Uvi’s Comments (group member since Apr 09, 2012)

Uvi’s comments from the The Creative Spark with Uvi Poznansky group.

Just finished reading The Bridge To Caracas, and here is my review:

Taking in THE BRIDGE TO CARACAS feels like watching an action movie. You will find yourself at the edge of your seat, rooting for the good guy, Mike King, to triumph over the bad guy, Jim Servito, and to end up wining the girl, Karen Taylor. Inspired by a real crime, where scam netted an amount “that makes The New York State Lottery look like a Sunday school collection,” here is a plot-driven story, which opens right into action, with the scene of hijacking a plane. You will find yourself with Karen Taylor being abducted.

Having worked for the two largest oil companies in the world (Exxon and royal Dutch Shell) and for the smallest oil companies in the world (his own) Stephen Douglas has a unique familiarity with his subject matter, so you will keep guessing at the borderlines between truth and fiction. He writes what he knows, and he does so with a brisk, cinematic pace that dabs danger with romance.

Five stars.

Just finished reading Wendy and the Lost Boys and here is my review:

Fairytales usually start with "a long time ago, in a place far away" and end with “happily ever after,” offering metaphors that are universal. In 'Wendy and the Lost Boys' the author, Barbara Silkstone, modified the classic story of Peter Pan, offering a unique, contrary point of view.

The story is told in the voice of Wendy Darlin, with a gritty language that is modern, contemporary, and full of spunk. When talking about the pirates she says, “One grabbed my round the waist and did a lumbering polka…. He forced his lips on mine. His breath was a lethal combination of onions and salami.”

Peter Payne (note the altered pronunciation, which alters the meaning of his name) was her first love. They were high school sweethearts for one year. Two decades later, she still keeps and old locket he has given her on their last date. “His kisses were as sweet as whipped cream and twice as tasty.”

Emblematic of a generation that tried to retain eternal youth, and then had to contend with the realities of aging and responsibility, Peter’s presence in the story is felt despite not having many lines. It is up to Wendy to let go of him, in order to grow up. “I knew the only thing I ever loved about Peter was the memory of him… It was time to let go of something that never really existed.

In this story, the Lost boys are valuable artifacts from ancient Egypt, cut from solid black diamond. Charlie Hook orchestrates a mysterious disappearance of them, for no better reason than the thrill to get away with it. Roger, a freelance archeologist who states that he retrieves stolen antiquities, explains, “This box contains the shadows of twelve of the infant sons of the fourth dynasty pharaoh. These shadows are over five thousand year old.”

This is a mystery wrapped in romance, a coming of age of a woman who is already an adult, but is she really? Clearly, she is attracted to Roger, “He gave me a kiss I could feel in my shoes.” Saving the Lost Boys is a worthy goal, But the real challenge for her is finding herself in her own shoes.

Five stars.

Just finished reading Day of the Living Pizza and here is my review:

With the crusty, irregular surface of pizza, and its various toppings—olives, tomatoes, mushrooms and a sprinkle of oregano—I wonder how come no one before has come up with this notion, the crazy notion of a murder mystery bubbling with humor, with Pizza and Pepperoni People who are zombies.

I find it so wonderful that the author, Vickie Johnstone (whose poetry I love) fashioned this particular story for a particular young reader, 14 year old Gage, and for the particular taste—no pun intended—of that reader. It shows such care and the result is delightful for all of us.

The story is fast-paced, constructed in brisk chapters, full of entertaining action in every one of its munchy twists and turns, and features delightful dialog. I think you would imagine yourself playing different roles, as the dialog brings it is as close as you get to a play.

Five stars.

Just finished reading Monsoon Showers and here is my review:

“Monsoon Showers by Jaspreet Mann Kanwar is a skilfully-written compilation of poetry that explores moments of conflict, sadness, and longing. This is the third book that I had the pleasure to read by this gifted, unique poet. I am deeply moved by her insights, most of which have a profound sense of wistfulness to them.

It takes courage to delve into the soul and pull out some of the most intimate feelings. Many of the poems are addressed, in a conversational manner, to the man in her life, after love has released its promise to disappointment. Here is a little snippet from a poem titled Conflict:

I’ll choose insanity, I am blind,
You think with your mind

In Unrequited Love
The petal flies out of the window
On the pavement, watches people go

The book’s title is taken from a lovely poem by the same name:

Monsoon showers, in spite of resplendent canopies,
Drenched in feelings of turmoil, ecstasy.
Taken back to the sweetness of yesteryears,
The flush of spring and the dizzy fears.

You will find this book lyrical, and more than that, you may discover that it allows you to find yourself in its reflections.

Five stars.

The princess lets me down through the window, lowering me one knot after another. The bed of roses is far beneath my feet, and it looks unreal and a bit eerie from here, because of the strange shadows cast every which way by torches passing through the garden, and by sudden flashes of lightning. I am hanging on for dear life, swaying in the wind between heaven and hell.

Meanwhile, from the chamber above me, a knock is heard...

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I land with a shriek, which is swallowed at once by the clap of thunder

Just finished reading My First Sony and here is my review:

For those of us who loved reading 'Catcher in the Rye' here is a wonderful story delivered in the same vein: through the voice of a young, sensitive child, whose sentences run into each other with barely a stop, because he is not only the witness of the disintegration of his family, but is tested to the limit by it. This intense flow is cut off at the very end, because the protagonist finds himself at a loss of words at the last twist of the story. So will you.

His father, whom he adores despite his many vices, gives him a tape recorder, which the author uses as a literary device to capture the voice and breath patterns of the other characters.

I simply loved this story, and thought that the voice was profoundly authentic.

Five stars.

He turns to me with a sly look. To my surprise, his smile—even with those sharp fangs—is quite endearing.
“Job’s wife, I presume? Hallelujah! I have been expecting for you for quite a long while,” says Satan. His voice is sweet. He must have sung in a choir in his youth, because...

To read more, and listen to the narration, click here:
His smile, even with those sharp fangs, is quite endearing



Get the ebook at sale price, then you can get the audiobook for only $1.99

Stephen wrote: "Thanks for your kind words and warm welcome, Uvi. I just read all of the posts in this thread. Great group."

Oh thank you Steve! All we need is more people sharing their craft :)

Hi Steve! Great to see you here, welcome! Lovely website. I have two of your books, and will read and review them: THE TAINTED TRUST and The Bridge To Caracas,.

Please feel free to share your creative process, as well as excerpts from your work.

Just finished reading Sara's Plan and here is my review:

This is a richly embroidered yarn, made up of vividly captured, countless vinyettes as even the minor characters are shown to have a families, love affairs, and a history of their own. Over the course of a generation these individual strings come together in a vivid pattern, describing a society quite different than my own, a society where woman and girls are subject to the ‘breeding rights’ of men. Within the constraints of such a society, how can a young girl find her way? What plan can she come up with?

We watch Sara from the moment her mother, Sally Rae Morgan, gives birth to her, only to die two weeks later. “Her eyes fluttered as though she’d heard him give her permission to leave, and Richard felt peace in his heart as Sally Rae’s spirit left her body and ascended to heaven.”

Eleven years later, Bishop James tells this girl, with whom he is utterly obsessed: You know, Sara, that I need no one’s permission to marry you, not your father’s, not your mother’s, not even yours. In fact, with the authority vested in me, I could simply pronounce us man and wife.

There is never a dull moment throughout this epic story, nor is there a moralistic judgement on any of the characters. That is cleverly left to you, the reader. We see events from multiple points of view, moving in a seamless manner from one character to another in a way that not only advances the story, but also enriches our overall understanding of the nature of truth. With her seductively sensual descriptions, Christian Ashley builds upon details gleaned from research into the history of the time, but the power of her storytelling makes me suspect, each and every time I read her work, that she has visited these places and periods in a previous reincarnation.

Five stars.

Just finished reading Time To Let Go and here is my review:

Before I talk about the quality of the writing, let me outline the story in Time To Let Go. Having witnessed an incident on a plane, Hanna Korhonen, a flight attendant, comes to realize how quickly life can be over. Which brings to mind her parents, who are almost 80 years old. She come home to them, with the hope of running away from her own difficulties at work—only to find herself facing a much more daunting problem. Her mother, Biddy, who used to be such an energetic woman, is now in the grip of a terrible disease that destroys the mind and that will eventually leave just an outer shell of her. The entire family is affected: her father Walter, who is courageously taking care of his wife, and her brothers Henrik and Patrick.

With admirable sensitivity to the graveness of Alzheimer’s and to its ravages on the family, Christoph Fischer tells a deeply moving story. It is a complex yarn to weave, because it is underpinned by profound, hard questions. How would each one of them deal with this new, painful reality? Would they deny it or accept it? Would the progress of the disease strain them to the point of bringing about their own decline? Given their different approaches to treating Biddy, how do they negotiate a common strategy? Along the way, will the familial bond be weakened or strengthened? How do they deal with each tumble down, every time Biddy loses ground to the disease? Having put in place a rigid frame of rules, meant to brace her from further deterioration, how will they react when her mind continues to crumble? Can they hope to control her destiny? How do they let go, when it is time to do so?

Trying to find herself ensconced in the warmth of Home as she remembers it, the new reality become a test of maturity for Hanna. Will she find the inner strength needed to withstand it? In the words of her brother, Henrik, “Can you really see her as the Samaritan who gives up her career to clothe the poor and nurse the wounded, for the rest of her life? She is in shock right now and she is making a hurried, rash and stupid long term decision she will never be able to reverse.”

Finally, a few words about the cover design, which I love. Here is swan just starting to rise from the water and spread its wings, its feathers delineated diagonally across the cover. It is a dynamic, elegant icon, a symbol of the aspiration we all have to rise into purity, into our better selves. With its subtle shades of white, the design has some of the feel of The Three Nation Trilogy (the author’s historical fiction series.) However, with the cool greenish hues which infuses the entire image and the title font, this image extends in a different direction, a more contemporary one. And so does this book.

Five stars.

Writing about David as a fugitive, I asked myself, where would he hide in the wilderness? What would that place feel like? How would it look? How would the place reflect the mode he would find himself in, during this testing time of his life, when he is called a traitor?

And once I found that place in my imagination, the question became: how do I convey the mood in this place? How would the mood change from bitterness to hope? And as an author, how do I bring all of this to life, by painting images with words? How do I use the rhythms and pauses of David's inner reflection?

Not only do I talk to myself, but out of loneliness I answer back, too. I say, Forget Happily Ever After. Old legends are nothing but deceit. In reality, it is the political needs of the state, it is money and power that dictate royal family unions—not some emotion, a fickle, faithless emotion that is known to be fleeting.
Bitterness is eating at me. I stagger into the darkest nook, deep down in my underground hiding place, and curl myself there, unable to stop seething at my misfortune, and most of all, at her.
“Michal, perhaps I don’t deserve a fine, highly schooled princess such as you. All the same, thank you,” I hurl at her, forgetting for a moment that she is absent. “Thank you for the education, dear. I won’t forget it.”
For a long while, maybe days, I stare at the ceiling of the cave, where a slow, mind numbing drizzle is heard, and where calcium salts, deposited by the drip of water, have been forming over innumerable centuries into what looks to me, at first, like icicles.
Then something stirs in me, an awakening. All of a sudden I note the miracle of their stony, frozen trickle, and it takes my breath away. Nothing in the king’s palace compares to this beauty. Here is the process of creation, eternity flowing in a drop.
If not for the hunger I could stay here, in this cave under the stalactites, till the end of time. I imagine that long before that, my bones would be unearthed here, and brought before the king.

David in Rise to Power

My quick charcoal drawing was done to the sound of music. It is a landscape of music, if you will, which conveys the same awe expressed in the excerpt above: "Here is the process of creation, eternity flowing in a drop."



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Rise to Power
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Just finished reading A Luminous Future: Growing Up in Transylvania in the Shadow of Communism and here is my review:

A Luminous Future is a riveting eye-witness account of the inner strength it takes, for a young child, his family, and the people of his little village, to overcome adversity during a brutal period in the history of Transilvania. The book is written with the goal of learning to recognize injustice, which was indelibly impressed in his mind.

The book is a reflection of the author on events that happened in his childhood, and is told in the voice of a man, not a child. This allows the author the liberty of using a richer, fuller language, and to offer a broad description of the historical context, in a way that would not be accommodated through a child’s voice. “More than fifty years have passed since I witnessed my father’s arrest … I’ve since left Romania, lived in Italy, and ultimately settled in Australia. No matter where I’ve been, though, those scenes have continued to play in my head.”

To me, the title of the book can be read as having two opposite connotations: first, the ironic connotation of empty promises by the communists, “… villages were crawling with clean-shaven people from the city who spied on everybody, asked uncomfortable questions and insisted that the villagers join the Workers’ Party, in exchange for promises of a new life and a luminous future.”

But second, and perhaps more profound, is the positive connotation of writing about the past as a way to shine a bright light to the future, “For my new grandson, for future grandchildren, and for anybody interested in learning how a wicked regime trampled brutally on innocent people’s lives.” It is the value of life, tradition, and the capacity for survival, inherited from ancestors, played by us, and given through us to a future generation.

Five stars.

Just finished reading I the Sun Janet Morris and here is my review:

Before I share with you some of the exquisite writing in I, the Sun, let me start at the end. On the last page of the book you will find an impressive bibliography list that attests to the meticulous research into the life and times of Suppiluliumas, who was a great warrior and statesman. This research provides the detail, the authentic detail necessary for constructing the shell of this story, its events and the descriptions of the locale.

It is into this shell that the author, Janet Morris, has blown a breath life, fleshing out a fascinating historical figure. His voice has an unmistaken elegance to it. Describing a mysterious presence that follows him throughout his life, Suppiluliumas says, “He has been in my dreams before every moment of crisis, for every tumble onto truth that has ever befallen me, striding away, his shoulders like a second horizon.”

We follow Suppiluliumas starting at the age of 14, just before his coming of age ceremony, until the moment he hands the kingdom over to his successor, his first born son Arnuwandas. In place of showing Suppiluliumas drawing his last breath, we witness him being summoned to the top of the hill, as his chariot starts ascending. He is on his way to meet his fate, symbolically represented by the Storm God.

It is an epic saga, with heroic action bringing the Hittite kingdom to Imperial power and consolidating its heartland. Seen through the man in the eye of the storm, we gain a brilliant power of observation. He says, “My life always had events taking place within and without at different intensities. On the outer edges, matters foment and wild winds blow; on the inner, things display themselves to meticulous examination under a clear sky.”

The writing gives a sense of a depth to the character, and so does the cover art. I simply love the way it is layered:
(a) The deepest layer is adorned with images done in relief based on the hero’s adventure (a Hittite king standing in his chariot and aiming his arrow at a stag)
(b) The middle layer done as the royal seal of Suppiluliumas
(c) The front layer containing the title, in immensely solid, metallic letters that—quite appropriately—reflect a strong sunlight.

Five stars.

"My mother, you ask? She was—how shall I say it?—different. No woman among us in the camp, or out there in the grazing fields, was as captivating as her.
It was not just her beauty; nor was it the regal manner in which she carried herself, as if her tent served only as a temporary, makeshift shelter, a place to stay until the completion of a some new, modern wing in an imaginary palace. If there was something that set her apart from all other women, it was her garments..."

To read more click here:
The thought of modesty lost

Just finished reading Paulyanna International Rent-boy and here is my review:

Paul Douglas Lovell is simply a natural story teller. There is no other way to explain the flow and beauty of his language. He aims to instill hope in other victims of circumstance, who like him are clinging to the dream of coming into their own.

At first, when I took a peek at the book description, I suspected that it may not be right for me. But once I started reading I realized how mistaken I was. This is so much more than a story about coming out of the school of hard knocks. I love the abundance of lyrical observations. For example, describing the pinstripe mattress in his Paris hotel, he says, “I guessed it had seen more years than I. I could see old horse hair and springs through a mouse-sized hole. It reminded me of home.” Then he describes the solitary desk. “I imagined the ghost of a tormented writer on the edge of insanity, battling with pill and alcohol-induced demons, frantically scribbling down his wild notions, surrounded by crumpled rejects.”

Like Memoirs of a Geisha, Paulyanna is told from the first person point of view, sketching out early childhood, then presenting an account of an unusual life. And like the character in his favorite movie, ‘Pretty Woman’, Paul Douglas Lovell reveals his thoughts in a logical, pragmatic manner, saying, “I viewed being a rent-boy as a viable option to escape an unfair poverty trap.” Quite readily, he admits, “Even before I started school, my reputation as a troublemaker preceded me. I didn’t disappoint.”

The author considered himself “damaged goods” from around the age of seven, and later, at the age of fifteen, he left school prematurely, and became further excluded from mainstream society. By some internal strength he managed to maintain a sense of innocence, by means of separating what he does from who he is. “My inner being was still regarded as highly precious, whereas my exterior body I considered a mere shell.”

I find it amazing that with this heavy baggage he could find his way to explore the unmistakable talent he has in writing. Describing his first attempts to put pen to paper, he says, “I suppressed my gritty experiences and found myself desperate to find something suitably middle-classed and perhaps less predictable.” And later, he says with a humility that endears him to me, “The awareness that my pieces needed rewriting were my only indicator that I must have been progressing.”

For a reader with an open mind—which I hope you are—it is simply a human story, told with wit, crackling with self deprecating humor, and developed in a gentle, utterly engrossing manner. “Non-conformity was my curse, one that I changed into a blessing.”

Five stars.

"I hear the slight rustle of her skirt, and her soft voice saying, “Wait, Isaac—” just before it becomes muffled. So sharply, so unexpectedly does it happen, that it makes me giddy with curiosity; and so, I do what I have to do: I lift the flap of the tent, allowing light in, to peek in on them; and what I see leaves me dumbfounded..."

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She wraps her arms around his frail shoulders, and kisses him

"I sit there at her feet watching her work. My mother is so skillful in manipulating that sleeve. Inside of it, my limb feels hot, suffocated. I let her control me, control my hand. It is no longer my hand.
By and by, a perfect calm comes upon me. I have no thought in my head, no clue that this is to be the last sunrise, the last morning that I spend with my mother; no premonition that our time together is running out, and that I should kiss her, and hug her, and bid her farewell."

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I should kiss her, and hug her, and bid her farewell

Here, on my ear, I can feel the tickle of her curl, which must have slinked out of the towel wrapping her head. And I can smell the scent of shampoo as she leans closer to whisper, “Get in.”
In confusion I whisper back, “Get in—what?”
“The tub,” she breathes in my ear. “What else?”

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I must guard myself from her, because she knows me

Just finished reading The Stupid Consumers Path to Enlightenment and here is my review:

What an unusual book this is! It opens with the singsong poetical tone of an old fable, “Once upon a moment, there lived a boy…” Which is a literary disguise, used to draw highlights of the author’s view of himself as a child. “While he could never be sure where life would take him there were a couple of things he could be certain of: his love of books (he had read most of his grandfather's; Zane Grey novels by his fifth birthday) and an affinity for nature.”

This is an honest look at himself. “His successes, his failures, even guilt, were dependent on the way others reacted to him. Hidden behind the mask of self-confidence he wore for his public were layers of doubt and anxiety.” This self examination is important, because it relates to the goal of the author: “To be truthful, this is more than a story of one man’s journey toward enlightenment. It’s also about how evolution continually affects consciousness. But more than that, it has to do with forming a loving relationship with one’s own soul.”

From there, the chapters alternate between two voices:

(a’) The Voice’ (presented in bold font, and talks to you) The tone is wise and direct, and has the tone of a lecture, for example:
“Stop wasting time and energy on things you can’t change; it’s not worth the effort. The time has come to align your attention with intention and move on.”

(b) What I would call ’the author’s self’ (presented in regular font, with gentle, self-searching rumination about the author’s life) usually responding to the earlier lecture by the voice.
“What the voice often brings to my attention is the obligation I have to myself. This reminds me that sometimes there is nothing further away than what is inside; even though at times it feels so close I can touch it.”

To me, this structure suggested a dialog between the teacher and the student, both of which are sides of the author’s personality. This dialog serves his goal, which is to illustrate things in such a way as to draw the reader into self-examination without using coercion.
I like the note upon which this conversation ends:

“It is my belief that within all of us is the latent capacity to be as gods.”
Five stars.