Another End-of-the-Year Book Catchup

There's no theme to this set of reviews, other than that they're the ones I have left to post as the year winds down:

→ THE AMADO WOMEN by Désirée Zamorano is a story about a family coping with secrets and resentments, which is right up my fictional alley.

Mercy Amado is pleased about celebrating her sixtieth birthday with her three grown daughters, but she's concerned that none of her girls are as happy in their lives, or with each other, as they might be. And Mercy doesn't even know about the worst of the problems. The narrative rotates among the four Amado women as they face challenges and heartbreak that sometimes bring them together as a family and sometimes drive them apart.

The novel features strong, complex characters who often act against their own best interests, which makes for great dramatic fodder. There's a lot of tragedy and upsetting subject matter in this story, but enough hope to leave readers feeling uplifted. I found this book useful in thinking about my own writing, which covers some similar themes.

→ SELF-HELP by Lorrie Moore: In keeping with the title, most of the stories in this collection are framed as a set of instructions, though the way this premise plays out in the narrative differs between stories. For example, "How" tells the story of a troubled relationship (as so many of these stories do) by directing the reader through a series of steps, some of which include options:

Somehow--in a restaurant or a store--meet an actor. From Vassar or Yale. He can quote Coriolanus's mother. This will seem good. Sleep with him once and ride home at 5 a.m. crying in a taxicab. Or: don't sleep with him. Kiss him good night at Union Square and run for your life.

Not every story in the collection appealed to me, but I love Moore's writing style, which is conversational and clever, full of wordplay, jokes, and unusual but apt descriptions. Like this paragraph:

When you were six you thought mistress meant to put your shoes on the wrong feet. Now you are older and know it can mean many things, but essentially it means to put your shoes on the wrong feet.

That's from "How to Be an Other Woman", the first story in the collection and the one I liked best. As the title suggests, the plot is generic, every mistress's story, but the specificity of the character and her thoughts makes the story gripping, and often wryly funny.

Silicon Valley Novels

I live in Silicon Valley, so I always like finding a book that uses this area as a setting. I've even written one myself. (Incidentally, a real conversation I once had with a San Franciscan: "It's set in San Jose." "Why???") This fall, I read (and reread) a few Silicon Valley novels:

→ THE MOMENT OF EVERYTHING by Shelly King: After years at Silicon Valley startups, Maggie has been laid off (again), and she's spending her days at a Mountain View used bookstore instead of looking for a new job. At the store, she finds a tattered copy of LADY CHATTERLEY'S LOVER containing a series of romantic notes that two strangers once left for each other. Maggie's fascination with the mysterious lovers sets off a string of events, and soon she has both a job and a romance of her own. Neither of these are quite what she expected, or what she wanted, and they turn out to be not quite what they seem.

This is a sweet, funny story about books and love and love of books. I was charmed by Maggie's first person narration and the entertaining cast of characters. I enjoyed the gentle satire of Silicon Valley culture, and it was fun to imagine the fictional businesses along Mountain View's real Castro Street. While the story dragged for me a bit in the middle, I got caught up in the story again once the plot started delivering its many surprises.

→ MICROSERFS by Douglas Coupland, written and set in the mid 1990s, is about a group of Microsoft employees who quit, move to Silicon Valley, and start a company of their own. I first read (and loved) it in 1997, shortly after moving to Silicon Valley myself, so rereading it was strongly nostalgic of both the era and my younger self. This time around, I wondered how many of the now-familiar technical and cultural references were meaningless to me back then.

MICROSERFS is great as a depiction of 90s geek culture and as a portrait of an engaging group of friends. The story is presented as a series of journal entries, a format that is somewhat limiting and leads to the inclusion of various boring details during the lulls when nothing's happening in the narrator's life. In general, it's not a plot-heavy book -- that synopsis I gave in the first sentence is pretty much the story -- but I was happy just spending time with the characters. So despite the weaknesses in the narrative, I enjoyed the reread, and I remain a fan of the way this book captures a time and place.

→ THE BUG by Ellen Ullman is about the quest to track down and fix a software bug, and I've never read another piece of fiction that makes authentic programming details such an integral part of the plot. If you're tickled by the idea of "kill -9" as a plot point, you'll like this book. But if you don't know what this means, don't worry, because all is entertainingly explained within the text, and the story is about so much more than a bug.

The setting is the mid 1980s, during the early days of graphical user interfaces. A software tester who wanted to be a linguistics professor discovers a bug that can't be replicated. She passes a report to the engineer responsible for the front end, and he tries to ignore the problem, the same way he's ignoring his girlfriend and the increasing distance in their relationship. In time, the bug reappears, but it remains elusive, unable to be captured or corrected, and it gradually wreaks havoc on the lives of these two characters.

I admire the way Ullman digs into the depths of both code and human behavior to tell this story. The strong and careful plotting make this is a suspenseful and fascinating read.

Good Stuff Out There:

→ At Ploughshares, Amy Jo Burns offers five aphorisms to consider when revising: "Don't simplify the complex: Real life has no saints or sinners, only humans who are capable of selfless and selfish acts."

Continuations of Series

Recently I read on in several book series that I'd started earlier this year. I completed a trilogy, read the new second book in a trilogy-in-progress, and finished a duology:

→ The Last Policeman series by Ben H. Winters follows a New Hampshire detective who's determined to keep solving crimes even though life as we know it is about to be destroyed by an asteroid strike. As that premise might suggest, it's kind of a page-turner, so I'm glad I waited to read the first book until all installments of the trilogy were published. I read and loved THE LAST POLICEMAN in September and then rationed out the other two books over the next two months. They're all fantastic.

I was delighted to find COUNTDOWN CITY as excellent as the first book. In less than three months, the asteroid will strike, and the situation is growing more and more apocalyptic. Southern New Hampshire now lacks electricity -- and coffee! Henry Palace would like to continue solving crimes, but he no longer has the resources or the authority. Still, he takes on a missing persons case, and in the course of the investigation, he has to enlist the help of his sister and get mixed up in her wild conspiracy theories.

The premise of the series is what attracted me, but the great characters and narrative voice have me hooked. I like the way everyone in this story is real and flawed. I also like that while the mysteries are eventually solved, it doesn't happen cleanly: Henry makes mistakes and gets things wrong in the process.

I was almost too nervous to start WORLD OF TROUBLE, because as much as I wanted to know how the story resolved, I was afraid of how the story would resolve. I won't say much about this book so as not to give anything away, but it was a fitting conclusion to the trilogy.

The asteroid is fast approaching, and the situation is beyond desperate, but Henry Palace is determined to solve one final case. The search takes him into new territory, where he encounters people who are taking a variety of tactics as they face the end of the world.

Every chapter of this book is agonizing and surprising. While there are still moments of levity, the overall tone is appropriately more intense than in the first two books. Henry, along with the rest of the world, is under a lot of strain, but he remains the single-minded and honorable policeman I've grown so fond of.

→ Ann Leckie's Imperial Radch series begins with ANCILLARY JUSTICE, which I recommended in June. The epic work of science fiction came out last year and won all the awards. This fall's new installment, ANCILLARY SWORD, is another accomplished novel, and I liked it even better than the first book.

Captain Bandorf's Treasure

The next piece of my childhood writing that I'd like to share is an important work entitled "Captain Bandorf's Treasure". The significance of this item is evident in the story's binding (the "two-staple" method common to the era), the full-color, laminated cover, and the illuminated letter at the start of the first sentence. These lavish features suggest there was at least one earlier draft of the manuscript, but alas, prior versions are no longer extant. While the work is undated, the artifact is believed to have originated in the fourth grade, making it contemporary with the previous entries. For the time period, this is a lengthy story, filling eight pages (four double-sided sheets).

As a qualifier to the number of pages, I think it's time to address the absurdly large paragraph indents, which can also be seen in photos of the Flutterina story. These empty spaces stretch from a third to half of the way across the line, often increasing over the course of a story. I recall that there was a rule about how many fingers to place on the paper as a guideline for indentation. Either the number stipulated was excessive, or I had really large fingers as a child.

Anyway, please enjoy the exciting quest for Captain Bandorf's Treasure. After the stunning conclusion, I'll offer some comments on the story.

The Hunger Games Trilogy

Over the past three weeks, I read Suzanne Collins's Hunger Games trilogy for the first time. I had watched the first two movies when they came out, and the more interesting second one made me curious enough about the world and characters that I decided I'd read the books before the next movie. I almost waited too long to carry out this plan, but I finally took the time to read this series, and I'm not sorry.

→ Presumably you know the premise of THE HUNGER GAMES: In a dystopian future, teenagers are forced to fight to the death in a televised spectacle intended to remind the people of the oppressed districts that they are powerless against the evil Capitol. I'm unconvinced that this is a logical tool to prevent rebellion (and it proves not to be), but okay, it's the premise of the series, so I'll roll with it.

When her beloved younger sister is selected for the Hunger Games, Katniss makes the deadly choice to volunteer in her place. Katniss is thrust into the spotlight of the Capitol and then into the horror of the arena, where her only hope of survival is to kill or outlast the rest of the participants, many far stronger and better equipped. Throughout this ordeal, Katniss struggles with anger at the Capitol and her situation, guilt and depression over what she must do, and constant fear.

The strength of Katniss's first person narration is what elevates this from a kind of ridiculous story to something truly gripping. The experience of being inside Katniss's head is a difficult one even in better circumstances, and that's handled well in presenting the horrific events that unfold. The story is excellently plotted to keep you reading, but Katniss's voice is the more impressive accomplishment (and the main element that had to be omitted from the movie adaptation).

→ At the start of CATCHING FIRE, Katniss has survived the Hunger Games, so she ought to be living a happy life of wealth and safety. Instead, the memories and consequences of her time in the arena plague her. And even worse, the choices she made to win the Games have angered the Capitol and put everyone she loves in danger. There are reports of rebellion in the districts, and it seems Katniss has unintentionally become a hero of the revolution.

I found this a more interesting and nuanced story than the first book, which focuses mostly on the action of the Games. This book still had plenty of action, but the rumors and realities of the uprising are the more important element of the plot and appealed more to my reading tastes. We remain in Katniss's viewpoint, and it's as well-developed as ever. Since she's both concerned with the wider world and unable to learn what's happening there, it adds tension and mystery to the perspective.

→ In MOCKINGJAY, the districts are in full revolt against the Capitol, and Katniss is being forced into the role of leader. It's not that she doesn't believe in the cause, but she's already been through so much and continues to suffer from the trauma of the arena. All she wants to do now is hide under the covers. Reluctantly, she becomes the public face of the rebellion, but she fears this is only making the situation worse for the people she loves.

I liked that the revolution is presented as a complex, morally ambiguous situation, not a simple question of good and evil. This leads to an interesting range of conflicts for Katniss, both with others and in her own mind. I also enjoyed that after two books spent mostly in the wilderness or in Katniss's poverty-stricken district, this one presents a high-tech setting that gave the story more of a science fiction feel. While much of the story was compelling, I grew frustrated by the plot as it got closer to the end, and ultimately, I didn't like this book as much as the second one.

While I didn't adore this series, I found it worthwhile to read. Collins is a solid writer, and though I have some complaints about the books, I feel they've earned their success.

Good Stuff Out There:

→ Andrea Blythe visits the Tate Modern and ponders what makes a story a story: "For example, in taking a note from minimalist art, could I put a single word on a page and call it a novel, in the same way an artist can take a single color and fill a canvas and it's a painting?"

→ Jennifer R. Hubbard considers the imaginary worlds that budding storytellers construct: "Like Martin Wilson, I created an imaginary tennis tournament with fictional players and results. I also had imaginary schools full of fictional students (for which I even created yearbooks), imaginary towns (for which I drew maps and created directories), and my own imaginary soap opera for which I outlined ten years' worth of episodes."

The Adventures of Flutterina

We've all been enjoying the investigation of my childhood writing, so how about another installment?

My fourth grade class did a ton of creative writing under the guidance of the aforementioned wonderful Mrs. Martin. It appears that all my short stories and personal essays from that era were saved, so there's an abundance of material to sort through. I'll choose the "best" of these cursive masterpieces to share.

Longtime fans of my early work may remember the Flutterina series. Flutterina is a mischievous, adventure-loving fairy who lives in the enchanted forest and gets up to hijinks with her friends, Sparkle and Flower. That's the premise established in the opening paragraphs of the original story, but the adventure that follows is pretty tame due to a pacing problem:

An Early Poetry Collection

Last week I introduced a new series of posts presenting some of my earliest writing. The response to the first entry, in which I took a critical look at a story called "The Craziest Rainbow", was enthusiastic and perceptive. Commenters provided insightful feedback and clever ideas for improving the piece. I may or may not get right on that.

But now, more juvenilia!

I'm not a poet, and I know it. In my early years, though, I was still exploring my poetic identity, and records of this remain from several distinct periods. Today we'll look at a small collection of poetry I wrote circa fourth grade, in a little heart-covered book:

The Craziest Rainbow

As I explained earlier this month, I've lacked blogging inspiration lately, so it's been mostly book reviews. I don't know about you, but I'm getting kind of bored with that, so I thought this was a good opportunity to start up a new feature I've considered for a long time. I can guarantee this series will be highly self-indulgent, and if we're all lucky, it will also be somewhat entertaining.

Ever since I was a small child, I've fancied myself a writer. Thanks to diligent parental hoarding, many of my early creative efforts have been preserved, and I'd like to share some of these stories and poems with you. The first piece of juvenilia dates from second grade, which I believe makes it my earliest surviving work:

Fit to Print

It's well into October (in case you haven't noticed), which means that the bulk of the year is over. The most substantial thing I've accomplished in 2014 to this point is that I've read a lot of books. I've done some other stuff too, of course, but most of that remains stalled in a state of incompletion.

Reading books is great. You start at the first page, you move forward through the (hopefully wonderful) story, and then you get to the end, and it's over. Maybe you're sorry it's over, maybe you're a little bit relieved, but in any case, the book is done. You've had the experience of reading it, you get to add it to your list, and you can tell other people what you thought of it.

This is why all my posts for the past few months have been about books I've read. Reviews are a nice concrete chunk of prose representing a specific accomplishment that I know how to tell the world about. While I sometimes struggle to accurately (and diplomatically) express my opinions of the books, these are feelings I'm comfortable sharing.

The rest is trickier. I am still making gradual progress toward the new novel. I'm still actively seeking an agent for the completed novel. I'm always contemplating what other sorts of things I could write, or should write, or might do with myself and my time. It's all kind of vague.

I had hoped my accomplishments would be more thrilling by this point in the year. Any day now, I could have exciting new things to post about, and in the meantime I'm going to work on coming up with a bit of variety, even if it's not too new or too exciting. But when all else fails, it's a comfort to know that there are always more books to read and discuss.

Good Stuff Out There:

→ Edan Lepucki studies the metaphors in Margaret Atwood's The Handmaid's Tale: "Throughout the novel, Offred continually turns her body into something other than a body in this way. At the same time, she also regularly personifies objects. In this passage, for example, while she is a piece of a toast, the ceiling has a 'blind plaster eye' and the moon shines on 'the breast of the new-fallen snow.' In Offred's imagination, everything is turned on its head, or given one." (Thanks, The Millions!)

Station Eleven

I'm fascinated by apocalypses, and I'm not the only one, so there's always more fiction out there to satisfy my horrified curiosity about what would happen if civilization broke down for one reason or another. I go into these stories with high hopes, but I'm often disappointed, because I usually find something lacking, whether in the premise or the characters or the plot. So I was very excited when STATION ELEVEN by Emily St. John Mandel not only lived up to my expectations, but earned a spot as one of my favorite books of the year.

The story opens in a Toronto theater, during a production of King Lear, as the lead actor has a heart attack in the middle of a scene. This ominous event introduces us to the characters we'll be following into a world that is just about to change completely. Hospitals are already filling with patients sick from a deadly and highly contagious flu. Soon, very few people will be left alive.

After the opening section, the narrative jumps ahead many years. Life in the wake of the pandemic is both simpler and more difficult. A troupe of actors and musicians travel the coast of Lake Michigan, bringing Shakespeare to settlements of survivors. One of these performers acted in King Lear as a child, right before the collapse. She remembers the kind man who died onstage, but she doesn't remember much else of the time before, or from the terrifying first year.

Fortunately, as readers, we get to know more than any of the characters, and we gradually learn about several different experiences of the immediate aftermath. The story's carefully presented time shifts reveal the connections between a web of fascinating characters who were once part of one another's lives, if only briefly. With this structure, Mandel portrays the intimate, emotional stories of each character while also exploring the broad effects of a worldwide catastrophe.

This is a gripping novel, full of well-developed characters, intriguing mysteries, excellent world-building, and strong writing. At times it's heartbreaking, at times it's amusing, and at every point, it's engrossing. Mandel has three earlier books, and I'm eager to read them all, because she can definitely tell a story.

Good Stuff Out There:

→ On the NaNoWriMo blog, Crystal Chan offers suggestions on How to Write About What You Don't Know: "Take a deep breath, because a heavy dose of research--and humility--will be involved. You can't just conjecture because you'll do so using your own frame of reference. Writing about what you don't know explicitly means that you can't rely on your own experiences. You have to do so much research that this new material becomes what you know."