A Tale for the Time Being

OK so it’s not an indie book, but I remembered another that I read this summer and neglected to write up immediately. A Tale for the Time Being is a gem.

The novel has many qualities of a dream. The story moves across time and oceans and there are moments when you’re not sure what’s real, and many where you’re not sure which voice is the author and which is the character who has many qualities of the author—as they’re both writers named Ruth who live in the Pacific Northwest. Which makes it sound like a bad literary novel when in actuality it’s a fabulous story with voices—especially that of the girl Nao—which are vivid and strong and utterly intriguing.

The world of the book explores much of Zen Buddhism, physics, and other areas of philosophical thought that you can delve into or ignore as little or much as you like. They don’t interrupt the flow of the story (except perhaps a little at the end, but that’s a quibble) and they give it a timeless quality that makes an interesting juxtaposition to the urgent day-to-day actions and anxieties of Ruth and Nao.

I won’t say any more except that Michael and I both loved this book as something refreshing and unique. And we both fell in love with Nao’s grandmother, the 104-year-old Zen Buddhist nun named Jiko.

Go meet her.

Angle of Repose

I had begun Wallace Stegner's Angle of Repose about ten years ago and I think I wasn't ready to read something so subtle. I hadn't matured enough yet. A friend told me several months ago that she'd had a similar experience of reading it many years apart and finding it a completely different book. She encouraged me to give it another try. 

While recuperating from a surgery this summer I had more time than usual to read and decided it was just the book to keep me company. This may not have been such a hot idea because the main narrator of the story is a man suffering from a debilitating illness that has him in pain much of the time and, as I was feeling much the same at the moment--and not so eager to read about more of it--I read those sections with one eye closed. But despite that I greatly enjoyed the book on many levels.

I think you do have to be a certain age or mind-frame to savor a book that moves at a modulated pace and spends ample time on descriptions of both the outer world of the setting and the inner world of the characters as they grow and change. Both Lyman Ward, mentioned above, and his grandmother Susan Burling Ward, the other primary force, are complex nuanced people who struggle to rectify the many ugly indignities of their real-time lives with the longing for beauty in art and culture that governs their inner worlds. Shifting between Lyman Ward living as a near-recluse in 1970 and the vivid life of his grandparents as they came west to make their fortunes in the 1870's, the novel swings between one stagnant setting and one fast-moving setting. Yet the stagnant setting is resonant with Lyman's voice as he struggles to keep working on his grandmother's biography amidst the pain and humiliation of his debilitating disease. His voice rings clear and true and poignant. 

The more swashbuckling setting of the artist Susan Burling Ward and her husband Oliver moving from mining camp to mining camp as he takes on various engineering jobs is lush with color and motion, packed with dozens of interesting minor characters from many cultures. As many people have noted, it's a magnificent portrait of the early west. Susan Ward's struggle to hold onto the world of art and letters she left behind in New York as the the daily circumstances of her life continue to deteriorate create a tension that nearly vibrates off the page. Her intense love for her husband and children spars with her deep wish of escaping back to the world she loves--and craves--nearly, but not quite, as much.

In the end I was left with two overriding emotions. First was a powerful sadness for both Lyman and Susan, both of whom struggled to find the courage to endure their many disappointments. There was a great beauty in their endurance. The second was a warm glow of appreciation for the fine writing that brought their world to life and allowed me to spend time there. I felt like I'd visited much of the early west and could nearly shake the parched dirt from my shoes. (If I'd been able to reach my shoes at the time. . .)

In the end, then, I recommend this book to anyone who feels they are ready for it. It's a magnificent treat when you can savor it like you would anything slow and deep and finely-wrought.

The Writing Life June 2014

I think this is the best time ever. Period.  It took ten years but I finally got my first book out into the world and now people are beginning to read it and tell me what they think. It's all I ever wished for. I can't hope that everyone will love it, but I think I can hope that some people will love it and others will at least like it.And what's to hate about a fast, fun read?

But what I can secretly hope for is that somehow over time there will be people who will go back and read it more slowly. Take time to lift the flaps and look into the nooks and crannies, to notice the goodies I put there for people to find.  Or not. Perhaps it will only ever be me who lifts the flaps, smiles a little, and lets them back down. That would be all right too.

Northern Borders

If you haven't read anything by Howard Frank Mosher, don't wait too much longer. He's written a mix of novels and memoirs and they're all whimsical and wonderful in their own way. My favorites are the novels set in and around his own town up here in the northern woods of Vermont. In his books our own Northeast Kingdom becomes "Kingdom County" and names are changed in various ways, however the smoky do-it-my-own-way-or-be-damned flavor of the place and people is perfectly preserved. Maybe it takes a transplanted flatlander (someone not from Vermont) like Howard or like me to savor how different this place is from so much of the rest of our country, but year after year I continue to marvel at the way people do things up here. Reading about these people in Howard Mosher's books holds the pure delight of diving into the world of people who, viewed from a distance, inhabit a world of mystery and intrigue I will never fully understand. 

I chose Northern Borders to highlight here because I think it's my favorite of his books and it hasn't received the attention that some of his others have received. Several of them - including Where the Rivers Flow North and Disappearances - have been made into movies. Northern Borders, though, to me captures the essence of the place more deftly than any others. It's set largely on a dairy farm in the 50's, where a young boy goes to live with his grandparents and joins their life of ridiculously hard work blended with numerous small joys and deep pleasures. The story follows Austin Kittredge through his young adulthood as it simultaneously follows a tiny Vermont town that belatedly joins the mechanized world of modern America. (Though always at least a decade behind, as Vermonters have to be pried away from anything they're used to.)

And like any good story, it holds a central mystery that comes at you sideways and makes the whole story resonate with hidden meaning.  This is a fine sweet read that is worth savoring.

The Boys in the Boat

Other than the research for my books, I don't read a lot of non-fiction these days. However The Boys in the Boat sounded so intriguing when recommended by Linda Ramsdell of the wonderful Galaxy Bookstore that I bought a copy for my son at the holidays. And pretty soon after he was done I began it myself. And then I couldn't put it down. It's an absolutely fascinating read that sucks you into the world of rowing and then, before you know it, under Hitler's nose in the 1936 Olympics. The story itself is enough to drive the book, but Dan Brown also does a masterful job of weaving one of the "boys" into the forefront of the tale so as to create a vivid picture of his humility even in the face of astounding success. Mostly, though, it's a magnificent tale of people taking part in something bigger than themselves, something more than the sum of the individuals who make a team. I highly recommend it!

The Writing Life February 2014

Feb 2014 - notice buried truck

We got two feet of snow yesterday, schools all closed, and much of Vermont raced outside to play in it. I bade farewell to my children and then, like most other writers in the world, I plopped into my chair and tried to concentrate. But the snow swirling in the gusts outside were so beautiful that I kept finding myself staring out the window. I did get work done, but half as much took me twice as long as my eyes kept leaving the screen to look into the the sparkling white outside. Here's what I see out my window. 

AUTHORS - U to Z

 Sarah Waters

Fingersmith

            I found this a little slow in the middle, but mostly it’s a wonderful example of a recently-penned Victorian novel. Everything about the plot—except the gender of the lovers—is fully Victorian gingerbread, including the intricate deceptions, thieves with thick Cockney accents, mistaken identities, improbable coincidences. What’s not to love?

Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Shadow of the Wind 

            I have a soft spot for stories about books. In this one, everything about the search for the mysterious sole surviving copy of a book by an enigmatic author who lurks at the edge of the story is like candy to me. The entire setting is like the best haunted house you might ever be able to imagine. One with a dusty library full of books that harbor all kinds of wonderful secrets. Usually these kinds of novels about books are strong on set-up but then fail to follow through. And in truth that’s kind of what happens in other of Zafon’s books I’ve tried to read. But in this one book, he utterly and completely nails it. It’s a purely delightful read. Most everyone who likes the smell of books will like this one. 

Markus Zusak

The Book Thief 

            Most people have read this so I won’t say much about it, other than I loved it and thought it did so many delicate things really well. As soon as I finished it I told everyone I saw to read it. I only do that once every five years or so.