John and Anne-Marie Monfredo, founders of the Worcester: The City that Reads Committee, recently kicked off their fifth annual book drive.
They hope to gather more than 25,000 new or gently used books for children in preschool through Grade 8. The books are distributed to schools, preschools and local organizations in June. Collection sites will gather books between now and May 15 and are spread throughout the city and include banks, bookstores, the Worcester Public Library, supermarkets, restaurants, the Senior Center on Vernon Street, the DCU Center, the Jewish Community Center on Salisbury Street, the Greendale YMCA and a variety of other businesses.
Individual public and private schools, colleges, organizations, and businesses are holding individual drives to benefit the effort, and Scholastic Books has already donated more than 1,500 books to get the drive started. For more information, call the Monfredos at (508) 853-3444.
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
for Book clubs - get moving!
Don’t just sit there—get moving. While many book groups simply greet, meet and treat, some groups are more enterprising: they explore, travel, invite in or Skype with authors, play with book themes (like Sutton’s cupcake party for Buttercream Bumpoff, mentioned Feb. 27).
Members’ appetites are voracious and they want more. It’s out there, waiting for them; they just have to locate it.
“I so wish that some of the local Worcester colleges would host occasional lectures, open to the public, on classic books like Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Steinbeck,” wrote Brenda Yates, of the Sutton group, “Full Court Press.”
We second that idea, but add that contemporary fiction is just as interesting to some. Published authors especially fascinate both readers and aspiring writers; increasingly, authors and bookstores are catering to book groups, as a way of increasing sales. Anita Shreve lectured and signed books at Tatnuck Booksellers in Westborough last year. She packed the store’s meeting room. The Toadstool bookstores in Keene and Peterborough, N.H., regularly bring in regional authors to good-size crowds.
When Fitchburg State College invited Jodi Picoult to speak at its 2006 New England Writers Series, she also visited the Leominster Barnes & Noble to sign books—and a long line formed as dozens of fans presented her with their books, many of them planned to attend the FSC session that evening.
Oh, yes; the interest is there. “I think that there are enough book groups in the area that if local colleges would sponsor some evening book seminars—perhaps pay as you go, $15 to attend a lecture or something—that there would be a good market for it,” Yates said. “I think there are plenty of people who would love to read a book and then have the book taught to them. I just read Wuthering Heights and I sure would like someone to explain that one to me!”
Those who love writing love books as well—and dozens of people in this region hone their craft in writing groups. The Worcester Writers Group’s 67-person membership is hardworking and healthy. The poets of Worcester’s Poets’ Asylum are just as active. In Berlin, the Metrowest area, Lancaster, Shrewsbury—community after community—writers groups have formed alongside their reading counterparts. And they share a love for sessions with authors.
Being so close to Boston, there’s a generous amount of activity in this area (as there is in the Berkshires). Emerson College in Boston, home to Ploughshares literary journal, sponsors readings, as do PEN New England and Grub Street—“the” center for serious writers. PEN’s monthly series is generally free, but involves jogging into the Boston area.
Once a year, the Boston Book Festival hosts a passel of noted writers and hundreds wander about freely, listening to and seeing writers like Dennis Lehane, Joyce Carol Oates and Bill Bryson. It’s a premiere event and a great fall field trip.
To find events, check regional book stores and libraries (where your club can also rent a movie that pairs with what they’re reading). Libraries bring in speakers when funding permits. The New England Crime Writers makes the rounds of many area libraries, discussing mysteries and writing—they’re a large group, made of fledgling as well as more published mystery writers. Groton Library’s large endowment permits it to bring in a roster of speakers. The Greater Worcester Community Foundation funds speaker programs within area libraries.
Speak up. Librarians want to know what you’d like, and they’ll try to move mountains to get it. Lucky libraries have a few thousand set aside for speakers (and willingly accept donations to the cause). Book sales are a critical resource for funding such activities, so take your satchel and buy, buy, buy. Find out if your library offers free meeting space for book club events, and ask if such assists as Skype—for phone-video interviews—and large-screen projection are available.
“We travel at least twice a year,” reports Debby McDonald of Millbury’s Roving Readers Book Club (second Tuesdays, monthly, 2 p.m., at Barnes & Noble in Millbury). “We read a book and choose a destination connected it.” The club’s 12 to 15 members met at the Orchard House in Concord while reading Louisa Mae Alcott’s Little Women—and there are several writer-connected sites in the region. Mark Twain’s Hartford, Conn., residence is a historical site with many book-related events (www.marktwainhouse.org).
The Millbury group’s meetings are published in Millbury’s Barnes and Noble newsletter as well, promoting interest. Reading Ethan Frome, they traveled to author Edith Wharton’s house. “While reading The Diaries of Adam and Eve, we went to the Mark Twain House,” McDonald said. “We went to Salem to a museum, to see a Chinese home, as we had read so many Chinese stories. We have had two different authors come and talk to our group; one was Amy Belding Brown, the author of Mr. Emerson’s Wife.”
Food matters. The group has had a formal tea at one member’s house. They always plan a visit to a good restaurant in their travels. (Currently, McDonald says, they’re reading Jodi Picoult’s House Rules.)
If your group has had different adventures, share them through this column. I’m glad, also, to include other libraries and clubs as they make their programs known. Princeton Public Library’s book club meets monthly—with an evening and an afternoon group, as well as two children’s book groups, says Wendy Pape, director.
Ann Connery Frantz is a journalist and fiction writer. Past columns are included on her blog about books and book clubs at http://readitandreeap.blogspot.com (note the two ee’s). E-mail your comments or questions to ann.frantz@gmail.com.
Members’ appetites are voracious and they want more. It’s out there, waiting for them; they just have to locate it.
“I so wish that some of the local Worcester colleges would host occasional lectures, open to the public, on classic books like Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Steinbeck,” wrote Brenda Yates, of the Sutton group, “Full Court Press.”
We second that idea, but add that contemporary fiction is just as interesting to some. Published authors especially fascinate both readers and aspiring writers; increasingly, authors and bookstores are catering to book groups, as a way of increasing sales. Anita Shreve lectured and signed books at Tatnuck Booksellers in Westborough last year. She packed the store’s meeting room. The Toadstool bookstores in Keene and Peterborough, N.H., regularly bring in regional authors to good-size crowds.
When Fitchburg State College invited Jodi Picoult to speak at its 2006 New England Writers Series, she also visited the Leominster Barnes & Noble to sign books—and a long line formed as dozens of fans presented her with their books, many of them planned to attend the FSC session that evening.
Oh, yes; the interest is there. “I think that there are enough book groups in the area that if local colleges would sponsor some evening book seminars—perhaps pay as you go, $15 to attend a lecture or something—that there would be a good market for it,” Yates said. “I think there are plenty of people who would love to read a book and then have the book taught to them. I just read Wuthering Heights and I sure would like someone to explain that one to me!”
Those who love writing love books as well—and dozens of people in this region hone their craft in writing groups. The Worcester Writers Group’s 67-person membership is hardworking and healthy. The poets of Worcester’s Poets’ Asylum are just as active. In Berlin, the Metrowest area, Lancaster, Shrewsbury—community after community—writers groups have formed alongside their reading counterparts. And they share a love for sessions with authors.
Being so close to Boston, there’s a generous amount of activity in this area (as there is in the Berkshires). Emerson College in Boston, home to Ploughshares literary journal, sponsors readings, as do PEN New England and Grub Street—“the” center for serious writers. PEN’s monthly series is generally free, but involves jogging into the Boston area.
Once a year, the Boston Book Festival hosts a passel of noted writers and hundreds wander about freely, listening to and seeing writers like Dennis Lehane, Joyce Carol Oates and Bill Bryson. It’s a premiere event and a great fall field trip.
To find events, check regional book stores and libraries (where your club can also rent a movie that pairs with what they’re reading). Libraries bring in speakers when funding permits. The New England Crime Writers makes the rounds of many area libraries, discussing mysteries and writing—they’re a large group, made of fledgling as well as more published mystery writers. Groton Library’s large endowment permits it to bring in a roster of speakers. The Greater Worcester Community Foundation funds speaker programs within area libraries.
Speak up. Librarians want to know what you’d like, and they’ll try to move mountains to get it. Lucky libraries have a few thousand set aside for speakers (and willingly accept donations to the cause). Book sales are a critical resource for funding such activities, so take your satchel and buy, buy, buy. Find out if your library offers free meeting space for book club events, and ask if such assists as Skype—for phone-video interviews—and large-screen projection are available.
“We travel at least twice a year,” reports Debby McDonald of Millbury’s Roving Readers Book Club (second Tuesdays, monthly, 2 p.m., at Barnes & Noble in Millbury). “We read a book and choose a destination connected it.” The club’s 12 to 15 members met at the Orchard House in Concord while reading Louisa Mae Alcott’s Little Women—and there are several writer-connected sites in the region. Mark Twain’s Hartford, Conn., residence is a historical site with many book-related events (www.marktwainhouse.org).
The Millbury group’s meetings are published in Millbury’s Barnes and Noble newsletter as well, promoting interest. Reading Ethan Frome, they traveled to author Edith Wharton’s house. “While reading The Diaries of Adam and Eve, we went to the Mark Twain House,” McDonald said. “We went to Salem to a museum, to see a Chinese home, as we had read so many Chinese stories. We have had two different authors come and talk to our group; one was Amy Belding Brown, the author of Mr. Emerson’s Wife.”
Food matters. The group has had a formal tea at one member’s house. They always plan a visit to a good restaurant in their travels. (Currently, McDonald says, they’re reading Jodi Picoult’s House Rules.)
If your group has had different adventures, share them through this column. I’m glad, also, to include other libraries and clubs as they make their programs known. Princeton Public Library’s book club meets monthly—with an evening and an afternoon group, as well as two children’s book groups, says Wendy Pape, director.
Ann Connery Frantz is a journalist and fiction writer. Past columns are included on her blog about books and book clubs at http://readitandreeap.blogspot.com (note the two ee’s). E-mail your comments or questions to ann.frantz@gmail.com.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Review of A Novel Bookstore by Laurence Cosse
A Novel Bookstore by Laurence Cossé, published by Europa Editions in 2009.
Cossé, a journalist, playwright, critic and author of historical novels and a satirical thriller, lives in
In her fanciful mystery, a paean to great literature, “A Novel Bookstore,” author Laurence Cossé portrays the world of books and booksellers while, at the same time, blissfully indulging in those thoughts about great writing that entertain so many who love literature.
Publishing and bookselling are in a crisis—as threatened in other nations as they are in the U.S.—with electronic books and mass-produced best-sellers grabbing the top focus among those who market and sell books. But what of true readers, Cossé asks; who serves those who love great writing and savor works they can place on their shelves at home? Who or what in the publishing industry is serving them by devoting the bulk of promotion money and display space to those who write the kind of thrillers and romances, non-fiction “how-to” books, trashy biographies and personal exploits that have come to dominate the once-enviable best-seller lists at respected journals and newspapers? It is as much an indictment of the reader as the industry.
There is a passion to great literature, believe the founders of The Good Novel bookshop, and they attempt to conduct a business dedicated only to the top one or two percent of writers, refusing to sell what is deemed less than wonderful by their board of secret writing advisers. The goal seems simple enough, but it upsets the publishing world around Paris.
A mystery takes shape amid the framework of likeable, dedicated characters, whose love for literature can’t permit them to sell anything but the best; members of their advisory board—who don’t even know each other’s identity—are being killed or injured. Alarmed by this, the owners quietly attempt to work with an investigator who can link the incidents to the perpetrator. At the same time, their lovely idea begins to turn to chaos: not because the people don’t like their bookstore, but because they, in fact, do.
Everyone who is left out by the selection process wants in. And, therein, jealousy is born.
Competitors stake a place for themselves on the high road, decrying the store as a self-indulgent, wasteful drain on the “fragile publishing economy.” The biggest of the chains, VLAM, cannot tolerate The Good Novel’s existence (yes, we get the tongue-in-cheek reference), and charges elitism, class condescension, the impossibility of judging what is destined for greatness over time. The chain challenges the little store’s values, placing itself in the position of servant to the masses and moral champion. In a published statement, VLAM exclaims, “Our love of the novel and of the book is so great that we cannot see why, or even how, one could exclude, by means of a selection process, 99 percent of the titles available. Our passion, and our cause, is to respect the diversity of cultures, and the diversity of individuals.” It sounds so noble, so correct—but is it?
Indeed, The Good Novel bookstore, in Meribel, France, represents an improbable concept for operating a profitable business, but VLAM’s campaign raises a counter hue and cry among book lovers, who flock to the little store with their purses, ready to buy books in support of the idea that great literature must be supported. A sympathetic letter from an author tells of the same response to the success of an early novel—first praise and excitement, then “the attacks” from every quarter. It is the world of ideas at its worst, is it not?
The war of words carries over to the internet, where readers duke it out in support, or rejection, of the store’s ideals. An actress tells of her weariness with books recommended by others, and her need to escape her work through reading. She praises The Good Novel for bringing her the relief she seeks. “How can people attack a place that is so good for you?” she writes.
“Every subtlety in life is material for a book,” Cossé writes through a character. “Novels don’t contain only exceptional situations, life or death choices, or major ordeals; there are also everyday difficulties, temptations, ordinary disappointments; and, in response, every human attitude, every type of behavior, from the finest to the most wretched. … Literature informs, instructs, it prepares you for life.”
In the aisles of The Good Novel, readers quietly, and excitedly, explore worlds they had not discovered through the massive walls of popular culture in larger bookstores. While many of the novels cited are French, Ivan Georg, known as Van, is the store manager, and a partner to Francesca in the enterprise. An American by birth, he holds Cormac McCarthy as the greatest living author on the planet, thus introducing French customers to All the Pretty Horses and its successors, The Crossing and Cities of the Plain. Van is captivated by people he sees in public, reading great books; they alone fascinate him, leading to long conversations with strangers about literature. “… One of the most fortunate purposes of literature is to bring like-minded people together and get them talking,” he says to a fellow bus rider. And that explains the great popularity of book groups these days, as well—even if they do dip into the less-than-great works available to them. After all, A Novel Bookstore’s concepts are arguable among many who love reading not just for greatness but for its gifts of experience and entertainment. And that is one of the devices that keeps this novel going: one wants to know whose idea will win.
The mysterious deaths? On one level, they are symbolic of the store’s battle to survive amid industry-wide self-immolation—catering to the lowest common denominator in a world polluted by that sensibility. They will be solved, or not, toward the book’s end.
We all love to take a breather in a popular novel sometimes; that doesn’t make us bad, simply human. Most of us will admit, secretly at least, that we are as ready to snack on the latest chiller-thriller or well-written romance as the next browser. We want that change of pace, that easily digested tidbit. But when we’re ready for an eight-course meal, we must seek a great book—and those are the books on The Good Novel’s shelves. A different menu for a different customer. Call it snobbery, if you will, but who does superiority better than the French.
A friend once commented that he never reads novels, that only nonfiction meets his desire to learn more of the world. Yes, we reply—you’ll learn about the world. But what of its emotions, the desires and failures of the people who make things happen, the parallels between one stage and another, the mechanics of life when they’re first felt, rather than demonstrated by history? What about imagination, joy, bitterness and cries from the unheard? They are in fiction—in Dickens and Dumas, in McCarthy and Mistry, in Hemingway and Faulkner—on the shelves of The Good Novel bookstore.
Cossé, a journalist, playwright, critic and author of historical novels and a satirical thriller, lives in
In her fanciful mystery, a paean to great literature, “A Novel Bookstore,” author Laurence Cossé portrays the world of books and booksellers while, at the same time, blissfully indulging in those thoughts about great writing that entertain so many who love literature.
Publishing and bookselling are in a crisis—as threatened in other nations as they are in the U.S.—with electronic books and mass-produced best-sellers grabbing the top focus among those who market and sell books. But what of true readers, Cossé asks; who serves those who love great writing and savor works they can place on their shelves at home? Who or what in the publishing industry is serving them by devoting the bulk of promotion money and display space to those who write the kind of thrillers and romances, non-fiction “how-to” books, trashy biographies and personal exploits that have come to dominate the once-enviable best-seller lists at respected journals and newspapers? It is as much an indictment of the reader as the industry.
There is a passion to great literature, believe the founders of The Good Novel bookshop, and they attempt to conduct a business dedicated only to the top one or two percent of writers, refusing to sell what is deemed less than wonderful by their board of secret writing advisers. The goal seems simple enough, but it upsets the publishing world around Paris.
A mystery takes shape amid the framework of likeable, dedicated characters, whose love for literature can’t permit them to sell anything but the best; members of their advisory board—who don’t even know each other’s identity—are being killed or injured. Alarmed by this, the owners quietly attempt to work with an investigator who can link the incidents to the perpetrator. At the same time, their lovely idea begins to turn to chaos: not because the people don’t like their bookstore, but because they, in fact, do.
Everyone who is left out by the selection process wants in. And, therein, jealousy is born.
Competitors stake a place for themselves on the high road, decrying the store as a self-indulgent, wasteful drain on the “fragile publishing economy.” The biggest of the chains, VLAM, cannot tolerate The Good Novel’s existence (yes, we get the tongue-in-cheek reference), and charges elitism, class condescension, the impossibility of judging what is destined for greatness over time. The chain challenges the little store’s values, placing itself in the position of servant to the masses and moral champion. In a published statement, VLAM exclaims, “Our love of the novel and of the book is so great that we cannot see why, or even how, one could exclude, by means of a selection process, 99 percent of the titles available. Our passion, and our cause, is to respect the diversity of cultures, and the diversity of individuals.” It sounds so noble, so correct—but is it?
Indeed, The Good Novel bookstore, in Meribel, France, represents an improbable concept for operating a profitable business, but VLAM’s campaign raises a counter hue and cry among book lovers, who flock to the little store with their purses, ready to buy books in support of the idea that great literature must be supported. A sympathetic letter from an author tells of the same response to the success of an early novel—first praise and excitement, then “the attacks” from every quarter. It is the world of ideas at its worst, is it not?
The war of words carries over to the internet, where readers duke it out in support, or rejection, of the store’s ideals. An actress tells of her weariness with books recommended by others, and her need to escape her work through reading. She praises The Good Novel for bringing her the relief she seeks. “How can people attack a place that is so good for you?” she writes.
“Every subtlety in life is material for a book,” Cossé writes through a character. “Novels don’t contain only exceptional situations, life or death choices, or major ordeals; there are also everyday difficulties, temptations, ordinary disappointments; and, in response, every human attitude, every type of behavior, from the finest to the most wretched. … Literature informs, instructs, it prepares you for life.”
In the aisles of The Good Novel, readers quietly, and excitedly, explore worlds they had not discovered through the massive walls of popular culture in larger bookstores. While many of the novels cited are French, Ivan Georg, known as Van, is the store manager, and a partner to Francesca in the enterprise. An American by birth, he holds Cormac McCarthy as the greatest living author on the planet, thus introducing French customers to All the Pretty Horses and its successors, The Crossing and Cities of the Plain. Van is captivated by people he sees in public, reading great books; they alone fascinate him, leading to long conversations with strangers about literature. “… One of the most fortunate purposes of literature is to bring like-minded people together and get them talking,” he says to a fellow bus rider. And that explains the great popularity of book groups these days, as well—even if they do dip into the less-than-great works available to them. After all, A Novel Bookstore’s concepts are arguable among many who love reading not just for greatness but for its gifts of experience and entertainment. And that is one of the devices that keeps this novel going: one wants to know whose idea will win.
The mysterious deaths? On one level, they are symbolic of the store’s battle to survive amid industry-wide self-immolation—catering to the lowest common denominator in a world polluted by that sensibility. They will be solved, or not, toward the book’s end.
We all love to take a breather in a popular novel sometimes; that doesn’t make us bad, simply human. Most of us will admit, secretly at least, that we are as ready to snack on the latest chiller-thriller or well-written romance as the next browser. We want that change of pace, that easily digested tidbit. But when we’re ready for an eight-course meal, we must seek a great book—and those are the books on The Good Novel’s shelves. A different menu for a different customer. Call it snobbery, if you will, but who does superiority better than the French.
A friend once commented that he never reads novels, that only nonfiction meets his desire to learn more of the world. Yes, we reply—you’ll learn about the world. But what of its emotions, the desires and failures of the people who make things happen, the parallels between one stage and another, the mechanics of life when they’re first felt, rather than demonstrated by history? What about imagination, joy, bitterness and cries from the unheard? They are in fiction—in Dickens and Dumas, in McCarthy and Mistry, in Hemingway and Faulkner—on the shelves of The Good Novel bookstore.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
A review of Shadow Tag, Louise Erdrich's novel of love's dissolution
Since reading the first, tormented pages of her beautiful, emotionally riveting first novel, “Love Medicine,” I have been drawn to works by Louise Erdrich, who in many of her novels weaves the lives of contemporary Native Americans into the complexity of modern times. She does so with honest, compelling characters, drawn within saga-like stories of families coping with alcoholism, joblessness, discrimination, misdirected passion, and insecurity—joined, for better and worse, by the stone-hard love of family and shared history.
Her 14th novel, Shadow Tag, details the dissolution of a marriage between an artist and an academic, twisting from the dangling ties of guilt and memory, acting out the cruel moments of extending a failed marriage beyond its time. Irene America has lost trust in her artist-husband, Gil, upon discovering that he has been reading her diary; she uses his deception as a final excuse to stop pretending love remains between them. Both are alcoholics, and he is an abusive father as well. He both loves and resents the children. She begins two diaries—falsifying the one he is reading with affairs intended to provoke him into ending the marriage he is so insistent on preserving; the other is true, locked away from him in a safe deposit box.
Yet, Irene is elementally attached to Gil, a noted artist, both as the subject of his acclaimed series of work, and as a woman who struggles against his faith in her, finding it hard to deceive her husband in the face of his suffocating control over her. Gil’s possession of Irene’s body through his art is complex, complete, invasive and cruel.
Throughout the story, Irene’s revelations about the exploitative, callous treatment of Indian people and animals that symbolize the very soul of the West by artist George Catlin, her doctorial subject, provide a parallel to her own life with Gil, and his fierce attempt at possessing her nature and freedom.
Erdrich’s portrayal of their deteriorating relationship is wrought through weakening cords of love and hatred, strength and weakness, need and resentment—territory the author undoubtedly knows from her own troubled marriage to author Michael Dorris, who committed suicide in the wake of a family trauma. Irene wants to let Gil go, but not destroy him. It is that conflict which ultimately destroys them both.
The story unfolds through both of her diaries, and a third narrative which fills in the gaps between her journals and records the anger and confusion of their children, while examining the ways men and women use each other for love, inspiration, fame, punishment.
Throughout her writing career, Erdrich has intimately created lives of contemporary Native Americans with both wit and tragic insight. Her words burn into the heart, changing what we know of modern Indian life—always on display for historians, curious non-Indians, art collectors, but lost to the truth.
Her 14th novel, Shadow Tag, details the dissolution of a marriage between an artist and an academic, twisting from the dangling ties of guilt and memory, acting out the cruel moments of extending a failed marriage beyond its time. Irene America has lost trust in her artist-husband, Gil, upon discovering that he has been reading her diary; she uses his deception as a final excuse to stop pretending love remains between them. Both are alcoholics, and he is an abusive father as well. He both loves and resents the children. She begins two diaries—falsifying the one he is reading with affairs intended to provoke him into ending the marriage he is so insistent on preserving; the other is true, locked away from him in a safe deposit box.
Yet, Irene is elementally attached to Gil, a noted artist, both as the subject of his acclaimed series of work, and as a woman who struggles against his faith in her, finding it hard to deceive her husband in the face of his suffocating control over her. Gil’s possession of Irene’s body through his art is complex, complete, invasive and cruel.
Throughout the story, Irene’s revelations about the exploitative, callous treatment of Indian people and animals that symbolize the very soul of the West by artist George Catlin, her doctorial subject, provide a parallel to her own life with Gil, and his fierce attempt at possessing her nature and freedom.
Erdrich’s portrayal of their deteriorating relationship is wrought through weakening cords of love and hatred, strength and weakness, need and resentment—territory the author undoubtedly knows from her own troubled marriage to author Michael Dorris, who committed suicide in the wake of a family trauma. Irene wants to let Gil go, but not destroy him. It is that conflict which ultimately destroys them both.
The story unfolds through both of her diaries, and a third narrative which fills in the gaps between her journals and records the anger and confusion of their children, while examining the ways men and women use each other for love, inspiration, fame, punishment.
Throughout her writing career, Erdrich has intimately created lives of contemporary Native Americans with both wit and tragic insight. Her words burn into the heart, changing what we know of modern Indian life—always on display for historians, curious non-Indians, art collectors, but lost to the truth.
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
A fun read - and a late night
Just finished a book that isn't exactly what I'd choose for book club material, but I do recommend it for the fun you may have reading it.
Cecilia Ahern is an Irish writer whose first novel, "P.S. I Love You" became a movie with Hilary Swank in a starring role. Not a bad start, eh?
"The Book of Tomorrow," her seventh release, has a stylish cover that caught my eye from the Thayer Memorial Library shelf recently, so I picked it up - knowing I had other books to read first - and brought it home to simmer while I plunged through Jonathan Franzen's "The Corrections." (Correct me if I'm wrong, but that book is dense. Well-written, to be sure, with rich, showy language, humor and style, but dense, baby, dense.)
Finally I picked Ahern's novel up and started carrying it with me to waiting rooms, passenger seats and the kitchen table. It starts slowly and builds, requiring patience, so some folks will put it down, which is too bad. Its narrator is a blunt, smart-mouthed 16-year-old whose life is about to change - and I began to enjoy her sassy shock-value retorts as I got to know her.
"The Book of Tomorrow" is a mystery with gothic undertones, a la Diane Setterfield's "The Thirteenth Tale." Set in rural Ireland, on the grounds of a decaying castle, it's the story of a mouthy, wealthy teenager from the Dublin area whose life changes after her father's suicide. She and her traumatized mother are forced to move in with her quiet brother, Arthur, and his tight-lipped, domineering wife, Rosaleen. Young Tamara dubs them "the Deliverance duo." They live in a cottage near the ruins of a castle once occupied by an impoverished Irish family, and it's Tamara's boredom with rural life that leads to her discovery of an old book. She finds it's a journal with a twist: its blank pages reveal her own handwriting, and much about her life as it will unfold tomorrow, disappearing as each day unfolds and a new one begins. It's not long before Tamara is immersed in fearful concern for her unresponsive mother, growing suspicions about Rosaleen's control over them all, and a desire to figure out all the puzzles the book raises--including the old woman living in a shed on the property, and the nun who becomes her friend, but won't reveal much about secrets she certainly knows.
The story's pace picks up about mid-way, and "The Book of Tomorrow" becomes a page-turner. Even better, for me: it's a mystery I couldn't figure out. Ahern springs it on the reader skillfully. There are many unknowns, well masked, and it's only as Tamara unravels them that I, too, learned about her life.
This book has a contemporary setting, made gothic by its setting and the events that unfold, but it also has much of the spirit, bravado and curiosity an adolescent girl possesses. It's as good a read for teens as it is for their mothers!
In her acknowledgments, the author records her respect for booksellers - something we should all remember if we value the industry supplying us with worlds in print. I couldn't put it better myself: "In "The Book of Tomorrow" I share my belief in the magic of books, how I believe books must contain some sort of homing device, which allows them to draw the correct reader to them. Books choose their readers, not the other way around. I believe that booksellers are the match-makers. Thank you."
Well said.
Cecilia Ahern is an Irish writer whose first novel, "P.S. I Love You" became a movie with Hilary Swank in a starring role. Not a bad start, eh?
"The Book of Tomorrow," her seventh release, has a stylish cover that caught my eye from the Thayer Memorial Library shelf recently, so I picked it up - knowing I had other books to read first - and brought it home to simmer while I plunged through Jonathan Franzen's "The Corrections." (Correct me if I'm wrong, but that book is dense. Well-written, to be sure, with rich, showy language, humor and style, but dense, baby, dense.)
Finally I picked Ahern's novel up and started carrying it with me to waiting rooms, passenger seats and the kitchen table. It starts slowly and builds, requiring patience, so some folks will put it down, which is too bad. Its narrator is a blunt, smart-mouthed 16-year-old whose life is about to change - and I began to enjoy her sassy shock-value retorts as I got to know her.
"The Book of Tomorrow" is a mystery with gothic undertones, a la Diane Setterfield's "The Thirteenth Tale." Set in rural Ireland, on the grounds of a decaying castle, it's the story of a mouthy, wealthy teenager from the Dublin area whose life changes after her father's suicide. She and her traumatized mother are forced to move in with her quiet brother, Arthur, and his tight-lipped, domineering wife, Rosaleen. Young Tamara dubs them "the Deliverance duo." They live in a cottage near the ruins of a castle once occupied by an impoverished Irish family, and it's Tamara's boredom with rural life that leads to her discovery of an old book. She finds it's a journal with a twist: its blank pages reveal her own handwriting, and much about her life as it will unfold tomorrow, disappearing as each day unfolds and a new one begins. It's not long before Tamara is immersed in fearful concern for her unresponsive mother, growing suspicions about Rosaleen's control over them all, and a desire to figure out all the puzzles the book raises--including the old woman living in a shed on the property, and the nun who becomes her friend, but won't reveal much about secrets she certainly knows.
The story's pace picks up about mid-way, and "The Book of Tomorrow" becomes a page-turner. Even better, for me: it's a mystery I couldn't figure out. Ahern springs it on the reader skillfully. There are many unknowns, well masked, and it's only as Tamara unravels them that I, too, learned about her life.
This book has a contemporary setting, made gothic by its setting and the events that unfold, but it also has much of the spirit, bravado and curiosity an adolescent girl possesses. It's as good a read for teens as it is for their mothers!
In her acknowledgments, the author records her respect for booksellers - something we should all remember if we value the industry supplying us with worlds in print. I couldn't put it better myself: "In "The Book of Tomorrow" I share my belief in the magic of books, how I believe books must contain some sort of homing device, which allows them to draw the correct reader to them. Books choose their readers, not the other way around. I believe that booksellers are the match-makers. Thank you."
Well said.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Beginnings ...
I buy books, borrow books, trade books—and just plain “lift” them (not from stores)—out of pure love for them. I’m curious about the world they offer, or familiar with an author, or just like the promise of their liner notes. And, because I want to be a better writer, I read to learn my craft. About 20 percent of my library is dedicated to the writing profession.
I keep a good share of my books, and have a collection of about a thousand, ranging from history and biographies to novels, grammar and writers’ guides, the classics, short story and poetry collections, signed editions and best-sellers. I buy a lot of them, because I want to support authors and book stores—plain and simple. If too many of us cheap out, there may not be bookstores in the future. But that is a topic for another column.
I fell in love with reading as a child, spending summers with my grandparents at Chazy Lake, in the Adirondacks. Their camp (a rambling beauty with a Victorian roof, run-around porch and plenty of quiet nooks for reading) held shelves of books from a previous owner, a New York City family who proudly wrote their names on their summer reading selections—and generously left them there when they left. On my bed, in a chair, or on a porch step, I devoured Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan books and Mars series; beautifully illustrated fairy tale collections from the early 1900s, now being republished for today’s children. I read “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm,” “Little Women,” “Robinson Crusoe”—book after book, day and night, until I was forced outside or to go to sleep. Fortunately, no one really cared how late I sat up in bed reading, the shutters banging in the wind and waves pounding against the shore. I found the Cherry Ames nursing series, written by two authors, and later wrote my own, original Nancy Drew mystery at 12 (receiving a D- for plagiarism, not realizing one couldn’t just do that. I guess only the Cherry Ames writers shared that privilege, along with all the nameless staff writers who today manufacture popular men’s thrillers for big-name writers whose name on the cover guarantees big sales).
Those summers, I was ignored as much as I wanted to be, left to read all I wanted, and this set the course of my life. I'm sure it's the same for many other readers. Quietly building a love of language, imagination, beautiful books and writing during those summers, I never left their worlds behind. I often imagined that city family, retiring to the woods for summers filled with reading.
Oddly enough, beyond “Dick and Jane,” I wasn't exposed to books at school until about I turned 12, and moved to a school that had a library. There, like a kid with bags and bags of Halloween candy, I worked my way through biographies and historical fiction for young readers. I fell in love with early American colonies and the Revolution, much later turning to histories, books and novels of the Civil War, early presidents, and current issues.
Rich with babysitting money, I joined the Book of the Month Club, turning to the historical fiction of Uris and Michener, DuMaurier and Mary Stewart, and the “Diary of Anne Frank,” which led to a lifelong interest in the Holocaust.
After high school, had I understood there were fields of study in creative writing, I might well have pursued it. Then again, perhaps not; I was hooked on newspapers at an early age, too, lying on the floor with the New York Times every Sunday morning. So I determined to be a journalist, and spent most of my working years in that field. I still work as a journalist, doing freelance business writing and editing for my main income; but my love is fiction, both in writing and reading.
What did it for you? Was there an Atticus Finch-like parent, reading to you before bed, or someone discussing characters or stories at dinnertime? Did you read with a family member or friend? Was it a teacher? One hopes these magical mentors are still around today, introducing our children and children’s children to a world they will otherwise fail to know and love—their lives much the poorer for it.
I keep a good share of my books, and have a collection of about a thousand, ranging from history and biographies to novels, grammar and writers’ guides, the classics, short story and poetry collections, signed editions and best-sellers. I buy a lot of them, because I want to support authors and book stores—plain and simple. If too many of us cheap out, there may not be bookstores in the future. But that is a topic for another column.
I fell in love with reading as a child, spending summers with my grandparents at Chazy Lake, in the Adirondacks. Their camp (a rambling beauty with a Victorian roof, run-around porch and plenty of quiet nooks for reading) held shelves of books from a previous owner, a New York City family who proudly wrote their names on their summer reading selections—and generously left them there when they left. On my bed, in a chair, or on a porch step, I devoured Edgar Rice Burroughs' Tarzan books and Mars series; beautifully illustrated fairy tale collections from the early 1900s, now being republished for today’s children. I read “Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm,” “Little Women,” “Robinson Crusoe”—book after book, day and night, until I was forced outside or to go to sleep. Fortunately, no one really cared how late I sat up in bed reading, the shutters banging in the wind and waves pounding against the shore. I found the Cherry Ames nursing series, written by two authors, and later wrote my own, original Nancy Drew mystery at 12 (receiving a D- for plagiarism, not realizing one couldn’t just do that. I guess only the Cherry Ames writers shared that privilege, along with all the nameless staff writers who today manufacture popular men’s thrillers for big-name writers whose name on the cover guarantees big sales).
Those summers, I was ignored as much as I wanted to be, left to read all I wanted, and this set the course of my life. I'm sure it's the same for many other readers. Quietly building a love of language, imagination, beautiful books and writing during those summers, I never left their worlds behind. I often imagined that city family, retiring to the woods for summers filled with reading.
Oddly enough, beyond “Dick and Jane,” I wasn't exposed to books at school until about I turned 12, and moved to a school that had a library. There, like a kid with bags and bags of Halloween candy, I worked my way through biographies and historical fiction for young readers. I fell in love with early American colonies and the Revolution, much later turning to histories, books and novels of the Civil War, early presidents, and current issues.
Rich with babysitting money, I joined the Book of the Month Club, turning to the historical fiction of Uris and Michener, DuMaurier and Mary Stewart, and the “Diary of Anne Frank,” which led to a lifelong interest in the Holocaust.
After high school, had I understood there were fields of study in creative writing, I might well have pursued it. Then again, perhaps not; I was hooked on newspapers at an early age, too, lying on the floor with the New York Times every Sunday morning. So I determined to be a journalist, and spent most of my working years in that field. I still work as a journalist, doing freelance business writing and editing for my main income; but my love is fiction, both in writing and reading.
What did it for you? Was there an Atticus Finch-like parent, reading to you before bed, or someone discussing characters or stories at dinnertime? Did you read with a family member or friend? Was it a teacher? One hopes these magical mentors are still around today, introducing our children and children’s children to a world they will otherwise fail to know and love—their lives much the poorer for it.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Book clubs have a style of their own
Libraries sponsor book groups. So do churches, seniors groups and social clubs. There are secular and spiritual groups, and community/neighbor groups started in a variety of ways.
Dozens of clubs, thousands of books to choose from — what’s a group to do? Turns out, plenty. Some groups specialize — history, politics (right wing, left wing and in between), the classics, poetry and biography, for instance — but many select from a combination, interweaving fiction and nonfiction with great literature, seeking variety and new knowledge. Picking selections is always fun — and may involve a luncheon, a special meeting at the nearby library or bookstore, snacks and wine at a member’s home. Those selections often sweep from mouth to mouth, club to club, town to town and state to state, occasionally creating best-sellers even before the publishers have time to tout them as such.
The book group I attend in Lancaster decides books for the year at one meeting, but sometimes makes a switch mid-stream if a better selection is suggested, or it’s felt that too many similar books have been lined up (depressing books tend to be panned over the winter months). Advantages are obvious: Books are more readily obtainable through various sources when there’s lead time, and there’s more time to read them. Deciding from month to month allows more flexibility in selecting timely choices from newer releases, but this can also force members to pay the hardcover price, since a popular new book is harder to get at the library. Sometimes the number of requests for a best-seller top 100, 200 or more — one reason it’s good to have a friend in the library.
If they know in advance, as well, most librarians will place individual holds on a book for their book club members, assisting them in the process of borrowing selected books.
Sutton’s Full Court Press book group — 12 former basketball moms who wanted to stay connected after their sons graduated — conducts cleverly themed book meetings. After reading “Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand” (by Helen Simonson), the group held its discussion within the format of a formal tea party. A ton of work, reported member Brenda Yates, but lots of fun. They also read actor Sidney Poitier’s autobiography, “The Measure of a Man,” and watched “Lilies of the Field” as part of that exploration. For their next book (“We wanted something silly”), they’ll read Jenn McKinlay’s mystery, “Buttercream Bumpoff,” and bake cupcakes from the book for a cupcake exchange. Then comes “Jane Eyre,” also paired with a movie.
Ideas like these keep meetings from becoming a bore, and change the usual framework, encouraging output from members who might be quiet at other meetings.
About a half-dozen Rutland-area readers attend The Cozy Book Nook group formed in September; they’d like to have tips on how to increase membership, as only four or five attend each meeting. Suggestions? The group meets monthly at Rutland’s Community Center. They’ve already discussed “Julia and Julia,” “The Secret Life of Bees,” “Dark Tide” (well-received by members) and “The #1 Ladies Detective Agency.”
In mid-February, I attended the Red Rock Readers group in St. George, Utah, where a group of spirited snowbirds held its February meeting at the local country club. It was quite a treat. After a perfect lunch, 15 members discussed Jodi Picoult’s novel about the impact of false accusations on innocent lives, “Salem Falls.” They also voted to invite their male partners to the next meeting, the topic being Lauren Hillenbrand’s “Unbroken,” about Louis Zamperini, an Olympic athlete who became a WWII hero through a harrowing, three-year experience after his plane crashed.
Since they’d found it would cost $10,000 to bring Mr. Zamperini to St. George, or $2,500 for a video and phone interview (an uncommon cost for author visits), they discussed alternatives common to clubs seeking authors: films, Skype interviews, documentaries. A Facebook friend and reader in Florida highly recommends Skype interviews at book discussions; we’ll have more on that on another date.
Betsey Johnson, member of a 37-year-old book club in Holden, chooses books for the group — a band of longtime friends who’ve seen each other through babies and grandchildren — and avoids most best-sellers. She made an exception for Kahled Hosseini’s “The Kite Runner,” “Empire Falls” by Richard Russo and Barbara Kingsolver’s “The Poisonwood Bible.” This group really mixes it up, with classics and contemporary writers.
She mentioned Granta’s book of American Short Stories, a collection of strong new fiction by writers, which can provide hints leading to great novels. The “Best of …” series are a great source of authors. I read short story collections and lit journals such as Granta, Ploughshares (at Emerson College), Glimmer Train and the Paris Review to explore unfamiliar writers as well, and it was a story by T.C. Boyle that led me to his longer fiction, “The Tortilla Curtain,” “East is East” and many more.
There’s a brand new book club in Worcester, as yet unnamed, which recently read Jeannette Walls’ nonfiction narrative to follow up the jaw-dropping story of Walls’ upbringing, “The Glass Castle.” It’s her maternal ancestor’s story, called “Half-Broke Horses.” They’re currently reading “Cutting for Stone.”
How do you conduct your meetings, and where? What are the rules? How do you build membership? Send comments or questions, ideas, favorite meeting places and your group’s information to me, in as much detail as you wish. This is a great way to link one group to another, sharing knowledge of favorites and tips for groups.
Contact Ann Connery Frantz at ann.frantz@gmail.com, or write to her in care of the Worcester Telegram & Gazette, 20 Franklin St., Worcester, MA 01605.
Dozens of clubs, thousands of books to choose from — what’s a group to do? Turns out, plenty. Some groups specialize — history, politics (right wing, left wing and in between), the classics, poetry and biography, for instance — but many select from a combination, interweaving fiction and nonfiction with great literature, seeking variety and new knowledge. Picking selections is always fun — and may involve a luncheon, a special meeting at the nearby library or bookstore, snacks and wine at a member’s home. Those selections often sweep from mouth to mouth, club to club, town to town and state to state, occasionally creating best-sellers even before the publishers have time to tout them as such.
The book group I attend in Lancaster decides books for the year at one meeting, but sometimes makes a switch mid-stream if a better selection is suggested, or it’s felt that too many similar books have been lined up (depressing books tend to be panned over the winter months). Advantages are obvious: Books are more readily obtainable through various sources when there’s lead time, and there’s more time to read them. Deciding from month to month allows more flexibility in selecting timely choices from newer releases, but this can also force members to pay the hardcover price, since a popular new book is harder to get at the library. Sometimes the number of requests for a best-seller top 100, 200 or more — one reason it’s good to have a friend in the library.
If they know in advance, as well, most librarians will place individual holds on a book for their book club members, assisting them in the process of borrowing selected books.
Sutton’s Full Court Press book group — 12 former basketball moms who wanted to stay connected after their sons graduated — conducts cleverly themed book meetings. After reading “Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand” (by Helen Simonson), the group held its discussion within the format of a formal tea party. A ton of work, reported member Brenda Yates, but lots of fun. They also read actor Sidney Poitier’s autobiography, “The Measure of a Man,” and watched “Lilies of the Field” as part of that exploration. For their next book (“We wanted something silly”), they’ll read Jenn McKinlay’s mystery, “Buttercream Bumpoff,” and bake cupcakes from the book for a cupcake exchange. Then comes “Jane Eyre,” also paired with a movie.
Ideas like these keep meetings from becoming a bore, and change the usual framework, encouraging output from members who might be quiet at other meetings.
About a half-dozen Rutland-area readers attend The Cozy Book Nook group formed in September; they’d like to have tips on how to increase membership, as only four or five attend each meeting. Suggestions? The group meets monthly at Rutland’s Community Center. They’ve already discussed “Julia and Julia,” “The Secret Life of Bees,” “Dark Tide” (well-received by members) and “The #1 Ladies Detective Agency.”
In mid-February, I attended the Red Rock Readers group in St. George, Utah, where a group of spirited snowbirds held its February meeting at the local country club. It was quite a treat. After a perfect lunch, 15 members discussed Jodi Picoult’s novel about the impact of false accusations on innocent lives, “Salem Falls.” They also voted to invite their male partners to the next meeting, the topic being Lauren Hillenbrand’s “Unbroken,” about Louis Zamperini, an Olympic athlete who became a WWII hero through a harrowing, three-year experience after his plane crashed.
Since they’d found it would cost $10,000 to bring Mr. Zamperini to St. George, or $2,500 for a video and phone interview (an uncommon cost for author visits), they discussed alternatives common to clubs seeking authors: films, Skype interviews, documentaries. A Facebook friend and reader in Florida highly recommends Skype interviews at book discussions; we’ll have more on that on another date.
Betsey Johnson, member of a 37-year-old book club in Holden, chooses books for the group — a band of longtime friends who’ve seen each other through babies and grandchildren — and avoids most best-sellers. She made an exception for Kahled Hosseini’s “The Kite Runner,” “Empire Falls” by Richard Russo and Barbara Kingsolver’s “The Poisonwood Bible.” This group really mixes it up, with classics and contemporary writers.
She mentioned Granta’s book of American Short Stories, a collection of strong new fiction by writers, which can provide hints leading to great novels. The “Best of …” series are a great source of authors. I read short story collections and lit journals such as Granta, Ploughshares (at Emerson College), Glimmer Train and the Paris Review to explore unfamiliar writers as well, and it was a story by T.C. Boyle that led me to his longer fiction, “The Tortilla Curtain,” “East is East” and many more.
There’s a brand new book club in Worcester, as yet unnamed, which recently read Jeannette Walls’ nonfiction narrative to follow up the jaw-dropping story of Walls’ upbringing, “The Glass Castle.” It’s her maternal ancestor’s story, called “Half-Broke Horses.” They’re currently reading “Cutting for Stone.”
How do you conduct your meetings, and where? What are the rules? How do you build membership? Send comments or questions, ideas, favorite meeting places and your group’s information to me, in as much detail as you wish. This is a great way to link one group to another, sharing knowledge of favorites and tips for groups.
Contact Ann Connery Frantz at ann.frantz@gmail.com, or write to her in care of the Worcester Telegram & Gazette, 20 Franklin St., Worcester, MA 01605.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)