Archive for the ‘Writers’ Category

Junk Culture, c. 1855

Friday, January 23rd, 2009

FIGURATIVELY SPEAKING

Today, a slightly different look at language, within the context of culture.

A Christmas gift from my husband of a calendar named Forgotten English has given me much more food for thought. It features a word or phrase each day from past centuries of spoken and written English along with a story. It’s a project of Jeffrey Kacirk. (Love words? Visit his site here).

Last week, I came across an entry that just made me laugh.

Turns out that on a trip to see the British Museum in 1855, our beloved American author Nathaniel Hawthorne was not amused.

It is a hopeless — and to me generally a depressing — business to go through an immense, multifarious show like this glancing at a thousand things, and conscious of some little titillation of mind from them, but really taking in nothing and getting no good from anything.

The face is the world is accumulating too many materials for knowledge. We do not recognize for rubbish what is really rubbish, and under this head might be reckoned almost everything one sees in the British Museum. And as each generation leaves its fragments and potshards behind it, such will finally be the desperate conclusion of the learned.

How apt an observation, how modern. A reflection made more than 150 years ago. About an institution we might consider august and respected, the British Museum, which opened in 1759, almost 300 years ago.

Yet Mr. Hawthorne recognized something universal about us human beings. So crow-like are we; the shining glint of a button or piece of glass will draw us in, elicit desire for possession and generate all kinds of jealousy.

That’s what makes Mr. Hawthorne, with our greatest writers, a jewel, himself — he keenly understands our complex, yet juvenile, human natures and has the power to describe them with precision.

A NOTE FOR WORD LOVERS: If you enjoy scoffing at overused, meaningless phrases, then visit the 2009 List of Banished Words from Lake Superior State University.

The university publishes the list each year in an effort purge our language of its loafers, drifters and bums who aren’t pulling their weight.

Friend and Daily Reflector columnist Kim Grizzard gave the list her own signature review, and you can read it here.

High on the list this year? Green, maverick, bailout and others. Do check it out.

Virtual White House

Thursday, January 22nd, 2009

TECH THURSDAY

Today was going to feature a run-down of last year’s most exciting technology developments, and even a word or two about Steve Jobs’s health and Apple stock value.

But why look back when we can look forward?

So today, Tech Thursday looks at our new United States of Wireless.

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Our new president used instant messaging, email and texting to stay in touch and it’s rumored that he refused to part with his Blackberry. The Atlantic’s Marc Ambinder reports that Mr. Obama’s new Crack … er … Blackberry will be highly encrypted and used only for private and personal messages. There will be no IM-ing, however.

Much is also being made about the new ethics commitment, which includes a commitment to greater transparency. That begins with a new White House Web site and a White House blog.

Not since I discovered His Holiness the Dalai Lama’s Web site have I felt so privileged to have a computer.

Meanwhile, upon entering their new offices in the highest office of the most advanced, wealthiest country in the history of mankind, Obama staffers found their computers running six-year old versions of Microsoft, without updates, with no possibility for updates, no email addresses, dead phone lines and no voice mail. They’re calling it the Tech Dark Ages.

Nice to know that we’re all in the same boat sometimes.

Writers and Human Rights

Monday, January 19th, 2009

Today so much to write about, but it’s first fitting to give tribute to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., whose birthday is celebrated as a national holiday today (His real birthday is Jan. 15).

Fortune gave us this great leader and if there is a place for national pride these days, it is in the teachings and culture that created such a man. We can look back to Thomas Paine, and even before him, to understand the seeds of equality, and from Thom Paine straight to Henry David Thoreau, who refused to pay taxes that supported slavery and war against Mexico. For this he was jailed.

His essay, today known as On the Duty of Civil Disobedience, gives us a sense of solidarity with others throughout history who feel that any collusion with inhumanity is intolerable … that any time our actions support injustice, we are just as guilty as the direct perpetrators. (Albert Camus dealt with our collective guilt in his monumental, but readable, work La Chute, or The Fall.)

Mohandas Gandhi showed us a revolution by Civil Disobedience, as did Dr. King. It still jars to remember how people once were treated in this country based on their skin color; yet Dr. King’s message is even broader than our own tortuous Civil Rights odyssey.

Dr. King says that if we judge a person by skin color, what’s to prevent us from judging … constraining, censuring and imprisoning … based on other factors, as well? What’s to keep us from sequestering others based on their religion? The fact that their ideas are different from ours? What’s to keep us from sterilizing and killing them?

While Dr. King is surely a powerful individual within the context of this nation’s Civil Rights struggle, it’s critical to understand Dr. King in a larger context of the entire stretch of human history. That he stands among the prophets of all time … with His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Gandhi and Nelson Mandela … and with the holy leaders of the past millennia.

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Illustration by Gustav Dore

Today it’s also important to note the birthday of the American writer Edgar Allen Poe, creator of the short story, the detective story and author of such great passion. Born in Richmond, buried in Baltimore, his 40 years gave us milestones in New World letters … Murders in the Rue Morgue, The Tell-Tale Heart, The Mask of the Red Death; and poetry Annabel Lee, Eldorado.

TOMORROW: His Holiness the Dalai Lama delivers the Madhavrao Scindia Memorial Lecture on Non-violence.

Tapping out Progress (2)

Tuesday, January 13th, 2009

TAP DANCING UPDATE

It’s Tuesday, and time for a semi-weekly update after my Monday tap dancing class.

Now that I’ve had this unexpected breakthrough, I continue to make pretty amazing progress (read: I’m not physically coordinated in the dancing sense, rather stiff and wooden). Last night, after not having practiced all week, I figured I would have forgotten everything, but to my surprise, I was able to execute (rather clumsily, I might add) cross-over drawbacks … a snappy little step when done correctly … while only moderately teetering.

It was also a surprise to do double pullbacks across the studio floor … these are steps that seem to defy physics … slapping the floor with both feet while simultaneously jumping backward … somehow I’m still making a strong tap sound two out of three times … I even felt froggy enough to try a toe stand … which is just what it sounds like … a quick hop onto the toes of the feet and back to the floor.

Still more than a few times, though I was making sounds, I was falling forward, backward and sideways in a most un-Fred-Astaire-like way.

Of course I’ll never dance like Gregory Hines … but at least I’m dancin’ … sort of … there’s a lot more work to be done and I’m not sure I’ll ever manage to execute these rapid hop-shuffles.

Yet there’s a sense of quiet joy that comes from tapping your way across a studio floor that’s hard to describe … hard to attain … especially for a writer who spends most days looking inward … it’s an outward explosion of a similar kind … an avenue of expression that requires its own study and discipline.

Bloomsbury Group

Monday, January 12th, 2009

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Study for the portrait of Leonard Woolfe by Vanessa Bell Image courtesy of the Victoria University Library Collection, Toronto.

Imagine that you didn’t worry about what society expected of you, that you were willing to put your faith in the invisible workings of the universe to take care of you, and decided to use your intelligence and creative energy in ways that made the world more beautiful, more comfortable and more meaningful.

That’s what a group of artists and writers did in London shortly after the turn of the century. Today we call them the Bloomsbury Group, but for them, they were just living with meaning. An exhibit of the Bloomsbury Artists is on view at the Nasher Museum of Art on the Duke University campus in Durham.

They weren’t setting out for fame, riches or a place in the art history books; rather, they were living as honestly as they could, experimenting with colors, fabrics and canvas; or with words.

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They include some familiar names: Notably, Virginia Woolfe, whose “A Room of One’s Own” suggested that for the first time, women, as well as men, were valuable contributors to art and letters, and that writing, for some, was as essential as breathing. But, women, who were in those days confined to the role of servant, deserved their own privacy, space — and dignity. What a concept!

Joining Mrs. Woolfe were her husband, Leonard, who helped run the printing press in their home, Hogarth, which published works including T.S. Eliot’s “The Wasteland.”

In addition, there was Mrs. Woolfe’s sister, Vanessa, a remarkable designer and artist whose paintings, fabrics and furniture designs show an ongoing explosion of creativity. She reminds me of another remarkable textile and visual artist, Sonia Delaunay, who was working in Paris about the same time.

Joining them were Duncan Grant, Clive Bell and Lytton Strachey, author of “Eminent Victorians,” and beloved by Dora Carrington, also an artist.

They left London after World War I to live on a farm, Charleston. They held open houses, and established “The Omega Workshop,” which was dedicated to artful everyday objects. (This was different from John Ruskin’s Arts and Crafts movement, which appreciated craftwork with a different sensibility.)

What touched me about these artists was the authentic pursuit of art without pretense or other motive than to create. So often we make “art” something unreachable … when it should be as natural as taking a breath, or walking across a room. It shouldn’t be removed from everyday living; rather, it should be the sheen on everyday actions.

The Bloomsbury Artists exhibit will be on view at the Nasher Museum through April 5. Highly worth visiting … if only to remind us of our higher humanity.

Da Fam-ly Part I

Monday, December 29th, 2008

I’m not saying my family is nuttier than anyone else’s … but I do believe the mixed heritage, personality types and circumstances have created singular characters, American style.

As I’ve just returned from the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where many of us came together for Christmas at my Grandmother’s home, with great-grandchildren, cousins and crazy uncles in attendance, it seems fitting to take a look at them.

So today, FD starts a series on non-essential holiday posts presenting these personages.

Today, it’s my cousin. We’ll call him Chuck (his name is withheld to protect the innocent.)

Growing up, we’d meet several times a year at my Grandmother and Papa’s home for vacations — Christmas, weekends, and the epic, much-awaited, summer vacation.

Understandably, I was a bit precocious and inclined to be “good.” (I learned early that if I “behaved,” the grown-ups would leave me alone.)

Chuck, on the other hand, was a time bomb, a live wire, a walking “dare me.” Once when I first got my driver’s license (I was two years older) he took my car out and as we rushed down one of those incredibly steep hills leading to a valley, he thought it would be fun to pop the transmission into 2nd gear. At about 50 miles per hour. I thought it was a bad idea, but he did it anyway … fortunately, we didn’t leave the engine there on Elk Spur Road.

One Christmas a few years later, he thought it would be a good idea to go driving around and pop into a honky-tonk type bar beside the railroad tracks, where he orders and leaves with a tall-boy can of beer.

Then there were the mudball fights with our other, rival cousins: I was about 10 or so and this cousin, from another side of the family, comes by … of course we assault him with mudballs, but the next thing I know, he’s squealing back up to the house, and the adults are calling us in.

“Who hit Morris (not his real name)?” they asked us.

“It’s just mudballs. We were throwing them around.”

“Someone hit him with a rock,” they said. I had no idea what they were talking about … we were all in trouble, nonetheless. Later Chuck tells me he put rocks in the mudballs.

There are too many stories to tell, but let me end with this one, recounted to me by my sister this weekend:

At Grandmother and Papa’s house, we only had one rule … one real rule … and we weren’t supposed to break it. Just one rule. And that was No matches in the barn. That’s where Papa kept hay for the animals.

So Chuck decides to have a haunted house in the barn. And what does he do? He makes a scarecrow, stuffs it with hay … and uses firecrackers for his eyes.

Yep, we got in biiiiiig trouble for that one.

Our childhood days were magical at Grandmother and Papa’s house. And now, it’s been more than 40 years since we played together, building dams at the creek, spending chilly nights in the cabin Papa built us.

Papa died of lung cancer in 1976 and my grandmother is 92 years old.

Today, I’m a writer … one of the last of the Great Rule Makers.

And what about my crazy, rule-breaking, mud-ball loadin’, fire-cracker-lightin’ cousin?

Today, he makes his living as … a lawyer.

Tapped in

Tuesday, December 9th, 2008

TAP DANCE LESSON UPDATE

After six months of weekly tap dancing lessons … at last I can tap moi-self across a studio!!

It seemed a weekly torture session … mirrors the length of the room … humiliating failure every lesson … brutal confrontation with my own lack of coordination and writerly stiffness … despite those impediments … including way too much self-consciousness and formality … I have managed to tap dance!!

In a most rudimentary way, I must confess.

I have managed a compound step … pretty simple mind you … flap with one foot while doing buffaloes with the other foot … when I did that across the room last night at my lesson, I felt like … well … Ginger Rogers!!

Still working on the rather clumsy execution, however. Need to add arms, develop a style instead of lumbering … what-evs.

Have I learned anything? Find a good teacher. Try to get a few private lessons if possible. My teacher has spent time with me one-on-one to talk me through changes and combinations that aren’t clear in the class environment.

Not that I understand the fundamentals … I have no boundaries … my life-long dream of tap dancing is closer than ever. (Not giving up the day job, though.)

Wednesday, November 12th, 2008

A study of two novels
The Gold Bug Variations
and Darconville’s Cat

Why these two novels? They capture the elusive qualities that for me, take a novel beyond its words and make it a sublime window on humankind. One succeeds; one fails.

First, the failure.

Darconville’s Cat, by Alexander Theroux. I was so excited to find this book!! A great title, a tormented, intelligent narrator, a nontraditional structure. A cat in the title!! The plot, however, took the novel south and I kept reading, disappointed, nearly to the end.

Critics didn’t necessarily pan the book, nor have readers. Some sing its praises. Still, I felt betrayal, because of the books shabby plot, its superficial, cliched and sexist approach.

The narrator is a writing teacher at a Virginia girl’s school. Who falls in love with a student. Who is crushed when she leaves him.

First rule: Please, unless you’re Paul Auster, do not write about writers!!

After several solid chapters, once his girlfriend leaves him, the narrator falls into a funk, and so does the novel. In meandering chapters, the narrator vents, as you might say; expectorates in several thousand words.

The biggest indication that this book has failed? The fate of the beloved cat of the title is completely unresolved … in the middle of a rant, the narrator mentions that the animal ran away. There is no emotion, no sense of grieving or loss, not even a speed bump for the feline.

If you’re going to put a cat in the title, then you better be prepared to make it mean something.

Now, the success.

The Gold Bug Variations, by Richard Powers. Another novel written in a nontraditional form. Richard Powers is a fascinating writer. He studied physics, then instead of going off to calculate quantum projections, realized he wanted to write. He has worked as a computer programmer in addition to his writing.

His 2006 book The Echo Maker was a finalist for a Pulitzer Prize.

The plot focuses on a trio of DNA researchers, but as the name implies, Bach’s Goldberg Variations are also involved … music and its power over us. Like the great book (I’ve never finished) Godel, Escher and Bach, the Gold Bug Variations incorporates themes of all stripes — love, passion, science, melody, human striving and failure.

The framework, however, is striking for its unexpectedness. Anyone can write a love story set on a college campus (or a Virginia girl’s school). But who can pitch a love story among DNA researchers, with a beloved music-loving older scientist in the mix to give it heart?

In the end, despite the science, The Gold Bug Variations captures what it is to be human, to love and to hope, to search and to discover.

Do I feel touched by Mr. Powers’ work? Absolutely. Do I feel betrayed by Mr. Theroux’s? Yes.

Novels are profoundly complex, emotional creations. Until a writer can be humble, we cannot succeed. I believe Mr. Powers brings that humility to his work, and that’s what gives it life.

Rave ‘Reviews’

Monday, November 3rd, 2008

Book reviews are unlike other writing. They are both opinion and when done right, nonfiction.

Nothing beats sitting on the couch with the NY Times Books section or the NY Review of Books and savoring those dense pages. I’ve been known to keep those sections around for weeks, dipping into them one review at the time to enjoy each book and author.

Because the author’s voice is very important in a book review: It’s easy to understand why writers have gone after these reviewers with feuds that last decades. Some reviewers are just horrible … but when they are deliciously clever, it makes fine reading.

A well-done book review is a pleasure. So what makes an ordinary book review an elusive gem? Good book reviews should have ample information — about the period in question for a book, about the author, about his or her subject. A book reviewer should pack his or her review with good stuff — philosophy, religion, politics — and lots of it.

In other words, don’t just tell me about the book, or even worse, your opinion of it. (Everyone has an opinion.)

No, for your book review, give me the history of the Assyrian Empire, the philosophy of lost Atlantis, the hidden romance between a concubine and the queen. Then, in that rich bed of storytelling, you can tell me about the book.

In honor of the noble book review, I am adding links to my home page that will take you to some of the best in book reviews.

Each day I receive the “Review a Day” from Powell’s Books. No matter how busy I am I try to read it; many reviews I print and savor on a Saturday afternoon.

If you have suggestions for book review sites please add them as comments.

Survivor: Vista

Thursday, October 30th, 2008

TECH THURSDAY

So I’m feeling all proud of myself for buying a new computer with Vista last summer — people, the 64-bit version!! — and Microsoft up and rolls out a new version of Windows.

Well, I’m not going anywhere.

I spent several days researching new laptops and this one has 4 GB RAM — that’s what Vista calls a decent meal. I’m fond of the Aero design … that gives me translucent borders around my panels as I work. I love the ability to have 20 windows open at a time … while I listen to iTunes … and play Majong …

Much has been made of the security warnings. Well, darn it, I like the feeling that my computer is reaching out for help. When you work by yourself all day long the way many of us writers do, it’s nice to have someone to talk with. I feel needed by my computer. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I also like being able to flip through my active window panels. OK, so I rarely have time to fiddle with it, but it’s a great way to sift through files when I think of taking advantage of it.

Did I mention sidebar? Yep, love having a clock and CPU meter.

With tongue firmly in cheek, this non-geek’s t-shirt says, VISTA PRIDE.

TOMORROW: FIGURATIVELY SPEAKING FRIDAY