It’s harder to comment on excellence than on the mediocre or mundane, but I’ll give it a try anyway. Paul Scott’s magnum opus, The Raj Quartet, is just that: excellent in every way. The characters will haunt your thoughts for years, the setting is so vivid you’ll look for turmeric stains on your fingers, you’ll never be able to hear the sound of a sitar again without it meaning something to you, and seeing Indian locations in the news will forever after remind you of defining incidents in the book.
The Raj Quartet is, obviously, four books that make up an entire saga. All of the characters are somehow inter-related, and many know each other. Spanning the early part of the 1940’s, the past events in the lives of the characters keep intruding on the lives of others. What emerges is a portrait of Anglo-Indian relations and relationships, the political and the private, as complicated as a mandala. There are enough broken love relationships for a Hindu epic; characters who could behave well but choose the opposite; rather ordinary people who somehow rise to greatness; the silly, the sordid, and the sots. You’ll find yourself in love with a few of the characters, and some of them you’ll wish you could shake firmly (or worse). Good people are not necessarily rewarded, and by the end you feel sorry for even the worst villains, or at least understand them a bit.
Yeah, it’s long. Like everyone, I hope for short books that give me a satisfying sense of accomplishment—gee, I actually completed something. But, fond though I am of my blue pencil, I don’t think an editor could have cut a word in the 1,984 pages that make up my edition. Don’t let it stop you—consider it a cheap vacation. You might even learn more than you would on an actual trip to India, at considerably less cost. Although once you read this work, you’ll be looking at airfares the same way I am.
In the interest of honesty, I must admit that I saw the 14 episodes of The Jewel in the Crown before reading the books. This PBS series from the 80s is also terrific. Because I saw it first, I don’t know if the visuals would have matched my imagination, but I will say that the series is worthy of the book—subtly acted, not too many pretty boy actors, minor characters and subplots given their due. Fourteen episodes are a lot, but I’ve seen it twice now, and truthfully I’m thinking about watching it again with the Nikipedia. She won’t get all the subtlety at 16, but it’s no bad thing to see how complicated life can be, and what a variety of choices people make, with sometimes appalling consequences.
Along with Kristin Lavransdattir and Middlemarch (gosh, maybe I really do like LOOONNNNGGG books) this is probably in my 10 top list of all time. Read The Raj Quartet and expand your soul.
Showing posts with label Historical fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Historical fiction. Show all posts
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Friday, March 19, 2010
More ladies in distress—India
It’s tough out there. My previous post was about the plight of young Indian widows. It wasn’t so hot (or maybe it was, groan) for Western women who made their way there, either. East of the Sun, by Julia Gregson, is a chunky bedtime read about three women who travel to India pre-World War II to find husbands.
I didn’t love these characters, but I did find myself reading to the end because, ultimately, I did care what happened to them. Not all of the women are equally appealing, nor are they all as thoroughly fleshed out as one might wish, but you know all of them—everyone with female friends does, although I had some trouble actually identifying with any of them. I suppose I have a blind spot that happily ever after doesn’t necessarily mean getting married.
What Ms. Gregson has done superbly well, in my opinion, is handle point of view in an extremely interesting way, and anyone working on fiction should have a look. She does a masterful job of switching between how her characters see themselves (in chapters where one woman dominates) and then how other people see them. She does this quite well with one character in particular, Viva, whose interior monologue is confused and scared, but whom others see as, well, their mom or big sis.
One plot strand that was unusual in such a gal pal book was the introduction of a whacked out stalker for whom Viva has become responsible. His mental illness is never really specified, but Gregson does a great job of portraying his behavior and how the other characters understand and react to it.
Despite the exotic local, India just provides the excuse for a story that is really closer to Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants than it is to the Jewel in the Crown. But more about that in my next post. East of the Sun is a great book to read under an afghan with a cup of Darjeeling, when the Sunday New York Times is just a bit too much reality.
I didn’t love these characters, but I did find myself reading to the end because, ultimately, I did care what happened to them. Not all of the women are equally appealing, nor are they all as thoroughly fleshed out as one might wish, but you know all of them—everyone with female friends does, although I had some trouble actually identifying with any of them. I suppose I have a blind spot that happily ever after doesn’t necessarily mean getting married.
What Ms. Gregson has done superbly well, in my opinion, is handle point of view in an extremely interesting way, and anyone working on fiction should have a look. She does a masterful job of switching between how her characters see themselves (in chapters where one woman dominates) and then how other people see them. She does this quite well with one character in particular, Viva, whose interior monologue is confused and scared, but whom others see as, well, their mom or big sis.
One plot strand that was unusual in such a gal pal book was the introduction of a whacked out stalker for whom Viva has become responsible. His mental illness is never really specified, but Gregson does a great job of portraying his behavior and how the other characters understand and react to it.
Despite the exotic local, India just provides the excuse for a story that is really closer to Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants than it is to the Jewel in the Crown. But more about that in my next post. East of the Sun is a great book to read under an afghan with a cup of Darjeeling, when the Sunday New York Times is just a bit too much reality.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Booking a passage to India
Ever notice how ideas cluster? I didn’t actually set out to read a ton of material on India, but for some reason several books have recently insinuated themselves into my six foot high bedside stack. So, the next few blog posts will be discussing books set in India or about Indians. For some reason, most of these have a 20th or 21st century setting, so I’m going to skip the Mahabharata and Ramayana retellings which both Nikipedia and I read last year. If you’re interested, the R. K. Narayan versions were terrific.
I don’t read anywhere near as many YA novels as I should, given that I’m working on one, but those I read I generally enjoy, and highly recommend them to adults as well. Usually they’re easy to follow, tell a good story, and can be completed in two or three nights of bedtime reading. Homeless Bird, by Gloria Whelan, is one such and it won a ton of prizes, including the National Book Award in 2000. Spoiler alert—don’t read further if you don’t want to know the plot of the book.
Homeless Bird is about Koly, whose dirt-poor parents marry her off at a very young age to the son of a family they barely know. He turns out to be hopelessly ill (the family is trying to use dowry money for one last desperate attempt to save him).
After he dies, she has a miserable existence with her mother in law, who’s in pretty desperate straits herself, and who ultimately abandons her on the streets of Vrindavan, a city known as the City of Widows. Widows become a huge economic liability, and this is a city where some can stave off starvation by chanting at temples all day long. It’s a hopeless survival. There are several twists of fate, and Koly ends up (presumably) living happily ever after.
To some degree, this is a Cinderella trope. At first, I had a hard time placing what era the story was set in, until I started to see mention of computers and realized to my horror that Ms. Whelan was describing present day conditions. It’s particularly horrifying to be reminded that in this huge country there is no real social safety net and that in a place where I talk to well spoken people every day in call centers, other people—young and helpless girls—can starve to death any day of the week. It’s easy to shrug off horrors set in the past, but Ms. Whelan’s choice to set this story in the present day is arresting and impactful.
Ms. Whelan does an excellent job of portraying three dimensional villains. Her bad people make cruel choices, but you do have some understanding of why they make those choices, and you find yourself pitying or at least being able to forgive them. Also, characters are introduced subtly, and unfold over time, rather than the stock and unchanging minor characters one often encounters in a short novel.
The introduction of Vrindavan is fascinating—well off the familiar settings Westerners might stereotype as India. It had me running to a map and doing an internet search for more info. I think she includes the right amount for the average YA reader. However, I always wish for notes in the back of any novel that deals with historical or foreign settings. At least some links on the writer’s website would be nice. It’s a quibble. Maybe it’s a tribute—the writer has made you want to know more. To her credit, Ms. Whelan does supply a page of further information, but no links. Maybe that’s appropriate for YA readers. On second thought, maybe this book is intended for middle grades—I’m never quite sure where the cut point is.
I’m not very fond, any more, of books where the happy ending is that the girl gets the guy. Based on my own experience, that’s neither the end, nor necessarily very happy in real life. Given the realities of poor women in India, it appears that was one of the few resolutions available to the heroine, but I’m glad Ms. Whelan also gives her a trade where she can earn money and have some independence.
This book might be distressing to sensitive readers, adult or YA, but it provides a rich and thoughtful picture of a contemporary culture with troubling issues. It caused me to think a lot about the differences and, more disturbingly, the parallels between women’s situation in India and my own home culture. BTW, I've classified this as historical fiction, even though in my estimation it's not, because that's what the librarian who told me about the book billed it as.
I don’t read anywhere near as many YA novels as I should, given that I’m working on one, but those I read I generally enjoy, and highly recommend them to adults as well. Usually they’re easy to follow, tell a good story, and can be completed in two or three nights of bedtime reading. Homeless Bird, by Gloria Whelan, is one such and it won a ton of prizes, including the National Book Award in 2000. Spoiler alert—don’t read further if you don’t want to know the plot of the book.
Homeless Bird is about Koly, whose dirt-poor parents marry her off at a very young age to the son of a family they barely know. He turns out to be hopelessly ill (the family is trying to use dowry money for one last desperate attempt to save him).
After he dies, she has a miserable existence with her mother in law, who’s in pretty desperate straits herself, and who ultimately abandons her on the streets of Vrindavan, a city known as the City of Widows. Widows become a huge economic liability, and this is a city where some can stave off starvation by chanting at temples all day long. It’s a hopeless survival. There are several twists of fate, and Koly ends up (presumably) living happily ever after.
To some degree, this is a Cinderella trope. At first, I had a hard time placing what era the story was set in, until I started to see mention of computers and realized to my horror that Ms. Whelan was describing present day conditions. It’s particularly horrifying to be reminded that in this huge country there is no real social safety net and that in a place where I talk to well spoken people every day in call centers, other people—young and helpless girls—can starve to death any day of the week. It’s easy to shrug off horrors set in the past, but Ms. Whelan’s choice to set this story in the present day is arresting and impactful.
Ms. Whelan does an excellent job of portraying three dimensional villains. Her bad people make cruel choices, but you do have some understanding of why they make those choices, and you find yourself pitying or at least being able to forgive them. Also, characters are introduced subtly, and unfold over time, rather than the stock and unchanging minor characters one often encounters in a short novel.
The introduction of Vrindavan is fascinating—well off the familiar settings Westerners might stereotype as India. It had me running to a map and doing an internet search for more info. I think she includes the right amount for the average YA reader. However, I always wish for notes in the back of any novel that deals with historical or foreign settings. At least some links on the writer’s website would be nice. It’s a quibble. Maybe it’s a tribute—the writer has made you want to know more. To her credit, Ms. Whelan does supply a page of further information, but no links. Maybe that’s appropriate for YA readers. On second thought, maybe this book is intended for middle grades—I’m never quite sure where the cut point is.
I’m not very fond, any more, of books where the happy ending is that the girl gets the guy. Based on my own experience, that’s neither the end, nor necessarily very happy in real life. Given the realities of poor women in India, it appears that was one of the few resolutions available to the heroine, but I’m glad Ms. Whelan also gives her a trade where she can earn money and have some independence.
This book might be distressing to sensitive readers, adult or YA, but it provides a rich and thoughtful picture of a contemporary culture with troubling issues. It caused me to think a lot about the differences and, more disturbingly, the parallels between women’s situation in India and my own home culture. BTW, I've classified this as historical fiction, even though in my estimation it's not, because that's what the librarian who told me about the book billed it as.
Sunday, December 27, 2009
Off we go
I just took a caravan to Afghanistan, didn’t buy an airline ticket, and thank heavens didn’t get shot at. Rather, I’ve been snuggled under the cover of my very own down comforter, reading about other people getting knifed, mummified by desert winds, running off with tribal chieftains, and marrying men who already have several other wives in tow. Sometimes you just have to get out of yourself, know what I mean? If you want to know a whole lot about any number of countries, check out James Michener’s oeuvre. Chances are, he wrote about it.
The Michener book that’s been keeping me up nights is Caravan, published in the early sixties. It just goes to prove that if you do enough research, you can look prescient, even if the information was there all the time. Michener accurately predicted tribalism resulting in near civil war, Soviet invasion, extreme abuse of Afghani women, and a whole host of stuff you can read about any day in your newspaper’s front page. And if you want to get a really good perspective on why a war in Afghanistan is probably even more unwinnable than one in Iraq, why, look no further than this 40 year old book. The Afghanistan of Caravan makes other messed up countries, like Somalia and Nigeria, look like child’s play to get organized.
Nobody will ever accuse James Michener of intricate plots, psychodrama, or brevity (my soul mate!), but he knows how to amass a mountain of data as high as the Hindu Kush, twist it into a forthright yarn that shadows real characters, and by the time you plow through 300 to 1,000 pages, you know everything he knows about the subject. He wrote big books, but ones where the storytelling is so engaging that you find yourself reading over lunch, carrying the brick into the bathroom, and, in my case, burning yourself because you were stirring something with one hand while holding the book in the other.
In addition to Caravan, I’ve read Tales of the South Pacific, Hawaii and Caribbean. Hawaii is fun and poignant (don’t bother with the awful movie they made from part of it). After reading the horrifying Caribbean, I don’t think I’d ever be able to vacation there again. Best of all, though, was Michener’s autobiography, The World Is My Home. It was a pleasure to visit with this seemingly kind, self made guy who seldom has a bad word to say about anyone. Whether he was really that way in person (hmmm, he was married 3 times), we’ll never know. It’s a big book, but it leaves out perhaps as much as it includes. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for an easy read that will give you more entertainment than whatever you just rented from Netflix, check out Michener, any Michener. Years ago any of his books was eagerly awaited and an instant bestseller. You don’t hear about his work much since he passed away. More’s the pity.
The Michener book that’s been keeping me up nights is Caravan, published in the early sixties. It just goes to prove that if you do enough research, you can look prescient, even if the information was there all the time. Michener accurately predicted tribalism resulting in near civil war, Soviet invasion, extreme abuse of Afghani women, and a whole host of stuff you can read about any day in your newspaper’s front page. And if you want to get a really good perspective on why a war in Afghanistan is probably even more unwinnable than one in Iraq, why, look no further than this 40 year old book. The Afghanistan of Caravan makes other messed up countries, like Somalia and Nigeria, look like child’s play to get organized.
Nobody will ever accuse James Michener of intricate plots, psychodrama, or brevity (my soul mate!), but he knows how to amass a mountain of data as high as the Hindu Kush, twist it into a forthright yarn that shadows real characters, and by the time you plow through 300 to 1,000 pages, you know everything he knows about the subject. He wrote big books, but ones where the storytelling is so engaging that you find yourself reading over lunch, carrying the brick into the bathroom, and, in my case, burning yourself because you were stirring something with one hand while holding the book in the other.
In addition to Caravan, I’ve read Tales of the South Pacific, Hawaii and Caribbean. Hawaii is fun and poignant (don’t bother with the awful movie they made from part of it). After reading the horrifying Caribbean, I don’t think I’d ever be able to vacation there again. Best of all, though, was Michener’s autobiography, The World Is My Home. It was a pleasure to visit with this seemingly kind, self made guy who seldom has a bad word to say about anyone. Whether he was really that way in person (hmmm, he was married 3 times), we’ll never know. It’s a big book, but it leaves out perhaps as much as it includes. Nevertheless, if you’re looking for an easy read that will give you more entertainment than whatever you just rented from Netflix, check out Michener, any Michener. Years ago any of his books was eagerly awaited and an instant bestseller. You don’t hear about his work much since he passed away. More’s the pity.
Friday, December 11, 2009
NaNoWriMo: alas, No Mo’
NaNoWriMo wound up on November 30th, so I think I’ve finally recovered enough to pontificate. Some have said it’s pretty hard to teach me anything, but I did learn a few things about writing and life from the experience.
Writing a novel is a humbling experience.
As is probably evident from the length of some of these blog posts, I’m no slouch at spewing words. I’d thought about my novel, researched it for months, even translated tons of material from French reference books. I’d outlined it, summarized it, plotted crises and down time. None of it was enough—I was done with my first draft at 40,000 and really had to struggle to make it to 50,000. Sure, it’s a teen historical novel (also known as YA), and they can be shorter, but probably not that short. Halfway into my story, which is set in a girls’ school during the time of Louis XIV, I felt like all my characters did was eat meals and walk around the corridors. My respect for another author, who sets her story in a similarly closed environment, went up a thousand per cent. Hats off, J.K. Rowling.
Forget the research until you’ve written the first draft
I know this is heresy for historical fiction. Okay, maybe you can read a Time Life book or some background piece so you don’t make glaring mistakes. Even though I have a file drawer and several shelves worth of books on Louis XIV, everyday life in the period, carriages, maps, etc., I couldn’t remember any of it while writing at the speed required by NaNoWriMo. Far from combing through files, I didn’t even have time to look at the binder I put together of essential details. Know what? Didn’t matter. I just stuck in brackets and moved on with the story. Now I can see exactly what details I need to round out the story, rather than trying to cram in all the interesting facts just because I spent so much time accumulating them. Plus, I could have saved myself months of work.
I think historical novelists need to distinguish what is fun to know from what is essential to the story. Unless you have a publisher that is willing to print a brick, your attention is better focused on the plot and characters rather than your file cards.
Forget the outline
I had an extensive outline which was little help in gauging how much needed to be written to get my characters from plot point to plot point. Also, it encouraged me to feel that I had to begin at the beginning and work through to the end. Not much room for innovation there.
Maybe if I wasn’t working on the thirty day deadline, an outline would have worked better. But if I ever do NaNoWriMo again, I’m just going to have 30 sections that I can write 1,667 words on, probably also called “chapters”. The whole point of this speed writing exercise is that you finally get something down. It doesn’t have to be good, and believe me, mine isn’t. But you have something to work with. Either an outline or a 30-points list works for that, but the 30 points would have had me writing faster, and better spread out over the time period.
If something’s too hard, make it harder
For most of my life I’ve been the type who can only write during the day (preferably morning) with significant quiet. During NaNo, I wrote while in coffee shops with kids screaming next to me, wrote while the Nikipedia clacked along on her keyboard, wrote at 12:30 at night and woke up with my hands still on the keyboard. You can type in unexpected places like the bathroom, as long as you’re sitting down (eeuw, gross).
Also, making it harder really cures writer’s block and perfectionism. I wrote 6,000 words the Saturday before the deadline. There wasn’t any time to think or worry. As my friend Pat Bracewell (another historical novelist) advised me, “Bang it out, baby”—four sage words of advice.
On the other hand, you can’t keep up that kind of pressure
One of the reasons it works is because it’s time-limited. You can’t go forever without cleaning the bathroom, or ever reading a book, or eating Spam and lettuce for dinner. A month a year, yes, but it isn’t a lifestyle.
Even though I can dither for a long time about a single sentence, not thinking at all just isn’t fun. It’s a fine first draft method to crank, but a little slower and I’d have enjoyed the writing. Actually, 1,700 words would be doable, but what with Thanksgiving, house guests, etc. I missed several days. Which brings me to the next principle…
Front load it
I knew there would be days when I couldn’t write, but I didn’t realize how fast they’d pile up. Hey, it’s been a year or two or 30 since I’ve been in grad school. If I do NaNo again, I’m going to lock myself in my room for the first weekend at least. They tell you this, but until you’ve lived it, you won’t realize the number of ways things interfere.
Don’t be intimidated by what other people seem to be doing
One of the virtues is the buddy system, where you can see how much your friends are writing every day. One of my buddies wrote about half her novel the first weekend. She never wrote another word. She’s not a close friend, and I haven’t had the heart to ask her what happened. Other people made extraordinary leaps at times when I was grinding along. But out of the 8 people I watched, only 3 finished (one being the Nikipedia). So, don’t assume everyone else is having an easier time with anything than you are. And maybe don’t front load so much you never want to see the thing again.
You will be very proud of yourself if you accomplish something hard
The Nikipedia has been so excited she’s been carrying her printed copy everywhere. It’s hard to resist the urge to buttonhole total strangers in coffee shops and bookstores and tell them all about it. I was sure I could write a novel, but not sure I could produce a first draft of 50,000 words in a month. Now I know. I have the winners’ certificate right in front of me.
Nobody wants to hear about your great idea
I learned this at the final party when one woman talked me cross eyed. Even I didn’t want to hear the whole thing, which she seemed determined to punish me with, line by line. You need an elevator speech for any great idea, and those were quite interesting to hear. But the idea isn’t the product, the manuscript (or invention, or report, or new business) is, and unless that is produced in finished form, the draft is pretty useless to anyone but the creator.
Nothing is as famous as you think
NaNo has over 120,000 participants a year. Except for few friends and some other writers, no one I mentioned it to had ever heard of it. Think about that the next time you make a gaffe or mistake and think "everyone will know". Also, no matter how much publicity you generate, there will still be plenty of people to reach.
Now…on to revisions.
Writing a novel is a humbling experience.
As is probably evident from the length of some of these blog posts, I’m no slouch at spewing words. I’d thought about my novel, researched it for months, even translated tons of material from French reference books. I’d outlined it, summarized it, plotted crises and down time. None of it was enough—I was done with my first draft at 40,000 and really had to struggle to make it to 50,000. Sure, it’s a teen historical novel (also known as YA), and they can be shorter, but probably not that short. Halfway into my story, which is set in a girls’ school during the time of Louis XIV, I felt like all my characters did was eat meals and walk around the corridors. My respect for another author, who sets her story in a similarly closed environment, went up a thousand per cent. Hats off, J.K. Rowling.
Forget the research until you’ve written the first draft
I know this is heresy for historical fiction. Okay, maybe you can read a Time Life book or some background piece so you don’t make glaring mistakes. Even though I have a file drawer and several shelves worth of books on Louis XIV, everyday life in the period, carriages, maps, etc., I couldn’t remember any of it while writing at the speed required by NaNoWriMo. Far from combing through files, I didn’t even have time to look at the binder I put together of essential details. Know what? Didn’t matter. I just stuck in brackets and moved on with the story. Now I can see exactly what details I need to round out the story, rather than trying to cram in all the interesting facts just because I spent so much time accumulating them. Plus, I could have saved myself months of work.
I think historical novelists need to distinguish what is fun to know from what is essential to the story. Unless you have a publisher that is willing to print a brick, your attention is better focused on the plot and characters rather than your file cards.
Forget the outline
I had an extensive outline which was little help in gauging how much needed to be written to get my characters from plot point to plot point. Also, it encouraged me to feel that I had to begin at the beginning and work through to the end. Not much room for innovation there.
Maybe if I wasn’t working on the thirty day deadline, an outline would have worked better. But if I ever do NaNoWriMo again, I’m just going to have 30 sections that I can write 1,667 words on, probably also called “chapters”. The whole point of this speed writing exercise is that you finally get something down. It doesn’t have to be good, and believe me, mine isn’t. But you have something to work with. Either an outline or a 30-points list works for that, but the 30 points would have had me writing faster, and better spread out over the time period.
If something’s too hard, make it harder
For most of my life I’ve been the type who can only write during the day (preferably morning) with significant quiet. During NaNo, I wrote while in coffee shops with kids screaming next to me, wrote while the Nikipedia clacked along on her keyboard, wrote at 12:30 at night and woke up with my hands still on the keyboard. You can type in unexpected places like the bathroom, as long as you’re sitting down (eeuw, gross).
Also, making it harder really cures writer’s block and perfectionism. I wrote 6,000 words the Saturday before the deadline. There wasn’t any time to think or worry. As my friend Pat Bracewell (another historical novelist) advised me, “Bang it out, baby”—four sage words of advice.
On the other hand, you can’t keep up that kind of pressure
One of the reasons it works is because it’s time-limited. You can’t go forever without cleaning the bathroom, or ever reading a book, or eating Spam and lettuce for dinner. A month a year, yes, but it isn’t a lifestyle.
Even though I can dither for a long time about a single sentence, not thinking at all just isn’t fun. It’s a fine first draft method to crank, but a little slower and I’d have enjoyed the writing. Actually, 1,700 words would be doable, but what with Thanksgiving, house guests, etc. I missed several days. Which brings me to the next principle…
Front load it
I knew there would be days when I couldn’t write, but I didn’t realize how fast they’d pile up. Hey, it’s been a year or two or 30 since I’ve been in grad school. If I do NaNo again, I’m going to lock myself in my room for the first weekend at least. They tell you this, but until you’ve lived it, you won’t realize the number of ways things interfere.
Don’t be intimidated by what other people seem to be doing
One of the virtues is the buddy system, where you can see how much your friends are writing every day. One of my buddies wrote about half her novel the first weekend. She never wrote another word. She’s not a close friend, and I haven’t had the heart to ask her what happened. Other people made extraordinary leaps at times when I was grinding along. But out of the 8 people I watched, only 3 finished (one being the Nikipedia). So, don’t assume everyone else is having an easier time with anything than you are. And maybe don’t front load so much you never want to see the thing again.
You will be very proud of yourself if you accomplish something hard
The Nikipedia has been so excited she’s been carrying her printed copy everywhere. It’s hard to resist the urge to buttonhole total strangers in coffee shops and bookstores and tell them all about it. I was sure I could write a novel, but not sure I could produce a first draft of 50,000 words in a month. Now I know. I have the winners’ certificate right in front of me.
Nobody wants to hear about your great idea
I learned this at the final party when one woman talked me cross eyed. Even I didn’t want to hear the whole thing, which she seemed determined to punish me with, line by line. You need an elevator speech for any great idea, and those were quite interesting to hear. But the idea isn’t the product, the manuscript (or invention, or report, or new business) is, and unless that is produced in finished form, the draft is pretty useless to anyone but the creator.
Nothing is as famous as you think
NaNo has over 120,000 participants a year. Except for few friends and some other writers, no one I mentioned it to had ever heard of it. Think about that the next time you make a gaffe or mistake and think "everyone will know". Also, no matter how much publicity you generate, there will still be plenty of people to reach.
Now…on to revisions.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Not a book review
Reviewers hate to give a sincere effort a bad review. Sure, if the book is an obvious stinker—say, a children’s book by a so-called celebrity author—it’s easy to pull out the long knives. When the book obviously entailed a lot of effort and research, and (even worse!) the author appears to be a decent and dedicated person, it’s a lot harder.
Years ago I’d read and enjoyed the first book by she who will not be named. Recently, I even heard her speak, and she seems like a serious and thoughtful writer, my kinda girl. So I was prepared to like her book, and picked it up with great anticipation. It’s an absolute train wreck. Billed as an historical NOVEL, it is blissfully free of any semblance of plot. As one editor put it about bad historical fiction, you can almost see the index cards laid out on the dining room table. I don’t think there was a single fact about the book’s subject that wasn’t crammed in somewhere. Often, the facts were foisted upon the reader by the execrable and neophyte practice of having characters tell each other about facts that each of them had every reason to know already. I probably ground my dental work down by several millimeters while reading those sections.
On and on it goes, for 870 pages. Doesn’t anyone at her (major) publisher own a blue pencil? Is the delete key missing on their keyboard? I wasted night after night of bedtime reading, hoping against hope that somewhere in this phone book this author would eventually hit her stride and give me something to think about. Plus, her main character is such an impossible twit that by page 350 I was rooting for the bad guys to do her in, and ready to cheer when they finally did.
All serious authors by now are asking themselves how this stuff gets published. Disabuse yourself of the notion that you have to be good to get published. There’s a huge greenbacks factor here—the first book made a ton of money, and I’ll bet the presales on this one were enough (ahem) to cover the paper costs and gold foil on the cover. I can’t believe I did my small part by purchasing this brick.
Still, I’m not going to out her. She’s gone on to publish a bunch more books, so someone must like them, and she had many fans when I heard her speak. A lot of work went into this book, and I do applaud that. I’m also a chicken—if I run into her again, I don’t want to have to hide. But if it’s 870 pages long, a Literary Guild Selection, and published by St. Martin’s, don’t buy it!
Years ago I’d read and enjoyed the first book by she who will not be named. Recently, I even heard her speak, and she seems like a serious and thoughtful writer, my kinda girl. So I was prepared to like her book, and picked it up with great anticipation. It’s an absolute train wreck. Billed as an historical NOVEL, it is blissfully free of any semblance of plot. As one editor put it about bad historical fiction, you can almost see the index cards laid out on the dining room table. I don’t think there was a single fact about the book’s subject that wasn’t crammed in somewhere. Often, the facts were foisted upon the reader by the execrable and neophyte practice of having characters tell each other about facts that each of them had every reason to know already. I probably ground my dental work down by several millimeters while reading those sections.
On and on it goes, for 870 pages. Doesn’t anyone at her (major) publisher own a blue pencil? Is the delete key missing on their keyboard? I wasted night after night of bedtime reading, hoping against hope that somewhere in this phone book this author would eventually hit her stride and give me something to think about. Plus, her main character is such an impossible twit that by page 350 I was rooting for the bad guys to do her in, and ready to cheer when they finally did.
All serious authors by now are asking themselves how this stuff gets published. Disabuse yourself of the notion that you have to be good to get published. There’s a huge greenbacks factor here—the first book made a ton of money, and I’ll bet the presales on this one were enough (ahem) to cover the paper costs and gold foil on the cover. I can’t believe I did my small part by purchasing this brick.
Still, I’m not going to out her. She’s gone on to publish a bunch more books, so someone must like them, and she had many fans when I heard her speak. A lot of work went into this book, and I do applaud that. I’m also a chicken—if I run into her again, I don’t want to have to hide. But if it’s 870 pages long, a Literary Guild Selection, and published by St. Martin’s, don’t buy it!
Friday, July 10, 2009
Anywhere But Now: the Historical Novel Society Convention
Renaissance Venice, Heian Japan, or sailing with the Norsemen, conference goers at the June Historical Novel Society meeting were anywhere but in the rather anonymous suburban hotel. But bring the participants (briefly) back to our 21st century publishing scene and you’ll find out that historical fiction is a sort of uber-genre: it covers mysteries, romance, thriller, fantasy, chick lit and serious fiction. Think of the range from The French Lieutenant’s Woman to Fabio.
It was a well heeled crowd, albeit more Ferragamo than Manolo. Predominantly female, conference goers clearly know their way around the research stacks, and one seminar on researching when you can’t go there elicited oohs and aahs for the presentation by author Roberta Gellis on accessing resources for ancient maps. Apparently plenty of authors need to know how to turn right at the correct medieval mud hut and proceed along to the barley fields.
Writers using historical settings may not be afraid of dragons, but they live in terror of reenactors, who can be counted on to point out the anachronisms the author has overlooked. Balancing the needs of a plot versus what actually happened can be more difficult than getting out of your armor after a rainstorm.
These are not the kind of writers to be daunted by a little inconvenient travel or tough research, however. Some described learning Latin in order to translate medieval manuscripts, deciphering spidery script in caches of personal letters, and constructing and wearing clothing of excruciating complexity and discomfort. One evening’s entertainment offered the opportunity to costume yourself as your character. One participant demonstrated a spectacular use for your grandma’s old fur stole: think sumptuous sleeve trim on blue velvet. Clearly, however, some eras have had more fashion sense than others, and based on the clothes, I’m not moving to the early middle ages any time soon, unless the burlap is lined. No wonder skin diseases were common.
Writers are readers, too, and publishers know it. The goodie bags given out to participants included a bushel of books, along with the usual printed pens and bookmarks. One clever and pricey promo was a wax sealed bottle of lavender water, packaged in a lace handkerchief, promoting a book called The Tory Widow by Christine Blevins. I wonder what the guys did with it. There were so many books I hauled them out to my car, but I must admit I was sore tempted to sit right down and read them all, bagging the rest of the conference.
That would have been a mistake. The Conference was replete with editors and agents, and they were in a buying mood. Every participant I spoke with who had taken advantage of the 8 minute pitch meetings had been asked to forward a manuscript. And authors who are ready to wrestle with samurai sword play are not easily daunted by the realities of 21st century marketing.
There was plenty of advice on making sure that the novel you spent 6 years researching doesn’t become a six week wonder. Speaker after speaker talked about developing a platform, courting readers, and using the latest cyber techniques and social media as a cost effective way to reach book buyers interested in worlds where the height of technological innovation might be the spoked wheel. As editor Trish Todd of Touchstone/Simon & Schuster put it, “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy on a book tour right now”, but virtual blog tours, connecting authors with book clubs via Skype, and webinars and podcasts were all thoroughly vetted as means to maximize “reader touch” while minimizing author wear-and-tear. Even though authors might find it as pleasant as swallowing an emetic, author Michelle Moran advised coughing up at least 5% of your advance for your own marketing efforts.
If you still harbor any illusions that publishing is about art, not marketing, you’re as out of date as a wimple. Your editor is going to take a hard look at her spreadsheet before she takes a look at a second manuscript from you. Remember Mr. Micawber’s famous advice to David Copperfield, "Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery." Turns out that applies equally well to advances. If you get a $15K advance and your book sells 20,000 copies, you’re a hero. But cage a $50,000 advance and sell the same 20,000 copies and your agent will be repurposing your next manuscript. Still, I’d rather have one partridge on a pewter platter than still in the pear tree—there’s no guarantee what the market might be like down the [dirt] road.
For now, however, everything’s coming up fleur de lys—apparently authors of historical fiction aren’t the only ones who like to time travel. So, based on what I heard, if you’re writing serious fiction, a mystery, a thriller or maybe even chick lit or teenage angst, I’d find a historical period to set it in. It’s a good horse to ride.
It was a well heeled crowd, albeit more Ferragamo than Manolo. Predominantly female, conference goers clearly know their way around the research stacks, and one seminar on researching when you can’t go there elicited oohs and aahs for the presentation by author Roberta Gellis on accessing resources for ancient maps. Apparently plenty of authors need to know how to turn right at the correct medieval mud hut and proceed along to the barley fields.
Writers using historical settings may not be afraid of dragons, but they live in terror of reenactors, who can be counted on to point out the anachronisms the author has overlooked. Balancing the needs of a plot versus what actually happened can be more difficult than getting out of your armor after a rainstorm.
These are not the kind of writers to be daunted by a little inconvenient travel or tough research, however. Some described learning Latin in order to translate medieval manuscripts, deciphering spidery script in caches of personal letters, and constructing and wearing clothing of excruciating complexity and discomfort. One evening’s entertainment offered the opportunity to costume yourself as your character. One participant demonstrated a spectacular use for your grandma’s old fur stole: think sumptuous sleeve trim on blue velvet. Clearly, however, some eras have had more fashion sense than others, and based on the clothes, I’m not moving to the early middle ages any time soon, unless the burlap is lined. No wonder skin diseases were common.
Writers are readers, too, and publishers know it. The goodie bags given out to participants included a bushel of books, along with the usual printed pens and bookmarks. One clever and pricey promo was a wax sealed bottle of lavender water, packaged in a lace handkerchief, promoting a book called The Tory Widow by Christine Blevins. I wonder what the guys did with it. There were so many books I hauled them out to my car, but I must admit I was sore tempted to sit right down and read them all, bagging the rest of the conference.
That would have been a mistake. The Conference was replete with editors and agents, and they were in a buying mood. Every participant I spoke with who had taken advantage of the 8 minute pitch meetings had been asked to forward a manuscript. And authors who are ready to wrestle with samurai sword play are not easily daunted by the realities of 21st century marketing.
There was plenty of advice on making sure that the novel you spent 6 years researching doesn’t become a six week wonder. Speaker after speaker talked about developing a platform, courting readers, and using the latest cyber techniques and social media as a cost effective way to reach book buyers interested in worlds where the height of technological innovation might be the spoked wheel. As editor Trish Todd of Touchstone/Simon & Schuster put it, “I wouldn’t send my worst enemy on a book tour right now”, but virtual blog tours, connecting authors with book clubs via Skype, and webinars and podcasts were all thoroughly vetted as means to maximize “reader touch” while minimizing author wear-and-tear. Even though authors might find it as pleasant as swallowing an emetic, author Michelle Moran advised coughing up at least 5% of your advance for your own marketing efforts.
If you still harbor any illusions that publishing is about art, not marketing, you’re as out of date as a wimple. Your editor is going to take a hard look at her spreadsheet before she takes a look at a second manuscript from you. Remember Mr. Micawber’s famous advice to David Copperfield, "Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure nineteen nineteen six, result happiness. Annual income twenty pounds, annual expenditure twenty pounds ought and six, result misery." Turns out that applies equally well to advances. If you get a $15K advance and your book sells 20,000 copies, you’re a hero. But cage a $50,000 advance and sell the same 20,000 copies and your agent will be repurposing your next manuscript. Still, I’d rather have one partridge on a pewter platter than still in the pear tree—there’s no guarantee what the market might be like down the [dirt] road.
For now, however, everything’s coming up fleur de lys—apparently authors of historical fiction aren’t the only ones who like to time travel. So, based on what I heard, if you’re writing serious fiction, a mystery, a thriller or maybe even chick lit or teenage angst, I’d find a historical period to set it in. It’s a good horse to ride.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Two Rare Birds
Karen Essex had so much élan and verve when I met her at the recent
Historical Novel Society’s conference that I couldn’t wait to get one of her books. She had a great deal of marketing savvy and cast a steely eye on the publishing scene. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her work to be as excellent as she seemed, or whether I was actually filled with envy and hoping to be able to feel superior to a creature of publicity (oh really I’m above all that. I wish.)
Essex has written two biographical novels about Egypt, Kleopatra and Pharaoh, but I happened to stop in at the local and massive Little City Used Book Sale and there, in a pristine cover, was her book Leonardo’s Swans. It was Fortuna, as one of her characters would say. This book (344 pages, Doubleday) is a fictional exploration of the lives and relationships of two incredibly gifted and powerful women who were also sisters: Isabella and Beatrice d’Este. Both were patrons of the arts: Isabella supported Andrea Mantegna and many others, while Leonardo da Vinci did what some consider his best work while under the patronage of the Duke of Milan, Beatrice’s husband Ludovico Sforza. Leonardo’s Swans does an excellent job re-imagining what might have been the psychological truths and interpersonal relationships among these people based on the known facts. This is what the best historical fiction does: helps us to see as living people those who are frozen in artistic styles that look like no one we know, or who have accomplished deeds (or descended into infamy) that we, on the surface, can hardly imagine.
Essex makes these women so human that you can almost think of them as members of your book club or someone you might have lunch with. Also, they both seem so accessible that I had to keep reminding myself that these were two of the most powerful and influential women of their own (indeed of any) time. During the period the story covers, both Isabella and Beatrice were only in their late teens and early twenties. Maybe speaking several languages and being well read in the classics can produce this, but it’s still very hard to believe that teenagers could achieve the levels of intellectual, political and artistic sophistication that these women apparently did. The details of their lives are better than any complicated family saga, and I polished off the book in a few very late nights.
While I highly recommend this book for either a long day at the beach, a time when you are stuck in an airport for twelve hours (that’s where I cracked the covers) or in front of a fire with a nice afghan cradling you, I must say that certain aspects of the book made me angry at her publishers. First, the cover. The hardcover has a very sensuous nude reproduction of a painting by Cesare da Sesto of Ledo and the Swan. This is purportedly a copy of a lost Leonardo. While the theme of the painting is certainly part of the book, so many other great paintings are mentioned in the book that the reader craves to have them at hand while reading. Leonardo painted very few portraits of contemporary women, and four of them are integral to the plot of this book: Cecilia Gallerani ( a mistress of Ludovico Sforza), the gorgeous Lady with an Ermine, which toured the U.S. several years ago; La Belle Ferronière, reputed to be Lucrez
ia Crivelli, another mistress of Ludovico Sforza; a portrait of Beatrice (Ludovico’s wife—busy guy) and a sketch of Isabella, who spends most of the book consumed with envy of the oils of the others. (The other two non-religious portraits are, of course, the Mona Lisa and Ginevra 
de’ Benci, the only Leonardo in the U.S., at the National Gallery in Washington.) The paperback version has another beautiful painting, but not of these ladies.
My other (minor) gripe is that I spotted two paragraphs (or their very near cousins) that were each repeated in other sections of the book. After my own experiences with editing, I can well understand how multiple revisions and edits can make that happen. Still, I’d have been happier if someone caught that. It may not be noticeable unless you are reading through the entire book in two sittings, as I did, while stuck sleeping on the floor of an airport at 1 am.
Ludovico Sforza and Isabella d’Este aren’t exactly household words, and unless you have a particular interest in the Renaissance, you may not have run across them before. But once you read this book, they’ll seem like fascinating people from your past. As indeed, they are.
Historical Novel Society’s conference that I couldn’t wait to get one of her books. She had a great deal of marketing savvy and cast a steely eye on the publishing scene. I wasn’t sure whether I wanted her work to be as excellent as she seemed, or whether I was actually filled with envy and hoping to be able to feel superior to a creature of publicity (oh really I’m above all that. I wish.)Essex has written two biographical novels about Egypt, Kleopatra and Pharaoh, but I happened to stop in at the local and massive Little City Used Book Sale and there, in a pristine cover, was her book Leonardo’s Swans. It was Fortuna, as one of her characters would say. This book (344 pages, Doubleday) is a fictional exploration of the lives and relationships of two incredibly gifted and powerful women who were also sisters: Isabella and Beatrice d’Este. Both were patrons of the arts: Isabella supported Andrea Mantegna and many others, while Leonardo da Vinci did what some consider his best work while under the patronage of the Duke of Milan, Beatrice’s husband Ludovico Sforza. Leonardo’s Swans does an excellent job re-imagining what might have been the psychological truths and interpersonal relationships among these people based on the known facts. This is what the best historical fiction does: helps us to see as living people those who are frozen in artistic styles that look like no one we know, or who have accomplished deeds (or descended into infamy) that we, on the surface, can hardly imagine.
Essex makes these women so human that you can almost think of them as members of your book club or someone you might have lunch with. Also, they both seem so accessible that I had to keep reminding myself that these were two of the most powerful and influential women of their own (indeed of any) time. During the period the story covers, both Isabella and Beatrice were only in their late teens and early twenties. Maybe speaking several languages and being well read in the classics can produce this, but it’s still very hard to believe that teenagers could achieve the levels of intellectual, political and artistic sophistication that these women apparently did. The details of their lives are better than any complicated family saga, and I polished off the book in a few very late nights.
While I highly recommend this book for either a long day at the beach, a time when you are stuck in an airport for twelve hours (that’s where I cracked the covers) or in front of a fire with a nice afghan cradling you, I must say that certain aspects of the book made me angry at her publishers. First, the cover. The hardcover has a very sensuous nude reproduction of a painting by Cesare da Sesto of Ledo and the Swan. This is purportedly a copy of a lost Leonardo. While the theme of the painting is certainly part of the book, so many other great paintings are mentioned in the book that the reader craves to have them at hand while reading. Leonardo painted very few portraits of contemporary women, and four of them are integral to the plot of this book: Cecilia Gallerani ( a mistress of Ludovico Sforza), the gorgeous Lady with an Ermine, which toured the U.S. several years ago; La Belle Ferronière, reputed to be Lucrez
ia Crivelli, another mistress of Ludovico Sforza; a portrait of Beatrice (Ludovico’s wife—busy guy) and a sketch of Isabella, who spends most of the book consumed with envy of the oils of the others. (The other two non-religious portraits are, of course, the Mona Lisa and Ginevra 
de’ Benci, the only Leonardo in the U.S., at the National Gallery in Washington.) The paperback version has another beautiful painting, but not of these ladies.My other (minor) gripe is that I spotted two paragraphs (or their very near cousins) that were each repeated in other sections of the book. After my own experiences with editing, I can well understand how multiple revisions and edits can make that happen. Still, I’d have been happier if someone caught that. It may not be noticeable unless you are reading through the entire book in two sittings, as I did, while stuck sleeping on the floor of an airport at 1 am.
Ludovico Sforza and Isabella d’Este aren’t exactly household words, and unless you have a particular interest in the Renaissance, you may not have run across them before. But once you read this book, they’ll seem like fascinating people from your past. As indeed, they are.
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