Guest Post: Scribbling in Books

Thanks to my friend Mary for the following guest post:

"There is something that's always bothered me, but I recently found out that not everyone feels this way -- some even find it charming. I wonder how other readers out there feel about reading a library or other borrowed book, and coming across little marks or scribbled words written by a previous reader. For instance, someone may have underlined one word (usually but not always in pencil), or perhaps corrected a spelling or punctuation error. Or, worst of all, written in a little comment or maybe just a word, often cryptic, in the margin. I find that annoying and distracting. It pulls me right out of the moment, and makes me aware of some other person and his pencil, rather than the voice I am hearing in the novel. Of course, if a person wants to do that to his own book, that's fine. But to write in a book that others might read, and especially a library book, seems rude and self-indulgent. Does anyone else feel this way, or am I just a curmudgeon?"

How Candid Should a Memoirist Be?

Memoirs, by definition, are authors’ own stories about their pasts. But no one can tell her or his own story without mentioning other people. How can a memoirist be honest and open, as memoir demands (although of course all self-portrayals are selected and shaped), yet be fair to these other people in their lives, and preserve their privacy? So one way for a memoirist to possibly hurt other people is to portray them unfairly or violate their privacy. Another (related) way is, as author Dani Shapiro writes about in a recent (7/17/11) New York Times Book Review essay, titled "The Me My Child Mustn't Know," to write something about oneself that might – at the time or later – embarrass oneself and others in one’s life. OK, let’s be specific. Shapiro writes about how her first memoir, “Slow Motion,” was written “with abandon, a kind of take-no-prisoners story about dropping out of college at 20 and, in a booze- and drug-induced haze, becoming involved in a destructive affair with a much older married man, the stepfather of my best friend.” But now she realizes that at the time of writing the memoir, she “wasn’t projecting forward to a lifetime later, when, as a Connecticut wife and mother in my 40s,” she would worry about how her son would feel reading or hearing about the events in her book. She ponders ways in which her identity as a writer and her identity as a mother clash, with different priorities and concerns. If she had known she would have a child, would she have written the memoir? On the one hand, she believes that if a person is to write about herself, she should be honest. On the other hand, she wants to protect her son, and worries about the consequences of his reading the book at some point. She concludes that “as a writer, my inner life is my only instrument. I understand the world only by my attempts to shape my experience on the page….Without these attempts…I am lost.” So she chooses openness. Is it the right choice?

Like a Book? Tell the Author!

I have been very honored and pleased when a few of the authors whose books I have posted about here have contacted me to thank me for the posts, and in some cases have said how much such encouragement meant to them. I know that I, as an academic writer with the very limited sales that usually come with academic writing, treasure every positive comment about my own books and articles. But I think we sometimes assume that writers of much more widely distributed books of fiction, especially those that have received a certain amount of acclaim and good sales, are very confident and don’t need encouragement. The notes that I have received indicate otherwise. This may not be true for the few authors of huge bestsellers, who probably get bags full of fan mail, but I think it is true for what used to be called midlist authors. I think the need for positive feedback and affirmation is especially present after the initial excitement of publication and the first reviews is over, and perhaps particularly when the author embarks on her/his next novel, short story, or memoir, wondering if she/he can repeat the success of the earlier book. All this is a long-winded way of saying: If you particularly like a book, please consider taking a few minutes to send the author an email or note to say so. You can often find an email address, or a place to comment, on an author’s website, or through her/his publisher’s website, or by Googling. I believe your notes will be much appreciated.

"French Lessons," by Ellen Sussman

The blurbs on the back cover of Ellen Sussman’s “French Lessons” (Ballantine, 2011) lead the reader to believe the novel will be a frothy, fun, sexy romp through Paris. And there is definitely that element. The main characters also, though, bring much sadness and loss to the events of one day in Paris, and the main theme of the novel seems to be a kind of renewal and redemption experienced by the characters, each in her or his own way. There are six main characters: three French tutors and three clients of those tutors. Each pair of characters – a tutor and a tutee – has a chapter; the story is framed by introductory and concluding chapters about the three tutors, who meet at the end of every day and have their own complicated relationships. The idea of teaching a language through strolling through a city, speaking in the target language, and flirting madly, is intriguing if unorthodox. And the conversations and the Paris experiences are certainly enjoyable to read about. The story reminds me of the (excellent) movie, “Before Sunset,” (a sequel to “Before Sunrise”) in which Ethan Hawke and Julia Delpy play a couple walking through Paris in nonstop conversation. I have to say that some of the characters can be a bit annoying in their self-preoccupation, but perhaps they are just fallible human beings trying to get through the days and figure out what they want in life. In any case, this novel is great fun to read, evokes the beauty and romance of Paris that we all love to read about, and is well written.

Gender Stereotyping?

Re-reading my 8/6/11 review of Adam Ross’ “Ladies and Gentlemen,” I see that I used terms such as tough, violent, vigorous, strong, sure, both about the characters and about the author’s writing. I note that these are words traditionally used more often about males and male writing than about females and female writing. I like to think that these words just happened to be appropriate for this particular writer’s stories, and not that I automatically viewed the stories differently because the author is male. And it is true that most of the narrators and main characters in Ross’ stories are male. But they are (mostly) not macho-style stereotypically male, in the way that Hemingway’s characters and writing are, for one of many possible examples. What I am trying to figure out, and get at here, is which comes first, the maleness or the perception of maleness? Do I use words like those listed above because the stories elicit them, or do I go into the stories expecting to find these kinds of stereotypically male characters and characteristics and writing styles? If this book were exactly the same but had been written by a woman, would I perceive it and write about it the same way? But I don't use these kinds of words about all books by male writers. What makes the difference? Of course these are questions that have been asked and explored by many; I don’t claim they are original. But my choice of words when writing about this book for some reason brought these questions to the fore for me. I don’t know the answers to the questions, but it is good for all of us to be aware of possible automatic, unconscious biases that lead us to frame literary work in a certain way.

"If You Knew Then What I Know Now," by Ryan Van Meter

Ryan Van Meter’s “If You Knew Then What I Know Now” (Sarabande, 2011) is a set of connected autobiographical essays, focusing on the author’s gay identity and the long process of coming out to himself and then to others. The essays are honest, moving, and sometimes quite funny. Van Meter, who teaches at the same university I do (University of San Francisco), is an engaging writer. His stories of his childhood are all about his own innocence and his many years of denial about his sexuality, despite being teased and called “faggot” by classmates and others. What helped him get through that difficult period, it seems, was his loving parents. Although they didn’t quite know how to respond to their “different” son, they were unwavering in their love and support, and he dedicates this book to them. I heard Van Meter read from this book at a recent author event on campus, and he has a candid, humorous demeanor. It seems that writing about himself, his relationships, and his life has been therapeutic for him as well as informative, touching, consciousness-raising, and even entertaining for his readers and listeners.

Oops….I Forgot the Spoiler Alert!

The other day I made the kind of mistake no reader likes others to make: I gave away the ending of a novel to someone still reading it. I can’t believe I did that! I was talking with my daughter, M, about Jane Austen’s novel “Emma,” which she has been reading on her commute to work. (And I won’t make the same mistake again here, so if you, dear reader, haven’t read “Emma” and think you might read it someday, please stop reading this post now.) This is how it happened: Our discussion of “Emma” reminded me to tell M about my 7/31/11 post on how the author of the book “Agewise” theorized that Austen’s character Emma’s father had early dementia. I went on to say, as I did in the post, that Emma accepted her responsibility to take care of her father, despite knowing that it would probably keep her from marrying; I obliviously continued, saying that only because Knightley was willing to move into Emma’s house with her and her father was it possible for Emma to marry. Just as I made that last point, my daughter looked at me exasperatedly and pointed out that she had not finished the novel yet, and I had just given away the ending! I felt terrible, and apologized profusely. She was mildly annoyed with me, but took it well; she said she could see the ending coming, but wryly remarked that she would have preferred to discover it on her own. I think I am so immersed in the world of the Austen novels that I forget -- even though I knew it perfectly well in this case, and we had JUST been talking about it! -- that not everyone already knows the plots of the six novels backwards and forwards. I am thankful that my daughter wasn’t too upset, and I will try not to ever do that again! (Note that my book reviews, like all book reviews, describe a few plot points, but do not give away endings.)