As it was with our first loves, we fall hard for our first books. When we were with them the rest of the world fell away. And as with our first loves, we will never let go of ourselves like that again. I’ve asked myself when it was I read for the last time as a child, but the question is as pointless as asking when me and my first love lost what it was we once had. The answer is probably nothing more than, “One day the magic was there and the next day it wasn’t.” At some point I just took the dog for a walk without a novel, looked around, and either the things around me had changed or I had.
Category Archives: Reading
A book is much more personal
Books and blogs are very different things. You write a blog every day, it’s super-topical, you communicate with your readers – and you can assume your readers have a certain level of knowledge, even that many are geeks. A book is much more personal. It’s more personal to write, and it’s a quieter, more personal, intimate experience to read a book. I didn’t want the book to be dated next week. And in the book I wanted to express something that’s under the surface in the blog – that cycling makes me happy. In the book I wanted to say that overtly.
Now this is interesting. Lately I’ve been thinking the changing expectations of/by readers might be the key to my dissertation and I think this ties into that. No one expects a reader of a book to email the writer and announce that they’re reading the book or that they’re on page 182 or that they like it or hate it or that they’re done. I mean, sure, some readers do that. But it’s not expected. You’re not called a lurker or creepy or a stalker if you just read a book w/o notifying the writer that you’ve done so.
But if you just read a blog, you risk being called all those things. As a blog reader, the expectation seems to be that you will announce that you’re reading (in some fashion). Reading blogs (& other online writing) privately is seen as suspect. Case in point: The first mentions I saw of Twitter’s new “fast follow” feature (allows people to follow via sms w/o joining Twitter) yesterday called it creepy and stalkerish. Really? Keep in mind that people can already read Twitter pages (unless private) w/o following and/or follow via RSS. So, what’s the difference? I don’t think there is a substantive one. I think it’s just that it reminded people that they don’t like it when they can’t “see” everyone who is following them.
I think part of it is a writers vs. people-who-write thing. I think the writers tend to be cool with not knowing who all is reading their writing (because they view it as “writing,” i.e. something that they have made/created). But it tends to make the people-who-write uncomfortable because they don’t view what they write as being a creation (separate from self) but a transparent reflection of self. So, looked at that way, it makes sense that they want their readers to be their friends (or at least acquaintances). And that they don’t want “secret” readers.
On the readers’ side, I think when one has been used to considering reading a private activity, this expectation of being social at every turn is a hard adjustment to make, harder than seems to be taken into account. Especially when the most ardent readers tend not to be known for their gregarious personalities. And there’s also the weirdness of being made to feel bad for reading. Just reading. When did readers start to get labeled with terms formerly reserved for deviant (m-w def: deviating especially from an accepted norm) behavior? And does that mean that just-reading (as opposed to “participating in the conversation”) is now deviant? (ooh.)
And then there’s the whole flip side of this reader/writer thing, and that’s distance. Book writers know they have readers, of course (or they hope they do/will), but those readers are distant (not always any more, but in general). So, as Weiss says so elegantly, the book is more personal because it is more individual. Less influenced by the audience. Whereas blog readers (at least some of them, the conversators) are close. They’re in the blogger’s face, cheering or booing as the case may be. So the audience gets entwined in the narrative.
A culture of readers
[Cate Bush] was skeptical about the value of [the workshop] method, and said that teaching writing can’t really be done except by teaching reading. There’s a need to create a culture of readers.
omg, yes. IMO, the top three things you can do to “learn” to write:
1. Read a lot, and widely. Don’t just read what you know you like; take risks. It’s not a lifetime commitment; it’s a book (or a story). Read in your genre and outside of it. Read stuff you don’t like. Read stuff you don’t think you’ll like (but maybe you will). Read stuff you know nothing about before you start reading. Read stuff that’s “hard” and stuff that’s “easy,” etc. Read, read, read.
2. Edit other writers’ work. Join a writing group, volunteer as a reader for a journal. I know it takes time. But you know what? If you give up some of your time for other writers, it will come back to you. Learning to identify the flaws in other people’s writing makes it so much easier to see them in your own. So when you come back to your own work, instead of floundering around, knowing something isn’t right but unsure what exactly isn’t working, you can edit with purpose.
3. Write.
Writers Read
In which I share an assortment of reading material I may or may not ever have time to actually read. 😉
Stack o’ books from annual pilgrimage to The Book Shop. Not that I needed more books. But you know, resistance. futile.
$80 (used books ftw!)
Magazines!
$74 (!)
BTW…
Cost of reading Toasted Cheese? Free.
Number of hours the TC editors put in each issue? Innumerable.
Amount the TC editors are paid? $0
Number of years we’ve been publishing TC? Almost 10. (That’s like 100 in print years!)
Your donation? Priceless.
Changing Forever
When I was about ten a pen pal came to visit from all the way across the country and I didn’t notice her for a few days after discovering a copy of Madeleine L’Engle’s Meet the Austins in her suitcase.
“Want to go swimming?” she would ask. “Want to ride bikes? Want to watch TV?”
No. I was reading. I was busy becoming an Austin. There were four kids in that family and in my family there was only me, but for the duration of the book and all subsequent readings, I owned those brothers and sisters. I had to make sure Vicki recovered from her fall off her bike, that Maggie didn’t get Suzie into too much trouble, that nobody froze during the ice storm. A beloved pen pal paled in comparison.
That’s what reading used to feel like: changing into something better, or at least different, for a short time. Becoming the characters. Changing forever.
You know I had to quote this. I was just so surprised to see someone else mention Meet the Austins this way.
I suppose it’s funny to list Meet the Austins as a Book that Changed My Life, but it was. (Perhaps the first?) I was 12, the book was a gift/prize from the school librarian for some aborted contest I’d entered (random!), and after meeting the Austins I was addicted to MLE to the point where seeking out all her books was a quest for me for a long time. (I even found/read the elusive Ilsa.) And, arguably, MLE was my entry into literary fiction. So, yeah, defining moment.
An object of attachment
My tears [as I started to read Swallows and Amazons] could perhaps have been nostalgia (defined as memories of things that never happened) but I think they were a matter of attachment, as when one is reunited with an attachment person after a period of separation and danger. In the first paragraph of Swallows and Amazons, I was suddenly reunited with an object of attachment. I have read all of Ransome’s children’s books, I think when I was between eight and eleven. I used to own the whole set. I remember them on a bookshelf. They must have been given to me, one by one, by my parents. … My attachment to these books was made at a time when neither my parents nor I knew anything about. sailing. It must have been Ransome’s books that implanted in me the desire to sail.
Trophy
The creative possibilities that physical books offer is invigorating and rewarding. Featuring a book on your bookshelf is akin to displaying a trophy. You’ve accomplished something in reading a book; it feels like a victory. The opportunity to display your literary conquests in unique or unexpected ways is something I will greatly miss with e-readers.
14: Peril Over the Airport
Peril Over the Airport by Helen Wells
Peril Over the Airport is part of the Vicki Barr, Flight Stewardess series. I saw it at the library book sale (not a library book) and picked it because I read a lot of these juvenile series as a kid, but I don’t think I ever read any Vicki Barrs. I did like Cherry Ames, though, which was a very similar series (same authors) except Cherry was a nurse.
So, anyway, when you think about it, these books are a little odd, because they’re obviously aimed at a pretty young audience but the main characters are in their 20s (at least) and they have jobs. I mean, can you imagine trying to pitch something like that today? “I have this story about a 23-year-old Starbucks barista. The target audience is 7-9 year-olds.” Somehow, I don’t think that would fly.
Anyhow, in POtA, the setup is that Vicki wants to learn to fly. A pilot she works with recommends she learn to fly from this nice WWII vet who has just happened to set up a small airport in her hometown. So she cuts back on her work schedule and goes home for the summer to take flying lessons. She does work some during the story, but those bits are skipped over, except for one incident where she runs into a character pertinent to the plot. I assume there’s more coverage of her stewardessing in other books in the series.
POtA was published in 1953, and at first I just assumed that was when it was set. Although, it was a little odd that everyone kept referring to Bill Avery as a “boy,” when he had to be closer to 30 than 20 (if it was 1953, and he was a veteran, the youngest he could be was 26, and given his war backstory, probably older). But, his sister appears later in the story, as a war widow with a 5-year-old son, so I think it was actually supposed to be set earlier (I do not think they were implying that she got pregnant after becoming a widow). It was kind of weird, because Wells makes obvious references to WWII, yet when it comes to dates, she very deliberately leaves them out. I mean, that’s typical for this sort of book, but it seems a little silly when you have a major historical event playing a large role in the story.
Wells frequently refers to planes as “ships.” I guess this is an abbreviation of “airship”? Either that, or it was considered cool to call planes ships at the time; maybe military slang?
Given the intended audience, the plot and the mystery to be solved are very basic. Vicki takes most of the book to solve a “code note” the solution of which is obvious on first glance. And the resolution of the mystery is exactly what you’d expect. But in addition to the ostensible plot and mystery, there is lots of information on flying, both as a hobby (here’s how it works! you can do it too!) and as a career for women (no, women can’t be commercial airline pilots—yet! and yes, it does indeed say that—but they can do almost any other kind of flying! and you can too!). Despite the overtly feminist message, or rather, probably because of it, Vicki is otherwise depicted as being a very traditional female, e.g. she wants to wear high heels even when they are impractical, she’s obsessed with tidying up disorganized Bill’s office, she’s squicked out by dirt.
She’s also described as being tiny, and although it could be though of as just another way of feminizing the character, I liked it here because Wells got it right. Vicki complains of not being taken seriously, of people assuming she’s younger than she is, of the practical difficulties of being little—like not being able to able to reach the pedals, having to sit on a cushion, stuff like that. That was perfect. As a kid who was always stymied by height requirements, I would’ve loved to read about a short adult female who was doing cool stuff like flying in spite of being little.
13: Cinnamon Kiss
Cinnamon Kiss by Walter Mosley
Previously on The Remainder Table: I Heart You, Walter Mosley.
And… that is why you blog, folks. Well, at least one of the reasons.
So anyway, since then I’ve wanting/meaning to read some Walter Mosley. Hoping his writing of fiction would live up to his writing about the writing of fiction. Because, as you know, sometimes it doesn’t. But this time… it did.
Cinnamon Kiss is the 10th Easy Rawlins mystery, so I jumped into the series in medias res. It was ok, though. Even though the book did not have a huge “as you know, Bob” info-dump on the first few pages (thank you), enough info was sprinkled throughout to sort out the supporting characters and pick up the gist of the existing relationships. I do imagine knowing the full background of the characters would add further dimensions to the story, however.
So anyway, I really enjoyed Cinnamon Kiss. Sometimes I almost forget how much I like mystery fic (so much mediocrity out there…). And then something like this reminds me. Oh, yeah… But the best part about it may be that fans of the series think CK isn’t Mosley’s best work. So yay! If the rest of the series is even better, awesome. I have something (or 10 more somethings) to look forward to.
In CK, Easy’s daughter is sick and he needs to raise some money quick to pay for her treatment. He’s so desperate he considers pulling off a heist with his friend Mouse, but reconsiders when he gets a call from another friend, Saul, about a job for a mysterious detective in San Francisco.
The mystery was solid, although the final resolution was a little less than satisfying. And oh, sure, Easy’s a little too popular with the ladies. But it’s detective fic, so it’s already a bit o’ a fantasy to begin with, so I think that’s ok. The story’s setting and atmosphere were vivid and the characters intriguing, but I think Mosley’s real strength is dialogue. The dialect switches (depending on whom a character was speaking to) seemed absolutely effortless. I wonder if he teaches. He could totally give a lesson on dialogue how-to.
Also I do love that Easy is short for Ezekiel. Of course I do.
Some Reviews:
What adults read now
I think there’s a worry that if [literary fiction is] funny then perhaps there’s something slight about it. That it’s not as important as a deeply researched, earnest, historical novel, or a kind of humorless tale of contemporary life. I think there possibly was a moment in the ‘60s and ‘70s when the serious books tended to be pretty funny. I don’t know if that’s as true these days. … I think it’s being done, but it’s not as front and center, not as widely read as it used to be, fiction that does that sort of thing. Maybe it’s also linked to readerships, how they’ve changed over the years. Or maybe it all got eaten up by Harry Potter and Twilight. I think, more and more, that’s what adults read now. All the people we’ve talked about are people who write hilarious, heartwrenching, and often horrific fiction, and they wrote for grown-ups. Maybe there aren’t enough grownups who want to read that sort of thing anymore.
The Remainder Table 