One of the amazing powers of literature is its ability to draw aside the curtain. Writers who have experienced other roles in life use their background for a book and the readers get a glimpse of life-in-the-trenches written by someone who knows what they're talking about. Want to see World War I as a medic? Pick up Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms. How much of Mad Men is true? Try Jerry Della Femina's From those Wonderful Folks Who Gave You Pearl Harbor, a terrific book on advertising. Those books and others entertain us with insights into the human condition but they also enlighten readers by revealing a world we've never known. One of my best friends recommended a book that fits in this shelf. No matter what else happens I guarantee you won't forget You're Stepping on My Cloak and Dagger. Who could give us a better inside view at military intelligence than a former OSS officer?
Roger Hall was an army lieutenant during World War II, ensconced on a base in Louisiana when luck and poor work on the commander's baseball team led to a transfer to the Office of Strategic Services, a precursor to the CIA. Because of his training as a teacher, the OSS initially had him teach other recruits the basics of scouting and patrolling. Hall was qualified because he'd grown up near the training camp and already knew the landscape. Eventually he went to paratrooper school where he got the immortal advice on landing, "Feet together or broken ankles. Take your choice, sir." After that came more training, testing and some instruction in Spies 101 where the exams included being able to walk into any town, without ID and then get a job in and data on a place that ought to be using security. In order to keep up one cover story, our hero ends up making an impromptu plea in a factory to buy war bonds. The speech is so successful, the newspaper writes an article on him. Nothing like keeping a low profile!
Hall's intelligence shows as well as the attitude that made him a writer instead of a CIA agent: As one commander said, "You're much too impatient with inefficiency, either above or below you and with yourself as well. In an organization that makes as many mistakes as this one has and always will, too much obvious impatience will brand you as a maverick." Hall was an intelligent maverick and a lucky man to boot. When he's sent into occupied France, he parachutes, not into a nest of Nazis but behind American lines. Patton got through two hours before he landed. Then he does map duty in unoccupied France and battles a stuffy British major. He finally goes from training to real action just in time to take the surrender of Hitler's troops remaining in Norway. Hall runs from one operation to the next, helping where he can and learning a lot about the brave, incredible people who did the impossible to aid the Allies during World War II. Because of of this book, we get a birds-eye view of a small but important section of a very big war.
There's a rumor that the CIA used to show copies of this book to their new recruits and say, "Never let this happen again." I think that's sad. People in the intelligence community must be smart to do their work and many smart people are iconoclasts, Roger Hall included. Yes, they can be harder to monitor (ask any teacher with gifted students) than the rest of us average Joes but these are the people we rely on for original and critical thinking, a commodity sorely needed in security and defense. As it is, Roger Hall served his nation and the world, first in secret and then by telling tales. Thank goodness he survived the war to pull the curtain back for us.
Monday, February 23, 2015
Saturday, February 21, 2015
When the door to the unknown opens
Every once in a while an author comes along that recalls the viewpoint of a child. Not any child in particular, only what it was like to always be the youngest person in the room, with the most amount of instruction, whose opinions carry the least weight in a family. Because, along with being loved and read to and coddled and warm, that's what it feels like sometimes when you're a kid. Anyway, Neil Gaiman knows that. Like Roald Dahl and T. H. White and Lewis Carroll before him, he remembers how even loved kids sometimes want more from their lives, more attention, more influence, more glamor. And he puts this in his books, along with what comes from granted wishes. The man's written many terrific books but if you're not familiar with his work, may I begin the acquaintance? Let me introduce you to someone special, a girl named Coraline.
Coraline is a girl with a problem. As a matter of fact, she is bored. Her family's moved into a very old house that has been turned into apartments and her parents have focused on their work. Her folks love her and care for her but, right now, they're too busy to pay much attention. The neighbors aren't bad, but they're grown and they always mispronounce her name and predict she's going into danger. This is not what a young girl wants. Nope, Coraline wants some attention, and a mother who cooks, a father than listens and a look in the apartment next door. There's a brick wall and a locked door between that empty flat and hers, at least there is until Coraline sneaks out the key, opens the lock and the bricked wall she once saw has vanished...so Coraline goes exploring. Like Alice through the Looking Glass, she finds a world much like her own until you get to the details. Here, the folks pays attention and the toys are all alive and the "other mother" cooks and looks at the world through sewn-on, shoe-button eyes. There's something not right with this world even with all these improvements and Coraline returns to the real world before they can change out here eyes. And this is where Coraline leaves Alice behind.
Now I love the Alice books. From 5th grade through 8th grade, I re-read them continually and I can still recite Jabberwocky by heart. But Alice's adventures are bordered by her workaday world. When the story needed to end or got too complex Alice would wake and the Red Queen and Mock Turtle would vanish. Magic couldn't follow her back. But Coraline eventually realizes opening the door let the "other world" into hers and real parents are no match for the Other-Mother's schemes. In order to return to her world, Coraline has to save it, with the aid of a cat and her brain. Well, there's a whole lot more but you'll need to read the book.
Coraline's perfect for anyone who is waiting or for folks who've yearned to explore the unknown. If you remember feeling curious about the other side of the world or wondering what's inside a stone, spend an hour or two with this brave adventurer. And remember to watch your step and avoid people with buttons for eyes.
Coraline is a girl with a problem. As a matter of fact, she is bored. Her family's moved into a very old house that has been turned into apartments and her parents have focused on their work. Her folks love her and care for her but, right now, they're too busy to pay much attention. The neighbors aren't bad, but they're grown and they always mispronounce her name and predict she's going into danger. This is not what a young girl wants. Nope, Coraline wants some attention, and a mother who cooks, a father than listens and a look in the apartment next door. There's a brick wall and a locked door between that empty flat and hers, at least there is until Coraline sneaks out the key, opens the lock and the bricked wall she once saw has vanished...so Coraline goes exploring. Like Alice through the Looking Glass, she finds a world much like her own until you get to the details. Here, the folks pays attention and the toys are all alive and the "other mother" cooks and looks at the world through sewn-on, shoe-button eyes. There's something not right with this world even with all these improvements and Coraline returns to the real world before they can change out here eyes. And this is where Coraline leaves Alice behind.
Now I love the Alice books. From 5th grade through 8th grade, I re-read them continually and I can still recite Jabberwocky by heart. But Alice's adventures are bordered by her workaday world. When the story needed to end or got too complex Alice would wake and the Red Queen and Mock Turtle would vanish. Magic couldn't follow her back. But Coraline eventually realizes opening the door let the "other world" into hers and real parents are no match for the Other-Mother's schemes. In order to return to her world, Coraline has to save it, with the aid of a cat and her brain. Well, there's a whole lot more but you'll need to read the book.
Coraline's perfect for anyone who is waiting or for folks who've yearned to explore the unknown. If you remember feeling curious about the other side of the world or wondering what's inside a stone, spend an hour or two with this brave adventurer. And remember to watch your step and avoid people with buttons for eyes.
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
A Book for Dark Cold Night
We're deep in the throes of winter now with the mercury hugging the bottom of the temperature gauge and snow depth being measured in feet. Everyone I know is huddled up, snuggled down, wrapped in layers and beseeching God for a little Global Warming to thaw out the frozen ground. During these long, frozen nights a house almost becomes a living thing, cradling and caring for the creatures within. Our slippered feet scuffle across its floors and we sink into chairs by the fireside content, with our books and our layers, to let winter rage outdoors because it can't touch us in here. Winter is the time to cherish your home.
So this may not be the best night to read The House Next Door, the second novel by Anne Rivers Siddons. It's a great story, set in Atlanta in the 1970's and it's the kind of book that will keep you wound up in its pages, but imaginative people may want to leave this till summer. During these months we need to believe we are safe when we're home and the house in these pages is wicked.
No one in the neighborhood wants to see the new house go up. This is a settled, nice block of people with comfortable lives and the new home threatens their pattern. The small forest between lots will be gone, the new neighbors may not fit in and the house design is modern, at odds with the brick and mortar homes that fill their tree-lined street. So the success of the finished house is astounding. With muted steel, wood and glass it harmonizes with the earth on its pie-wedge shaped lot and appears so organic one visitor whispers it looks like it grew there instead of being constructed. It's a fantastic house to look at and it's brand-spanking new. So why does it seem to be haunted?
In literature, most houses become haunts for a reason. Somebody died there, someone was tortured there, it was the site of a terrible conflict. All of those hauntings make sense. The House Next Door changes the formula a bit and suggests (like Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House) that some houses are born bad. No rationale or reason but a cold determined intelligence in the walls that discovers what is dearest to every human and destroys what they care for in a way that will hurt them the most. At least that's what Colquitt Kennedy thinks.
Colquitt is the narrator in The House Next Door and prime witness as the unwilling next-door neighbor. Colquitt knows she and her husband have been (until now) luckier than they deserve: they've fought no wars nor sacrificed for the good life they have and their prosperity comes from being in the right place at the right time. She and her husband, Walter, both work for what they have and they appreciate their life but she's keenly aware that they haven't really earned the good they've known. Part of The House Next Door is what happens when middle-class-to-affluent Americans come face-to-face with a crisis and how they earn the lives they've enjoyed.
Since the book is almost forty years old, the tale is a bit dated (some situations would not have developed if these characters had cell phones) but the central ideas transcend. In Danse Macabre (a fine critical book on the horror genre) Stephen King explains why the concept of haunted houses gets to us so. Home is the one place we can be vulnerable, where we can shed the protective persona we show to the outside world. When home isn't safe or sane, then no place is safe anymore.
As for me, the book is a great read for a long winter's night but I know when to put it down. Like Colquitt and her husband, I love my home and my life and if I pass a certain point in this story, I will have to finish the novel and then read something wholesome for a few hours before I can shut my eyes. So read the book with my blessing but do it in easy stages, or when you're away from home. If you imagine houses have feelings, leave one for spring. You need to find comfort where you live when the world is cold.
So this may not be the best night to read The House Next Door, the second novel by Anne Rivers Siddons. It's a great story, set in Atlanta in the 1970's and it's the kind of book that will keep you wound up in its pages, but imaginative people may want to leave this till summer. During these months we need to believe we are safe when we're home and the house in these pages is wicked.
No one in the neighborhood wants to see the new house go up. This is a settled, nice block of people with comfortable lives and the new home threatens their pattern. The small forest between lots will be gone, the new neighbors may not fit in and the house design is modern, at odds with the brick and mortar homes that fill their tree-lined street. So the success of the finished house is astounding. With muted steel, wood and glass it harmonizes with the earth on its pie-wedge shaped lot and appears so organic one visitor whispers it looks like it grew there instead of being constructed. It's a fantastic house to look at and it's brand-spanking new. So why does it seem to be haunted?
In literature, most houses become haunts for a reason. Somebody died there, someone was tortured there, it was the site of a terrible conflict. All of those hauntings make sense. The House Next Door changes the formula a bit and suggests (like Shirley Jackson's The Haunting of Hill House) that some houses are born bad. No rationale or reason but a cold determined intelligence in the walls that discovers what is dearest to every human and destroys what they care for in a way that will hurt them the most. At least that's what Colquitt Kennedy thinks.
Colquitt is the narrator in The House Next Door and prime witness as the unwilling next-door neighbor. Colquitt knows she and her husband have been (until now) luckier than they deserve: they've fought no wars nor sacrificed for the good life they have and their prosperity comes from being in the right place at the right time. She and her husband, Walter, both work for what they have and they appreciate their life but she's keenly aware that they haven't really earned the good they've known. Part of The House Next Door is what happens when middle-class-to-affluent Americans come face-to-face with a crisis and how they earn the lives they've enjoyed.
Since the book is almost forty years old, the tale is a bit dated (some situations would not have developed if these characters had cell phones) but the central ideas transcend. In Danse Macabre (a fine critical book on the horror genre) Stephen King explains why the concept of haunted houses gets to us so. Home is the one place we can be vulnerable, where we can shed the protective persona we show to the outside world. When home isn't safe or sane, then no place is safe anymore.
As for me, the book is a great read for a long winter's night but I know when to put it down. Like Colquitt and her husband, I love my home and my life and if I pass a certain point in this story, I will have to finish the novel and then read something wholesome for a few hours before I can shut my eyes. So read the book with my blessing but do it in easy stages, or when you're away from home. If you imagine houses have feelings, leave one for spring. You need to find comfort where you live when the world is cold.
Saturday, February 14, 2015
Unhappily Ever After...
Yes, it's hearts and flowers day, the annual celebration of the "people in pairs" that make up a big segment of our civilization. Hey, I'm all for marriage. A good marriage becomes the third part of a romantic relationship and it nurtures the people in it as well as those around it. It brings out the best in the partners. But people are limited and, despite our prayers and best wishes, not every romance becomes a good marriage. Listen, if you go by Stephen King's volume of that name, you may rethink Valentine's Day altogether. If a good marriage is the base of the best of all worlds, you'll find nothing but hell in the bad.
The title tale is one of King's famous "what if" thoughts that popped up during an article on BTK. You remember him? I do. I, and later my mother, lived in Wichita during the years that serial killer was free. His actions were terrible and one of the bad parts when they caught him was he looked so ordinary, which is part of King's point. If monsters look and talk and dress pretty much like everyone else, how can the sane person pick one out? The answer is, sometimes we can't. In real life, Paula Rader couldn't because, even in a good marriage, one spouse can't know the other completely. A Good Marriage explores what might have happened if she had. Here, Darcy Anderson is a middle-aged housewife, comfortable with a her empty nest home, devoid of drama. Then a discovery in the garage leads to research and an inescapable conclusion: her quiet, Scout-leading, coin-collecting husband is actually one of those unseen monsters, a torturing serial killer. To Darcy's credit, she realizes that none of her husband's past awful actions are her fault but what happens next falls on her. If she turns him in, what will that do to her just-grown children and those who, like her, knew only his good side? If she doesn't can she live with what she knows? Can she trust her husband won't kill or again or that he will let her survive? Darcy is a good woman who, one way or the other, has to do a really bad thing. What she does makes the story worth reading.
The companion tale, 1922, looks at love and murder from a different perspective, one that owes much to one of his earlier tales, Delores Claiborne. If you remember, Delores Claiborne had to confess she killed her husband, Joe St. George, to escape being charged with a murder she didn't commit. Well, imagine if Joe murdered Delores and you hear the story from his perspective. That's closer to Wilfred James in 1922.
Wilfred is a man with two dreams, to farm and live life as he likes. By the way, one of the best parts of this story is how the isolation of the prairie is captured. The middle of the Great Plains can feel like the back edge of nowhere and those who live there begin to crave the endless space or they hate it. My mother hated it and so does Mrs. Wilfred James, so much so she's willing to sell her inherited land to a food processing concern and move to a city like Omaha. Wilf needs the farm and he knows any processing plant that goes in will ruin the water that feeds his acreage, so he can't let her sell it. An unsolvable problem, especially since Wilf can't come up with the bucks to buy out his wife, not that he would. As far as he's concerned, the inherited land should be his, an asset of the marriage and no judge is going to break apart the land or his relationship.
Now everyone knows the wage of sin is death, like they know Stephen King writes scary stories so don't be surprised when I say 1922 is not something to read late at night. Like an idiot, I did and more than one unpleasant image showed back up in my dreams. 1922 is an entertaining, if predictable tale and I'm sure I'll re-read it but when the sun will be high for hours. I can stand a lot of King's spookier creations trolling around in my subconscious (hell, I love Bag of Bones and It) but I draw the line at rats. 'Nuff said.
So if you're in love this Valentines Day, I'm happy for you. Go celebrate it. If not, I hope you're a happy singleton (to steal a word from Armistead Maupin) and please celebrate your life as it is. Either way is good. Just remember that "to love" is an active verb and the basis of any good marriage is two people actively working together to make a love that nurtures them both. If you forget that, you're looking for trouble. Find it and you might end up down the well, with the rats.
The title tale is one of King's famous "what if" thoughts that popped up during an article on BTK. You remember him? I do. I, and later my mother, lived in Wichita during the years that serial killer was free. His actions were terrible and one of the bad parts when they caught him was he looked so ordinary, which is part of King's point. If monsters look and talk and dress pretty much like everyone else, how can the sane person pick one out? The answer is, sometimes we can't. In real life, Paula Rader couldn't because, even in a good marriage, one spouse can't know the other completely. A Good Marriage explores what might have happened if she had. Here, Darcy Anderson is a middle-aged housewife, comfortable with a her empty nest home, devoid of drama. Then a discovery in the garage leads to research and an inescapable conclusion: her quiet, Scout-leading, coin-collecting husband is actually one of those unseen monsters, a torturing serial killer. To Darcy's credit, she realizes that none of her husband's past awful actions are her fault but what happens next falls on her. If she turns him in, what will that do to her just-grown children and those who, like her, knew only his good side? If she doesn't can she live with what she knows? Can she trust her husband won't kill or again or that he will let her survive? Darcy is a good woman who, one way or the other, has to do a really bad thing. What she does makes the story worth reading.
The companion tale, 1922, looks at love and murder from a different perspective, one that owes much to one of his earlier tales, Delores Claiborne. If you remember, Delores Claiborne had to confess she killed her husband, Joe St. George, to escape being charged with a murder she didn't commit. Well, imagine if Joe murdered Delores and you hear the story from his perspective. That's closer to Wilfred James in 1922.
Wilfred is a man with two dreams, to farm and live life as he likes. By the way, one of the best parts of this story is how the isolation of the prairie is captured. The middle of the Great Plains can feel like the back edge of nowhere and those who live there begin to crave the endless space or they hate it. My mother hated it and so does Mrs. Wilfred James, so much so she's willing to sell her inherited land to a food processing concern and move to a city like Omaha. Wilf needs the farm and he knows any processing plant that goes in will ruin the water that feeds his acreage, so he can't let her sell it. An unsolvable problem, especially since Wilf can't come up with the bucks to buy out his wife, not that he would. As far as he's concerned, the inherited land should be his, an asset of the marriage and no judge is going to break apart the land or his relationship.
Now everyone knows the wage of sin is death, like they know Stephen King writes scary stories so don't be surprised when I say 1922 is not something to read late at night. Like an idiot, I did and more than one unpleasant image showed back up in my dreams. 1922 is an entertaining, if predictable tale and I'm sure I'll re-read it but when the sun will be high for hours. I can stand a lot of King's spookier creations trolling around in my subconscious (hell, I love Bag of Bones and It) but I draw the line at rats. 'Nuff said.
So if you're in love this Valentines Day, I'm happy for you. Go celebrate it. If not, I hope you're a happy singleton (to steal a word from Armistead Maupin) and please celebrate your life as it is. Either way is good. Just remember that "to love" is an active verb and the basis of any good marriage is two people actively working together to make a love that nurtures them both. If you forget that, you're looking for trouble. Find it and you might end up down the well, with the rats.
Wednesday, February 11, 2015
The difference 'tween diamonds and pearls
When you're an English Major, you have to deal with Jane Austen. She's one of the writers whose work you have to know before you graduate, like the medical students have to pass A&P. This can be a problem because readers love or they hate her books with a passion. There's no middle ground. Granted, Mark Twain said an ideal library contains none of her stories but his heroes create their own destinies by ignoring the rules of their cultures. Miss Austen's characters don't have that luxury. They have to carve solutions to their problems out of a narrower field. Nevertheless, constraints don't defeat Austen heroines, they enhance them. Difficulties turn Jane's women into jewels.
Pressure abounds in Pride and Prejudice. The Bennet daughters are all old enough to marry but there's an unspoken demand that at least one of the girls marry a man with money. Mr. Bennet has no savings and his death would leave any dependent family homeless. The two older sisters know this although both would rather marry for love than a fortune. They also live in a world that runs on gossip and rumor and it's hard to find the truth. Nevertheless, Elizabeth Bennet withstands the stress with good sense and humor, refusing to marry the wrong man or avoid the right one, once she sees him. She can be misled into a mistake but no one can push Elizabeth into acting against her own conscience or will. Instead, she stays true to her convictions and charms us with her sparkling wit. Pressure makes lesser women crumble; it shapes Miss Bennet into a diamond.
Pressure isn't what bothers Elinore Dashwood as much as heartbreak. Within the first two chapters she's loses her father and the only home she's ever known. Then the family of the man she cares for treats her badly. Elinor keeps most of this incredibly painful stuff to herself since her mother and sisters share at least two-thirds of her heartbreak and she doesn't want to add to their burdens. So Elinor becomes the Dashwood who faces reality and tries to get on with life, no matter how hard that is. She persuades her mother to live within a budget and maintain good friendships with the neighbors who like to help their family. She begs her younger sister, Marianne, to behave respectably in public since good manners and reputation are only assets their family has left. No matter how unhappy she is, Elinore returns malice with civility and kindness with generosity to make life as pleasant as she can for everyone. Her disappointments become the seeds that start her selfless generosity and compassion for others like a piece of sand becomes the instrument that starts a pearl. If Elizabeth sparkles like a diamond, Elinore's kindness gleams through Sense and Sensibility like a pearl that's caught the light.
Perhaps Miss Austen's books aren't for everyone and it's odd they're classified as tales of romance. They're not about adventurers but conventional people living conventional lives and they're downright unromantic when it comes to the subject of money. They honor the tedious virtues of patience, loyalty and truth while making fun of snobs and fools. But they are intelligent, humorous stories and they're all about the art of the possible. And their heroines are gems. You just have to choose your preference, diamonds or pearls.
Perhaps Miss Austen's books aren't for everyone and it's odd they're classified as tales of romance. They're not about adventurers but conventional people living conventional lives and they're downright unromantic when it comes to the subject of money. They honor the tedious virtues of patience, loyalty and truth while making fun of snobs and fools. But they are intelligent, humorous stories and they're all about the art of the possible. And their heroines are gems. You just have to choose your preference, diamonds or pearls.
Sunday, February 8, 2015
Telling Young Adults the Truth
Science fiction is just fiction with science. That was the argument the guys in my generation made in class when they compared the work of Hardy, Thackery or some other school-board sanctioned novelist to a story they preferred. Despite the teacher's efforts to introduce us to the literary gems of previous centuries, these fellows found subtly in the characters of Ray Bradberry and ambiguity in the plots of Isaac Asimov. Remember, these were the guys who ran home from school each day to catch the last half of Star Trek and Twilight Zone reruns because VCRs, DVRs and streaming had not been invented. Nerds long before Comic-Con and Big Bang Theory gave them a sense of pride. I didn't mind them (victims themselves, they tended to avoid picking on others) but on this point, I thought they were wrong. English instructors implied that Science Fiction stories were obsessed with machinery and sex and the writers couldn't see beyond those fixations. I believed this until I read Podkayne of Mars. I learned, so help me, I learned.
Podkayne of Mars is a turning point book in the career of Robert Anson Heinlein, one of the three deans of Science Fiction. Kid-lit was how he got started and one of the few markets then that welcomed SF because these were adventure stories and the hero is usually a boy. Podkayne Fries is the exception to this rule; she's an irrepressible girl whose life on Mars is marred only by her pain-in-the-neck little brother, Clark and the fact she can't travel and see Earth as expected. Seems the embryonic siblings her parents had kept in stasis were thawed and brought to birth size by clerical error and her mother refuses to travel with three babies. (I can't blame Poddy's Mom; traveling with one kid in nappies was hard enough; three would be impossible.) The chance to see Earth is rescued when Poddy's Uncle Tom offers to escort her and Clark himself but everything on the trip implodes after Clark is kidnapped. It seems that dear Uncle Tom is a high-powered politician and taking these kids on a cruise was his cover story for an ultra-secret diplomatic mission. Podkayne searches for her brother and for the truth beneath each batch of lies, undismayed by the duplicity of grownups. Her brother, Clark ends up with the sadder but clearer grasp on reality.
Mr. Heinlein originally submitted this as a "cadet story" (YA had not been identified as a genre at that time) in the early 1960's. He had churned out space boy adventure stories for years by then and he wanted Podkayne to be a more complex and sensitive novel for his maturing readers. The editors hated it. The characters weren't simple, the ending wasn't happy and they wanted changes. Heinlein managed to keep much of the complexity but he finally rewrote the ending. Now the original ending is sad but inevitable, in terms of story, and it gives the story needed impact - it feels true. It also gives the character of Podkayne gravitas. If a girl is sweet, funny and optimistic when the world's at peace, that's not unusual, but if she remains that way in the face of overwhelming evil she's Anne Frank. Like Clark, we end up seeing Podkayne as one of Lincoln's "Angels of our Better Nature" and hoping she's right about humanity. Still, none of this works with the revised ending. It only works if you tell the reader the truth: not every good ending is happy.
We seem to be closer to this these days although I think most adults underestimate the ability of children to deal with the truth. They don't need the gritty details that give us PTSD but they don't need to be lied to either. There are few certainties in this world but one of them is that young kids believe what we tell them. In omitting the truth we disarm them. And once we lose that trust, it's gone. That's one of the lessons Heinlein teaches in Podkayne of Mars. It's science fiction about humanity in real-life .
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Spinning a whole new tale
Think about yarn for a moment. If you look at it under the microscope, you'll see that it's a series of fibrous strands that have been woven together so tightly they seem to fuse into a single cord. Little ends of the strands edge free from the cord and catch the light that shines on the weave. Story yarns are the same: a woven rope of characters, narrative and plot points pull the entire tale together while, here and there, a strand can catch the light. Some story yarns are so strong that other writers can spread out their elements, and then reweave them into another pattern that shows what you didn't see before. Gregory Maguire did this with Wicked and Joan Aiken rewove Jane Austen's Emma into her own Jane Fairfax. I love this technique but the one I love even more is when a writer pulls one of the glinting ends at the edge of a story and teases a whole new tale from that thread. T. K. Thorne did this in 2011 when she pulled the bright thread of a character from the book of Genesis and created a tale named Noah's Wife. At last, the Lady of the Ark has a voice.
Her name is Na'amah and the locals agree she's unusual. Not quite right. Because her recall of detail, Na'amah can recite the markings and lineage of every sheep in the flock but she can't look most people in the eye. She's direct to the point of being rude and has difficulty understanding humor or lies. She's not sure the gods really exist. She's only sure about what she learns through her senses which is how she meets the boat maker. "Why do you wrinkle your nose," Noah asks. "Because you smell bad" replies Na'amah.
Genesis mentions Na'amah only in genealogical terms (a descendant of Cain) and Noah's wife in lists relating to the ark but a Jewish text interpreting Genesis says these two were one and the same. T K Thorne takes it a step further by giving Na'amah a personality, opinions and a soul to match the man of history she married. The hard life of her biblical tribe is here as well as the problems that confound people today. Na'amah faces her tragedies and triumphs with the same tears and joy we know and her retelling of the story of the flood comes with a perspective that accounts for the world-changing event as well as the problems of living in a boat with a bunch of incontinent animals.
Life and love, death and despair are all part of the human condition. This is not subject to change. How we react to these is so variable and important that we've woven a tapestry of stories to guide us through each part of our lives. Noah's Wife was once an idea, teased from a glinting edge of a character that lived in the first book of the Bible. Now Na'amah repeats her life's story and it becomes a guide on how to live until you're sure life will continue. And someday that continuing life may spin another tale that glints on the edges of hers.
Her name is Na'amah and the locals agree she's unusual. Not quite right. Because her recall of detail, Na'amah can recite the markings and lineage of every sheep in the flock but she can't look most people in the eye. She's direct to the point of being rude and has difficulty understanding humor or lies. She's not sure the gods really exist. She's only sure about what she learns through her senses which is how she meets the boat maker. "Why do you wrinkle your nose," Noah asks. "Because you smell bad" replies Na'amah.
Genesis mentions Na'amah only in genealogical terms (a descendant of Cain) and Noah's wife in lists relating to the ark but a Jewish text interpreting Genesis says these two were one and the same. T K Thorne takes it a step further by giving Na'amah a personality, opinions and a soul to match the man of history she married. The hard life of her biblical tribe is here as well as the problems that confound people today. Na'amah faces her tragedies and triumphs with the same tears and joy we know and her retelling of the story of the flood comes with a perspective that accounts for the world-changing event as well as the problems of living in a boat with a bunch of incontinent animals.
Life and love, death and despair are all part of the human condition. This is not subject to change. How we react to these is so variable and important that we've woven a tapestry of stories to guide us through each part of our lives. Noah's Wife was once an idea, teased from a glinting edge of a character that lived in the first book of the Bible. Now Na'amah repeats her life's story and it becomes a guide on how to live until you're sure life will continue. And someday that continuing life may spin another tale that glints on the edges of hers.
Sunday, February 1, 2015
Why haven't they made a movie of this?
Like a lot of folks, I'm nuts about movies. For decades I've spent lots of leisure time sitting in the dark, staring at a screen and believing that no matter how big a problem is, it can be introduced, muddled over and solved within two hours, two and a half, if a war is involved. And while I often hate what a film adaption does to a book's story, (don't get me started on The Prince of Tides) some adaptations work well and some stories are downright cinematic and need to be retold. Last month I was looking for a book on World War II that my husband hasn't yet read (not an easy task!) when I ran across The Forgotten 500. Not only did it make a great gift; it would make a brilliant movie and the film industry wouldn't have to stretch the truth. This story writes itself.
It's 1944 and the USAFF is flying combat missions with other allied crews from Italy into Germany every day. Part of their flight path took them over what was then Yugoslavia and the planes were often hit by German troups. The crew of a crashing plane could bail out but their survival depended on who found them because the area was occupied by the Germans and the area was not really united. Serbian citizens found, cared for and sheltered hundreds of American airman, often risking and losing their own lives in the process, but as long as the Nazis continued to search the area, the Americans were on dangerous ground. How could they safely get home?
Getting word back to the U. S. was an adventure in itself but Intelligence about the downed fliers finally reached the Yugoslavian embassy in the U. S. An employee there wrote her husband, an OSS officer, about the Americans. He organized Operation Halyard, the plan to airlift the fliers back to safety. For this to work, the cooperating Serbians would have build an airstrip big enough for Cargo planes out in the woods out of sight of the encamped Germans. Regular communication would have to be established with the missing Americans to let them know of the plans and some night cargo planes would fly in, land safely on the darkened air strip and pick them up, still without alerting the Germans. Believe it or not, the story gets more dramatic after that but I won't tell you more except to leave you with an image. Imagine a Cargo plane filling rapidly with allied soldiers that have run from the woods to the fuselage. Outside are the villagers who have kept them alive. When the soldiers sit down, they start unlacing their boots. Their boots are thrown out the door to the villagers, whose feet are covered in felt. It's the best way the soldiers have to say "Thank You."
Yugoslavia has long since broken up and the Serbian General who helped with Operation Halyard is either (depending on who you listen to) a martyred hero or a slick opportunist whose execution was the result of a lost political fight. But more than four hundred allied service men (most of them American) lived because of the efforts of that general and the Serbian villagers who risked everything to protect strangers. It's an incredible tale and one that deserves to be told and retold again and again. When human history is this good, why bother making stuff up? The Forgotten 500 is a wonderful book. It would make a brilliant movie.
It's 1944 and the USAFF is flying combat missions with other allied crews from Italy into Germany every day. Part of their flight path took them over what was then Yugoslavia and the planes were often hit by German troups. The crew of a crashing plane could bail out but their survival depended on who found them because the area was occupied by the Germans and the area was not really united. Serbian citizens found, cared for and sheltered hundreds of American airman, often risking and losing their own lives in the process, but as long as the Nazis continued to search the area, the Americans were on dangerous ground. How could they safely get home?
Getting word back to the U. S. was an adventure in itself but Intelligence about the downed fliers finally reached the Yugoslavian embassy in the U. S. An employee there wrote her husband, an OSS officer, about the Americans. He organized Operation Halyard, the plan to airlift the fliers back to safety. For this to work, the cooperating Serbians would have build an airstrip big enough for Cargo planes out in the woods out of sight of the encamped Germans. Regular communication would have to be established with the missing Americans to let them know of the plans and some night cargo planes would fly in, land safely on the darkened air strip and pick them up, still without alerting the Germans. Believe it or not, the story gets more dramatic after that but I won't tell you more except to leave you with an image. Imagine a Cargo plane filling rapidly with allied soldiers that have run from the woods to the fuselage. Outside are the villagers who have kept them alive. When the soldiers sit down, they start unlacing their boots. Their boots are thrown out the door to the villagers, whose feet are covered in felt. It's the best way the soldiers have to say "Thank You."
Yugoslavia has long since broken up and the Serbian General who helped with Operation Halyard is either (depending on who you listen to) a martyred hero or a slick opportunist whose execution was the result of a lost political fight. But more than four hundred allied service men (most of them American) lived because of the efforts of that general and the Serbian villagers who risked everything to protect strangers. It's an incredible tale and one that deserves to be told and retold again and again. When human history is this good, why bother making stuff up? The Forgotten 500 is a wonderful book. It would make a brilliant movie.
Friday, January 30, 2015
The One Western Everyone Loves
I grew up during TV's golden age of westerns and I hated every minute of them. Those were the days of three networks (four if the cloud ceiling was low enough to bring in PBS) and twenty eight hours of prime time programming every week. On the year I was born there were thirty westerns on television. If you do the math and remember most westerns were an hour long, (except The Virginian, which was 90 minutes) you'll realize that almost half of the shows aired during family viewing time had rifles, spurs and bonnets in every episode. The Duke was still alive and the go-to movie actor for many dads and Lois L'Amour sold enough paperbacks to deforest a small continent. We were flooded with westerns, inundated with the damn things and it's probably why my friends became comic book and sci-fi fans. We couldn't take one more stone-faced guy blowing the black-hats away and then saying, "Shucks, twarn't nothing, ma'am." It would take an incredible yarn to make us trade our phasers for a horse and a great story is what we got. Everyone loves Lonesome Dove, and it is a western, but a western that breaks the rules.
Look at all those standard western heroes and what do you see? Strong, silent, incorruptible white men who face the lone prairie with a horse and six-shooter that never needs reloading. Now look at Lonesome Dove's Hat Creek Company, the group that propels the story. The leaders are two old guys, retired by nineteenth century progress and long past their glory days. Augustus McCrae can be strong when the need arises but not silent; no one talks more than Gus and he prefers the idle life of whiskey, jokes, women and cards to work and cattle. His partner Woodrow Call is closer to the stereotype but his successes are the result of endless worry, obsessive planning and avoiding the women he fears. Call is at heart a shy man, as is his hired hand Pea Eye, and the women they encounter are forthright, a condition that makes many men seek open country.
These strong females are another departure from the standards set by Zane Grey and Owen Wister. Clara Allen is the equal of any male in her acquaintance, including Augustus McCrae, and a much better horse trader than her husband, the nominal head of her business. She does create a home and a family but the other female characters, Lorena Wood, Ellie Johnson and Janey aren't tied to traditional values or ambitions. Each woman is driven by a defining need, whether it be vengeance, a new beginning or an old lover and any risk will be taken to achieve their ends. If any character reaches the wordlessness of a traditional cowboy, it is Lorena Wood, driven to silence as her last shelter from the men who would use and abuse her.
Traditional westerns divided humanity into racial groups and assigned character traits accordingly so when children played Cowboys and Indians, no one wanted to be an Indian. (Hispanics and black people weren't even mentioned). Lonesome Dove shows a world of good and bad people, some strong, some weak, some wicked and some kind but the characters are not defined by their background. Dan Suggs is a sociopath and a serial killer and so is Blue Duck. It doesn't matter that one is the son of a Comanche and the other is Caucasian; what matters is what they do to others. Jake Spoon 's weak character is his undoing, and Josh Deets holds the respect of others because of his strengths. Ethnic background doesn't matter nor formal education in this world. What matters is how someone chooses to live.
Some books leave me satisfied with a story well told and I close the covers and smile. I'm sad when other tales have ended and I return to this world with a sigh. Lonesome Dove left me unable to return at all. My emotions were so high the first time I finished the book, it felt like a part of me had been amputated when I closed the back cover. I wandered into the living room, blinking at the light and full of thoughts about McCrae, Po Campo and the other members of the Hat Creek Cattle Company. The world seemed out of balance and harsh with no story left to read and all of the characters gone. These people were too vivid, too rich and real to die or be put away on pages and I couldn't bear the thought of them gone. I went back to the bedroom, re-opened the book and began the story again. After fifteen pages, I could put the novel down, satisfied that the denizens of Lonesome Dove were alive and had a lifetime of adventures before them. Then my life could go on.
I was raised in the West and grew up hating Westerns which gave my folks reason for pause. But I love good books, stories so wonderful they burst from the pages and transcend their genres and that's why I love Lonesome Dove. If you haven't read it, I envy the adventure you can find but take some advice from a fan. Finish the book when you have time to open and re-start the novel again. You won't want this story to end.
Look at all those standard western heroes and what do you see? Strong, silent, incorruptible white men who face the lone prairie with a horse and six-shooter that never needs reloading. Now look at Lonesome Dove's Hat Creek Company, the group that propels the story. The leaders are two old guys, retired by nineteenth century progress and long past their glory days. Augustus McCrae can be strong when the need arises but not silent; no one talks more than Gus and he prefers the idle life of whiskey, jokes, women and cards to work and cattle. His partner Woodrow Call is closer to the stereotype but his successes are the result of endless worry, obsessive planning and avoiding the women he fears. Call is at heart a shy man, as is his hired hand Pea Eye, and the women they encounter are forthright, a condition that makes many men seek open country.
These strong females are another departure from the standards set by Zane Grey and Owen Wister. Clara Allen is the equal of any male in her acquaintance, including Augustus McCrae, and a much better horse trader than her husband, the nominal head of her business. She does create a home and a family but the other female characters, Lorena Wood, Ellie Johnson and Janey aren't tied to traditional values or ambitions. Each woman is driven by a defining need, whether it be vengeance, a new beginning or an old lover and any risk will be taken to achieve their ends. If any character reaches the wordlessness of a traditional cowboy, it is Lorena Wood, driven to silence as her last shelter from the men who would use and abuse her.
Traditional westerns divided humanity into racial groups and assigned character traits accordingly so when children played Cowboys and Indians, no one wanted to be an Indian. (Hispanics and black people weren't even mentioned). Lonesome Dove shows a world of good and bad people, some strong, some weak, some wicked and some kind but the characters are not defined by their background. Dan Suggs is a sociopath and a serial killer and so is Blue Duck. It doesn't matter that one is the son of a Comanche and the other is Caucasian; what matters is what they do to others. Jake Spoon 's weak character is his undoing, and Josh Deets holds the respect of others because of his strengths. Ethnic background doesn't matter nor formal education in this world. What matters is how someone chooses to live.
Some books leave me satisfied with a story well told and I close the covers and smile. I'm sad when other tales have ended and I return to this world with a sigh. Lonesome Dove left me unable to return at all. My emotions were so high the first time I finished the book, it felt like a part of me had been amputated when I closed the back cover. I wandered into the living room, blinking at the light and full of thoughts about McCrae, Po Campo and the other members of the Hat Creek Cattle Company. The world seemed out of balance and harsh with no story left to read and all of the characters gone. These people were too vivid, too rich and real to die or be put away on pages and I couldn't bear the thought of them gone. I went back to the bedroom, re-opened the book and began the story again. After fifteen pages, I could put the novel down, satisfied that the denizens of Lonesome Dove were alive and had a lifetime of adventures before them. Then my life could go on.
I was raised in the West and grew up hating Westerns which gave my folks reason for pause. But I love good books, stories so wonderful they burst from the pages and transcend their genres and that's why I love Lonesome Dove. If you haven't read it, I envy the adventure you can find but take some advice from a fan. Finish the book when you have time to open and re-start the novel again. You won't want this story to end.
Tuesday, January 27, 2015
Sophie's Choice
Google remembered the liberation of Auschwitz today. For those who grew up in the latter half of the twentieth century, Auschwitz is the edge of a remembered nightmare, a disaster our parents and grandparents witnessed and passed in their memories to us. My mother saw the newsreels of the liberation as a child and the images haunted her forever but some of my friends were even closer to the tragedy. One college friend's great-aunt was a survivor of the camps and when I met the lady, I marveled that this happy cookie-jar of a woman had faced such evil and still lived so joyfully, dancing with a tattooed number on her arm. Another friend was the child of camp survivors who married after the liberation and their tenacity and PTSD were visible in her character. Auschwitz left a lifetime of suffering and long memories in its wake and those of us not directly affected have been trying to grasp the motives and magnitude of the Holocaust ever since. This is the role more and more of the world has moved into over the last seventy years and it's a role William Styron talked about in his novel, Sophie's Choice.
Styron understood the place of a third-hand witness to history better than most. Son of a liberal southerner, he grew up ashamed of the history of race treatment in the South. As a Marine officer who never saw combat, he also understood how the lucky boredom of his own military service had been paid for with the blood of others. A few years in New York after the war gave him the background to write of a young Southerner and perpetual witness to history and Sophie, the Polish, Catholic woman he meets who was pulled though the war into Auschwitz.
Sophie's Choice is a novel for adults. The story is incredibly varied with beautifully written passages of great humor as well as sorrow, anger and Eros and the characters are layered and complex, especially Sophie. These individuals are human beings with strengths and failings, not cardboard cutouts who can be labelled "hero" or "villain" as need be and forgotten. Sophie is a lovely imperfect woman whose actions aren't noble but they are understandable, given the circumstances and her survivor's guilt is well-earned. Nathan is the brilliant, broken, American Jew who can't reconcile the horrors of a war he never faced and his Gentile girlfriend survived while millions of others were murdered. Finally, Stingo is the witness trying to care for himself and his friends in an unbalanced, out-of-control existence. If the outcome of their story is inevitable, it's still a difficult account to read because, thanks to Styron's skill, these are people we care about.
There's no easy explanation some of mankind's history or for Styron's novel but Sophie's Choice wasn't written to give people easy answers. Styron understood that we are, at best, complex, imperfect beings that need to be forgiven on a regular basis. Those lucky enough to be "third-person" witnesses have the responsibility to learn from the experiences of others, to forgive the failings of people we love and to embrace the potential in each new day. It's a lot to do but a less difficult job than surviving a war. And it's an easier alternative than Sophie's Choice.
Styron understood the place of a third-hand witness to history better than most. Son of a liberal southerner, he grew up ashamed of the history of race treatment in the South. As a Marine officer who never saw combat, he also understood how the lucky boredom of his own military service had been paid for with the blood of others. A few years in New York after the war gave him the background to write of a young Southerner and perpetual witness to history and Sophie, the Polish, Catholic woman he meets who was pulled though the war into Auschwitz.
Sophie's Choice is a novel for adults. The story is incredibly varied with beautifully written passages of great humor as well as sorrow, anger and Eros and the characters are layered and complex, especially Sophie. These individuals are human beings with strengths and failings, not cardboard cutouts who can be labelled "hero" or "villain" as need be and forgotten. Sophie is a lovely imperfect woman whose actions aren't noble but they are understandable, given the circumstances and her survivor's guilt is well-earned. Nathan is the brilliant, broken, American Jew who can't reconcile the horrors of a war he never faced and his Gentile girlfriend survived while millions of others were murdered. Finally, Stingo is the witness trying to care for himself and his friends in an unbalanced, out-of-control existence. If the outcome of their story is inevitable, it's still a difficult account to read because, thanks to Styron's skill, these are people we care about.
There's no easy explanation some of mankind's history or for Styron's novel but Sophie's Choice wasn't written to give people easy answers. Styron understood that we are, at best, complex, imperfect beings that need to be forgiven on a regular basis. Those lucky enough to be "third-person" witnesses have the responsibility to learn from the experiences of others, to forgive the failings of people we love and to embrace the potential in each new day. It's a lot to do but a less difficult job than surviving a war. And it's an easier alternative than Sophie's Choice.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)