Lilian Nattel's Blog, page 30
September 19, 2011
First Reading of Web of Angels
This was on my desk when I arrived home yesterday. I'd spent most of the day at the first McLaughlin Literary Festival in Oshawa, all of my wired energy drained by the time I got home. And then I saw this, made by my younger daughter, and pointed out to me by my older daughter.
It was a beautiful day, sun shining on zinnias and fountains at the Parkwood Estates. From the tent where I read, I could see the sparkling spray of water and the formal gardens and, at the end of the gardens, the hospital which was the inheritor of the McLaughlin estate.
The festival was held there because of Olga Filina, a young woman with long blonde hair and an Eastern European accent, who didn't give up on her vision of a literary festival there. She pursued the powers that be, year after year, until they agreed to lower their price for their premises to something feasible for the Friends of the Oshawa Public Library, an enthusiastic group of book lovers an hour train ride from downtown Toronto.
They had organized a fabulous roster of writers. I was energized, invigorated, delighted, heartened by listening to them read and having a few moments here and there to chat. The audience was diverse, old and young, some students from the local university who had volunteered (upon encouragement by one of their profs!).
The timing for me was perfect. Web of Angels will be out in February '12, and I had the chance to talk about it and read from it. I experimented with using my new netbook on the podium. I heard some of the questions that people may ask me about Web of Angels. But most of all what I loved about yesterday was connecting with readers, sharing my enthusiasm for literature in general and this project in particular. As I said to everyone yesterday, it's bigger than I am. I could feel the energy of it as I spoke, both in myself and in the people I spoke to.
When it was over, and the energy was gone, I was very tired. The train ride between Toronto and Oshawa is lined with trees and goldenrod. As the sun went down, I could see the lake and someone hang gliding, but I just wanted to get home. And there waiting for me, was my daughter's creation.
The energy wasn't gone after all. It was just in hiatus while my body rested. The energy, really, is the energy of love and connection. All we have to do is open our hands.
Filed under: Fun, Literary
September 16, 2011
children's book too hot for U.S.
Evolution published by Kids Can Press in Cda. Way to go! I'm ordering it. http://ow.ly/6whmt
Filed under: Miscellany
September 15, 2011
I'm Reading in Oshawa
This Sunday, the 18th, I'll be reading at 2:50 at the First McLaughlin Literary Festival! I'll be reading from The Singing Fire and talking about Web of Angels. Location: Parkwood Estates. I hope to see some of you there!
Filed under: Literary Tagged: Lilian Nattel reading 2011
September 13, 2011
September 12, 2011
The Lizard Cage: A review
Every once in a while, I read a book that I want to tell everyone to read. The Lizard Cage by Karen Connelly is one of those novels. These are the reasons why:
It's beautifully written.
It's about an important subject.
It's stayed with me.
It's made me more aware of all I can be grateful for.
It makes me proud to be a fellow writer.
How can a novel accomplish all this? I suppose I should start with what The Lizard Cage is about. The novel takes place in Burma (Myanmar) and is about a young political prisoner, Teza the singer, who inspires and infuriates the people around him with his songs and his spirituality. He is a hero, but a believably human one, who struggles with longings, pain, loneliness, hope and love. The other inmates and the warders are alike trapped in the prison, some relying on brutality, others loyalty to survive it. The only one capable of leaving, if he chooses, is an orphaned boy. Brought up in the prison, he feels contained there, the only world he knows, and is suspicious and fearful of the outside. But he longs to read even more than he hungers to eat–and that is his key, if he'll use it.
Karen Connelly faced a challenge that I also faced with Web of Angels: how to turn non-fiction into literature, moving from knowledge and passion about a subject to a narrative that equally serves both the subject and story-making. She succeeds brilliantly. She does so with exquisite craft. She never shies away from the reality of tyranny, of deprivation or torture, but I didn't feel depressed reading this novel. The beauty of her writing and the compassionate rendering of every character made space for this reality while containing more than it.
Teza's faith, his Buddhist practice, enables him to come to peace in the most brutal of environments, threading his way through rage and pain to find the love beyond it. The Lizard Cage is also an embodiment of this practice.
While I was reading it, I took notice of my blessings: abundant food, well regulated intestines, a bathtub full of water, books at my fingertips, and most of all the freedom to write.
In a totalitarian regime, literature is dangerous and literature is precious. The prisoners prize reading and writing materials and the warders fear them above all else. A simple retractable stick pen is the instrument of terror, retribution, and salvation.
I am reminded of a recent conversation I had with my friend, R, who is a recent immigrant from Iran. She told me that in Iran, the government has been closing down humanities' departments because they make people think and change their minds, which is dangerous. Here, too, humanities' departments have been shrunk, albeit for a different reason (or is it?): because they don't make money.
I'm glad I live in a country so much at peace that literature is neither feared nor revered. That is the price of our peace–a certain complacency. At the same time, The Lizard Cage has reminded me of what is really important: love, freedom, creativity–and to practice a lightness of spirit for all the rest. Maybe for that, too.
The Lizard Cage is a novel about Burma, it's a novel about human rights, and it's a novel about the human capacity for dignity and indignity. Most of all, it's about the power of the voice. Here's a small taste of Connelly's writing, picked out at random:
The air smells of warming earth and green stuff and flowers. Two old generators, gutted of all usable bits, sit at odd angles against the first brick wall, sunk in several inches of water; they are surrounded by a few desicated car batteries and some discarded latrine pails. Morning glories have taken over one generator, and vines grow through the rust holes in the pails. The boy steps close to the burgeoning purple flowers and carefully gathers a collection. The wilt almost immediately, but that doesn't matter. Flowers in one hand, new stone in the other, he turns and scans the back of the kitchen and the hospital. (p. 213)
Filed under: Beautiful, Literary, Uplifting Tagged: dictatorship in burma, The Lizard Cage
September 11, 2011
10th Anniversary: Sept 11th
Ten years ago, I was the mother of one, working on my second novel. A friend called me about the news. When I said, "hello," she said, "Have you heard?" I knew it was bad. The TV shots replayed the towers going down and I wondered if this was the beginning of the end of the world as I knew it. I wandered down the street, looking for my husband and my daughter. He'd gone to pick her up from pre-school and I needed them with me because I have the magic umbrella. It's invisible, but I hold it over my loved ones when they're with me and it protects them. Such is my irrational belief.
But this is the really important part of my story, something I didn't know then. I had no idea. But here it is: my younger daughter was 11 days old. She was waiting for us in a Chinese orphange. There were many babies there, waiting.
The world didn't end in 2001, though tragedy hurt many people, not only in the U.S. but in countries where retribution took many lives. Life was happening, it's still happening, and we can choose how to grieve, with ferocity or with compassion. We can choose where to rest our eyes, on the gaps or on what grows in them.
My younger daughter's hair is down to the middle of her back. She's been growing it to donate to children with cancer–her idea. My older daughter reads the newspaper online every day. Someday they will have their own magic umbrellas.
Filed under: Personal Tagged: remembering sept 11th
September 9, 2011
Making a Difference: You Are My Only by Beth Kephart
You Are My Only releases October 25th. For two weeks if you help spread the word about You Are My Only, you will be entered to win a prize! All the details are at Chick Loves Lit right now. This little project is organized by There's a Book, Bookalicious, Chick Loves Lit, and myself.
via myfriendamysblog.com
Community can be face to face, but it doesn't have to be. The community of book bloggers is rallying around Beth Kephart and her wonderful new young adult book, You Are My Only. Click on the link above to see how to participate. Then order this book–I have.
Filed under: Beautiful, Literary Tagged: Beth Kephart, You Are My Only
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