Ilsa J. Bick's Blog, page 34

December 2011 Recommended Reads, Listens, and Looks

So, you've noticed this is a week late? Blame ADR3NALIN3, the brand-spanking-new blog and brainchild of Jordan Dane, award-winning adult and YA novelist. Jordan contacted me about joining in on the fun late last year and after some hemming and hawing–and a relentless barrage of counter-arguments to my arguments–I'm happy and proud to be part of this group blog. In addition to Jordan, my fellow authors are: Brett Battles (a major player in the world of adult thrillers; I was in the audience when none other than Lee Child introduced Brett's very first thriller, THE CLEANER);Michele Gagnon; Dan Haring; Jennifer Archer; Chris Grabenstein; A.G. Howard; Carol Tanzman; Wendy Corsi Staub. Be sure to drop on by.

Anyway, my posts are scheduled for every other Monday. As luck would have it, my first post coincided with when I would have posted my December picks and I'll be honest: I punted this post to the following week.

So, without further ado:

 

READS

Brandenburg, Jim;.Chased by the Light: A 90-Day Journey. (Creative Publishing International; Minneapolis, MN, 2001) If you're a lover of National Geographic, then you've seen Brandenburg's work. An award-winning photographer, Brandenburg gave himself an unusual challenge: no more than one photograph a day for ninety days. His goal was to try and capture the most perfect image he could on any particular day, without relying on the ability to take reams of films and then hunt for a great shot, something he'd grown used to and which, he felt, might actually be keeping him from truly immersing himself in the moment of that one, perfect shot. The result is this book of ninety photographs taken in and around his home in the Boundary Waters region of northern Minnesota. Some are just wonderful; others are only okay. But I admire the guy for doing what writers attempt all the time, too: breaking out of that comfort zone. (The book is also available as an iTunes app, with added video and audio commentary. I hate to say it, but on a nice screen, those colors just pop in a way they can't on paper.)

Douglas-Fairhurst, Richard; Becoming Dickens: The Invention of a Novelist. (Belknap Press; Cambridge, MA, 2011)  As my blog-mate Christ Grabenstein pointed out, February 7, 2012 marks the 200th anniversary of Charles Dickens's birth. To celebrate the occasion, the Museum of London   has mounted what I hear is a very impressive exhibit detailing the London Charles Dickens knew.  As you might expect, a couple of new biographies are now making the rounds as well. This is one, and it's very different from others I've read because it restricts its focus to Dickens in th 1830s, when he was in the process of becoming the novelist we think of–and believe we know–today. In a way, this book is a study about creating something with which we're all familiar: a brand name. We all know that Dickens worked in a blacking factory, but how many people know that he did so for only for a year? That his father, John Dickens, was sent to Marshalsea, the debtors prison, for a relatively short eight months? I'm not trying to diminish the trauma of these early experiences but merely highlighting that the image of a traumatized, destitute, and ill-used young boy is not only an indentity we associate with Dickens but one which the author himself returned to, obsessed over and expanded upon in his relentless drive toward recognition and success. This book is a chronicle of an author in the process of finding himself–of identities tried on for size (Dickens the actor, Dickens the playwright) as well as those identities (Dickens the child laborer, Dickens the social champion, Dickens the author) which he created and for which he's remembered. Dickens is a man worth studying not only for his fiction, which both so closely played upon and with the sensibilities of his day, but for practically inventing the author-as-celebrity.

Dwyer, Jim and Flynn, Kevin; 102 Minutes: The Unforgettable Story of the Fight to Survive Inside the Twin Towers. (Times Books; New York, 2004)  Yeah, I know; you think you know what happened on 9/11 and, probably, you do. Published three years after the attack on the WTC, this book brings to light events and names I'll bet you don't know. Pieced together from survivors' recollections as well as reminiscences from loved ones who received texts and phone calls, this book takes you inside the Towers and bears witness not only to carnage and desperation (all those who jumped from the North Tower) but amazing acts of heroism, as well as a harrowing moment: when Stanley Praimnath watches United 175 speeding for his window on the 81st floor in the South Tower.

Fatsis, Stefan; Word Freak: Heartbreak, Triumph, Genius, and Obsession in the World of Competitive ScrabblePlayers. (Penguin; New York, 2002)  With all the fuss about Alec Baldwin and Words with Friends, this seemed a timely book. I mean, I love Scrabble as much as the next verbal obsessive, but I never gave much thought about the origins of the game (developed by Alexander Mosher Butts, a nearly down-and-out architect, in 1938 and an iteration that reflected a reworking of his original word game, Lexico) nor the people who eat, sleep and breathe the thing. I don't know what possessed this reporter to spend a year delving into the wacky world of competition Scrabble, but this is one amazingly entertaining book. Following several competition-class players, Fatsis penetrates the inner sanctum of the Scrabble circuit. Clearly, it takes a special kind of person to memorize word lists or look at and re-arrange a jumble into something recognizable, but what you don't realize is just how off-the-wall some of these guys–and they are guys, by and large–are. But after reading this, did I start looking at ordinary words and try making new ones? Oh, you bet. A seriously addictive read.  They made a documentary about this, too.  Think I'll check into it for this next month.

Rogak, Lisa; The Dogs of War: The Courage, Love, and Loyalty of Military Working Dogs. (St. Martin's Griffin; New York, 2001)  You hear about them on the news; the most famous has to be Cairo, the military working dog (MWD) that accompanied the SEALs who stormed Osama Bin Laden's compound. While not perfect and a little glossy, Rogak's book does a nice job of both documenting the history of the US's use of MWDs and what it takes to make a dog an effective warrior. If I have any complaint about the book, it is that it reads as something quickly dashed off to take advantage of a specific historical moment. As an overview, however, this is a fine read.

Smith, Alexander Gordon;  Lockdown: Escape from Furnace, I. (Farrar, Straus and Giroux; New York, 2009)  The only reason I picked up this book was because I saw reviews for the fourth book in the series, Fugitive, and wanted to see what all the fuss is about. I'm not sure how to characterize this book. In a nutshell, the story follows the misadventures of fourteen-year-old Alex Sawyer, a British teen wild enough to engage in a life of B&Es and yet tortured enough to feel real horror and remorse when a chum dies in the middle of their last job. In a society fed up with teens on the rampage, the authorities sentence Alex to life in Furnace, an underground, max-security nightmare where the inmates–all of them juvenile offenders–are terrorized by by surgically-created monsters, hellish (and skinless) dogs, and other bizarre creatures. A friend recently told me that one of my books was quite violent, but let me tell you: I ain't got nothing on Smith. The guy is unsparing in his detail. While there's not much "story" per se–if you're looking for a book about prison life amongst incarcerated teens, this ain't it–this is one wild, adrenaline-infused ride.

 

LISTENS

Dickens: Dark London: The Seven Dials (Creative Brothers and Sisters, LTD; 2011) While I listened to several audiobooks, I found none of them particularly enthralling. BUT I did stumble across something that I guess you'd call both a listen and a look. DICKENS: Dark London is actually an app and the first in a series of interactive graphic novels (which I never, ever read; I'm just not into graphic novels, okay?). The first installment is free (so you've got nothing to lose) and was released to coincide with the opening of of London's Dickens exhition I referenced above and which runs through June 10, 2012. As hauntingly illustrated by David Foldvari and with maps of the time juxtaposed against current-day London as well as text taken from Dickens's Sketches by Boz (and read by a fabulous Mark Strong), this first installment is a visual and aural delight. They can't release the second installment, Newgate Prison, fast enough. If this were printed up tomorrow, I'd buy it . . . well, only if Strong's narration were somehow included. Just . . . GREAT.

 

LOOKS

Margin Call (J.C. Chandor, 2011)  This was a very quiet, really intense movie and the story is like that of the WTC: we think we know what happened when the bubble burst and the financial markets flirted with collapse in 2008. This film takes us into the inner workings of one firm and spans the twenty-four hours during which an enterprising junior risk analyst (Zachary Quinto, most emphatically not getting on his Sylar) uncovers a disaster-in-the making: the almost certain collapse of a mega-firm which has made a fortune buying up worthless mortgages. What follows is a bloodbath as the firm debates how to cut its losses even as it slits its own throat by destroying other firms it entices to buy what are, essentially, worthless pieces of paper. You won't understand all the jargon; I know I didn't; but then again, neither do some of the principals–and they own this stuff! A fabulous cast–Jeremy Irons, Stanley Tucci, Demi Moore, Paul Bettany, Simon Baker–make this a wonderful experience, certain to mesmerize.

Mission Impossible-4: Ghost Protocol (Brad Bird, 2011)  Is there anything I can really say about this film that you don't already know? Tom Cruise. Stunts. Explosions. Action. Chase scenes. Great clothes. More action. Persol sunglasses. Paula Patton in a jade-green gown that shows plenty of leg. Cruise's midnight blue tuxedo. An absolutely hysterical Simon Pegg. And–wait for it–a drool-worthy Jeremy Renner who looks awfully good in that silver skintight high-techie suit. The plot's immaterial. Go have fun.

ASHES Book Trailer

Some lovely kids from Devizes School in the UK did an ASHES book trailer for a project.  Well, the result is fabulous.  You can see how hard these kids worked, and I am honored they chose my book.

Enjoy this.  I love it.  HUZZAH to all involved!

 

WHITE SPACE goes to Egmont USA

As reported today on PM:

Children's: Young Adult

Ilsa Bick's WHITE SPACE, pitched as The Matrix meets Inkheart, about a seventeen-year-old girl who jumps between the lines of books and into the white space where realities are created and destroyed – but who may herself be nothing more than a character written into being from an alternative universe, to Greg Ferguson at Egmont, in a two-book deal, by Jennifer Laughran at Andrea Brown Literary Agency (NA).

Foreign: Taryn Fagerness Agency

 

ADR3NALIN3

Today marks the kickoff of a new group blog of which I'm proud and honored to be a member: ADR3NALIN3. The pros you'll find here all enjoy rides on the dark and wild side; in fact, I remember when Brett Battles's thriller, THE CLEANER, was introduced by none-other than Lee Child at one of the first Thrillerfest conventions.

WHO WE ARE:

ADR3NALIN3 is the brainchild of a group of authors who write the dark side of middle grade and teen fiction. We are far from cozy and we don't do warm and fuzzy. When you send us emails during the early morning hours to tell us you've lost another night of sleep reading our books, we secretly do a strange "happy" dance that is borderline Voo Doo Hoo Doo.

We want to make your skin crawl and your heart beat faster as you venture deeper into the dark recesses of our imaginations. Reality can be overrated or just plain scary. We offer you a savory feast of chilling contemporary thrillers, eerie mysteries, fantasies from your worst nightmares, and our bent and twisted take on the paranormal.

Come hungry and enjoy!

Since I'll be dropping by with a post there every other Monday, the honor of the New Year's first post is mine.  So check it out. Even if I've enumerated these resolutions before, they're worth revisiting.

Speaking of which . . . time for me to get to work

The Bicks 'n Flicks: Time for moo goo and a movie!

Source Code is just one of the flicks the Bicks will be screening this year with their moo goo.  Want to see all ten?  Check out my guest post for Smugglivus 2011

 

My Number One

If you're a Stephen King fan–and even if you're not–chances are you've either seen or heard about MISERY. Just in case you need a little refresher:

I really like that film. The trailer's soundtrack is a very cute touch, too. The music's not from this film at all but ALIENS. As I recall, a bunch of '90s horror films re-purposed that music for their trailers and here, it's very appropriate even if the monster in MISERY wears Kathy Bates' face.

Now this post isn't about monsters or stalkers or obsessed fans. While all that is very interesting, that particular post will have to wait for another day. But I do want to talk a bit about fans, not the rabid Annie-types posited by MISERY, but those folks out there who read our books and then find the courage to write to us in the first place.

What started me thinking about this was something I heard from a young fan who'd written to tell me how much she enjoyed ASHES and then my Skype-in to her class. We chit-chatted a bit on Facebook and after we'd gone back and forth awhile, she admitted that she really hadn't thought I would answer back in the first place.

That kind of floored me. It would never have occurred to me NOT to answer a fan (so long as the note isn't abusive, of course), but then again, it's not as if I'm DELUGED with fan mail or anything. If that ever does happen, I suppose I'll have to tailor my replies accordingly. But what I've found so far is that fans often have interesting questions or they just want to express their enjoyment, and I'm all about that. Fans can surprise you, too; there's one young lady with whom I've corresponded about environmental issues who's really taken the proverbial bull by the horns and gotten involved in conservation. She's got big plans–and knowing that I helped get her started is great.

But that one fan's expectation that I wouldn't respond got me thinking about fandom in general and why we sometimes feel the need to act upon the impulse to express our admiration to a complete stranger.

I know whereof I speak. So far, I've written exactly three fan letters: two to actors and one to a novelist. The first I wrote when I was pretty young–mid-teens, I think–and to an actor I'd seen on stage in Hamlet. He was flat-out fabulous and, yes, good-looking. So I screwed up my courage and wrote a letter thanking him for the performance. I do recall that I didn't expect to hear a thing back.

But, to my complete amazement, he actually responded. As I recall, the reply was pretty standard: thanks for writing, glad you enjoyed it, that kind of thing. But I was over the moon. Here was this guy I admired and he'd written back to me. It was cool. Did this start something, like a back and forth pen-pal kind of thing? Of course not. I'd said what I had to say and that was that. But I do remember being thrilled.

I wrote my second fan letter when I was much older–like, two or three years ago, I think–and to an author whose work I'd just read for the first time. I had so enjoyed the story that I just had to let him know. Why? Beats me, but I do know that I told him that I hoped to be able to write as well someday. Now, he is way more famous that I could ever hope to be and I wasn't expecting anything. But he did write back. Nothing long or anything, just a couple lines scrawled on a newsletter, but that was still cool.

What was more interesting, though, was my response. I think it had something to do with me being quite a bit older and with similar aspirations . . . but I wrote back and not with something arbitrary either. He'd raised a point in his reply, and I answered in kind. In contrast to my first letter, though, that time I got no response at all.

Now, was I crushed? Not really, although I remember feeling a little disappointed. Like . . . shoot. In retrospect, I recognize the emotion for what it was: a very small fantasy on my part. See, if this author had written back and we began to correspond, then we were kinda, sorta equals, right? It would have been a little crumb, something that I would have seen as an omen that I might someday "arrive" as a writer.

Silly? Sure. Famous people are busy people, and every moment a writer spends writing to fans is one he can't get back–and if the job is to write, well, that's time taken from a work-in-progress. So I do understand that, and I also get that there are limits to the interactions any actor/writer/celeb can be expected to accommodate. But just because I'm all grown up now doesn't mean I'm above a little magical thinking.

I guess the point here is that I can appreciate both sides of that proverbial coin and that we, as writers, need to be sensitive to both our needs and those of our fans. It takes tremendous courage to reach out to someone you admire. You're making yourself vulnerable and available for rejection. Psychologically, I think we're talking about the same impulse that impels a kid who's drawn a picture or written a story or gotten a good grade to run and show this to a parent. What's the kid asking for? Validation, pure and simple: the kid's looking for that special smile, the sparkle in that parent's eye . . . something that tells the child that she is valuable and worthwhile. Being admired by a parent is huge in terms of self-esteem, something Winnicott recognized when he wrote about the importance of the mirroring role of a parent. He described mothers, but we could just as easily be talking about dads, grandparents, or any parental-figure. What Winnicott pointed out was that a child sees herself reflected in the look of a parent. By extension, what a child sees there tells her not only how that parent feels about her but provides the child the template by which she comes to know herself. Simply put, the parent's face is a child's mirror. If you see that you are valued, you learn to value yourself. Really, it's all about who's the fairest of them all. (But take a moment to think how soul-crushing it might be for a kid who sees herself mirrored only as sadness or depression or, worse, not at all.)

So I think that need for validation had something to do with why I screwed up my courage to send those fan letters. I admired those people. In the case of the writer, I wanted to be like him and most kids do feel that way about one or both parents at some point or other in their lives. Receiving a reply from first the actor and then the author gave me a sense of being, well, there, being seen: valuable enough to be noticed and regarded and looked at. I was the fairest of them all, someone singled out for special notice, if only for a moment.

The take-home here is simple and easy to overlook: when a fan gets in touch, it's important to recognize she's taking the chance you're going to ignore her. In a way, she's putting herself on the line here; for that instant, you hold her feelings in your hands. Yes, yes, I know that sounds melodramatic, but think back to that kid who was shocked that I'd written back at all. What must her sense of self-worth be? Of course, she's valuable!

Now, are there limits to what we can accommodate? Sure–and as I said, maybe I'll post about that at a later date. But keep in mind that what most fans are doing is nothing more than expressing gratitude for a job well-done. I don't know about other writers, but I write to entertain and communicate. For me to acknowledge that, yes, you are there and I see you, isn't only polite. It is essential. Remember: I opened this conversation by writing the book. It is only human and humane to reply.

November 2011 Recommended Reads, Listens, and Looks

Jam-packed with work on SHADOWS and Thanksgiving, November went by fast.  Where did the time go?  I didn't have much for extracurricular stuff, but what I did manage to squeeze in was well worth the effort.  Having said that, I also had some reservations about what I read/listened to this month but not enough to suggest that the material isn't worth your time.

READS

James, Nick. Skyship Academy: The Pearl Wars  (Flux; Woodbury, MN: 2011).  James takes a by-now familiar trope–a post-apocalyptic, dystopian scenario–and adds a bit of a twist by throwing in some very good world-building and sci-fi into this coming-of-age story of two boys who start out as enemies and wind up . . . well, not exactly as friends but certainly allies.  Earth has been devastated by war.  The surviving factions–the Skyships, The Fringers and the Unified Party–have their agendas, among which is the acquisition of Pearls: balls of energy that fall to Earth and, once procured, provide much-needed power upon which both the Skyships and UP depend.  The story centers on two boys, Cassius (United Party) and Jesse (Skyship), and there's a fair amount of Machiavellian shenanigans going on, but the gist is that Cassius, who meets Jesse at the very beginning of the book and then changes in some very interesting ways, is sent on a mission to infiltrate Skyship Academy, find Jesse and kill him for reasons that don't become clear until much later in the book.  Much of the rationale is much too involved to summarize here–and would only spoil the read–but suffice to say that each kid has a shadowy past and more in common than they realize.  Since this is a novel of discovery, they learn more about themselves, one another and–most importantly–the Pearls.  Of the various elements here, I enjoyed finally understanding what the Pearls were and found it the most inventive.  I will be honest, too; while the world-building was good, too much of this book was spent telling rather than letting us discover through the read.  This slowed the book's pace quite a bit and I found myself bored for a fair number of pages right off the bat.  I kept on because I was curious enough to do so, and of the two main characters, I actually thought that Cassius was better done and much more interesting.  Maybe it's just something I've got about bad boys, but I find tortured souls to be far more intriguing than awkward ones; I actually found Jesse a little tedious and predictable.  Nevertheless, the book is worth sticking with; the premise of the Pearls was quite unique and a nice surprise.

King, Stephen. 11/22/63: A Novel (Scribner; New York: 2011).  Okay, I'm going to be very upfront here: I had problems with this book.  While well-crafted, very engaging, and superbly plotted, my biggest nit is that I simply didn't believe in this narrator or his mission.  I know this is heresy–especially for me, since I worship King–but let me explain.  I don't spoil anything by saying that the premise here is very simple: a teacher goes back in time in an effort to prevent the Kennedy assassination.  Along the way, he also prevents a couple other tragedies and falls in love–and that's all I'm gonna say about plot.

Here was my problem: the narrator is supposed to be 35.  I'm sorry, but I don't believe it, didn't believe it, couldn't find a single place in the book where I believed that for a second. Jake/George uses none of the language you'd associate with a guy who was born in 1977; he doesn't think like a kid of the 80s or young adult of the 90s; he uses virtually no contemporary references at all nor do his thoughts reflect much of anything that would actually have impacted a young man growing up in the US over the last thirty-some years.  In fact, the one time when he's caught out is about the only time in the entire narrative when he spouts some slang.

Yet this guy does seem to know a lot and care about Kennedy, Vietnam, Martin Luther King, etc., which was simply not believable, not for a character who was 19 in 1994 and whose most traumatic event would be something like, well, 9/11.  Please don't misunderstand me; Kennedy, Vietnam, civil rights . . . these are all important subjects and clearly have valence for King.  (Anyone who doubts that ought to read Hearts in Atlantis.)  But I don't know many people in their 30s who are all that concerned about or even know much about what happened back in the early 60s.  Heck, I know virtually no kids these days who have more than a rudimentary understanding/knowledge of those very turbulent times.  Saving Kennedy and, maybe, preventing Vietnam just wouldn't have that kind of emotional tug for a 30-something.  This may strike you as very sad–and it should–but going back in time to stop Oswald from assassinating Kennedy isn't like going back to stop, say, Hitler or 9/11–which, for me, would have been more believable given the character's age.  Jake/George sounded and thought like a much older man, and that really kept throwing me out of the narrative on multiple occasions.  Upping the ante by trying to provide Jake/George with a reason to save Kennedy–in order to prevent Vietnam which would then, putatively, save the guy Jake originally had in mind–didn't really work for me and, in fact, I found most of the subsequent Oswald/Kennedy stuff pretty flat.  So seeing if or how Jake prevented the assassination wasn't the reason I read and was enthralled by this book (so much so that I bought it in three different media–audio, Kindle and hardcover–just to keep on with this story regardless of where I was or what I happened to be doing).

What makes this a novel well worth your time is King's mastery of his craft, his sheer ability to tell a fabulous story, warts and all.  Love is the heart and soul of this book not Kennedy or Oswald.  Readers familiar with King's other works will find plenty of references to those stories, and while that adds to the fun, a detailed knowledge of It or The Dark Tower Series isn't necessary to enjoy this book.  This story ends the way it has to; as a reader, you know that right from the get-go.  But that doesn't stop you from wishing that it might be otherwise, and while there is loss in this book of the very worst kind, there is also bittersweet redemption.  At the end of the day, what survives and sustains the past is love.

Wells, Robison.  Variant (HarperTeen; New York, 2011).  Having been bounced around in the foster care system for years, Benson Fisher ends up at Maxfield Academy, a cloistered private school.  What looks like an opportunity for this lonely, outcast kid quickly degenerates into a nightmare scenario.  Maxfield Academy is a bit like a roach motel: bugs check in, but they don't check out.  There are no teachers; the kids run the classes; food and supplies are delivered via an elevator (reminiscent, actually, of The Maze Runner, whose Lord of the Flies dystopian premise certainly informs this book); and the kids have divided up into gangs; and those kids who break the rules enough to warrant "detention" never return.  It was a fun-enough scenario to get me interested, and the book's pacing was just great . . .

Until I hit a major reveal that happens about, oh, halfway through the book, I think.  It was such a jarring and unexpected reveal that I actually stopped reading because there really wasn't much in the way of clues or preparation.  The thing felt as if it came out of the blue, a little like bringing in the aliens.  It really is a deus ex machina moment, literally. There's just no getting around that.

But I let myself simmer down, and then instead of chucking the book, I just did a mental shrug and kept going.  The book is a fun, fast read and if it were not for that stumble, I wouldn't have any problems with this at all.  While I saw the final plot twists and end coming, that didn't keep me from reading right up until the end either.  So, if you can get past the big reveal–and I'd encourage you to–you won't be sorry.  I'll be interested to see where the sequel goes with this.

 

LISTENS

King, Stephen. 11/22/63: A Novel (narrated by Craig Wasson; Simon and Schuster Audio, 2011).  Wasson narrated portions of King's anthology, Full Dark, No Stars, and just as he did a fine job there, he does one here as well.  This is a splendid audiobook–BUT Wasson's voice only confirms for me what I felt reading this novel.  Wasson's voice isn't that of a 35-year-old; he sounds about mid-late 50s, even early 60s, and because of that, I had a doubly difficult time getting past my problems with the narrative.  Even so, I didn't regret a single moment of the narration; of the more recent narrators used for King's works, only Campbell Scott and Steven Weber are better.  So this really is worth your time and if you get as caught up in the more important elements of this story as I did, then you'll want this audiobook so you can keep going regardless of whether you're driving the car or cooking dinner.  There are sections that are so good, I just didn't want to get out of the car and dinner was frequently way more involved than it had any right to be.

 

LOOKS

Engineering Evil (History Channel; air date 11/15/11). It was Hitler who wrote, "Propaganda is a truly terrible weapon in the hands of an expert."  Years ago, that proposition was explored in-depth at the Holocaust Museum in D.C. in an exhibition entitled, "State of Deception: The Power of Nazi Propaganda."  Having seen that exhibition and also owning the book, I figured there wasn't much left for me to understand about just how the Nazis went about engineering the Holocaust.  So this documentary was, well . . . I won't say pleasant surprise.  I will say that this documentary had new material organized in a very concise and easily understandable way demonstrating precisely what Hitler meant and how propaganda engineered the German population–socially, politically and economically–into accepting and embracing the unimaginable: the wholesale destruction/extermination of a people.  From a board game–where you "win" by robbing the Jew of all his possessions and running him out of town–to kids' books about evil Jews to roving kill-squads (Einsatzgruppen), this documentary provides a fascinating glimpse into a political and propaganda machine whose likes we can only hope to never see again.  Have there been other genocides and are some ongoing?  Absolutely.  But the brute efficiency here is stunning and horrifying, rendered in eyewitness testimonies, stills, and full-color films of the Warsaw Ghetto: of pedestrians walking by, going about their business as bodies litter the streets. Absolutely excellent documentary that could find a place as a supplement to any high school classroom.

Vietnam in HD (History Channel, premiere 11/09/11). This must've been my month for documentaries. This super six-hour miniseries follows the U.S.'s escalating involvement in Vietnam, from Operation Rolling Thunder (the first major engagement of the war) through the Tet Offensive and on to the war's end, with America's withdrawal and the fall of Saigon in 1975. Those who know very little about this war will find plenty to ponder; those with knowledge will still get quite a bit from this documentary which follows individual soldiers–some dead and those still living–throughout. The HC originally had these episodes available on-line. Unfortunately, those links no longer work, but you can find the episodes on Youtube. In addition, with the DVD release, there is plenty of opportunity here to learn and lots to think about. This ought to be required watching regardless of age.

The Psychology of Snarky

A comment I've heard quite a bit from people who've met me is that I seem way too nice to have crafted such a dastardly novel as ASHES or be as fascinated by the evil that people do as I am.  By and large, this is true; I try to be very polite, always.  I keep a lid on my nasties and a proclivity toward snarkiness.  Life is hard enough.

Yet I'm very focused on snarky at the moment.  The psychology of snarkiness–being so very hypercritical–is probably related to envy and self-esteem.  We're all familiar with how people seek out the vulnerable and put down the less fortunate so they can feel better about themselves.

I think that's  related to my latest bout of the ugly green envies.  (Snarkies, by any other name, would be as bilious.) At the moment, I'm in the middle of a book that is by turns fascinating and maddening.  It's by an author I both admire and really, really envy, so I know that I'm going to be like Usher in that old Poe story: liable to vibrate at the slightest puff of ill wind.

Here's the thing: the book is much, much better than the last by this same author.  Much better.  It's just a better story.  The characters are well-drawn.  There's not a caricature in sight, a real problem in the last book. (Which I never managed to finish either: this bothers me no end.  I just lost interest.  I could see where the story was going, and I didn't CARE.  That bothers me, but I let it go.  Not even the gods get it right every time.)

But . . . this story's not quite believable.  That is, I keep getting booted out of the narrative for a variety of reasons: the main protag doesn't sound as if he's the age the author claims; for a guy supposedly that young, there are NO contemporary references; the protag cares about something that I find exquisitely difficult to believe a guy his age would either care or know much about; at a crucial point in the narrative–and out of the blue–the guy starts spouting contemporary expressions he NEVER thinks in and hasn't used before . . . I could go on.  It's simply maddening–and I think I find it so much more upsetting because where I could forgive this author for not grabbing me the last time, I think I'm pissed because I'm half-grabbed: invested enough to plow through and yet upset enough that I wonder why I'm bothering to continue.

If it sounds as if I'm having a real teenage moment here–right on, bro.  You know the one where you discover your parents aren't perfect, and then you get pissed?  Like . . . what the hell, who are you to tell me what to do?  You know where that feeling comes from, don't you?  Every kid needs to feel protected.  Every child has to believe a parent can do anything because that is, in part, where a person's confidence comes from.  I'm not putting that well . . . but what I mean is that if you don't believe, at heart, that you can do anything, it's really hard to leave the house, find a job, struggle through life.  Kids and teens can seem quite infuriating because, for them, it IS all-about-them.  It has to be, a little bit at least, because if you have no store of grandiose self-worth, there's nothing to give to anyone else and no incentive to do so either.  You really can't be forgiving because to do so–to give someone the benefit of the doubt–implies that you can absorb hurt and disappointment and life will not come to an end.  Forgiving doesn't mean that one must forget, but you have to get past the hurt, too.  For a ton of kids, getting hurt really HURTS; there's no sense of future or that they'll pull through and this will not be the worst thing that ever happens to them.  That is intimately related to self-worth: how much they've got in that emotional bank account.

This translates to the rest of life, too.  As a trainee, I was always trying to one-up my teachers; I was an infuriating intern, I know, and I could bluster with the best of them.  But that was much more related to my insecurities than their inadequacies.  It is harder to admit to not knowing something than to pretend you've got that covered, thanks.  Admiting to inadequacy is like that bad dream of coming to a math test unprepared.  Fear of failure–worse, knowing that you just might be–is a powerful incendiary and sparks a bad case of the snarks every time.

As a reader–and a writer–I'm on the same emotional seesaw, caught between admiring the craft and being completely pissed that what this writer can get away with, I never would.  And that, I think, is the crux of it, this unwelcome case of the snarkies: this is about my sense of worth as a writer.  I want to be as good as this author, and I know I never will be.  This writer is WAAAYYY up there, at the tippy-top of K2 where the gods live, and I'm still struggling to get much above base camp.  Now I also know that I am being overly dramatic and part of my snarky is related to over-valuing this writer, kind of like, well, a parent, right?  So my sense of disappointment is only that much more pointed, and I can't be an impartial judge.

The take-home, if there is one, is this: struggling through snarky is much harder than simply giving in and going with the impulse to see only the dead tree in the woods. Writers are fragile creatures.  Like teens teetering on the threshold of adulthood, we need to believe we know what we're doing.  It takes courage to write something and then send it out there to get hammered and rejected.  Every submission feels like the first time. Every rejection still hurts. We are apt to read other books where we just can't see what all the fuss is about–and our job is harder because we have to be honest enough with ourselves to know when we're reading through the green spectacles of envy, or when the anger and annoyance we feel is disproportionate.  There is no earthly reason why I should be SO torqued about this book.  I mean, for heaven's sake, it's just a STORY.  But it's the baggage I bring TO the story that influences how I read and what I take away.  Snarkiness has a real weight to it, and as a writer, I frequently have to shuck that sucker.

Does this mean I shouldn't be critical?  Of course not.  Snarkiness aside, I really do think that there are a lot of places in this particular book that just don't work and feel inauthentic; the premise is one I really don't care about.  It's a non-issue for me, one I simply don't get or see as that relevant, and I recognize that as private taste.  Those are good takeaways for me.  But what also stands out in this book is the complete command this writer has of the craft.  Understanding how this author does this is worth putting aside doubt.  It's like looking at a parent and saying, okay, I don't really like how you did that, Dad, or Mom, I think I'd put more salt or a different spice in that casserole.  How I feel shouldn't invalidate what is good  and what works in that casserole–or this narrative.  In other words, a kid shouldn't become his or her parents, and I have to continue to become my own writer with a unique voice.

A lot of work to overcome envy and irritation?  Oh, you bet.  But who said that this work was easy?

October 2011 Recommended Reads, Listens and Looks

One thing I gotta say about touring: the things that normally aggravate the heck out of you–flight delays, protracted time in the air, downtime waiting for the next flight, a particularly bad in-flight movie–can be a real boon for a reader. Suffice to say, I read a ton this past month.  Again, it may have been my mood, but I found myself enjoying several books but then ultimately punting because a) they didn't hold my interest to the point where I wasn't skimming; b) a big reveal happened WITH NO FORESHADOWING AT ALL and completely ruined my read; or c) at least in one case, I was only so-so with the plot but entranced by the author's obvious skill with line-by-line writing… until the moment said-author had a character (medical doctor) say something completely outrageous and factually inaccurate.  (Trust me; I know whereof I speak here.)  Having said that, however, there are several books here with plenty of moxie and worthy of your time.

Audiobooks didn't fare well. I sat through one less-than-inspiring listen which left me fairly cold, though that might also be the fault of the story itself.  The writer is a favorite of mine, but I've been less than enraptured by his latest series.  Why I keep plugging away is related more to my previous experience (and enjoyment) of his work than this current offering, which is, I suspect, what the publisher's counting on.  I only find myself wishing this splendid writer would rediscover his mojo.

I saw no movies, save one and it was okay but not worth a rave.  Yet I discovered a WONDERFUL television series that's absolutely worth a look-see.

Without further ado:

READS

Child, Lee.  The Affair (Delacorte Press, 2011).  I can go as gaga as the next person when it comes to an author I admire.  (If Stephen King walked into this Starbucks this very second, count on me to spill my coffee all over him.  I would gaze from afar.  If I got too close, I'd gush.)  So, anyone following my tweets whilst I was overseas knows that I found myself always one step ahead of or behind Lee Child.  I mean it.  While in Dublin, I wandered into a little bookshop to sign stock only to discover that Child had been there a bare hour before.  Missed him that evening as he spoke in a local pub.  Was ahead of him at a Waterstone's in London.  Did my bit at the Cheltenham Literature Festival a bare 48 hours before he was due to speak by which point I was back in London.

So that sucks.

Now, writers get tired.  Some get formulaic and more than a few of the last Reacher thrillers have been less than stellar.  Entertaining enough and certainly well-written, but the old formula–Reacher wanders into small town backwater and sets things to rights (Child's said that his inspiration for the Reacher character was The Saint)–was getting pretty stale.  So was some of Child's writing, becoming so spare that Reacher sometimes felt like a slapdash pen-and-ink caricature: all outlines and no substance.

Does Child reinvigorate Reacher in this last thriller, The Affair?  Well, it was much better than the previous few offerings and enough so that I enjoyed the read.  In this 16th Reacher novel, Child's made a nice shift back to a strategy he's previously used to good effect in another Reacher novel, The Enemy: he goes backward.  Like that earlier novel, The Affair takes place in 1997 and finds Reacher still in the military: an Army MP and major dispatched to work undercover in a small, sleepy Mississippi backwater.  His investigation revolves around the murder of a local woman; the reason the Army cares at all is that the town's also home to an Army base filled with more than enough Rangers to have done the dastardly deed.  The enemy this time around is two-fold: besides the killer, Reacher's got to contend with military bureaucracy (been there, done that) in an era of drawdowns and cutbacks.  This is familiar Reacher territory in some ways; he's dealt with military infighting before and this time the corruption isn't confined to just a battalion or base. Throw in a female, ex-Marine sheriff who's got both grit and baggage (but, I'll be honest here: the extended sex scenes felt gratuitous, somewhat out of character for the series–sure, Reacher beds plenty of women, but the encounters are usually secondary to the action–and like filler, something to mark time before the next big reveal), and you have all the necessary ingredients for a bang-up, good read.  Child changes things up by shifting into Reacher's first-person POV (four other Reacher novels are also in first-person) and certainly establishes all the traits and quirks long-time readers of the series will recognize.

For my money, The Enemy was a more cleverly plotted, better-written book in terms of the workings and machinations of the military.  Still, every fan will find plenty to like here, and Child knows what he's doing.  He's a pro, and I appreciate and admire the craft here.   There is, however, no real mystery here about one thing: The Affair ends where The Killing Floor – Child's splendid first novel — picks up.  If you want to see how Reacher began, read how it all ended.

Haldeman, Joe. The Forever War (St. Martin's Griffin, reprint 2009).  I have a confession to make: before this book, I'd never read any of Haldeman's work.  Don't ask me why.  Given my interest in the military, I should've.  OTOH, and to be fair, I didn't read a bunch of military sci-fi when I was younger, and Haldeman, a Vietnam vet who clearly explores that war in his fiction, penned stories that didn't thrill me as much as, say, hard sci-fi.  And, honestly, I just wasn't interested in Vietnam back then, maybe because, as a young kid, I didn't understand what the war was really about and by the time I became a sentient human being, there were other things to worry about.  Vietnam was something to forget not dwell on and certainly nothing to really give any serious thought.

What an idiot.  Me, not Haldeman.

I picked up this classic of military sf while on layover in Chicago and so discovered what I've missed all these years.  Haldeman's writing is terse without descending into caricature, but there is also plenty of violence here (including sexual).  The strength of the story, though, doesn't reside with the characters or even, in many ways, the situation–to wit,  he science is actually quite hard-core; and the story is deceptively simple,the plot turning on a physicist turned soldier named William Mandella.  Earth is at war with a mysterious race, the Taurans, and the beauty of the conceit is that because of the vast distances involved in fighting this war, each battle is horrifically lopsided.  In other words, if you're traveling at near light-speed, but it still takes hundreds of years (in Earth time) to reach your target, the enemy has had those hundreds of years to perfect their weaponry.  By the time you reach your destination, you're already outgunned.  Battles are waged and the results aren't known for years afterward.  To say that this is an allegory about Vietnam or the futulity of war is almost too simplistic.  With its graphic violence (both battle-related and sexual), this novel reads much more like an extended case of PTSD.  Take the time to read this short and powerful novel.

Panek, Richard.  The 4% Universe: Dark Matter, Dark Energy, and the Race to Discover the Rest of Reality (Mariner Books, 2011).  This year, the 2011 Nobel Prize in physics went to three men–Saul Permutter, Brian Schmidt, and Adam Riess–for their discovery of what 96% of the universe is composed of: dark matter and the much more elusive, dark energy.  Does anyone really know what these things/entities are?  No, but they do make up the majority of the cosmos and dark energy appears to be responsible for the fact that our universe is neither static (as Einstein thought) nor are its boundaries beginning to collapse (as might be predicted by the inflationary/Big Bang model).   Instead, the universe is expanding, and it is doing so at an ever-increasing rate as galaxies accelerate away from one another.  Panek's book is not a scientific tome although there's a fair amount of easily understandable cosmology; you don't need to remember calculus to get what's going on here.  Panek has instead focused on the race toward discovery: the personalities involved, the misjudgments, and–to be fair–some subterfuge and academic backbiting.  Anyone who's involved in research will know whereof I speak; academics can be cunning, devious, ruthless, and egotistical.  But many are dogged, and most are relentless in their drive to understand the universe's deepest mysteries.  Some of this otherwise wonderful book is a slog; it bogs down a bit in the middle; but this is a book about personalities as much as it is about science.  The fun comes as you realize that the jury's still out on exactly what 96% of the universe is made of.

Schreiber, Joe. Au Revoir, Crazy European Chick (Houghton Mifflin, 2011).  Okay, I'm going to get this off my chest right off the bat: I don't care what the marketing people say, but this isn't a young adult novel.  Yes, you can make the protag eighteen; you can send him to prom; but that doesn't mean you've written a YA novel, especially when the protag acts and carries himself like, oh, a twenty-nine or thirty-something.  I wasn't convinced and I don't think most readers will be either.

Just so we're clear on that.

Having said that, this book was a blast.  Schreiber's also very active in the Star Wars universe, and if those books, which I've not read, even approach the fun and craft of his more popular novels (all of which I've read and of which Chasing the Dead is still my favorite) then those Star Wars fans are blessed.  Here, Schreiber crafts yet another fast-paced page-turner.  Think Ferris Bueller meets La Femme Nikita, and you'll get the picture.  This breezy, action-packed novel follows high school senior Perry Stormaire, who only wants to get into Columbia and finds himself been roped by his parents into taking their lumpish Lithuanian exchange student, Gobija Zaksauskas, to prom.  In very short order, Gobi reveals herself as anyting but boorish.  Gobi is a trained assassin, in stiletto heels no less.  What begins as the prom date from hell turns into a pedal-to-the-metal, high-octane ride through Manhattan as Gobi goes after her targets.  Despite the very real tragedy driving Gobi's behavior, it's very hard to take this at all seriously, largely because I suspect Schreiber had such fun figuring out how he was going to get his charcters out of their next jam.  Structuring each chapter around questions taken from college applications–What single word best describes you and why? (Princeton); What are the responsibilities of an educated person? (Yale); etc.)–is an inspired touch.

 

LISTENS

Zilch.  In the words of the immortal Guy from Galaxy Quest: Ohhh, that's not right.

LOOKS

Hmmm, that little clip's inspired me to take another look at Galaxy Quest, but that's neither here nor there.

Let me tell you about a very fun show.  It's called Homeland and airs on SHOW, right after Dexter (a show I'll get to at another time; not that I don't enjoy Dex, but I will come clean: I completely skipped last season.  Just . . . wasn't interested.).  Homeland's premise is very simple: what if a Marine, held for eight years in Iraq before being liberated, has been turned?  What if the man everything thinks is a hero is really a terrorist?  How do you catch him?  What makes him suspect–and are you sure that your suspicions aren't founded on your own obsessions?

That's it, in a nutshell, and it is brilliantly conceived and executed.  Even the show's intro is fabulous (and haunting; think about what's implied about a generation brought up in a news cycle replete with paranoia). Based on an Israeli series, Prisoners of War, Homeland is really a psychological thriller and revolves around CIA operations officer, Carrie Mathison, as she first investigates and then is consumed by her singled-minded, obsessional belief that Marine Sergeant Nick Brody has been turned by his Al Qaeda captors.  In her quest to expose Brody, she approaches the only person she trusts, Saul Berenson, CIA Middle-East Bureau chief and Carrie's mentor.

What complicates her investigation is not only the fact that she's alone in her belief but that Carrie might be seriously unhinged.  As in a barely controlled psychotic.  Popping clozapine (yes, a real live antipsychotic) supplied by her physician-sister, Carrie keeps her illness secret, knowing that she'll lose her job if anyone finds out.  (This is accurate, by the way.  I treated a couple intelligence folks back in the day, and they ALL kept their visits below the radar and off the books.)

It would be easy to dismiss Carrie as delusional, except that Brody really has changed.  Distant from his wife, estranged from friends, Brody is plagued by hallucinations and flashbacks.  Oh, and he secretly practices Islam in his garage.

The actors here–Claire Danes, Damien Lewis, and my favorite, Mandy Patinkin as Saul–are stellar.  The writing is spectacular; the reveals are skillful.  You get tons of clues, but you have to be paying attention, too.  What first seems to be  throwaway line isn't; everything you need to know is right there; and although I think I know what's going on, I'm not going to tell you.   Instead, watch the show and figure it out for yourself.  Oh, go on: you can see the first episode, in its entirety, on the Showtime site.  But be warned: this baby is addictive.

ASHES Across the Pond

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So the ASHES tour officially ended yesterday with that last visit to Chicago, and now it's time to recoup, regroup, re-enter my humdrum life.  In the process of returning me to my regularly-scheduled program, however, I remembered that I hadn't yet acknowledged all the wonderful kids I met across the pond, or thanked a bunch of people who welcomed me and my book to the UK and Ireland.  High time I got on that, I think, especially since so many kids have kept in touch.  So, a big round of thank-yous and shout-outs go to:

In Ireland: Ballymun Library for hosting and the kids of Trinity Comprehensive, Ballymun, and Scoil Chatriona for hanging around after, chatting and staying in touch.   Hiya, Lea, Sean!

To Roisin Beaver and all you crazy kids at Colaiste Cois Life: truly a pleasure.  Quick, everyone: rub Michael's head for good luck before his hair grows out!  And, yeah, Blinne, I sure can talk for my dinner

Sophie Hess, thank you for safely squiring me around Dublin.  Loved our side adventures, too

Aoife Murray of Children's Books Ireland, thank you so much for easing my way to Ballymun and inviting me to be part of your festival.  David Maybury, you are the nicest scoundrel I've ever met, but–please–ditch the cardigan, then we'll talk.  Fellow authors Sarah Rees Brennan and Peadar O'Guilin: thank you for making me feel so welcome.  Sarah, next time: you bring your foil, I'll come with my saber, and we make shish-kebab of David while Peadar referees.

In the UK:

Many thanks to Jane Churchill for inviting me to the Cheltenham Literature Festival.  Damien Kelleher, thank heavens you were there to keep Will Hill and David Gatward in line.  Honestly, if those boys had had their way, we'd have gone completely weapons-geeky on you.  Then who KNOWS what might have happened?

Oh, all you kids at Monk's Walk, you made my day!  Really, you and the guys at Colaiste Cois Life ought to meet; you'd get along great.  Adam Lancaster, thank you for rounding up some of the finest and most enthusiastic future librarians I've ever had the pleasure to meet.

You guys at Walworth Academy: we could've kept talking for quite a while, I'll bet.  And so many good questions!  You were excellent.

And to you ladies of St. Angela's Ursuline, thank you for allowing me to share your lunch time.  The young woman who had that wonderfully thoughtful response to my question about the difference between surviving and living: with a mind like that, you will go far.

The launch party was . . . spectacular.  Thanks to all the authors, bloggers, and editors who came to share in the fun.  Purl Bar, you went above and beyond; those zombie cocktails were something special and my martinis were mind-bogglingly good.  Special thanks to Stephen Jones: you were so gracious, I had to keep looking over my shoulder to see who you were talking about.  If someone ever craps out of an anthology and you're just stuck . . . Also, Jo Fletcher, a pleasure meeting you.  Congratulations on your new imprint!  And, yes, I've already put the bug in Quercus's ear: Brighton, 2013.  Now you may hound them without mercy.

(And, Nick: that was just the nicest thing you said.  Thank you.  I'm so glad you found something to enjoy in your work.)

Lastly, none of this would've happened without the terrific people of Quercus Children's watching my back.  Special thanks go to:

Roisin Heycock for snatching up ASHES in the first place;

Niamh Mulvey for tirelessly organizing and then executing my visit in such a stylish way (and, yes, a history lesson from you is welcome anytime, anywhere);

and to my devilish escort, Alice Hill: next time, the cake's on me.