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If you've read much of my writing, you know I could use a tune-up here and there. I have now read the book from cover to cover, taken some notes on many different things, and we will see if this rather well-done (for an Internet-based bit of writing), does me any good. It's up against years of my butchery of the written word.
This slender little volume was also included in that Quality Paperback Book Club box set at Sea Ranch. It was a familiar place to have my head, as I have read this work many times. At times, these words caused me to think some about the Tea Party folks, but the ignorant can't ruin such a good, smart bit of writing for me.
There I was looking through a beautiful home at Sea Ranch, when I spied a four-book boxed set of good old HDT. Thoreau shared my birthday (that's date, not year), and I have always had a love of his work. There I was, surrounded by some of the most beautiful landscape and seascape I know, and the words of one of our greatest naturalist were practically jumping into my hands. Somehow, I have never read this volume before, and it was a true pleasure to remedy that situation. My favorite works of his, have him studying a landscape day in, day out, but his traveling words were splendid. He was such a wonk for the natural world. Scientific names easily rolled off his pen, yet, it was the straight-out observations of flora, fauna, landscape, and inhabitants that always make him a delight to me. Here was Henry writing about the Indians that were serving as his guides in the backwoods of Maine, and he was keyed into how they were lamenting how much things had changed, and that their young tribal members weren't following the old ways. He also saw how these native guides were amused and embarrassed by how little the white men knew of the land and its plenty. My biggest regret in reading this book—was that there wasn't a damn atlas in the whole house. You see, my family vacationed in Maine every year when I was young and growing up in Vermont. It would have been great to have seen better how this river ran into that one. But as Mick singing-at-the-White-House-for-Obama Jagger sings, "You can't always get what you want." I have little to complain about, I got to stay on a glorious part of the Pacific coast and journey to the Maine woods with an outstanding guide guide.
This was a Valentine's gift from my loving Vicky. Jim has such a way with poetry...I'm a happy man. I just read that this book is a finalist for a Los Angeles Times Book Prize in poetry, all right Jim. This has become a go-to book for me—I keep it near, and dip into it repeatedly.
Here are a few quotes taken at from their conversation:
KURT: "The common ground? We have written out of our own lives, and being writers was easier for us because we had something to write about. Thank God I was in Dresden when it burned down." [Laughter] "Joe Heller said to me one time that if it weren't for World War II he'd be in the dry-cleaning business."
KURT, on why write: "Many people need desperately to receive this message: I feel and think much as you do, care about many of the things you care about, although most people don't care about them. You are not alone."
LEE, on if he helps old friends still on the streets: "You know I barely rescued myself. And one thing I noticed from being on the street is that, looking the other way, all of us are really—everybody in the room—is really just groping their way around in life. We grab things that tell us we've got it all figured our, but if I ask for a show of hands of people who have just the littlest bit of doubt that they don't have it all figured out, I bet you everybody would raise their hands. So in that context it would be kind of presumptuous to know you could save the next person—at least for me. This may surprise a lot of people to hear me say it, but it's an honest answer.... Saving myself is going to be a lifetime job, so I don't know what's right for you. And I wouldn't presume to tell you right now."
It's called a growing movement that's going on across the country and around the world. In this book, it quickly becomes quite obvious that there is little coordination and structure to this "movement." Possibly calling it a movement is overstating it. A good argument could be made that many of these people arrived at living off-the-grid simply because the situations of their lives pushed them there. Many of the others in the book, really went out of their way to live out of the way, in a way not connected to our ever-consuming society. The writing of this book bothered me. The author is involved in living part-time off the grid himself, but in his book, he seems to always be inserting himself into the middle of many of the stories he is relating about some very interesting people. That's not interesting. Not that all the people he meets are interesting either. The author also doesn't seem to be able to discern who to concentrate on and who to briefly mention. The book is filled with some very different people, people you aren't going to be running into at the grocery store tomorrow. Some of them are very serious off-gridders, some are part-timers, and some I honestly had no idea why they were in the book. The politics, philosophies, and lifestyles are all over the map—that I found very interesting. Here are a couple of Thoreau quotes that were highlighted in the book. "Every generation laughs at the old fashions, but follows religiously the new." "Things do not change; we change." And one to ponder from Dr. Seuss, "America is a society of obsolete children." I will leave you with some thoughts I do quite like from the author.
The book is made up of sections on a general topic, and then the writers are quoted in segments about their personal experiences. There does seem to be a general consensus that much, to most of the learning, was brought about by their fellow students. According to many of the students, the people running the workshops and classes, often seemed less than helpful, to entirely drunk (John Cheever's name is mentioned). Jane Smiley said of her time there, "Our teachers were writers, not teachers. They knew a lot about writing, but hadn't given a lot of thought to how to communicate what they knew." The time covered by the book was a time of numerous drugs, plenty of alcohol, and quite a bit of sexual activity. A fun time was not had by all. Some people look back on the experience as not helpful or healthy, but most were impressed by the quality of the people involved. Simply getting this much talent together was a learning experience in itself. The insights into the personal styles, lives, and works of these major literary names was a thrill to me. Reading about John Irving telling his students everything about how he writes and to be writing The World According to Garp while he was there, is pretty cool. I will leave you for now with the following from Sandra Cisneros, "What's the worst mistake a writer can make? Thinking too much. Don't think. It's not a bout thinking. You think when you edit. When you create, say yes, yes to everything. When the bell rings and it's the Jehovah's Witness folk, answer the door and say yes. The guy at the door might be in your story." Oh, and another gem, from a stoned séance that was held with Jane Smiley, Leonard Michaels, Brenda Hillman and possibly others that nobody could remember, and passed on by Doug Unger, "...we determined that writing poetry tends to make you more physically beautiful, and that writing fiction would tend to make you ugly." This was a fun book to read. Don't expect a great deal of structure, or certainly any lessons of how to write or get published, but it's a book full of great quotes (I filled up many pages of my book journal) and stories about the many moments that these fine writers involved—will always remember.
It is always good to return to a writer with whom you're comfortable with. Every since the beginning of Bananamania, with The Kitchen, I have been a Banana fan. With The Lake, she has a serious fantasy element at work, and combined with several other elements in the book, I was reminded in a way of 1Q84. I have often wondered about works in translation and how that could possibly change the feel and the emotion of a story. Yet, over the years I have read many Japanese works, and there is so often a distant, a formality almost, of feelings between lovers and friends. If it's not a cultural thing I'm sensing—it must be a conspiracy of Japanese writers. At the same time, Banana always includes characters, who for various reasons, can't help but speak very bluntly, directly, and honestly, at the times when most people would be uttering those polite, little, white lies that are meant to make nice. This directness is very refreshing and cuts so quickly through the bull. It also tends to give the other characters something to think about, and Banana handles these situations so well. Her critics label her lightweight, but I think they aren't seeing how well she portrays her characters and their emotions so directly and cleanly...maybe...they just don't get it. In the meantime, she is appealing to enough people that her books have sold more than six million copies worldwide.
page 63 on the death of her mother (This is a feeling much like my own. - John) "All along, just because I lived away from my mom, I thought I had achieved independence, but now that she was gone I finally realized how much, in my heart, I had depended on her." "Ms. Yosimoto has an effortless ability to penetrate her characters' hearts." — The New York Times
I took my time, but I just finished this superb collection of essays. At first, I was jumping around in the book, reading the ones that caught my eye. And then I just started at the beginning and read every essay in order. I will find my notes and give you some details very soon.
This was a recommendation from Vicky and I'm glad I followed her lead. This was incredibly well-written, really engaging, thoroughly depressing. Caribou Island paints a pretty bleak picture of this Alaska. Some of the characters are fascinating and deeply disturbed—maybe that's fascinatedly-deeply-disturbed. It's a book that keeps you reading the next page, and the next page, and the next page ... and sadly you soon find yourself out the last page. Thoughts and images of this book keep following me around. It could be a really impressive movie, with the right screenplay.
I am found this novel a fine read. Much about Melville's life is not known, but Parini fleshes him out by using alternating chapters of his life's story, and personal reflections "told" by his practically unknown wife Lizzie. She came from a wealthy family, which was most welcome as Melville saw no literary success during his lifetime, and she quickly became aware that Herman was a troubled, intense man. Some critics have found fault with Parini's language ("too modern") but I am most enjoyed this fictional history.
"I have a sort of sea-feeling here in the country, now that the ground is all covered with snow. I look out of my window in the morning when I rise as I would out of a port-hole of a ship in the Atlantic. My room seems a ship's cabin; and at nights when I wake up and hear the wind shrieking, I almost fancy there is too much sail on the house, and I had better go on the roof and rig in the chimney." — Herman Melville, December 1850 about Melville's one-time home,
Tilt, Tilt, Void, Void ... I may have tempted fate by returning to the science fiction world yet again with Blueprints. It was a most strange book, but when it came down to it, there were some most fascinating scenes, but the whole novel just didn't click for me. There is a brilliant, short bit about a massive killer-glacier, covered with hungry polar bears, that destroyed major city after major city throughout Canada and then the US. I will return with more comments.
This novel has a lot going for it, but I just found myself losing interest whenever the H.G. Wells character wasn't involved. This could all just my problem. The other characters don't seem that well-drawn, it sheer length needed cutting, and the plot was juvenile at times. Once again, this from a guy who's not much of a science fiction reader (a couple of times a year...at most) but I had hoped for so much more. Physically, it has one of the best covers in a long time—very clever use of a silvered look behind the cover's shadowy figure, and the endpapers are top-notch as well. This is Palma's first translation to hit America from his native Spain, where he has won major literary awards. The book is divided into three parts, involves H.G Wells, Jack the Ripper, The Elephant Man, Henry James, Bram Stoker, and more I'm sure to be forgetting. The most-interesting central theme is the concept of time travel. There are some very interesting philosophical conversations within the novel, on the possibility and reality of this type of travel, and I won't say more about that—so as not to ruin the clever twists and turns in the plot. Others have found, and I'm sure will continue to find, this a grand read...and I may just be left with the fact that I just didn't get it.
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