Here’s what happens in Eva Luna: a fascist scientist develops the perfect embalming method, an old woman survives a flood by floating in her own coffin, a little girl and a Portuguese man cut open chicken throats for gold, an artful application of Universal Matter helps rescue rebel prisoners from a jungle prison, a high ranking military official makes advances and threats during a classy dinner, a young Austrian boy and his mentally disabled sister hide under a tablecloth from their abusive father, three cousins explore love in a South American hamlet, a guerilla leader can’t follow some of his own rules, a talented artist becomes more of a woman than most who are already born that way, a girl buries her dowry after witnessing a suicide, telenovelas start heading in new directions, and a stuffed puma shows up every once in a while.
Allende manages to blend all these stories and more into a single, coherent story. The story within a story idea fascinates me, and I began to think of each Allende story as a living thing. I kept thinking of walking through a jungle as I read; there were enough details to be almost overwhelming, yet these details helped me focus on new details as they crossed my path. As Allende tells these stories, she seamlessly switches from first person to third person; she moves but never rushes. My only issue with the story was that Eva Luna seemed a little too irresistible to be believable, but that’s only a small interruption in what was otherwise a continuous and vivid dream. I’m satisfied that this read has left me with the open-ended question of “how does an author create this coherent jungle book, a complex ecosystem that has taken Mother Nature millions of years to achieve?”
Friday, March 26, 2010
Zen in the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury
Bradbury’s collection of essay is part advice and part auto-biography from meetings with Mr. Electrico to keeping and feeding your own Muse. The beautiful aspect of these essays is that you can read and reread them on their own or any sequence; either route still allows the reader to experience Bradbury’s generosity as he openly communicates his sources of inspiration.
There were some points in the book where I was distinctly aware that Bradbury comes from an older generation. For example, he mentions how Fahrenheit 451 was literally a dime novel since he frantically typed all the text on typewriters in a library basement that charged a dime for each half hour. Unless I survive an apocalypse and my electronic appliances don’t do the same, I don’t see myself ever having this experience. However, there are some aspects that hold true through the generations. Bradbury frequently mentions that he has written a thousand words every day for a very long time. He certainly doesn’t claim that all these words have become masterpieces, but he does imply that all writing – even bad writing – has some value (how else do we preserve our inspiration?). I won’t give away the simple but insightful steps that Bradbury mentions in his essay for which the book is titled, but I’d like to end with a simile that he offers to the reader to keep as their own. “Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. That landmine is me.”
There were some points in the book where I was distinctly aware that Bradbury comes from an older generation. For example, he mentions how Fahrenheit 451 was literally a dime novel since he frantically typed all the text on typewriters in a library basement that charged a dime for each half hour. Unless I survive an apocalypse and my electronic appliances don’t do the same, I don’t see myself ever having this experience. However, there are some aspects that hold true through the generations. Bradbury frequently mentions that he has written a thousand words every day for a very long time. He certainly doesn’t claim that all these words have become masterpieces, but he does imply that all writing – even bad writing – has some value (how else do we preserve our inspiration?). I won’t give away the simple but insightful steps that Bradbury mentions in his essay for which the book is titled, but I’d like to end with a simile that he offers to the reader to keep as their own. “Every morning I jump out of bed and step on a landmine. That landmine is me.”
On Becoming a Novelist, John Gardner
“That’s me!” I thought to myself as I read the book title and congratulated myself on buying the book at my local Borders. I started questioning both my previous statement and my purchase when I struggled to get through the first half of the book, a section entitled “The Writer’s Nature.” Originally, I felt distanced from Gardner’s advice by what I took as pomposity (especially when he bashes science fiction); I eventually realized that this is Gardner’s honesty taking its own form. He repeatedly makes genuine appeals to the highest level of novelist in an extremely detailed fashion. These details are what make the continuous and vivid dream of a novel possible (“detail is the lifeblood of fiction”). Gardner provides numerous examples of how a poor choice of language can disrupt this dream from sentence structure to distasteful idioms. I was shocked to find that I had overlooked many of these applications in my own writing.
The second half of the book was more accessible, and I wonder if Gardner did this with conscious intent (many of his anecdotes follow a similar pattern of describing arduous but rewarding experiences.) We are taken on a brief but intricate journey through writer workshops, interactions with agents and editors, and possible bouts of writer’s block. I have faith that these later sections will be useful in my future endeavors, but there is an undertone of respect and generosity throughout the entire book that is immediately inspiring. I believe Gardner sums up these values when he warns the aspiring novelist to not “play pointlessly subtle games in which storytelling is confused with puzzle making.” Respect the reader enough to take them on as an equal partner. Be generous.
The second half of the book was more accessible, and I wonder if Gardner did this with conscious intent (many of his anecdotes follow a similar pattern of describing arduous but rewarding experiences.) We are taken on a brief but intricate journey through writer workshops, interactions with agents and editors, and possible bouts of writer’s block. I have faith that these later sections will be useful in my future endeavors, but there is an undertone of respect and generosity throughout the entire book that is immediately inspiring. I believe Gardner sums up these values when he warns the aspiring novelist to not “play pointlessly subtle games in which storytelling is confused with puzzle making.” Respect the reader enough to take them on as an equal partner. Be generous.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
The Mammoth Book of Extreme Science Fiction edited by Mike Ashley
What is extreme science fiction? Ashley helpfully offers a definition in the introduction that it is a story which takes a wonderful idea and uses it to push limits while still remaining a respectable story. The nineteen stories in this book were supposedly arranged in order from least to greatest extremes. I can’t say that I would have followed that same order, but I can say that most of the stories expanded my mind in some fashion. There were times when I became irritated with a story because a concept or alien perspective was particularly difficult to handle, but there was always a payoff at the completion of each story. I definitely recommend assorted collections for readers looking for emerging or even well established authors in a genre; I already have a list of four authors whose works I have to pursue.
This collection has convinced me that I want a portion of my writing to find a niche some place along the vast spectrum of science fiction. The major attraction is that these stories are very memorable, and the impressive range of ideas can make for a damned good story. I can’t resist recounting a few ideas explored in these stories. Two members aboard a 250 million year old spaceship huge enough to contain entire planets and hundreds of coexisting alien species uncover a carefully concealed genocide. Human members exploring a potential colony world are attacked by repulsive blobs which turn out to be their own internal organs. An immortal witnesses the death of the universe. An entire planet made of randomly moving molecules is found to be a computing machine for creatures that live in a separate reality. Humans try to throw a feast in a time where everyone has essentially forgotten how to eat.
This collection has rekindled my love for science fiction. The genre is a beautiful blend of wild exploration and careful experimentation that I find irresistible. These stories push limits in ways that sometimes make me feel small and insignificant. This is actually a very comforting feeling that reminds me not to take myself too seriously. Most of all, it’s just plain fun.
This collection has convinced me that I want a portion of my writing to find a niche some place along the vast spectrum of science fiction. The major attraction is that these stories are very memorable, and the impressive range of ideas can make for a damned good story. I can’t resist recounting a few ideas explored in these stories. Two members aboard a 250 million year old spaceship huge enough to contain entire planets and hundreds of coexisting alien species uncover a carefully concealed genocide. Human members exploring a potential colony world are attacked by repulsive blobs which turn out to be their own internal organs. An immortal witnesses the death of the universe. An entire planet made of randomly moving molecules is found to be a computing machine for creatures that live in a separate reality. Humans try to throw a feast in a time where everyone has essentially forgotten how to eat.
This collection has rekindled my love for science fiction. The genre is a beautiful blend of wild exploration and careful experimentation that I find irresistible. These stories push limits in ways that sometimes make me feel small and insignificant. This is actually a very comforting feeling that reminds me not to take myself too seriously. Most of all, it’s just plain fun.
Reservation Blues by Sherman Alexie
A man who had no natural talent for playing the guitar made a deal with the Gentleman to become the best guitar player in the world. It turns out that this isn’t the type of deal that one would want to keep forever, and this guitar man eventually winds up on a Spokane Reservation. The guitar decides to keep the deal running with a young man living on the reservation, and this union gives birth to the Coyote Springs band. Alexie takes the story of Robert Johnson, the best damn guitar player to ever live, and turns it into something that is undoubtedly his own artful creation. Each chapter begins with lyrics that might appear in a blues song while unearthing another facet of life on a reservation and what came before. I found that these lyrical beginnings helped the story flow seamlessly but with warmth like a treasured vintage record.
I was further amazed by this flow when I realized that the entire book was divided into numerous scenes that averaged about three pages each. This technique immediately made me think of the writer’s self-help book Bird by Bird, and it also gave the story a neat feel as if it were a mysteriously assembled puzzle that may or may not have had a big picture in mind; I’ll have to read more Alexie to see if this approach is used in his other books. I was really disappointed when the otherwise smooth flow of the story seemed to meet some resistance near the end of Reservation Blues. It felt as if Alexie was trying to wrap everything up after Coyote Springs’ audition in New York. Saying goodbye is never easy, but I would have been fine with an ending that left me with more uncertainty.
I experienced a healthy amount of uncertainty when trying to come up with a definite difference between the functions of Big Mom and the Gentleman. Both seem to offer a path of success or damnation to the musically inclined who are willing to interact with them. Does one path represent God and the other the devil? Does it all tie back into free will, or is that my assumption that I can even comprehend the motives of God or the devil? Perhaps the difference is that one of them only offers the illusion of free will. This is the type of uncertainty that I would have liked to see in the ending. I’m beginning to realize that this uncertainty may be part of the attraction of poetry. I’ve never spent much time exploring poetry, but I intend to start with Sherman Alexie.
I was further amazed by this flow when I realized that the entire book was divided into numerous scenes that averaged about three pages each. This technique immediately made me think of the writer’s self-help book Bird by Bird, and it also gave the story a neat feel as if it were a mysteriously assembled puzzle that may or may not have had a big picture in mind; I’ll have to read more Alexie to see if this approach is used in his other books. I was really disappointed when the otherwise smooth flow of the story seemed to meet some resistance near the end of Reservation Blues. It felt as if Alexie was trying to wrap everything up after Coyote Springs’ audition in New York. Saying goodbye is never easy, but I would have been fine with an ending that left me with more uncertainty.
I experienced a healthy amount of uncertainty when trying to come up with a definite difference between the functions of Big Mom and the Gentleman. Both seem to offer a path of success or damnation to the musically inclined who are willing to interact with them. Does one path represent God and the other the devil? Does it all tie back into free will, or is that my assumption that I can even comprehend the motives of God or the devil? Perhaps the difference is that one of them only offers the illusion of free will. This is the type of uncertainty that I would have liked to see in the ending. I’m beginning to realize that this uncertainty may be part of the attraction of poetry. I’ve never spent much time exploring poetry, but I intend to start with Sherman Alexie.
American Gods by Neil Gaiman
The power of a god or goddess is dependent on the number of their followers as well as their continued belief. Furthermore, this deity could not have existed without this belief in the first place. This idea seems both intuitive and startlingly absurd, and Gaiman plays with this contradiction by detailing the adventures of Shadow, a recently released convict. He is offered a job by a man who calls himself Mr. Wednesday, who eventually lets on that he is the American version of the god Odin. Yes, there are multiple embodiments of the same god in different areas of the world where there is still enough belief to sustain them. Gaiman details this wonderfully at times by recounting past stories of immigrants who brought their own gods with them to this strange, alien land broadly referred to as America. We are also introduced to these gods, who are memorable characters as gods should be, as Shadow joins Mr. Wednesday in his scheme to unite the older generation of gods.
Yes, there is a generational gap between the new gods and old gods; both generations must compete for precious believers. The old gods are out of touch and belief in them has waned; most have settled down into a more or less human way of life. The new gods are created and grow in power so rapidly that they have no idea what to do with their newfound belief. The stage is set for conflict, and yes, gods can die. I won’t ruin the ending, but I’ll say that much of the book is spent building up to that final showdown. Patience was not required for me to get to this point; the back stories and interactions of the gods were fascinating enough on their own.
I only realized that tremendous amount of research that Gaiman had put into this story when I read the very complete list of acknowledgements. As a fiction writer, this both intimidates and fascinates me. I originally set out to read this book after reading a collection of Gaiman’s short stories and being left with the question “how does an author decide whether their creation is best put to use as a short story or as a novel?” I’m beginning to think that it’s not so much a choice as an overwhelming desire to keep exploring an idea.
Yes, there is a generational gap between the new gods and old gods; both generations must compete for precious believers. The old gods are out of touch and belief in them has waned; most have settled down into a more or less human way of life. The new gods are created and grow in power so rapidly that they have no idea what to do with their newfound belief. The stage is set for conflict, and yes, gods can die. I won’t ruin the ending, but I’ll say that much of the book is spent building up to that final showdown. Patience was not required for me to get to this point; the back stories and interactions of the gods were fascinating enough on their own.
I only realized that tremendous amount of research that Gaiman had put into this story when I read the very complete list of acknowledgements. As a fiction writer, this both intimidates and fascinates me. I originally set out to read this book after reading a collection of Gaiman’s short stories and being left with the question “how does an author decide whether their creation is best put to use as a short story or as a novel?” I’m beginning to think that it’s not so much a choice as an overwhelming desire to keep exploring an idea.
Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman
Fragile Things begins with a remarkable introduction that details the process and motivation behind each piece in this collection of Neil Gaiman’s short stories. I recommend reading these descriptions after finishing the rest of the book, since several shed too much light on what would have been otherwise utterly unpredictable stories. The “fragile things” that piece together this book reveal an impressive range from whimsical poems to boyhood traumas to haunting accounts of what may lay beyond human understanding. The characters and situations mostly follow this same pattern; there was no time throughout the entire book where I found myself thinking “Hey, this story is really similar to that one four or five pieces back.”
Neil Gaiman’s collection also left me with a nagging question. How does a writer know whether their creation is best put to use as a short story or as novel? The first piece, a detective story called A Study in Emerald, already saw this question take form. I found myself resentful as if a host had just introduced me to all these wonderful people at a party before showing me to the door fifteen minutes later. I was actually relieved when an intriguing character, known simply as Mr. Alice, made a brief appearance in a later story. Gaiman hints that these stories, these fragile things may not be so fragile. As a writer, I’m determined to explore where these intricate structures stand tall and where they collapse. I believe that Gaiman will be a useful guide on this journey, so I intend to pick that man’s brain by looking now to his novels.
Neil Gaiman’s collection also left me with a nagging question. How does a writer know whether their creation is best put to use as a short story or as novel? The first piece, a detective story called A Study in Emerald, already saw this question take form. I found myself resentful as if a host had just introduced me to all these wonderful people at a party before showing me to the door fifteen minutes later. I was actually relieved when an intriguing character, known simply as Mr. Alice, made a brief appearance in a later story. Gaiman hints that these stories, these fragile things may not be so fragile. As a writer, I’m determined to explore where these intricate structures stand tall and where they collapse. I believe that Gaiman will be a useful guide on this journey, so I intend to pick that man’s brain by looking now to his novels.
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