by susan | Jan 1, 2013 | what I'm reading
I love research, whether it be the origin of a phrase, the date of a birth, or the history of a person or event. I’m a dedicated fact-checker, a punctilious speller, meticulous in my efforts to state things correctly. I love learning causes and explanations and silly little facts, and I find digging into the why’s and where’s to be an intriguing challenge. while my greatest joy in writing is to be in that place of “flow” where the words come flying through my fingers with very little conscious participation, I find the researching aspect of writing to be a challenge that when answered brings me incredible satisfaction.
another form of writing research is possibly even better, though . . . and that would be the times I research the writing styles of other authors.
stephen king has been credited with the following words of wisdom: If you want to be a writer, you must do two things above all others:read a lot and write a lot.
darn, I have to read. a lot. what drudgery.
I pretend it’s work, while I’m singing inside.
these past few days I’ve been rereading a book I read nine years ago, a book I love, the time traveler’s wife (if you haven’t already, please read this book. skip the movie: read this fabulous book). it’s research, you see, as my latest project has a vague connection to issues written about by ms. niffenegger. I snuggle into my corner of the couch, a chenille throw draped around my knees and toes, and dig into my research. serious countenance aside, I am inwardly grinning and happy as a clam.
to be honest, though, I often end up reading works I don’t care quite so much for in attempts to be “aware” and on top of the literary scene. (no, haven’t tried fifty shades of anything, yet.) I have forced myself through pulitzer prize winning books, and books on top of “everyone’s” must-read lists, classics, and even those suggested by friends, all in efforts to broaden my experiences and taste. to increase my exposure, to stay current. I am too kind to make a list of Books I Couldn’t Finish, or even Books I Wanted To Stop Reading But Didn’t Because They Won Prizes. but I will share those titles in close company, and shake my head in amazement that I am so uneducated? dense? narrow? as to think little of them.
but fortunately, most of my reading-research involves books I actually enjoy reading. from each book, story, or essay I read I pick up ideas. phrasing, methods, new words, craft . . . there is always something for a writer to learn from another written work.
so please excuse the brevity, but I must return to ms. niffenegger’s book because it seems that I still have work to do.
by susan | Nov 6, 2012 | what I'm reading
I’m easily won over, easily turned-off, slow-to-warm, head over heels, reluctant, skeptical, leery, gullible . . . all of these things, as a reader.
I can fall in love with a book during the first page and refuse to let go, I can pick apart a paragraph and sink my teeth into an errant word and never forgive for the rest of the book. I can begin a book and set it aside in indifference, then pick it up again the next month and devour it. I sometimes read a book because it’s good for me. I have finally learned to stop reading–put down, give away, banish–books I don’t care for.
in reading tributary, by barbara richardson, I was engrossed immediately, and the fire kept its heat–sometimes a low golden flame, sometimes a hot flash and crackle–through to the very end, when, at the last sentence, I fell completely and deeply in love.
a similar thing has happened to me before. I’ll read a book, I’ll enjoy the read, even be eager to open to my bookmark each day, but not fall in love with it until after I’ve read the final page: these are the times a book’s impact can’t be known until it’s all been absorbed.
but this was different; the last line of tributary made me emotionally swoon. now don’t go cheating and pick up her book and read the last line: you have to earn your way there. not that the work is hard. tributary, clair martin’s story, is told so perfectly, so intriguingly and with such heartfelt honesty, that the work of reading it is only that of keeping your body comfortable as your hands and eyes perform their tasks that allow your mind to play along with barbara’s tale.
I’m a spiritual girl, always looking for meaning and bigger stories, larger pictures, connection and compassion. clair martin is as matter-of-fact and I’ll-believe-it-when-I-see-it as they come. not only did barbara’s story-telling make me admire and love clair martin, it eventually allowed for clair and I to see the world similarly and cause me to fall in love.
and that’s what I want to say about reading tributary. you can go read any review you want, or go with sandra dallas’ statement that “you’ll love resolute Clair Martin, the equal of any man–or religion. Clair’s strength and survival are the heritage of western women” to give you more of an idea about the book. I’m sticking with my words about reading the book, about its impact on me . . . it was entirely worth every minute I spent reading it, and every minute that last line comes back to tug at my soul.
in fact, it would be more accurate to say the read and its impact on me was–unexpectedly–priceless. tributary is one of those books I want to keep, always, on my bookshelf.
by susan | Oct 8, 2012 | what I'm reading
I don’t usually read a book when it’s newly published, hot, on the best-sellers list. I rarely pay attention to or hear about those books, and I guess if I’m perfectly honest about it, I almost have an internal prejudice against them just because everybody (and their pet alligator) is reading them. (I’m often wrong: I, too, can be remarkably plebeian in my taste. I often like what “everybody else” likes.)
but more often than not, I “discover” great books a good year or two after they were on the best-sellers list, and then feel quite ignorant for not having known about them sooner. I console myself with the belief that good books will come to me at the right time…. like the lotus eaters, which just came my way a few weeks ago.
now if you–like the rest of the world–have already read this book, then you can congratulate yourself for being more aware than I apparently am. or perhaps someone directed you to it, or you bumped into it and liked the cover, or something else about this book drew you in.
I found it because someone on a writing website had re-posted a blog post of the author’s in honor of the release of the author’s second book, the forgetting tree. the author–tatjana soli–mentioned her first book, I liked the post, and there I went. what happened next is that I fell in love.
the lotus eaters is one of those books so beautifully, thoughtfully, and artfully done that I am tempted to throw in the towel and stop calling myself a writer. ms. soli draws pictures with far less than thousands of words; sometimes it takes her but a dozen. I lived in vietnam, I traveled in the jeep with her characters, I flew in their helicopter. I watched one die, I wanted to slap another, and throughout the entire novel I was as a silent observer in every scene. ms. soli holds an MFA–a degree which often portends a laborious read–and although I’m certain she’s naturally gifted, this book is a rare example of how such a degree can contribute to the ability to beautifully craft a story. the lotus eaters is superbly designed, woven, and presented to all who are willing to disappear inside another world for the duration of the story.
as with each truly magnificent book I read, I am simultaneously eager to devour it while desperately reluctant to see the remaining pages dwindle from forty, to twenty-five, to eight, to, oh, one.
so if you, like the me of a month ago, haven’t yet read the lotus eaters, do. borrow it from the library, order it online, go buy it from your favorite local bookstore. but read it. do.
by susan | Sep 17, 2012 | what I'm reading
a few weeks back I decided to start reading more utah authors. in my neighborhood library I asked for assistance in finding such creatures, and was given a print-out with 5 books on it.
now I know that we have more than 5 authors who have collectively written a great deal more than 5 books. but apparently the library catalog hasn’t tagged the authors by state of residence, and it was only a small bit of luck that allowed me a list with even 5. one of them is not a utahn, and I have no idea how he got on the list. two others did not interest me at all and I couldn’t bring myself to give them a try. a third was a mystery that I gave a try. nuff said on that one. the last one, however, got a full read.
escalante, the best kind of nothing, by brooke williams/photography by chris noble, was book number 5. it is a collection of essays about the escalante/grand staircase area that not so very long ago was granted national park status, much to the delight of many and the chagrin of more than a few. and although brooke’s writing is in moments brilliant and in general quite lovely, it is his reference to another book that I consider a great gift of his book.
in his text brooke mentions on the loose, by terry and renny russell, a book published in 1967 by the sierra club, and republished in 2001 by gibbs smith, publisher extraordinaire. I had never heard of this book which is apparently a classic, and immediately searched it out: what a beautiful book. a book of promise, of faith, of trust in the earth. of sand and water, rock and hill. of wind-blown rock and fir-covered sloping mountains.
of man’s need to connect with natural space.
on the loose is brief–quotations, photos, jotted thoughts, lyrics, easily read in thirty minutes–but also the kind of book you can keep beside you, revisit, find newness in. I picture the young writers, I want to visit the vestiges of their campsites and feel the ghosts of what once was. I want to see with their eyes. I want to hear the crackle of their campfires and the grunting engine of the truck they drove. ah, I can. I can sit in the quiet, in the dark, and be with them, exploring the last lonely western wildernesses, barren spots of rich earth, the best kinds of nothing.
by susan | Sep 2, 2012 | what I'm reading
victor ladato’s mathilda savitch is atop my current stack of books.
if you’d like a professional, or at least well-thought-out critical review, you could search online. I’m just going to tell you what my experience of reading it was: not a lot of fancy words or phrases, no references to other authors or works. just my reactions.
mathilda savitch is the 13-ish narrator of this book who starts off with this opening line: I want to be awful. not only did she hook me right there, she kept me with her through the entire 292 pages of the book. I might have slipped away for a paragraph or two here and there, and I at times wanted to shake her, but I cared enough–and was intrigued enough–to stay with her through the end.
mathilda’s sixteen-year-old sister died the year before, and their parents are in the throes of grief, the father seeming to handle it better than the mother. there is some small mystery–to mathilda–about her sister’s activities before her death, and mathilda’s pain-driven mischievous behavior results from some combination of denial, bewilderment, and a sense of abandonment. in the not-too-subtle background is a message of fear resulting from terrorist-related activities, both the 2001 events and a “current” bombing somewhere in the states.
I could have done without the terrorist piece. it felt artificial and perhaps even overdone to me: I would have enjoyed the story more without what felt like a “sensational” drawing in of the terrorism theme. it may be realistic to have this young girl worried about bombs and airplane attacks, however, it just felt like the message of an overly-beaten drum.
this is victor lodato’s first novel: he’s a playwright and poet with a quite a few awards, fellowships, and recognitions for his work. his creation and portrayal of the internal world of a middle-school-age female is impressive, and beautiful. mathilda may just stick around with me for a while: always an indication of a powerful book.
I will eagerly pick up mr. lodato’s next novel . . . and that should tell you something.
also in the reading stack:
escalante: the best kind of nothing (brooke williams) I’m working my way through this, more later
on the loose, a classic I’d never heard of until I read about it in the afore-mentioned book, also more later
the spectator bird, wallace stegner: I’ve committed to working my way through his books for the pure pleasure of his beautiful writing style
desert solitaire, edward abbey. there’s really no excuse for my not having read this yet.
more later!
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