Things will continue to be pretty quiet here for the next while. I'm working hard on a new book and juggling all the other things, as usual, and not feeling particularly guilty about a posting hiatus because I'm getting so much done.
That said, I've actually been posting quite a bit over at the tumblr. Mostly random circus and old Hollywood photos, but some short bites that typically would get rounded up in hangovers here. (I want to overhaul this site at some point, but no time or means at the moment, and tumblr is so easy.) There may be occasional invasions of actual content over there, too.
And, at some point, I'm sure there will be a return to more regular blogging here. Just not sure exactly when.
A wonderful, wide-ranging (the Moomin books, Jack London, and on and on) essay by Matthew Battles about what being feral means. I'll filch only an aside for here, and encourage you to read the whole thing: "(A few years ago I was looking at one of Caldecott’s books in the company of Maurice Sendak; we were examining the concluding illustration in a tale about a little boy lost in the woods, a towhead fetally curled in a clearing while animals regard him beneficently from amidst the trees. The forest creatures came to wish him a good night’s sleep, the caption read. “Yes,” muttered Sendak. “Or perhaps they were ready for dinner.” Part of what makes Sendak one of our great artists of the feral is his ability to hold sentiment and nutriment in equal regard.)" See also: Maurice Sendak interviewed at NPR.
The NYT talks to André Leon Talley: "The downside of being around all this nature is that twice I have had a bat fly into my bedroom, having slipped in through the cracks of the screened window. I do not wish this experience on anyone. Nothing is more unpleasant than running screaming down the stairs, lying awake until dawn on the sofa, waiting for pest control to show up, only to hear, “Oh, it could be in your blanket or sheets, or behind a mirror.” (Once, a bat was found snoozing in the bathtub.)"
The brilliant Elizabeth Knox talks about why she writes fantasy (and has some perceptive things to say about Ms. Holly Black's Curse Workers trilogy, too): "But if I’m asked the question ‘Why do your books have to have angels and vampires etc…’ when I’m in a happy and expansive mood, I might just point out that, for human beings, the real world is made of facts, and stories. The world is how it is, and it’s how it feels; and how it feels is as interesting as how it is. Then, for myself, I’ll say I write fantasy because 1) I love writing fantasy, and because 2) Fantasy gives me freedom." (Also, huge and loud YAY to another Southland book; if you haven't read the Dreamhunter Duet, well, DO. And all her books, really. They're all wonderful. I just especially want more people in YA to read the Dreamhunter books. Oh, and there's a great new story set in the same world in Kelly and Gavin's Steampunk! anthology, which'll be out soonsoonsoon.)
If you want to change your life, read Kim O'Donnel's newest column at USA Today and make some sofrito: "Inebriated by the sofrito perfume, my human dinner companions gathered around the stove like hungry dogs. They lapped up every last bit and begged for more the next day. I couldn't argue with them; The sofrito turned the ordinary into the extraordinary. It was the ultimate flavor zipper-upper, and I started to understand the possibilities for soups, stews and sauces, just like I learned how to use mirepoix (a combination of onions, carrots, and celery) in cooking school." I admit to being one of the humans in question, but, seriously, this is the most delicious thing ever.
Oh, and because I keep forgetting, there's a new issue of LCRW out–I'm still making my way through it, but LOVE the Carol Emshwiller and Joan Aiken stories (and it also has a new installment of Dear Aunt G, of course).
J.L. Bell points to and comments on a discussion of why monachies are so popular in children's fantasy (and, well, I'd say broaden that to high fantasy as a whole, really). He adds an interesting thought I can't remember seeing as part of this conversation before (and which wouldn't apply to fantasies written for adults): "That’s because those fantasies don’t replicate the larger democratic society in which most of their readers are living. They reflect the smaller, more dictatorial societies of family and school, with rules set by “self-selected group of elites, often with special powers,” called adults." Check it out.
Speaking of conversations, the one about GLBTQ characters in YA fiction centered around a guest essay at Genreville has turned into a bit of a hot mess. Regardless, I highly recommend reading the posts it sparked by Scott Tracey (one and two), Malinda Lo (who did a hero's work putting together those pie charts), and Sara Ryan. These are discussions we should be having.
Laura Lippman talks about her new book, The Most Dangerous Thing, at Omnivoracious; found this bit especially intriguing: "I’m married to a writer, a good one, David Simon. We don’t talk about writing as much as people might think, but we have often discussed how to take an initial idea, the obvious idea — angry father compounds son’s tragedy through his senseless rage — and “flip it.” When I wrote the 4th of July chapter for The Most Dangerous Thing, I flipped it – and found myself staring into the tragic heart of the book."
I first discovered Lewis Shiner's work years and years ago now, when a mutual friend gave me a copy of his short fiction collection Love in Vain. I immediately added him to my Favorite Writers list, and tracked down his novels. One of the things I love about Lew's work is that while everything he writes is immediately recognizable as his, I never know what to expect from the next novel or story. His latest novel, Dark Tangos, just out from Subterranean, is no exception. This tightly-strung thriller set in Buenos Aires sends recently-relocated techie Rob Cavanaugh on a journey filled with brutal political realities and undeniable romance, and it's highly recommended (and not just by me; Booklist gave it a starred review). I recently interviewed Lew about it, and today I'm thrilled to host his fascinating post about the dance in question.
*** Most people in the US have an idea of what tango looks like. That idea comes from Hollywood, and it looks a lot like this famous scene from Scent of a Woman:
I've just published a novel, Dark Tangos, that has tango at its heart, but it's nothing like what Pacino is doing in the video. My novel deals with tango the way it's danced in the nightclubs of Buenos Aires–arguably the most romantic dance in the world. Given Gwenda's ongoing interest in romance in literature, she was kind enough to give me space here to talk about dancing tango.
First, a few definitions. What you see in Scent of a Woman, True Lies, and Rudolph Valentino movies is variously known as American Tango (ignoring the fact that Argentina is part of America too), International Tango, or Ballroom Tango. Valentino basically invented it for the movies in the 1920s, and ballroom dancers codified a set of patterns for the sake of competitions–the head snaps, the cheek-to-cheek extended-arm promenades, the spins that yank the follower in and out like a yo-yo.
Argentine tango itself is divided into two schools: show tango and salon style. Show tango is generally performed in open embrace, to make room for lots of fancy footwork, including kicks and leg wraps. This is what is most commonly taught as Argentine tango in the US, again because there are defined moves to build a curriculum around ("This month: Ganchos!") and because the dance is so dramatic. Here's a great example, from Sally Potter's The Tango Lesson:
.
The skill level here is indisputable, but I have to ask, where is the romance? This looks more like a stylized kickboxing match than a makeout session. (You can also see Robert Duval pursuing this style in Assassination Tango.)
Finally, there is salon tango, more specifically, milonguero style tango. Milongueros are the old guys who hang out at the milongas, the tango dances in Buenos Aires, generally dressed in cheap suits with an open collared shirt. These guys have been dancing tango since they were kids; maybe they did the showy stuff when they were young, but now they have pared tango down to its essentials. They always dance in close embrace–one long, gentle, sensual hug.
My favorite teachers in the US are Ney Melo and Jennifer Bratt, who completely understand the milonguero style, based on many months in Buenos Aires, learning it from the masters. Here's a video where they're performing for a small group of students to "Poema," one of the most beautiful of all tangos:
None of this is choreographed. Ney is leading all the steps, spontaneously, in the moment, and Jennifer is responding to his leads and embellishing in the spaces he leaves her–though, obviously, they both know the song really well. Notice the pauses, the changes in energy as the music changes, the way they never break their embrace, as if they can't bear to be away from each other for even a second.
Ney never leads with his arms–everything comes solely from his chest. And all the steps must fit to the stringent rules of the dance. To say that this is harder than it looks is an understatement of epic proportions. My protagonist explains early in the novel:
"Tango, at some level, is simple. There are only three steps: forward, backward, and the so-called open step to the side. The lead comes from the torso. The arms, relaxed, merely extend the torso and add clarity. The hands are still.
"The steps come only at specific intervals in relation to the music. On the beat, or tiempo. Double time, or doble tiempo, and half time, or medio tiempo. Then there is contratiempo, the skipping heartbeat of the habanera rhythm, the African ancestor who will not be denied, da-dum dum dum.
"Yet for every rule, tango finds a loophole. The leader can pivot the follower, or himself, before taking any of those three steps. Leader and follower do not have to step at the same time, or in the same direction, or take the same number of steps. The complexities multiply exponentially until hope of mastering even the bare essentials of the dance recedes into an improbable future."
Part of my protagonist's journey involves his experiencing the terrible violence that is part of Argentine history, especially the Dirty War of the 1970s (see post at Chasing Ray later this week). But part of it involves his growth as a dancer from someone who is just walking through a series of learned moves to someone who is actually interpreting the music. Given that tango music is so often about betrayal, loss, and doomed love, the two journeys are inextricably entwined.
In fact, writing Dark Tangos took me to a new level of understanding of tango–seeing it in light of Argentine history let me finally see both inevitable sadness in the music, and the triumph implicit in the very act of dancing to it.
(I bet that's one of my most frequently-used post titles. Sorry!)
Been busy, of course, but also taking some space to let the new novel begin to breathe and come to life (which I think it is, although I'm still terrified of it). And I know enough to grab breathers between deadlines when I can and clear some mental space. As a result, I haven't had the extrananeous chatter brewing that leads me to post lots. But I'll be back soon with some hangovers and things.
In the meantime, I read two books I absolutely loved (well, and probably more since I have been indulging in a major post-draft book snarfing spell, before story-making mode kicked back in):
I finally managed to read Sarah Rees Brennan's The Demon's Surrender, the last in the trilogy, and it might possibly be my favorite, which is saying something. You should read all three books immediately if you haven't yet done so (and, hey, I've been recommending them for ages, so get on it). This is simply the best kind of urban fantasy; whip-smart, emotional, funny, and powerful. And what Sarah manages with point of view over the course of the series: Whoa. Reader, I swoon.
I also loved Michelle Hodkin's The Unbecoming of Mara Dyer, which I read in a kind of fugue state last week, unable to put it down. (Inconvenient!) One of my favorite debuts of the year, undoubtedly, and a book that I hope will find eager readers who love mystery and/or romance and/or horror and/or fantasy and/or contemporary or–best of all–all of those things. I'll say no more here for now, because I also reviewed it for Locus, but: You want this one.
Feel free to drop your own recent reading recs in the comments. There is always a need for MOAR book love.
1. As usual, am juggling all the things. While keeping fingers crossed for other things. It's hard, though, with the weather changing from Hotter Than The Sun to Oh, Summer, You're So Nice, Come Here to not just go walkabout and ride in canoes and walk the dogs a million times in the woods and sit in the backyard drinking a nice Mulderbosch rosé and reading obsessively. Just having these impulses mostly turns out to be enough to satisfy them, and instead I've been meeting deadlines and getting back into the morning word count routine with the circus book, which has stopped being mad at me for setting it aside for a couple of months to work on something else–at least, I think it has. This weekend: some proofing to do, some interview q's to send, and a Sunday meeting of the YA Books Adult Beverages Book Club (Graceling this time around). Fun.
2. Another truly fantastic piece from Alexander Chee at the Morning News, this time on Tarot. I defy you to resist this essay after reading the first paragraph: "Like many children, I wanted to be more powerful than the world around me, and so I became interested in magic. I read novels of wizards and sorceresses, dragon-riding heroes and lost kings hidden from their enemies, raised as commoners to protect them. I went to the library and read first into the mythology section and soon found myself coming home with The Golden Bough by Sir James George Frazer. This, I did not know until I got it home, was a famous anthropological work on magic. I’d hoped it was a spell book. All I knew was that I wanted to whistle up a wind."
3. Another fabulous essay, this time at Serious Eats and about the origins of Cookies n' Cream ice cream, by local star and pastry chef of the gods Stella Parks, aka the Brave Tart. She even comes around to the infamous Baskin Robbins Clown Cone, which I'd forgotten existed (!): "Love for Clown Cones related to their rarity. Like diamonds, they existed in abundance, but tightfisted parents controlled the market. Their unwillingness to shell out four times the cost of a single scoop turned the Clown Cone (in all frankness a cheap conglomeration of icing squiggles and horror) into the most desirable of treats." Seriously, go read this. I love excellent food writing and this is. Bonus: Scary Clown Cone photos.
4. Survey says we like spoilers. I don't find this surprising at all, actually. Many of my favorite TV shows are ones I picked up in the fourth, third, or second seasons (Buffy, Gilmore Girls, Veronica Mars, respectively), and one of the unexpected benefits of this was making up the imaginary narrative that explained the things from the past the characters referenced. The actual causes always turned out to be slightly different (sometimes majorly so), but that wasn't disappointing; it was fascinating. It's a good way to learn about stories, reverse engineering them, or even just looking at the engineering as it goes if you're starting at the beginning. A good story should withstand foreknowledge. All that said: sometimes I do like a narrative surprise, but it doesn't have to be a big one, the type that spoilers reference. Often the little surprises are the best.
Sara Ryan says something important: "I think often, when we try to assess our own progress — whether it’s on working out, writing, or anything else in our lives — we forget to include the weight of the bar, the bar being defined as everything else that affects our capacity to accomplish our goals."
The Atlantic on the science of Planet of the Apes–could James Franco provoke our simian cousins so much they rise? Well, or actually not that at all, but an interesting discussion of research and genetics and ethics.
I haven't poked around historypin yet, but it looks like it could be amazing and a great research resource besides.
PW's Diane Roback collects some short remembrances of colorful characters from children's publishing from people in the industry. Good reading. (They are all wonderful; I particularly liked this grace note from former SLJ editor Lillian Gerhardt's remembrance of Marjorie Thayer: "At the end of a particularly hard day in her booth at an ALA conference in the early 1970s, Thayer confessed to a startled Marjorie Jones, editorial director of the Junior Library Guild, that though she might seem indestructible, she feared she might be slowing down. "Some evenings, I'm almost too tired to tell the cocktail waitress I want an extra-dry martini straight up with a twist." ")
Jonah Lehrer explores research on intelligence and whether smart people are getting smarter: "One frequently cited factor is the increasing complexity of entertainment, which might enhance abstract problem solving skills. (As Flynn himself noted, “The very fact that children are better and better at IQ test problems logically entails that they have learned at least that kind of problem-solving skill better, and it must have been learned somewhere.”) This suggests that, because people are now forced to make sense of Lost or the Harry Potter series or World of Warcraft, they’re also better able to handle hard logic puzzles."
