Writers You Should Read

I'm making March my unofficial Promote Writing month. So to start with (and perhaps end with, depending on how motivated I get), here are three blogs you should read by writers you may not know, all in the SF/Fantasy vein:

http://ursulav.livejournal.com/ - Ursula Vernon, fellow Sofawolf author and also published children's book author. She's funny, quirky, and lays bare her soul. Always entertaining.

http://matociquala.livejournal.com/ - Elizabeth Bear, many-times-published author and Hugo award-winner. Funny and quirky as well, but talks more about writing.

http://whatever.scalzi.com/ - John Scalzi. Smart things about writing, and he writes a lot. Hugo winner as well, has published many fiction and non-fiction books.

What writing blogs do you like to read?

Getting an Agent

Because I'm too lazy to type something on my own, a very interesting link about getting an agent for your book.

Short version: if you have a good book, it's much much less trouble.

Changing Horses

I almost never do this, but there will be no review of William Vollman's "Europe Central" forthcoming anytime soon. I have reached the 100-page mark and this is what I know:

* He refers to Hitler as "the sleepwalker" and Stalin as "the realist." This was mildly interesting at first but grows increasingly more irritating as he uses real names for EVERYONE ELSE.

* A German woman who likes to paint peasant women holding dead children went on a trip to Russia where she was honored for her art. Sort of. And listened to a symphony by a composer.

* That composer was married but left his wife for another woman, for whom he wrote an impassioned symphony(? it's just called Opus 40) through which you can hear his love.

That's it. There's like seven hundred more pages of this. I have a great deal of respect for the "beautiful sentence" crowd, but I don't consider plot an acceptable casualty of the doctrine, and I don't have a lot of time to read. If I want long, rambling description, I'll at least read Proust, who may take forever to get somewhere but provides a much more interesting ride. On to the next book on the stack.

Wisdom from the late DFW

Looking through Consider the Lobster to get a quotation for a friend this evening, I happened upon this little bit of wisdom for writers, from DFW, distilled down for brevity:

The two most important rules for writers are:

(1) The reader cannot know or perceive anything other than what you put down on the page;
(2) You cannot expect the reader to feel the same way you do about any given thing.

These rules, he says, are so plain and obvious that it is astounding how difficult it is to get college-level students to put them into practice. They are truisms that we wave our pens at and say, "of course, of course," and then they totally fly out of our heads while writing. To simplify, of course, one could boil those down to one thing:

* The reader is a separate human being living in a separate world from you, whose only intersection with your world is the words you put down on the page.

Just something to remember.

Review: Declare

Declare, by Tim Powers
9/10, a seamless blend of spy novel and supernatural thriller

O Fish, are you constant to the old covenant?
Return, and we return. Keep faith, and so will we.

The Afterword to "Declare" is every bit as fascinating as the story itself. Intrigued by a book about Soviet double agent Kim Philby, Tim Powers began reading more about the man and his life. He found that the more he read, the more it felt as though Philby's life revolved around a central mystery that nobody had yet written about. Being, as we know, one of the masters of the contemporary supernatural, Powers took it upon himself to write that mystery, and Declare was born.

Powers created Andrew Hale, a British Secret Service agent whose birth in Palestine and baptism in the River Jordan make him perfectly suited for assignment to the supernatural division of the Service, which goes by various acronyms over the course of his association with it. He isn't always told the full truth; in fact, part of the joy of the book is the reader's journey along with Hale as he travels from ordinary espionage to something larger and more frightening.

But his journey is not only a journey of knowledge. Hale's journey is intertwined with that of Philby and Elena Ceniza-Bendiga, the latter a creation of Powers like him. The three of them perform a dizzying dance between the secret services of the Soviet Union, Great Britain, and France that is occasionally hard to follow, but never so much that it impedes the reader's understanding of the story. Each of them is faced with the question of what is most important in life several times along the course of the book, and Powers brings that question to a satisfying answer with the end.

As always, Powers exhibits a dazzling imagination in the intricate details of his supernatural world. It meshes perfectly with our contemporary world, and its rules have the internal consistency and detail one might expect from a watchmaker. I have a particular affection for magic, especially in a contemporary context (as in urban fantasy), where magical phrases like the one above have layers of meaning and power. Powers expertly doles out just enough information about his world to draw the reader in.

In Declare, Powers adds some terrific characters. Beyond his main three, a host of supporting characters fill the book out and give it life. He moves them through London, Paris, Beirut, and Moscow, each one lovingly described. Sometimes the action is a bit hard to follow, and if there's one flaw in the book, that would be it. But this is a thrilling, satisfying read, and it immerses you in his world so much that you want to go up to someone on the street and say, "O Fish, are you constant to the old covenant?" just to see what they might say in return.

To Chase The Sublime

Via Maud Newton, whose blog I've only recently started to read: a hysterical satire of literary criticism.

Wow, Fiction Works!


I had to bite my hand to keep from laughing out loud in the office at the following excerpt:

We could all do worse than to write like Saul Bellow. And when I say write like Saul Bellow, I mean be Saul Bellow. And when I say be Saul Bellow, I mean unzip the skin from his body and wear it as a sort of Saul Bellow suit so that we can get cozy in it and truly inhabit it and understand the Old Macher.

What's On Your Stack?

Books on my shelf this year:

Declare, Tim Powers - I love his work. 1940s-to-1960s war drama with the requisite supernatural element.

Europe Central, William Vollmann - "Through interwoven narratives that paint a composite portrait of [Germany and the USSR] and the monstrous age they defined, /Europe Central/ captures a chorus of voices both real and fictional--a young German who joins the SS to fight its crimes, two generals who collaborate with the enemy for different reasons, the Soviet composer Dmitri Shostakovich and the Stalinist assaults upon his work and life. With these and other unforgettable stories, Vollmann breathes life into a haunting chapter from the past and gives us a daring literary masterpiece."

2666, Roberto Bolaño - An epic story, a Christmas present from Mark, whose last such venture was "The Shadow of the Wind," which turned out pretty darn good too.

The Drawing of the Dark, Tim Powers  - More Tim Powers, but medieval.

Shakespeare: The World As Stage, Bill Bryson - A tour through Shakespeare's world to understand the context of his plays.

Strange Itineraries, Tim Powers - Short stories. Yes, someone went through my Amazon list and got me all the Tim Powers books.

Mothers and Sons, Colm Toibin - Saw him speak at Stanford and loved his talk and the excerpt.

The Age of Innocence, Edith Wharton - 1920s social drama, Pulitzer-winner. I'd heard of it but never read it.

The United States of Arugula, David Kamp - A history of food snobbery in America.

Seven Ages of Paris, Alistair Horne - A history of my favorite city.

Out of the Kitchen, Jeanette Ferrary - A book by our food writing teacher from last year's class.

The View From The Upper Deck, D.J. Gallo - Sports humor from one of my favorite sports humorists.

Can I Keep My Jersey, Paul Shirley - The story of an NBA journeyman. Paul Shirley blogged on ESPN.com for a while and is always entertaining.

Jane Goodall, Dale Peterson - A biography by an author. I met him during his research at the U of M's Center and read the book he co-authored with Jane, "Visions of Caliban." Haven't gotten to this imposing volume yet.

Hopefully I can get through all of these in 2009! I'm looking forward to them.

Review: Bellwether

Bellwether, by Connie Willis
8/10, an enjoyable contemporary story of science research

In Passage, Connie Willis tells a story whose stakes are literally life and death. In Bellwether, the stakes aren't as high, but the story is still enjoyable.

Dr. Foster studies fads, and one of the enjoyable touches in the book is the beginning of each chapter, which lists a (sometimes relevant) trend, its birth and its demise. Willis does her research for these books, and it shows. Dr. Foster works for a high tech company (amusingly called HiTek) that sponsors scientific research with one hand, while the other seems to do everything possible to impede it. There isn't the urgency of "Passage" here, but the plot is similar: female scientist struggling against bureaucracy and her peers to accomplish a breakthrough, who meets a like-minded scientist whose help becomes essential.

"Bellwether" is a light, enjoyable read. Like all Willis's books, the characters are a delight to get to know, and you will put down the book knowing more about the subject than you did when you picked it up. The subject matter more or less forces her to root the book firmly in the mid-nineties, which is a good thing in this case. I remember the anti-smoking fad, the various beverage fads (still going on today), although for good measure, Willis throws in several other fads of her own invention that don't seem too outrageous. You'll also learn a little bit about chaos theory, something about libraries, and just a pinch about fairy godmothers.

Though you can see where everything is going before it gets there, that doesn't make the book any less fun to read. Like her earlier work, "To Say Nothing Of The Dog," "Bellwether" plays for comedy more than drama, and she proves equally adept at both.

Review: The Tales of Beedle the Bard

"The Tales of Beedle the Bard," by J.K. Rowling
9/10, a short, enjoyable collection of fairy tales from the Harry Potter universe

Upon finishing the "Harry Potter" series, J.K. Rowling declared there would be no more stories in that universe, at least not for a while. With good reason: although her love for the world shines through in her stories, it must be exhausting to have so much attention focused on it. Certainly she need never work again.

Some of the stories must have been kicking around in her head, though. This small collection of fairy tales includes the tale of the three brothers referenced in "Deathly Hallows," as well as a few others, and commentary on the tales by Albus Dumbledore. Viewed as a part of the Potter-verse, they are all attuned to the theme that magic by itself does not solve problems; rather, it's the good qualities in people that matter the most. One wishes Voldemort had paid more attention to these stories.

On their own, they differ from Andersen's or Grimm's fairy tales in precisely that respect. While good qualities in people usually win out in fairy tales, a lot is also due to magic and charms. It's a challenge for Rowling to build fantasy into a world that is already fantasy, and mostly she accomplishes this by avoiding the issue. The stories feel more like tall tales than fairy tales--slight exaggerations of the real world.

That's not meant to be a criticism. The stories are entertaining, and Dumbledore's commentary is fun because it relates the stories to the Potter world, though also to ours. If you're a Harry Potter fan, chances are you already have this book. If not, they probably won't interest you. But it's nice to revisit the world again, and it's nice to read Rowling's writing again. The theme of good human qualities shining through is no less appealing for being closer to the surface here, and her imagination is as fun as always.

Review: The Unconsoled

"The Unconsoled," by Kazuo Ishiguro
8.5/10, a puzzling but lovely work of magical realism

As I may have mentioned, Ishiguro is probably my favorite contemporary writer (though as Rikoshi points out, I have not read enough David Mitchell, a deficiency I intend to remedy in 2009). Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go are an amazing pair of books, and even When We Were Orphans, though not quite as good, was still head and shoulders above most other contemporary fiction. Ishiguro shares with Mitchell a gift for character voice, and both are expert at pulling the reader into the character's experiences. Ishuguro in particular loves the device of the unreliable narrator, allowing his protagonist to present the reader with "facts" that the reader can only glean from other hints are perhaps not as rock-solid as the narrator might think.

The Unconsoled is more reminiscent of When We Were Orphans than of either of the other two books. The narrator, Mr. Ryder, is a celebrated pianist, arriving in an unnamed Central European city for a recital. It soon becomes clear that this visit is for more than just a recital: Ryder is expected to attend all manner of community functions, to weigh in on local affairs, and especially to witness the revival of a Mr. Brodsky, a former conductor who took to drink but is looking to the night of the recital to resurrect not only his career, but also his image in the town.

So far, so good. But within the first few pages, Mr. Ryder is confronted by his publicist, who assumes he has read his schedule, which in fact he has not. He meets a porter named Gustav, who takes such pride in his profession that he has organized the other porters in the other hotels in town, and they have set up a code for porters to follow. Gustav has a daughter and a grandson, and the daughter is having emotional problems, so he begs Mr. Ryder to do him the favor of talking to her. Ryder demurs, not wanting to be involved in family affairs, but Gustav implores him, and so he agrees, the first in many diversions from the schedule he has not read. When he meets Sophie, Gustav's daughter, she greets him as though he is part of her family--which it turns out he is; Sophie is his wife, and Boris his son.

These sorts of revelations are parceled out to the reader throughout the book. The puzzling and intriguing thing is that they appear to be revealed to Ryder at the same time. "I suddenly recalled sitting in an apartment with Sophie while she prepared a meal," he will think, and from there he accepts the familiarity of the situation. It is almost as if he arrives in the city a blank slate, prepared to accept whatever past the inhabitants choose to impose on him.

The world becomes dreamlike in other ways: time dilates, such that an urgent engagement might still be met after three or four diversions; a long car ride from the hotel through the city to a dining hall might end with a walk back through the dining hall to the hotel via a connecting corridor. Buildings connect, places are impossibly far or close, people turn up where they are meant to be without any prearrangement, and Ryder is forever recognizing people from his past.

The various subplots are too numerous to describe, but the main contrast is between the inhabitants of the town, who are all striving to do something, and Ryder himself, who sometimes renders an opinion, but in the end is revered by the townspeople for doing exactly nothing. Forever a spectator, an arbiter, he keeps himself forcibly at a distance from his own life even while lamenting that very distance. The book ends, as many of Ishiguro's books do, with an analogy that keenly places Ryder's dilemma (I won't spoil it by outlining it here). We end with him planning his next visit, to Helsinki, leaving us wondering if he will land in Helsinki and find another family lamenting his frequent trips, another set of past acquaintances, another shadow of a life that is the only substitute he will allow himself.

Ryder has a weaker voice than the other Ishiguro protagonists I've read, but the story is no less compelling. Each of the townspeople has a beautifully crafted, often tragic personality, which they are given ample time to explore in monologues to Ryder (or, sometimes, monologues and memories that he somehow "hears" anyway). His eye for detail in description is marvelous, and all the dialogue is outstanding. Despite the puzzling magical realism of the book, I felt compelled to finish it, and actually felt satisfied with it when I was done.

I wouldn't start with this book if you're unfamiliar with his work--pick up The Remains of the Day or Never Let Me Go--but if you love his writing, this is definitely worthwhile. You may be confused, but you won't be disappointed.

EDIT: I went looking for other people's opinions after writing this, and found one reviewer who makes an interesting case for Ryder being a dementia sufferer. I prefer to look at it metaphorically, but this is an interesting take on it as well.

Linkage!

The ever-gracious, always worth reading Lance Mannion has linked to "Common and Precious" in a roundup of writers who read his blog. Thanks! If you enjoy trenchant political insight, movie reviews, and photo-essays of New York and New England--heck, if you just enjoy good writing, head over his way. You'll be a convert soon too.

So You Want To Go On A Book Tour?

Read this: http://open.salon.com/content.php?cid=64473

Heck, my book tour was almost more successful, and I just walked .75 miles from my house for one evening. I will say that the Index is very funny, especially at the end.

(I'm also not sure whether to be amused or sad that he, a writer, twice uses "it's" incorrectly.)

I confess I haven't read much of Elizabeth Bear's award-winning work, but I do enjoy her blog. And if you are a writer, or want to be a writer, or want other people to think you're a writer, you need to read this. Seriously. Go. Do it now.

Murder? Not so fast

One of the popular cliches of graduate writing seminars is "murder your darlings." This is the rule that guards against a writer becoming so emotionally attached to a scene that he or she keeps it in the manuscript even when it doesn't belong. We've all done that, right? Written something that made us bounce in our chair, something that was so good that we had to keep it in the story, or change the story to make the scene fit? Well, that's not good writing. All scenes should serve the purpose of the story, so if your amazing, wonderful scene doesn't work, take it out.

That said, I've noticed that some people have taken this philosophy to extremes. To them, "murder your darlings" means that any piece of writing that you're too emotionally attached to should be cut. I'm not sure why; maybe because they think they'll never be able to judge it objectively. But I don't agree with that.

The people who read and like your work like it because they share a good number of your sensibilities. If you absolutely love a scene, chances are they will too. So the last thing you want to do is make your work duller by cutting all the parts you really love. As I've written before, keep the scene in, rework it to fit the story if you can, and if it absolutely won't fit, cut it.

But don't murder it. Save it for later. You will write another story.

Comfort Reading

I've talked before about writing for your audience. We tend to think of our audience in terms of demographics: women, teenagers, intellectuals, history buffs, science fiction fans, office workers. But there's a strong case to be made for thinking of your audience in terms of needs, in terms of situations.

It's a short, powerful entry. Go read it.

Review: The White Jade Fox

The White Jade Fox, by Andre Norton
8/10 for Andre Norton fans, 7/10 for non-Andre Norton fans

I grew up on Andre Norton. I could probably reel off a dozen titles I read of hers off the top of my head: Year of the Unicorn (still one of my favorites), The Jargoon Pard, The Zero Stone, Uncharted Stars, The Plague Ship, Quag Keep, Fur Magic, Dragon Magic, Star Ka'at, Octagon Magic, and the two sequels to "Plague Ship" and "Star Ka'at." Okay, I missed a couple titles--the point is, she was one of my two favorite SF authors growing up. So it seems odd, given my later preference for foxes, that I had never heard of this title before stumbling across it in a Seattle used bookstore.

It's the early-1800s story of Saranna, arriving in Baltimore after her mother's death to meet her brother, who through an odd quirk of marriage, is actually old enough to be her father--literally: his daughter Honora is more or less Saranna's age, and is immediately set up as the opponent. Saranna soon finds herself at Tiensin, the estate of her grandfather(?), a ship's captain obsessed with China. He brought back a number of artifacts from China and has willed them to his granddaughter by a different branch of the family, young Damaris.

Damaris knows all the secrets of the estate. She doesn't trust Honora, but Saranna soon wins her confidence. As she uncovers the secrets surrounding the artifacts and the strange foxes that haunt the estate, she must fend off the unwelcome advances of the housekeeper's brother and cope with Honora's scheming. Fortunately, Damaris knows how to marshall the ancient secrets to help them both.

If you like Andre Norton, this is a terrific example of her work. She does do character and description well, and her specialty is this kind of world: all normal and usual, with just a little bit of magic (or an unexplained alien) to introduce problems. But the problems are always those of the characters; the magic just dresses them up well. Even if you can see where this book is headed (and you can), the ride is still enjoyable, and she (surprisingly) stops short of the stereotypical romance novel ending.

It's a good read if you can find it; unlike some of her books which remain in print, like the Witch World books or the Magic books, this one's only available used.

Another PSA: Discreet/Discrete

DISCREET: private, quiet, not publicly known. As in: Let's keep this little matter discreet, shall we?

DISCRETE: separate, individual, unrelated. As in: 'Discreet' and 'discrete' are two discrete words.

How Do You Stay Sane?

Kelly McCullough has some excellent advice for writers.

I particularly like "whatever you're writing is the best thing you've written" and "when you're finished with it, it no longer exists."

How Do You Feel When You Finish A Book?

This is how Roald Dahl's grand-daughter widow remembers him feeling:

He used to get grumpy when he was finishing a book and I remember saying, "But you should be so pleased you're reaching the end!" And he used to say, "You don't understand - it's the fear of never writing another one."

(Edited to correct grand-daughter to widow--I misread the preceding paragraph.)

On Obama, and on Prop 8

If you like sports, or just good writing, and you haven't read any of Joe Posnanski's column, for shame. I read his book, The Soul of Baseball, about his year spent with Buck O'Neil touring America, and found it a very affecting portrait of a man who knew what was right and was willing to wait for it.

Joe has a column in SI today which is about Buck, and Obama, and not about Prop 8. But I can't help but take some of it in that light. If you can't read the whole thing, here is what I think is the most relevant excerpt.

Buck O'Neil became the first black coach in Major League Baseball -- that was in Chicago, for the Cubs, in 1962. He was, in too many ways, a token hire; he was as qualified as anyone to be a big league manager, much less a coach, but realistically they brought him in mostly to serve as a bridge to Lou Brock and Ernie Banks and Billy Williams and the other African-American players. The Cubs never let O'Neil on the field, not even to coach first or third base. "I would have liked to do that, even if it was for only one game," Buck said. "But it just wasn't time yet."

He said that with no bitterness -- Buck just seemed to have no bitterness in him. He believed in the passing of time and in the slow but steady rhythms of change. He had seen so much of it in his life.

[...]

Again and again, I saw him light up with joy as he saw what America had become. "Yeah, we have a way to go," he would say to those people who sounded discouraged. "We'll get there, man. I wish you could see what I've seen."

He could not get enough. He spoke in classrooms and chatted with people at ballgames and went up to complete strangers in restaurants and at airports, and he believed in this America. It isn't perfect, of course, nothing close to perfect, and there's always a lot to do. Buck said that plenty. But, more, much more, he said: "Look how far we've come. Look how much we've grown. Look how much closer we are."

Amen.