Defending Jane Austen Against All Criticism

Readers of this blog know of my great reverence and extreme affection for Jane Austen’s novels (see my 1/25/10 post, among other mentions of Austen). So I was immediately defensive and even irrationally annoyed when I read an Associated Press article in the 10/26/10 San Francisco Chronicle about Oxford University English professor Kathryn Sutherland’s research that concluded that “Jane Austen was a poor speller and erratic grammarian who got a big helping hand from her editor.” But as I thought about it more, and as the article concluded, “the revelations shouldn’t damage the reputation of Austen,” who was “even better at writing dialogue and conversation than the edited style of her published novels suggest.” I thought about all the wonderful writers whose work has been enhanced by great editing. I decided that having a few spelling and grammar errors that needed to be corrected is pretty minor compared to the major editing some other writers needed. And I realized that nothing can obscure Austen’s amazingly wonderful writing, and nothing can dim her well-deserved reputation and popularity. So my automatic defensiveness and protectiveness toward Austen’s reputation (as if she needed my defense!) subsided.

"Instead of a Letter"

On 3/15/10, I wrote about the wonderful famed English editor and memoirist Diana Athill, now 92 and still writing. In that post I praised her three most recent memoirs. I have now gone back in time to read one of her earlier memoirs, "Instead of a Letter," which has just appeared in a U.S. paperback (originally Doubleday, 1962; paperback W. W. Norton, 2010). In this book, she writes a bit about her childhood (later covered in more detail in another memoir), but mainly about her life from her teens to her early forties. The most critical series of events for her was her long courtship by, and eventual engagement to, Paul, who then went off to war (WW II), stopped writing her, and after two years informed her of his engagement to another woman. He subsequently died in the war. These events left her devastated and stripped of her self-confidence and ability to relate to others, especially romantically, for almost twenty years. What eventually brought her out of this state was love, interesting work, and -- most of all -- her writing and the fulfillment it provided her. Ironically, during her difficult years, she dreaded old age, but now at 92 she has had a long, productive, and happy life that she is still -- according to recently published interviews -- thoroughly savoring. Athill writes with scrupulous openness about her own feelings and shortcomings. She also writes beautifully and descriptively about her life and her surroundings. Highly recommended.

"Bound"

The word “bound” is the title of Antonya Nelson’s new novel, “Bound” (Bloomsbury, 2010); it is also a word that evokes various images and responses. The multiple meanings of the word in this novel include the connections among characters, the connections of characters to their dogs (prominent in the story), the parallel story in the newspapers about the Wichita serial killer BTK (“bind, torture, kill”), and the way the characters are bound/limited/compelled by their own histories, economic and social backgrounds, and psychological traits. The main characters are childhood friends Misty and Catherine, who bond as teenagers from very different backgrounds; Catherine’s husband Oliver; and Misty’s teenage daughter Cattie (short for Catherine; she has been named after her mother’s best friend). There are also various ex-wives, stepchildren, friends, and traveling companions. Misty dies in a car accident early in the novel; Cattie disappears from sight for a while; and Catherine is notified that although she and Misty have been out of touch for years, Misty has named her in her will as Cattie’s guardian. All of the characters are a mixture of “lost” and “found.” As the various strands of the novel come together, there is loss, adultery, affection, worry, reunion, and more. Yet somehow the overall feeling of the novel, despite some deep sadness, is positive and life-affirming. Despite some straying and some selfish impulses, the characters eventually come through for each other.

Lovely English Names

On 10/24/10, I wrote about my weakness for the English accent, as well as for all things English. Another thing I encounter and get pleasure from when reading British novels is the novelty (from an American point of view) of some of the characters' names. Those evocative (to me, at least!) names show me that I am -- while reading the novels -- happily in England (or perhaps a non-American English colony). Some of these very British names for women are Edwina, Philippa, Fiona, Delia, Penelope, Rosamund, Beatrice, Briony, Fanny, Sophie, Louisa, and Augusta. British men's names include Nigel, Clive, Rowan, Winston, Rupert, Alastair, Cecil, Eustace, Sebastian, and Reginald. Just typing these lists makes me feel a bit British!

Panic on our Driveway!

On Sunday it was raining so hard that when I picked up the extra-big, supplement-filled Sunday San Francisco Chronicle from the driveway, it was -- despite being in a plastic bag -- totally soaked, a sodden unreadable mess. I had an immediate moment of irrational panic: What would I do without the Sunday paper? I would be missing essential -- yes, ESSENTIAL! -- information, articles, reviews that I couldn’t live without! Not to mention the comics and Parade magazine! Oh NO!!! What would I read with my morning coffee? I had to stop and talk myself out of my panic, reminding myself that I could go out and get another paper at a store, and even if I couldn’t, much of the content is online. This rather extreme reaction is embarrassing to recount, but I do so to show that -- despite reports of the imminent demise of newspapers -- those newspapers are still extremely important for at least some of us. I posted here on 8/5/10 about how important newspapers are, to me and to the world; today I add this postscript (do you like my pun?) to show how viscerally dependent some of us are on our daily newspapers.

"All is Forgotten, Nothing is Lost"

When I first started reading Lan Samantha Chang’s “All is Forgotten, Nothing is Lost” (W. W. Norton, 2010), I thought it would be the typical, somewhat self-referential and self-indulgent novel about writers and writing programs. Chang is the director of the famed Iowa Writer’s Workshop, and the first part of the novel is set in the fictional Bonneville School writer’s program. Despite this expectation, or – to be honest -- maybe partly because of it, I looked forward to reading this novel. Sure enough, there were some classic scenes of graduate student/writers’ reading their work around a seminar table and having it discussed and sometimes “bludgeoned” by their classmates and their revered professor, the mysterious Miranda. There were also classic scenes of angst, doubt, and dark nights full of self-examination about whether one had the talent to be a successful writer. In this first section, we get to know the main characters -- Roman, Bernard, Lucy, and Miranda – and their entanglements. Then the novel jumps forward to the future and follows the lives, careers, loves of, and intersections among, these characters for perhaps 25-30 years. Chang explores the nature of being a writer/poet/artist, and the delicate connections between one’s writing life and one’s personal life. She leads readers to imagine different ways for a writer to live. Roman, for example, takes a fairly traditional (for those few writers talented enough and fortunate enough) path to success as a poet and writing teacher. Lucy, intentionally or not, puts her writing mostly on hold while raising a child. Bernard is a sort of semi-recluse who chooses to devote his life to writing one long poem, at the cost of poverty and a rather restricted life, a price he is willing to pay. The character development is intriguing, and there are a couple of surprises near the end of the novel, but the surprises are –- fortunately –- fully in character for these writers we have come to know. So my initial concerns about predictability and tired scenes were –- mostly –- proven wrong, and I found the novel a rewarding exploration of the writing life, and enjoyable to read.

Oh, That English Accent!

Yesterday I wrote about listening to the audio version of “On Chesil Beach,” by Ian McEwan. Today I write about my first reaction to the first words pronounced in the recorded reading by the author himself. As soon as I heard that plummy, educated English accent, I melted and was completely drawn into the listening experience. At the same time, I had to laugh at myself for the almost knee-jerk positive reaction I have always had to that accent. Why do I always go a little gaga for it? Is it the somewhat common American feeling that somehow the British accent is more elegant, more educated, more intellectual, more mellifluous than the American accent(s)? Is it my frequent listening to Masterpiece Theater and other such British dramatic productions and films over the years? Is it my background as a person born in Canada to Canadian parents and raised in postcolonial India, with all the British-related aspects of each of those experiences? Is it simply part of my deep love of all things English, especially English literature? I have written directly or indirectly about my connection to England and English matters in various posts (e.g., on tea, 2/2/10; on my literary pilgrimage to Jane Austen sites, 2/18/10; on the colonial novels “Old Filth” and “The Man in the Wooden Hat,” 3/18/10; and on the Guardian UK, 9/19/10), as well as in my non-blog (academic) writing, but I haven’t written before about the visceral positive and a bit nostalgic (although I have never lived in England) feeling I get when I hear that lovely and – to me – evocative English accent. Of course I know that not all English, or British, people speak with that accent. And of course I understand intellectually that there is nothing inherently “better” about it; after all, I have studied linguistics and teach in a linguistics-informed field. My reaction is, I speculate, conditioned by my Canadian/Indian childhood and by my immersion in English literature for most of my life. It is personal, deeply embedded and, I suspect, ineradicable, even if I should want to eradicate it, which I do not.

"On Chesil Beach"

Ian McEwan is an amazing writer, but my own taste causes me to very much like some of his novels while feeling less enthusiastic about others. The ones I have most liked and admired have been "Atonement" and "Saturday." I didn't like "Amsterdam" or "Solar" (see my 4/17/10 post) as much. The ones I prefer focus on relationships and psychology. I have now just listened to the audio version of "On Chesil Beach" (Random House, 2007; Books on Tape, 2007) and was completely drawn into the small, tightly focused, precisely told, and emotionally intense world that McEwan has created in this short novel. The book tells the story of the wedding night of a very young (very early 20s), very sexually inexperienced newly-married couple in 1962 in England. Edward is enthusiastically if anxiously looking forward to the first consummation of their relationship, while Florence dreads it, finding the idea completely repulsive. Because sex was so seldom openly and explicitly talked about during these pre-sexual revolution days (as we know, the real "Sixties" of "sex, drugs, and rock 'n roll" started late in the decade and continued into the 70s), she has not been able to tell Edward beforehand of her revulsion. Although they truly love each other and are compatible in many ways (we learn about their backgrounds and the progress of their courtship in flashbacks), sexuality is an area where they completely misunderstand each other and are completely mismatched. The minute by minute recounting of their attempted sexual connection, and of their tense conversation afterward on the beach outside their honeymoon hotel, is excruciatingly painful, embarrassing, and heartbreaking. The novel demonstrates so much about lack of communication even between those who love each other. It also shows how one event, one word or lack of a word, can change a person's whole life. This is an absolutely compelling, beautifully distilled short novel; I highly recommend it. A bonus to the audio version is a thoughtful and informative interview with the author following the reading of the novel.

"Going Away Shoes"

"Going Away Shoes" (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2009), by Jill McCorkle, is a little book (literally little, about 5" by 7") full of short stories that pack a big emotional punch. I have read several of McCorkle's novels ("Tending to Virginia," Ferris Beach") and short story collections over the years and have always enjoyed them. I also feel a (tenuous, granted) connection to her because she used to teach at the university where my daughter went for her undergraduate degree, and because she is the friend of a friend of a friend. So I picked this new book up expecting to like it, and I was not disappointed. Her stories are generally about women and their relationships with their husbands, lovers, children, and extended families. Those relationships are often troubled, but always valued for their human connections. McCorkle's stories remind us that we are all human, all flawed, but that there is redemption because of the fact that we are all connected, all enmeshed in our worlds of family and close friends. These stories allow us to accept imperfection and know that life and relationships are not "all or nothing"; they are messy and unpredictable, but there is a deep vein of human connection that allows us to keep going, and even be happy, despite the messiness. McCorkle is especially good at describing marriages that have survived challenges and crises but continue because of a deep connection that overrides the problems. I don't mean that the stories all have happy endings; some of them are scary, sad and wrenching. But the overall message or feeling of the collection is life-affirming.

Guest Blog Two: Reading Still Opens New Worlds

Yesterday I posted my friend C.’s first guest blog entry, on “The Pleasures of Re-reading”; today I am very pleased to post, below, her second guest entry, “Reading Still Opens New Worlds.” Thank you, C., for these two illuminating entries!

C.:
"Thanks to an extraordinary teacher, I first went to Japan almost forty years ago. Since then, the land, the history, the people, and the culture of Japan have enriched my life immeasurably. My bookcases bulge with books about Dai Nippon. But with all these years and all those books, there are some things Japanese that I never really "got." Until four years ago haiku was a good example. I suppose I thought about haiku the way Emily Dickinson used to be thought of -- precious (horrors!). So when I was invited to a talk at the Japanese Embassy's Culture and Information Center by Abigail Friedman, the author of "The Haiku Apprentice" (Stone Bridge Press, 2006), I decided to go so I could hear what she had to say and get a copy of the book for my English-speaking friend in Japan who is a haiku devotee. At the lecture I encountered another extraordinary teacher. Ms. Friedman's talk and her book lifted the top off my head and opened my heart to the many pleasures of haiku. Since then I've been swimming happily in Basho, Buson, Issa, Shiki, Richard Wright, and other American haiku poets. I've also been exploring translations and anthologies of Japanese poetry -- haiku and other forms -- such as "The Manyoshu" (Ten Thousand Leaves) and "Hyakunin Isshu" (One Hundred Poets, One Poem Each). One extraordinary book has yielded years of beauty already and assured more such pleasures in the future."

Guest Blog: The Pleasures of Re-reading

Readers of this blog may remember my 2/16/10 post about “reading friends,” in which I particularly focused on my longtime, extremely well-read, dear friend C., with whom I have had my “best, longest running, most continuous book conversation” over a period of 39 years. In honor of that long conversation, and because I value her opinions so much, I invited C. to write a guest blog entry or two, and she kindly agreed, contributing two posts under the joint title of “Still Reading After All These Years.” Today, I am honored and pleased to post her first entry, on “The Pleasures of Re-reading,” below; her second guest post will follow tomorrow.

C.:
"I started out thinking I'd write about re-reading books I read forty years ago. But time is ever the trickster; it's actually more than forty years ago. Among the books I've re-read recently are books I read in college -- in 1968, that year of exhilarating and tragic turmoil. Three, in particular. First, Emily Dickinson. I don't know what was more radical: the teacher, who at that point was the only English Department faculty member who showed up to teach in a suit and tie, or his statement to the lounging crowd of bored students that he intended to prove to us that Emily Dickinson was the greatest American poet of all time. Unheard of, and indeed, ridiculous at that time. But that is also exactly what he proceeded to do. I am still grateful every time I find myself leafing through my Emily. Second, Joseph Conrad, and "Heart of Darkness" in particular. The overwhelming richness of the language, the lush pairings of adjectives and nouns. As I re-read, I kept dropping the book so I could jot down those wonderful phrases in my haiku notebook. And finally, Herman Melville. "Moby Dick." Reading it was a thrill -- again. I walked through beautiful woods, I swam through beautiful corals, the pathways still familiar, beauty re-revealed and renewed. With a thrill, I remembered individual sentences, while also remembering the thrill I felt reading them the first time. In a world where we're often overwhelmed and so much seems to slip away from us, it is pure pleasure to realize the power of literature and memory."

My (Minority Opinion) Affection for Semicolons

A couple of days ago, I happened to look down at the keyboard on my five-year-old laptop at home, and suddenly noticed that the most smudged key -- a sure sign of frequent usage -- was the semicolon key. I chuckled to myself, as I have long had a special (geeky, I know) affection for the semicolon, which is not, I know, the majority opinion. Many English instructors and others interested in language believe that few people know how to use semicolons correctly any more. For example, a few years ago, one of my daughter's high school English teachers was so exasperated with their misuse that she preemptively banned their use in her students' papers. I was somewhat annoyed at this edict, as I had made sure that my daughter knew how to use them! I also make sure my students know how to use them. In a nice coincidence, a day after I noticed my smudged semi-colon key, a Facebook friend posted a lovely, graceful 1979 Lewis Thomas essay (from his book "The Medusa and the Snail") about punctuation, which included the following sentences: "I have grown fond of semicolons in recent years. The semicolon tells you that there is still some question about the preceding full sentence; something needs to be added; it reminds you sometimes of the Greek usage. It is almost always a greater pleasure to come across a semicolon than a period....with a semicolon there you get a pleasant little feeling of expectancy; there is more to come;... it will get better."

The Thrill of Being Cited

Please forgive today's bit of academic nerdiness, but bear with me: it IS related to writing and reading! As one who came late to academic publishing, I was -- and still am -- probably particularly susceptible to being pleased, even thrilled, when my own publications (journal articles, books, book chapters) started being cited in other scholars' work. Other scholars' mention of one's work in their articles and books is a bit of recognition that means a lot academically, professionally, and personally. Most of all, it is a sign that all the work of writing, revising, submitting, more revising, sometimes getting rejected, still more revising, and finally getting one's writing published is actually validated by others' saying they have read it and found it worth mentioning as support for their own work. Or to boil it down to its basics, and in very non-academic language: People are reading my work! Hurray! People think it is worth mentioning in their publications! It feels great! (I know I am not the only one who feels this way; colleagues/friends have told me they feel the same.)

"True Prep"

"True Prep" (Knopf, 2010), by Lisa Birnbach with Chip Kidd, is a sort of sequel or update to Birnbach's 1980 bestseller, "The Official Preppy Handbook." It, like the earlier book, is a half serious, half tongue-in-cheek compendium of information and advice about the lives of the upper class in the U.S. Topics include schools, colleges, jobs, wardrobes, travels, houses, second houses, food, drink, etiquette, and more. The book is rather non-linear, and is profusely sprinkled with pictures, drawings, diagrams, and lists. Although presented in a "fun," self-deprecating tone, it is clear the authors are describing a social class that does still exist and that they believe is admirable for its history, tradition, and -- to them -- endearing traits. It is also clear that they hope to have it both ways in gaining readers: they hope for readers who will enjoy the book in an ironic, satirical, humorous way, as well as readers who may take it as a useful guide to acting more like members of a class they aspire to. As someone who writes about social class and its effects, I find the U.S.'s ambivalent relationship to class matters interesting and telling. Americans both deny social class differences and are fascinated by those differences, whether in a yearning or a condemnatory manner. "True Prep" captures a bit of this ambivalence, although in a light and indirect way.

The Ever-Fascinating Bloomsbury Group

As many readers know, the Bloomsbury Group of writers, artists, and critics lived, met, wrote, and painted in and around the Bloomsbury area of London (as well as outside of London) before, during, and after World War II. Many of them met through the Stephen family, whose most famous member is Virginia Woolf (about whom I posted on 2/26/10). The other main point of connection was Cambridge University, where most of the male members of the group studied. Besides Virginia Woolf, the most prominent members of the group were her husband Leonard Woolf, the publisher and writer; E.M. Forster, the great novelist; Virginia's sister Vanessa Bell, an artist; Vanessa's husband, Clive Bell, an art critic; Vanessa's lover, Duncan Grant, a painter; John Maynard Keynes, the famous economist; Lytton Strachey, a great and very witty writer; Roger Fry, a painter; and Desmond McCarthy, a critic. There were others on the periphery of the group as well. Many of the members were related professionally, familially, maritally, and sexually. They were known not only for their literary and artistic work, but for being progressive in their ideas about art, literature, politics, economics, and social issues, as well as in their own lifestyles. There have been hundreds, perhaps thousands of books and articles written about this group and its members; it has always had a fascination, even a sort of magic, for those of us who care about literature and art. During their time, and even now, their talent, their dedication to the arts, their flouting of many of society's "rules" and norms, and their intricate and often shifting relationships with each other over time seemed and seem both enviable and the source of much gossip and sometimes disapproval. Over the years, I have read many books by and about this group, their work, and their entanglements, and never grow tired of learning more about them. I also visited (from the outside only) some of their former homes in London. Although I acknowledge that they had their faults, they were and are enormously influential, and -- still -- fascinating!

But What If I Run Out?

We visited my mother, brothers, and families this weekend, a three hour trip each way by car. For two days and one night, most of which was of course filled with visiting with family, I took one substantial novel I had just started reading ("My Hollywood," which I am sure I will be posting on in a few days), six magazines, and that day's newspaper. I came back tonight having read that day's newspaper and a few pages of one magazine. What was I thinking? I knew I would never read more than a very small portion of what I took, yet I was impelled to take it all anyway. I think the key is a fear of running out of things to read, a fate too awful to contemplate. This is one case when I never learn from experience, and keep doing the same thing over and over again. Fortunately there are no serious negative consequences of hauling reading material back and forth in one's suitcase.

International Novels by Women

When I wrote on 10/4/10 about world literature I had read in my 20s, I mentioned that much later – in the mid-1990s - I designed and taught several times a class called Contemporary Fiction by Nonwestern Women. Today I want to briefly write about three of the novels I taught in that class. Duong Thu Huong is a well-known Vietnamese writer and political dissident; her novel “Paradise of the Blind” (Penguin, 1993, originally published 1988) describes Vietnam from the 1950s to the 1980s, focusing on how land reform destroyed many families and their connection to the land. It is a sad novel, but also glows with the light of family and food. Yes, food. The descriptions of family meals, markets, and food in general are detailed, sensuous, and practically leap off the page. Nigerian author Buchi Emecheta’s title “The Joys of Motherhood” (Heinemann, 1994; originally published 1979) is somewhat ironic, as the main character constantly struggles with poverty and other problems (moving from her village to the big city where she feels disconnected from her community, dealing with her husband’s taking new wives, and much more) in order to raise her children. But there is joy as well, as she takes pride in her children, and is respected by others. Nahid Rachlin is an Iranian-American writer whose novel “Married to a Stranger” (City Lights, 1983) tells the story of the marriage of a young couple who, although they chose each other, are unprepared for marriage, especially in the changing Iran of the Revolution. All three of these powerful novels feature strong women characters and glimpses into women’s lives in the three countries where the novels are set.

"After This"

I just finished listening to the audio version of "After This," (Farrar, Straus, & Giroux, 2006; Audiobooks America, 2006), by Alice McDermott. This lovely novel tells the story of an Irish American Catholic family in Long Island. Early in the novel, Mary meets John; they then marry and have a family, and their kids grow up and begin their own lives and families. That is pretty much it. There are no pyrotechnics, just good writing. Although nothing amazing or strange happens, the usual family events -- romances, marriages, births, schooling, jobs, deaths -- are told with dignity and with a quiet lyricism. The novel is in effect a series of set pieces; the author gives great, detailed, loving attention to some scenes, and then skips over years to other scenes. The scenes described at length are almost tableaux; the reader keeps thinking they are leading up to dramatic events, yet in most of the scenes they do not. One scene in which John and a pregnant Mary take their three young children to the beach reminded me of a painting, or of one of those leisurely European films which dwells lovingly on the simple details of everyday life. In contrast, the dramatic events in "After This" are often sprung upon us suddenly. There are even a few disconcerting fast forwards, almost asides, to tell us the eventual fate of some of the characters. Another lovely aspect of this novel is the quiet, modest goodness of the main characters. I recommend this novel to your attention.

The Joys of Reading Jack Kerouac in Youth

In the third of what has turned out to be a trio of recent posts on Beat literary heroes (Allen Ginsberg’s “Howl” on 10/3/10; Lawrence Ferlinghetti on 10/5/10), today I am remembering the liberating influence of the novels of Jack Kerouac. Of course the iconic novel is "On the Road," but in my teens and twenties I read many of his other novels as well: "The Subterraneans," "The Dharma Bums," and "Desolation Angels," among others. For a young person especially, these novels were intoxicating, with their evocation of feelings of freedom, Bohemianism, thumbing one’s nose at the establishment, and living authentically. At the time I read them, my generation was creating its own version of all that in the excitement of the late 60s and early 70s: the “hippie” era, with its proverbial “sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll,” along with the era of political protests, the Civil Rights movement, the beginnings of the women’s movement and the gay rights movement, and more. Other signs of the more liberated times included our colorful clothing and long hair, our willingness to “take off” on trips to various places with only a backpack (although perhaps with our parents’ financial support…), and the increasing acceptance of couples living together without marriage. Although I now have trouble re-reading Kerouac – partly because of my age, partly because of knowing about his later descent into alcoholism and a sad end – I honor and remember with joy his contribution to opening up the world for many young people. And on a quick personal note: it still makes me happy to remember being young in the sixties/seventies; one representative memory (among many!) is my first big trip on my own, my trip “out west” (from Michigan to British Columbia) on my own, wearing jeans, a fringed vest, and a floppy hippie hat, feeling like the ultimate free spirit. Although it was actually quite a tame adventure, for me it felt liberating and joyous!

Who Will Win the Nobel Prize in Literature?

The Nobel Prize in Literature will likely be announced tomorrow (although there is no set date for this announcement, unlike for the other Nobel Prizes). Who will the winner be? There has been much speculation, as there is every year. A look at the various articles and blogs, as well as the odds set by the UK-based bookmaker Ladbrookes, produces the following summary of good possibilities. Near the top of many lists are: Sweden's Tomas Transtromer, Kenya's Ngugi wa Thiong'o, the U.S.'s Cormac McCarthy, Japan's Haruki Murakami, the U.K.'s A. S. Byatt, and Canada's Alice Munro and Margaret Atwood. Other strong contenders include the U.S.'s Don DeLillo, E. L. Doctorow, Joyce Carol Oates, Thomas Pynchon, and Philip Roth. There are others on various lists who are far less well-known. In fact, the Nobel Committee is famous for choosing lesser-known (beyond the borders of their own countries or continents, or the knowledge of literary experts), unexpected winners, so we may all be completely surprised at the announcement. My own hope is that either Alice Munro or Margaret Atwood wins. But no matter who wins, I am grateful that for at least one news cycle, the focus of many stories and of much conversation will be on literature.

Lawrence Ferlinghetti: Poet and Hero

After seeing and writing here (10/3/10) about "Howl," the film, I was so glad to read in today's San Francisco Chronicle about the Litquake Festival's honoring of Lawrence Ferlinghetti Saturday evening with an evening of tributes and the Barbary Coast Award. Ferlinghetti was the one who was put on trial for selling Allen Ginsberg's "Howl," considered obscene by some; he stood up for freedom of speech and art, and he won the case; for that alone, he would be a hero. But his influence is far wider and deeper than that. His City Lights bookstore (which he co-founded in 1953) is an icon, a beacon of light, a center for book lovers and for freedom of expression. The bookstore has supported Beat writers and every other kind of writer; it has also welcomed readers, even readers who cannot afford to buy books, but are allowed to read the books in the aisles. Ferlinghetti is also a poet of great gifts and great renown. His most famous poem, and collection of poems, "Coney Island of the Mind" (1958), "did more than any other book to turn young people the world over to poetry as an instrument to thinking and feeling...This was the beginning of a metamorphosis of consciousness," according to poet Michael McClure's tribute. The event on Saturday also included tributes by fellow writers Ishmael Reed, Michelle Tea, devorah major, and Jack Hirschman, among others, and performances by singers Patti Smith and Tom Waits. Another reason we San Franciscans treasure Ferlinghetti is his staying in and bringing international honor to San Francisco as a city that loves, honors, and protects literature and free expression.

Reading the World

When I discover an author whose work I like, I tend to go on binges and read everything she or he has written. For a while in my early 20s, I would go on binges of reading everything I could find from a certain country or continent. Remember, this was when much less world literature, especially from Nonwestern countries, was available in English in the U.S.; however, having access to a good university library, I was able to find quite a bit. Looking back on my reading list from those days, I find some of the following authors listed. I had a Middle Eastern mini-binge, reading Mahmoud Teymour, Naguib Mahfouz, Sonallah Ibrahim, Tayeb Salih, and Taufik Al Hakim. My Japanese binge took me through literature by Yasunari Kawabata, Yasushi Inoue, Yukio Mishima, Junichiro Tanizaki, Ryunosuke Akutagawa, Hisako Matsubara, and Natsume Soseki. My South and Central American stage had me reading Pablo Neruda, Jorge Luis Borges, Ruben Dario, Rosario Castellanos, Pedro Prado, Jorge Icaya, Jorge Amado, Rachel de Quieroz, and Gabriela Mistral. Quite a few years later, I taught a class on "Contemporary Fiction by Nonwestern Women," and was able to discover many more writings by women from Asia, Africa, and the Middle East; that class' readings, and the research I did for it, will be a topic for another day. In any case, for a few years when I was a graduate student and had access to a large university library, I happily worked my way through various shelves from various parts of the world. My reading in those geographical areas was mainly untutored, unguided and unsystematic, but it was a wonderful experience and opened up many areas - geographical and otherwise - of understanding for me.

"Howl": The Movie

My daughter and I saw "Howl," the movie, last night. I don't usually write about movies here, but as this one was about a poet and a poem, it seems relevant to the blog. I had mixed feelings about the film, but overall enjoyed it very much and am glad that I saw it. The focus of the film is on Allen Ginsberg's famous reading of his long poem "Howl" and the ensuing trial in which Lawrence Ferlinghetti, whose City Lights Bookstore published the poem, is tried for obscenity. The film interweaves four types of scenes: first, from the reading in 1955 at the Six Gallery in San Francisco; second, from the trial; third, of Ginsberg being interviewed and speaking into a tape recorder; and fourth, animated scenes "illustrating" the spirit of the poem. The first three types of scenes were all engrossing and beautifully acted; the fourth type verged on the silly, with 60s/psychedelic/Fantasia-style/ecstatic whooshings and swoopings through a cityscape and the sky, animated attenuated creatures, and explosions of fireworks-type lights. However, I chose to give in to the spirit of those sequences and enjoy them. James Franco starred as Ginsberg and did a terrific job. His portrayal brought out the vulnerable and tender side of Ginsberg as well as the intellectual, poetic, free-spirit rebel side. The film is packed with wonderful actors, including David Straitharn, Jeff Daniels, Bob Balaban, Mary-Louise Parker, Treat Williams, and Jon Hamm. The focus of the film is on Ginsberg's pioneering work in a new, freer, jazz-influenced kind of writing, one that should not be fettered by narrow conservative views about what is appropriate and what is obscene language. In a touching last scene, we hear and then see a far older Ginsberg reading/chanting his poetry. As an aside: I was fortunate enough to see and hear Ginsberg read his poetry in his later years, in the 1980s, and am glad I could experience his unique poetry, wit, and spirit in person.

Great Biographies of Great Writers

Great biographies of great writers have a double whammy value: They are about wonderful writers that we care about; in addition, the best biographies are well written and sometimes become classics themselves. I was thinking about this the other day while talking with my friend B, a great admirer of Henry James. B spoke of what a masterpiece the Leon Edel five-volume biography of James was. I started thinking of other great bios of writers, and came up with the following as outstanding examples. One of the first such bios I was completely engrossed by was Michael Holroyd's "Lytton Strachey: A Biography." Of course that book was enhanced by its stories of the Bloomsbury group. And speaking of the Bloomsbury group, Quentin Bell's biography of his aunt, "Virginia Woolf: A Biography" is another classic. This book, like many of the classic bios, was found by later scholars to be somewhat biased and incomplete, but to me this doesn't subtract from the power of these great portrayals. Another and even older favorite of mine is Elizabeth Gaskell's "The Life of Charlotte Bronte." Gaskell and Bronte were contemporaries and knew each other, and as fellow female novelists, understood much about each other. Readers of that bio might want to read Winnifred Gerin's "Elizabeth Gaskell: A Biography." Claire Tomalin wrote the wonderful "Jane Austen: A Life," and R.W.B. Lewis wrote the terrific and slightly scandalous "Edith Wharton: A Biography." Although I don't believe one needs to know about a writer's life to appreciate her or his works, I -- like many readers -- am curious about the lives of my favorite authors, and have valued and enjoyed the great biographies listed above.