I’ve now read Kalpana’s Dream and One Whole and Perfect Day by Judith Clarke, and want desperately to read everything she’s ever written. Sadly, our library seems to have only a short story collection. Woe.
Anyway, if you’re looking for strange, beautifully written books that wrap you up like an embrace, books full of joy and hope in the best way and not the sappy one… One Whole and Perfect makes me feel much the same way that Dodie Smith’s I Capture the Castle does.
What advice would you give to new writers?
Don’t be afraid to fail. I fail every day. I failed thousands of times writing The Book Thief, and that book now means everything to me. Of course, I have many doubts and fears about that book, too, but some of what I feel are the best ideas in it came to me when I was working away for apparently no result. Failure has been my best friend as a writer. It tests you, to see if you have what it takes to see it through.
Is there a secret to writing?
The best ideas come to you when you’re sitting down, working. That’s when most of the breakthroughs occur – simply by doing the work. If someone wanted to be a runner, you don’t tell them to think about running, you tell them to run. And the same simple idea applies to writing, I hope.
Well, not really. But over at Contemporary Nomad, Kevin Wignall does have a great little post about the controversial, rarely humble adverb. He offers the last paragraph of Joyce’s "The Dead" in the adverb’s defense:
"A few light taps upon the pane made him turn to the window. It had begun to snow again. He watched sleepily the flakes, silver and dark, falling obliquely against the lamplight. The time had come for him to set out on his journey westward. Yes, the newspapers were right: snow was general all over Ireland. It was falling on every part of the dark central plain, on the treeless hills, falling softly upon the Bog of Allen and, farther westward, softly falling into the dark mutinous Shannon waves. It was falling, too, upon every part of the lonely churchyard on the hill where Michael Furey lay buried. It lay thickly drifted on the crooked crosses and headstones, on the spears of the little gate, on the barren thorns. His soul swooned slowly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead."
At least one other writer would agree. (There’s some interesting conversation in the comments.)
In writing, as in life: Everything in moderation, except when excess is demanded.
Writers Fight Ostentatiously Read More »
Locus is up to its usual April first hijincks, including teasers from America’s Next Top Writer:
Highlights of later episodes include Holly Black and Cormac McCarthy fighting over a toothbrush, Atwood’s anger at waking up to find Shelley Jackson has tattooed a short story on her forehead, and Carey and Ligotti showing the other contestants how to square dance.
See also: Ed’s handiworkings.
Gawker had the goods yesterday on the relaunch of the Sweet Valley High series, complete with new covers featuring some soap star I’ve never heard of. I don’t hate the new covers. As much as I now feel a strange affection for the old ones (those pennants!) for purely nostalgic reasons, I remember hating that particular dorky drawing style of cover even as a kid.
And, yeah, I read all the SVH books I could get my hands on when I was a pre-teen, and I’m kind of sad that I don’t recall very much about them other than the bad girl/good girl, don’t-we-all-want-to-be-a-twin* thing. I read lots of pretty disposable tween/teen fiction, and about the only things that stick in my mind from that particular milieu are Christopher Pike books**. (I count Judy Blume and the Ramonas and stuff like that as things I read when I was younger, and not in the category of "pretty disposable tween/teen fiction" — The Baby-Sitters Club books would be another example and certainly of the series style stuff, though now that I’m thinking about this I remember adoring Betsy Haynes’ The Against Taffy Sinclair Club, which always seemed kind of an ode to meanness, and the later books in that spin-off series. Those books weren’t afraid to get their hands dirty. Anyway, before you judge, remember that I was also reading a lot of Shakespeare. It was a balanced fictional diet.)
Still, like Jenny Han over at the Longstockings, some of the
text changes involved in the SVH repackaging trouble me. I could care less about the Fiat becoming a Jeep Wrangler, but as Han says:
So apparently a size 6 is no longer "perfect." The Wakefields are now a perfect size four, according to the press release. I’m surprised they didn’t go so far as saying, perfect size 2. Or zero for that matter! I mean, yes, clothing sizes are getting bigger (ie a 1950s size 8 is NOT a modern day size 8, it’s like a 4) as we are getting bigger, but it’s obvs not just that– today’s standard of beauty is basically anorexia. Just look at the runways! Look at Hollywood’s big stars! Nicole Kidman, Renee Zellweger, Sarah Michelle Gellar–all tiny.
Disgusting–why not obliterate references to the twins’ sizes at all, to *update* them? How far we’ve come, baby.
The often-hilarious SVH-focused Dairi Burger blog was created to "reread the entire series to relive my tween years, and also to get really angry at how SVH gave me a false and misguided view of high school life. And life in general. In fact, I blame all my insecurities, problems and worries on these books." She has even harsher words on the revamp, and wonders why the whole thing is necessary (or if it’s even possible):
Why? Trying to cash in? Will tweens of this generation appreciate it? I don’t think so. It’s so ridiculous and not like anything today. And think about how cellphone, internet and myspace would have affected the SVH kids. I don’t know if it would be better or worse. Plus, the Gossip Girl series is kind of the SVH of today.
Anyway, this is also a great excuse to link Lizzie Skurnick‘s awesome 2002 Baltimore City Paper piece "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun: Confessions of a Sweet Valley Scribe":
First of all, for those of you who think this piece serves as some nice free advertising for a certain hack, think again. There are no royalties in the world of Sweet Valley. There is also no author credit. That invariably goes to the ghostly Laurie John (who, according to some girls on Amazon.com, my lone source of public critical analysis, is "losing her touch") and to the creator, Francine Pascal (please don’t sue me), who lives it up in Paris off the skin of all of our typing fingers but is also the author of the completely awesome ’80s Y.A. masterpiece Hangin’ Out With Ceci, so I don’t care.
Writing for Sweet Valley does not, as many of my highfalutin academic colleagues seem to think, involve simply dumbing down "normal" writing or being shallow (although that serves as a good illustration of how we actually think of teenage girls). Teenagers are notoriously tough customers, and they can sniff out a snob or a suck-up very quickly: When I started using brand names in Jessica and Elizabeth’s bathroom, I was immediately admonished for commercialism on Amazon, and the reader reviews for my most recent book sent me quivering off with my tale between my legs ("This book should never have been written.").
Successful teen writing is about sound, as in sounding right. Neve Campbell changed the rhythm, and Buffy changed it a little more, but it all still depends on evoking that palpable sense of Sweet Valley, of biology class and beach parties in a camp-free environment, one as recognizable as Raymond Chandler’s L.A. but sometimes as elusive (again, case in point, "This book was OK but not good").
Reality bites, as they say (while we’re revisiting dated chesnuts). (Thanks to Micol for the heads up on the Gawker post.)
*Submitted as evidence: Brandon and Brenda. And there are rumors Rob Thomas may bring back some of the original cast members in his revamp, which frightens me. I think Brian Austin Green on The Sarah Connor Chronicles may be as much of that as I can handle.
**I’ve been considering rereading some of these for grins. I have a stack plucked from my childhood bookshelves on the corner of my desk Right Now.
Updated to add: Micol also sends along a timely and really sharp article on repackaging and YA from Print Magazine (about visual culture and design), which contains a decent basic overview of the genre’s history (at least in marketing and design terms) and an interesting discussion of trends in book design for teens. A snippet:
The hero or heroine of a typical YA novel is trying to make sense of the world and his or her own place within it, but the physical book is a clearly defined object unto itself. Indeed, it’s an accessory, explains Marc Aronson, author of Race and a longtime YA writer and editor. "It has to sit comfortably next to all the other objects in the reader’s world, their magazines and clothes and music. It’s all about a sense of coolness and intelligence. It’s a style—it’s saying, ‘We are exactly who you are. This is the world you’ll feel comfortable with. Nothing about this book is going to make you feel awkward to carry it and wear it. It’s as sleek and cool and as with-it as you are.’" That might explain YA author and feminist Paula Danziger’s seemingly incongruous bias against picturing the main character of The Cat Ate My Gymsuit, a girl struggling with her weight, on the original cover.
Sweet Valley Huh (updated) Read More »
It’s One Shot World Tour: Canada Day, with a whole bunch of bloggers giving shout-outs to literary Canada. Colleen has the full list of links.
I had big plans, but the overwhelmingness of the overwhelming has impacted my capacity. Instead, I’m just going to highlight two incredibly wonderful writers from Canada who should be getting more attention (and who teach at my MFA program). And because time is short, I’m more or less just going to say that I love their books, and you should too, rather than offering compelling arguments. (But, seriously, you should too.)
Tim Wynne-Jones is a rock star. Maybe not quite yet in the U.S., but I’m thinking it’s a done deal after his next couple of books come out. Rex Zero and the End of the World was rightly acclaimed and praised by critics, and was named a 2007 Boston Globe-Horn Book honor book. It’s a hilarious, smart, wonderful book. The sequel, Rex Zero, King of Nothing, is due out in April, and I can’t wait. Candlewick signed him up for a two-book deal back in the summer–the first book is called The Children of the Snye, and what I’ve heard him read from it was smashing. And, of course, he’s published a lot of other books, for a whole host of age groups, any of which I’d wager are worth checking out. And Cynthia Leitich Smith did a great interview with him about A Thief in the House of Memory (the first thing I ever read of his; highly recommended).
I may be a bit biased, but only a bit–Tim was my first semester advisor and is a genius writing teacher. Really. If you ever get the chance to work with him, take it.
Sarah Ellis looks good in a hat, something you can see firsthand if you click that link and visit her site. Like Tim, she’s also written for a whole range of age groups. Her picture book The Queen’s Feet is absolutely charming, and I adored her slipstreamy, deliciously creepy short story collection Back of Beyond. Her most recent novel, the quirky* coming of age story Odd Man Out, should be a break-out book. It won the prestigious TD Canadian Children’s Literature Prize (for which Rex Zero was shortlisted, I might add) and the Sheila A. Egoff Children’s Literature Prize in 2007. (Side note: Can we all agree that prize sounds more exciting than award?) On her site, she describes the book’s genesis:
Once I was visiting a school and a grade seven boy asked me to consider writing a book about espionage. I’m not that interested in espionage (although I like the gadgets and the mysterious secrecy of it all) but I did find myself thinking a lot about a boy who was, himself, interested in espionage and spies. That boy turned into Kip. The other thing that is behind this book is my love for stories that have a group of kids in them, like Cheaper by the Dozen or the Casson family stories by Hilary McKay and I wanted to try such a book myself. A gang of five girl cousins is the result. I also like island stories so I put them all on an island.
I’ve also heard that she’s no slouch in the genius writing teacher department herself.
*Not in the bad way.
In a discussion elsewhere, I was reminded of British artist and critic (or perhaps, more accurately, artist critic) Matthew Collings, whose BBC series and accompanying book This is Modern Art from the late ’90s helped me immensely in developing the ability to appreciate contemporary nonrepresentational art.
He did a 2003 follow-up series called Matt’s Old Masters, which I haven’t seen (though now that I’m reminded I’ll order the book version), but I remembered a fascinating little essay he wrote about the general thrust of it that ran in the New Statesman. Turns out the piece is still 
available online:
The key to Rubens is something that is before our eyes when we’re looking at his work, but which we’re not necessarily aware that we’re seeing. It’s not fat, sentimental nudity. We’re not interested in that any more. And if we are interested in royalty, it’s not because we believe the royals’ power comes from heaven, but because we suspect that they don’t deserve power at all and we want to see them cut down to size. Old mythological stories are of no interest to us, either, unless they’ve been recycled by Hollywood into science-fiction movies. Fatties, royals and mythology – they’re all dead to us. But there is something we do always want which Rubens supplies, and that’s pleasure. The form for it is painting itself, its capacity to be a language of pure feeling.
Imagine you’re in the Prado now, in front of Rubens’s The Three Graces: three life-size nude women. Now I’m going to tell you something about those outrageously big bottoms that I hope will simultaneously illuminate them and make them disappear. The pleasure isn’t in what you think is before you: an artificial, distant and slightly tedious scene. You recognise what the painting is of, but you don’t realise that it is also doing something mysterious. You believe in the illusion so much that you don’t see that it’s constructed out of melting paint. Focus on this. This is the bit that’s for you. It’s the bit that’s still alive, that’s connected to Rubens’s own nervous system. What he felt as he painted those brush strokes is the feeling that you’re now having: he wanted pleasure and so do you. And now you’re both getting it.
It’s worth reading the whole thing.
This Is Not Modern Art Read More »
During the whirlwinding, I completely forgot to mention the Simon Pulse Blogfest. It’s been going on for some time now, so there’s massive amounts of backlogged stuff to check out. (The fun started here.) And it lasts through Thursday. Some highlights from my skimming:
The lovely and magnificent Holly Black* on writing books about serious issues and research:
My second teen novel, Valiant, deals with addiction. My younger sister died from a heroin overdose, so I knew a lot about what it was like for her, but I wanted this to be a novel about my character, Val, so I made some deliberate decisions to change the drug Val and her friends were injecting to a faerie substance called Never. Even still, I had to revisit a lot of very personal and painful experiences. It wasn’t an easy book for me to write, but I am proud of it and I was thrilled when it won the first Norton award.
Some of the research I did on the homeless communities living in the tunnels in Manhattan and in the parks in San Francisco for Valiant was fascinating, but I think the creepiest bit of information I stumbled on was that rats given opiates will take their drug, eat, and go to sleep, but rats given cocaine just do cocaine until they die.
… I was truly alarmed, for example, to learn that a “talking horse from Greek mythology” (that’s a centaur to you and me) was a soldier, who’d had both his legs blown off, lashed firmly to the body of a decapitated horse. And then, there was Julia Pastrana, a Mexican Indian woman who spoke three languages and loved to dance, but was displayed by her husband as “the baboon lady” and the ugliest woman in the world” because she had been born excessively hairy and with a deformed jaw. Then, when Julia died, this less-than-perfect husband had her body embalmed and took that around the fairgrounds of Europe, rather than lose his income. Poor Julia’s mummified corpse was still being exhibited as recently as 1973. How surprising, and shocking, is that!?
The alarmingly dashing Scott Westerfeld on inspiration and fear:
About 15 years ago, I went on a guided tour of a game reserve in South Africa. It was just me and the guide, on foot. We were strolling away from the hotel when I noticed we’d gone through a gate into the hippo area.
Now, hippos are deadly and unpredictable, and fast when they want to be. In fact, they kill more humans than any other mammal in Africa. So I said, “Um, are the hippos gone today or something?”
He said, “No, but it’s just us two, and you look pretty fit, so I thought I’d take this shortcut. You don’t mind if we have to do a little running, do you?”
To which I responded, “I don’t mind running, but I do mind running for my life.”
And my favorite response from Kathleen Duey (of the brilliant Skin Hunger), on how other books inspire her:
Richard Peck said it best: “We write by the light of every book we have ever read.”
And I would add this: We can live by that same light. Books can be as almost as important as the people we know. How else do we find out more than our friends and family can (or will) tell us about courage, love, sex, food poisoning, the agony of Sudan, sharks, how the US government works, slave labor, pregnancy, basketball, scuba diving off Tulum, and how to take care of our very first puppies? How else would we find out, risk-free, that our personal weirdnesses really aren’t that weird, that whatever we are facing has been faced before, countless times, that we are all just human and that’s good enough?
When’s the last time a publisher put together such a huge online event with this many authors answering really interesting questions? Try never (that I can remember).
*I also really liked Holly’s response about how other books influence her work.