Beth Kephart's Blog, page 120

George Saunders on the power of kindness

A beloved student sent this our way late last night—a NYT link to the convocation address that George Saunders made to the Class of 2013 at Syracuse University. I loved hearing from my student. And I loved every word of this address.



Especially this, below. Saunders is talking about the importance of being kind. A soft subject? Think about it. How hard is kindness, daily? How difficult to consistently transcend your own self, your own needs, your own Look at Me, so that you can look at other people? So that you can listen?



It's hard. But Saunders says:

One thing in our favor:  some of this “becoming kinder” happens
naturally, with age.  It might be a simple matter of attrition:  as we
get older, we come to see how useless it is to be selfish – how
illogical, really.  We come to love other people and are thereby
counter-instructed in our own centrality.  We get our butts kicked by
real life, and people come to our defense, and help us, and we learn
that we’re not separate, and don’t want to be.  We see people near and
dear to us dropping away, and are gradually convinced that maybe we too
will drop away (someday, a long time from now).  Most people, as they
age, become less selfish and more loving.  I think this is true.  The
great Syracuse poet, Hayden Carruth, said, in a poem written near the
end of his life, that he was “mostly Love, now.”

Imperfect Spiral/Debbie Levy: Reflections

Last Saturday, as readers of the blog know, I had the great privilege of meeting Debbie Levy at Hooray for Books, a lovely independent in Alexandria, VA. Eloquent, gracious, reflective, considerate, Debbie Levy is not just a remarkable human being. She is an important writer, and her new book, Imperfect Spiral (Walker Books) is huge.



Danielle—a teen prone to panic attacks, a mediator by temperament, a quiet second among vocal, talented friends—has forged a meaningful relationship with a five-year old named Humphrey. She is his babysitter. He is her imaginative friend with a steep vocabulary. And one day, early in the book, he is killed while he is in her care. He runs into a car on a suburban street at dusk. Not her fault—that's what everyone says. But Danielle can't even talk about it.



The town talks, however. Its people clamor to use the accident as an excuse to plant sidewalks instead of trees, spend money on lights that are not needed, and talk about the "illegal aliens"—or undocumented immigrants—upon whom they'd like to pin Humphrey's death. It's a big storm. There are many weather systems. Danielle's friends and family and neighbors, not to mention her therapist and a local journalist, would like to implicate her somehow—force her to speak up, act out, exclaim. But Danielle can't even remember the moment of Humphrey's death. It's all white noise. It's beyond her. And always, in her imagination, her memory, is Humphrey himself, one of the most endearing little boys I've encountered in all of literature. He is big hearted, smart, playful, and still a kid. He is the sure thing, and he is gone.



A trained lawyer, Levy writes with tremendous objectivity and full-roundedness about a prickly, raging issue (to whom does this country belong?). She offers cautions against referring to human beings as "illegals" and "aliens." She presents all sides of a tricky story, but her issue never dominates. At the heart of her story are wisely formed characters, clear, sustaining language, and teens who talk like teens—the respectful, intelligent, heartbroken kind.

Marissa says she isn't anti. She's pro.

Well, I'm both.

Here's what I'm anti: random deadly accidents.

Here's what I'm pro: do-overs.

Send me the website for that.

And then there's all that love that a babysitter feels for the child in her care—innocent love, respectful love. There's the conversation that must ultimately be had between the babysitter who feels such guilt and the mother who feels such loss.



Tender, compassionate, big—a book written neither to leverage nor advertise an issue (but to illuminate it)—I recommend Imperfect Spiral to every reader out there.

Philly Reacts: A Star Studded Evening that Looks Beyond the Hoodie

Presented by First Person Arts, sponsored by the Philadelphia Redevelopment Authority and The Pew Center for Arts and Heritage, and held in partnership with the Office of Mayor Michael Nutter. Featuring Sonia Sanchez, Ruth Naomi Floyd, Michelle Myers, Khalil Munir, DJ Foxx Boogie, Freedom Theatre Youth Ensemble, more



Join together. August 5th. City Hall Courtyard.



Spread word.

my son: still writing after all these years

My son started writing stories years ago—and has never stopped. They are action stories, dialogue-rich stories, contemporary stories, sly and humorous. I'd be envious of the fast-moving rat-a-tat that he gets going in these tales, a little green over all he knows about how the world works, except that I love him too much.


I also love how, even now, he sends his stories along—episodes from a cast of well-considered characters, tear sheets from urban America. He'll write thirty pages some weeks and send them my way. The emails arrive long after midnight—the best thing in my bank. As I read I picture him making room for this quiet art in the midst of the life he's built—the job he loves in the city he always wanted to live in, the friends that arrive in abundance, the walks he takes along the Hudson at night, the texts he sends, his calls.



In the midst of all that, somehow, he writes.



And in the mornings, when the tales arrive, I am so glad he does.

The Day the Crayons Quit/Drew Daywalt and Oliver Jeffers

So there I was, at Children's Book World in Haverford, to hear Elizabeth Wein talk about her passion for World War II, her adventures in flying, and the thoughts she had while slicing an onion, which led her to the tremendous success we all know as Code Name Verity. (This is how the big stuff happens, folks. A long-time passion for a period in time, personal passion for a hobby like flight, and knife work. Also, slicing the onion must have made some sort of imprint on Elizabeth's storytelling sensibilities for, as she related last night, her books make many people cry, including Elizabeth herself).



I arrived early, because I love that place, but also because I was on the hunt for The Day the Crayons Quit, that new uber-bestselling picture book that my friend Michael Green of Philomel helped guide into existence.



People have been buzzing about this book since the BEA (and probably before that, but I wouldn't know, because I'm rarely in the know). My first trip to another bookstore earlier in the day had left me empty handed. But there I was, at Children's Book World, and there we were, the crayon book and me—just two copies left. One for the beautiful, age-appropriate family sitting on the step reading, and one for moi.



This adorable book is just what its title promises—a klatch of overused (except for Pink), big personality (let's leave White out of this), stripped down (I'm looking at you, Peach), niggling (spoiler alert: Yellow and Orange are at war), and negotiating (oh, Green, thank you for breaking type and defeating envy in favor of peace keeping) crayons that have decided to have a word or two with little Duncan, who finds a stack of letters in his waxy box.



I wrote "age appropriate" a few sentences ago, but don't think my old age stopped me. I bought a copy of this book for myself, because I do believe that nothing is more universal, and more endlessly appealing, than an excellent picture book.



This is an excellent picture book.



(Also, these books are going fast. Better get one for yourself real soon.)

complete gratitude for the Booklist review of Handling the Truth

National Book Award finalist Kephart, who has written several memoirs and teaches a college course on the subject, offers an exploration of the genre that is informative and enjoyable. Drawing on the work of dozens of great authors (Annie Dillard, Mary Karr, Jeanette Winterson) as well as student comments, Kephart dives deeply into all that memoir can offer writers while acknowledging the pitfalls of oversharing and naming high profile memoir-abusers. Her insights are thoughtful and erudite. “Real writers,” she says, “do not write to trump or abolish. They write . . . to rumble or howl, or because language is salvation or because they’ve been alive or because they have survived”. As instructive as Kephart’s book is, it is not a how-to but rather a careful argument for the value of memoir, a form that allows writers to know themselves and readers to join them in the journey. Intense, provocative, endearing, and kind, Handling the Truth recalls Anne Lamott’s Bird by Bird (1995). The appendix alone is a reading course not to be missed. Delightful.
— Colleen Mondor

Handling the Truth, in Main Line Today magazine!

How much do I love this brief review?

Very much.

So many thanks, Main Line Today Magazine, Hobart Rowland, and Joe Lerro.

Memoir is a delicate art. In misguided hands, the delineation of experiences and the lessons contained within can miss the mark. The author of five memoirs and a professor in the art, Main Line writer Beth Kephart eloquently guides aspiring memoirists on the path to cultivating a first-person perspective that resonates. With its compelling excerpts and reflective prompts, Handling the Truth leaves no question as to the crucial attributes of this specialized craft. — Joe Lerro

headed to Bank Street, for a mini conference, in November

Many of you have asked whether I'll be spending time in New York City with Handling the Truth. 



The answer, magnificently, is yes. At the invitation of Jennifer Brown, I'll be sharing my thoughts about teaching, truth, and the autobiography of hair at a Bank Street Mini Conference. Seeing the great Jenny Brown in a city I love is treat enough. Perhaps I'll also get to see some of you.

The details here:

Bank Street Writers Lab Mini-Conference: The Nitty-Gritty

9AM to 12 Noon, Saturday, November 9, 2013

Opening Keynote: Beth Kephart on the teaching of truth

In a half-day program featuring an esteemed panel of reviewers and a study of mentor texts 

Bank Street College of Education

610 West 112th Street

New York, NY 10025

At Penn, At Home: Two Small Damages Sightings

A few weeks ago, I, like most every other voting American ultimately is, was summoned for jury duty. The news came at a treacherous time—so much client work and a book to launch and some overwhelming, long-tail exhaustion—and yet, I wasn't going to shirk the responsibility. We live in a democracy, and jury duty is part of our contractual obligation. 



Still, when my number was not called—when 78 jurors were needed and I had been labeled 86—I was, in a word, relieved. Two words: Greatly relieved. I was able to do, in broad daylight, all that I would have had to do at night.



One of those things involved a trip to the University of Pennsylvania campus, which I was photographing for an upcoming story. By the time I was done with my work, I had just 18 minutes to catch my train, and so I cut through the Penn bookstore on Walnut Street, to get a little closer to Chestnut. I know this bookstore well, spend happy time in it, noticed that the shelves had been rearranged. A large teen fiction section now beckoned. I took the slightest detour, the quickest look. There, to my happy surprise, sat Small Damages, the paperback. I snapped a photograph while a man walked by. "I wrote that," I said. He smiled.



Today I rose in the dark and banged away (again) at corporate work, grateful for the tumbling hours. I didn't leave my chair for hours, didn't live the weather, which aggrieved me. It was late in the afternoon when I went out to the stoop and found a box that had been addressed to me.



And there they were, my very own copies of Small Damages, a book I will always love for all it represents—faith in one's self over many years, collaboration with a beautiful editor and house. And this paperback edition—it's just gorgeous.



Two gifts on two given days.

Jilly Joy and Chippy are headed to the Free Library, to see Beth Kephart

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Look who is headed to the Free Library of Philadelphia on August 6th, starting at 7:30, to celebrate the launch of <i>Handling the Truth: On the Writing of Memoir</i>! It's Jilly Joy and Chippy, our forest friends. Chippy thinks Kephart should be, at the very least, stylish. Jilly Joy can see past Kephart's style fatigue.<br />
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I'm going to be there, too, and I hope you'll join us. It should be a fun night of reading, writing, thinking. But it'll only be fun if you're there.<div class="feedflare">
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