction based solely on its genre.

The other great aspect of any work of fiction that determines how well it works -- how well it gets its point across and how competely a reader can respond to it -- is the point itself. Sometimes, the point is so  ridiculous the whole work collapses.

This is one reason it took me months to write the review of Reginald Hill's The Woodcutter, which I posted earlier today. I just didn't see what the point of this elaborate, albeit well-written, novel was. Over time, what I have seen as the point doesn't raise my assessment. In fact, the assessment was lowered.

Sometimes the point of the story is a terrific one and most of the story elements sing, they work together so well. But one little aspect becomes larger and larger, until its weight collapses the ability of my disbelief to remain suspended. This is what happened with another extremely well-written crime novel, The Keeper of Lost Causes by Jussi Adler-Olsen. This is a very strong story about the strength and power of love, with engaging characters who I would gladly read about in other novels. But the thriller-like ending with more and more improbable acts of violence made me shake my head even while wishing the end could be possible.

Does anyone else look at what they read through similar lenses? I can see where breaking this down could help me view any fiction I would write, in addition to the way I look at what others have written.

Review: 'The Woodcutter'

THE WOODCUTTER
By Reginald Hill
Fiction
August 2011
Harper
ISBN: 978-0062060747                                                                              

Occasionally a book comes along that engages the reader but does not lend itself easily to any category. The Woodcutter, written by crime fiction master Reginald Hill, is such a novel.

It begins with Wolf Hadda, a successful man of the city, master of finance and friend to those in both government and business, a man who built an empire on his own. His life unravels as he is accused of financial misdealings and being a child pornographer. He is arrested, escapes and is grievously wounded when recaptured. His wife deserts him and his only child dies while he is in prison.
Years later, this shell of a man unleashes a plot of revenge after a young prison psychologist attempts to break through what is left of his encrusted ego.

Review: 'The Train of Small Mercies'

1968 just about broke America's heart with assassinations, riots and war protests. After Robert Kennedy was killed in Los Angeles, apparently on the brink of winning the Democratic nomination for the presidency, tens of thousands mourned the loss of promise and felt sorrow for his pregnant widow and other family members.                                                          

The funeral train that carried RFK's body from New York to Washington, D.C., for interment at Arlington National Cemetary became one of those great national events when people come together. It is possible that 2 million people waited along the tracks of the route to pay their respects. For photographs of that journey, there is a poignant archive of Paul Fusco's work.

David Rowell uses the train's voyage as the focal point of his first novel, The Train of Small Mercies, and through the stories of many characters presents a narrative of quiet hope that arrives when least expected. It is not always evident along the journey that any of the characters will see hope, and not everyone has a happy ending. The climax of many characters' stories is melodramatic, especially for two cases when things go drastically wrong at the end.

Liebster Blog Awards: The Winners

Cannot believe I let more than a month go by before fulfilling my obligation in the Liebster Blog Awards. The main point is to pass on the award to five other recipients to spread the word about other book blogs you enjoy.

Here are my winners:

Stu Allen of Winston's Dad, a blog that celebrates fiction translated into English. Stu is not only widely read in world fiction, and brings many deserving authors to my attention, he also has excellent taste in music and film, and as a fellow dog lover always has my highest esteem.

One book blogger who blows me away with his discernment and enthusiasm for excellent writing is the wordish celebrator behind Rob Around Books, whose site always makes me want to turn into a whirling dervish of a reading machine.
Author, smart reader and all-around wonderful fellow David Abrams has a blog I rely on. If you haven't seen The Quivering Pen, please do.

We have similar taste but aren't always reading the same thing, so I enjoy Col Reads for both new and classic choices. Plus, she's also a Europa Challenge blogger. Speaking of ...

I was one of the first to sign on the the Europa Challenge, as it is one of my favorite imprints. How many reviews have I contributed? You're right. But I haven't given up trying to get there and I still want everyone else to discover the incredible range of books through this blog created by two colleagues I hold in the highest admiration: Marie of Boston Bibliophile and Miss Liberty herself.

Winners, I hope you have the chance to pass on the peer appreciation as well.

Thank you again to Emma Hunneyball of In Potentia, another book blogger who I hope you're reading for her lovely insight.

Review: 'Serious Eats'

SERIOUS EATS: A COMPREHENSIVE GUIDE TO MAKING AND EATING DELICIOUS FOOD
Ed Levine
Coookbook/Food Guide
November 2011
Clarkson Potter
ISBN: 978-0307720870                                                                    

Part cookbook, part traveling guide, Serious Eats is all food love. Created by the people behind the popular website, this self-style comprehensive guide does a quick decent job of rounding up where to go to find the best good grub and how to go about making it yourself.

The introduction by Ed Levine is a quirky celebration of all things food, but not "foodie", in appreciating great meals, good ingredients and no stuffiness.

Featuring real-world descriptions and gorgeous photography by Robyn Lee, the guide has a defense of oatmeal in the breakfast chapter, pages upon pages of pizza oven investigations, and a burger section that includes discussion of regional variation and bun choice -- as well as acknowledging that American cheese is important to a good burger.

Although more an addition to a well-stocked home culinary library than one of the essential cookbooks, Serious Eats does provide opportunities for fun browsing sessions.

©2011 All Rights Reserved CompuServe Books Reviews and reprinted with permission

Discovering more: Clarice Lispector

My introduction to Brazilian writer Clarice Lispector was the unfortunate volume, I'm a Box, by Natalia Carrero. In it, an earnest, inquisitive young woman discovers Lispector's writing and tries to become her biggest fan girl in this debut work of fiction. The text itself shies away from calling this a novel and that's an honest assessment. There is no narrative structure, no plot, no conflict outside young Nadila's wishes to be a writer as good as her role model.

In the closing pages, another reason for seeking kinship with the writer is revealed but, as with everything else in this work, nothing comes from it.

Just writing that someone is important to you and quoting from that person doesn't carry much weight. The narrator says she has learned more about herself from the experience of doing this writing, but what that was remains abstract. Lispector wrote abstract pieces herself, in addition to journalistic pieces, but the allure of her work isn't made clear in I'm a Box.

Communicating how she has grown in self-knowledge, and what that might mean to her future, or communicating why Lispector should be read today would have made for a successful work. What is communicated is the earnestness and sincerity of the writer's quest, but the results of that quest remain out of reach.
Fortunately, I discovered this morning that there may be more to Lispector's work. Volume 199 of The Paris Review includes two very short stories by Lispector, One Hundred Years of Forgiveness, and A Story of Great Love.                                                     

One Hundred Years is a quick remembrance of something the narrator did as a child -- steal single roses from gardens and, later, berries. How the idea to suddenly steal a beautiful rose, to possess such beauty for herself, and how both roses and berries are beautiful and nourishing for a fleeting time, give this very short work a gravitas that goes well beyond what a young girl does on impulse.

A Story of Great Love works similar magic in the tale of another young girl who loves the hens in her yard. Told in third person, this short story also reveals a greater truth through the prosaic circumstances of what inevitably happens to chickens. When it comes to both domestic fowl and their keepers, Lispector writes, "A hen is alone in the world."

Just as Lispector's two short stories go from the simple and everyday to greater truths, my reading experience here has shown me once again a greater truth: Sometimes an introduction is not the best way to judge what a writer, or any other person, has to offer to make my world richer.

Review: 'Wonderstruck'

WONDERSTRUCKBy Brian Selznick
Children's Fiction
September 2011
Scholastic Press
ISBN: 978-0-545-02789-2                                                     

Ben is a boy now living with his aunt, uncle and two cousins since his single mother died in an accident. His aunt and uncle talk about selling his mother's house next door on a Minnesota lakeshore. Lonely, he sneaks over to his old home one night when he sees a light. It's his cousin Janet, dressing in his mother's clothes and playing her old music. He talks his cousin into letting him stay in the house alone for a bit. Ben discovers a note in one of his mother's books that leads him to believe he might be able to talk to the father he's never met. Deaf in one ear, he dials the phone just as lightning strikes the house. He's now totally deaf. Ben is hospitalized, but sneaks out to take a bus to New York to see if he can find his father.

While this story in prose takes place in the 1970s, Selznick intersperses it with detailed drawings, in the same style as his Invention of Hugo Cabret, of a  young girl in the 1920s. She, too, is deaf and sneaks away from her house to watch a silent movie. The girl, Rose, runs away to take the ferry from Hoboken to New York City, where she tracks down the star of the silent movie to a stage, rehearsing a play. It's her mother, and she is ashamed of her deaf daughter.