"Mono Lake: Stories," by Martha Clark Cummings

I know Martha Clark Cummings through professional conferences; she also contributed a wonderful chapter to an academic book I co-edited a few years ago. Over the years, she has become a friend as well. Besides being a great teacher and scholar, she is a gifted creative writer, especially of short stories. I have seen a couple of her recent stories and liked them very much, but only last month did I order and read her earlier collection of short fiction, “Mono Lake: Stories” (Rowbarge Press, 1995). These engrossing stories depict characters, usually lesbian, in harsh situations. Most of them are set in remote, weatherbeaten, barely populated places such as Mono Lake. There is a beaten-down, even somewhat grim feeling to most of the stories. But there is also so much humanity in the midst of those difficult settings, and there are many hints of hope and possibility throughout. The situations and plots are compelling, as are the characters. There is much for us to learn from the stories, about – among other things – sexual identity and social class. There is a restrained lyricism in the style, a style that eschews prettiness for grit and heart. It is a pleasure for me to rediscover what I already knew: that Martha is a fine writer.

Jane Eyre Redux: "The Flight of Gemma Hardy"

I have read and liked some of Margot Livesey’s fiction before; I have now just finished her recent novel, “The Flight of Gemma Hardy” (Harper, 2012). When I read reviews that stated that this novel was a 1950s interpretation of Charlotte Bronte’s “Jane Eyre,” I wondered if it would feel gimmicky. But I trusted my instinct that a writer of Livesey’s stature would not allow that to happen, and I was right. The retelling is close enough that readers can see the bones of the Jane Eyre story (unloving aunt and cousin, harsh life as a charity case at a boarding school, life as a governess, love and engagement, an unwelcome revelation, a dreadful time wandering friendless and moneyless, rescue by kind friends, discovery of formerly unknown relatives and friends, and more…) but different enough that it stands up as a compelling independent novel. Readers would not need to know “Jane Eyre” to enjoy this book, but knowing it does add a dimension of depth and pleasure to the experience. The story takes place in Scotland (mostly) and Iceland, and one of its rewards is the descriptions of these settings. But the main draw of the novel is the strong, original, courageous, vulnerable girl and young woman, Gemma. We root for her, worry about her, applaud her, and eagerly read on to see what will happen next. This is a beautifully written and very satisfying novel, whether readers are Bronte fans or not.

My Towering Magazine Pile

Once again, my magazines waiting to be read have multiplied. After being away for about ten days last month for academic conferences, I returned to an alarming build-up of magazines, which I am now trying to work my way through. Below is a list of the magazines I currently subscribe to. There have been others I have subscribed to over the years, but this is the list I have winnowed my subscriptions down to. (This does not include the many academic journals to which I have subscriptions, or magazines that are sent to me because I belong to certain organizations.) I have written in this blog about several of these magazines, and about articles or essays or reviews in them. The magazines are: The Atlantic, Ms., The Nation, New York, New York Times Book Review, The New Yorker, The Progressive, San Francisco, The Threepenny Review, Vanity Fair, The Women’s Review of Books.

"Coral Glynn," by Peter Cameron

The author Peter Cameron has been on the outer edges of my radar, off and on, for a while, but I was never intrigued enough to actually read any of his novels. Until now. I heard Maureen Corrigan review Cameron’s new novel, “Coral Glynn” (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2012) a few weeks ago, read a couple of other reviews, kept being discouraged by seeing the word “Gothic,” but finally all the good reviews made me put the book on my list. Now I have read it, and am glad I did. It is an odd little book, but compelling. Cameron has said he was influenced by the writers Barbara Pym, Elizabeth Taylor, Rose Macauley, and William Maxwell, all writers I like very much. Although he is American, he set the novel in the English countryside of the 1950s…not the charming cottage-y countryside, but the gloomy, isolated countryside. The influence that springs to mind is the works of the Brontes, especially “Jane Eyre,” with less overt desperation, but quiet desperation nevertheless. Another influence or at least allusion is, surely, Daphne du Maurier’s “Rebecca.” However, the “Gothic” element is less than I feared, and I got caught up in the somewhat mysterious characters and their relationships. The main character, the Coral of the title, is sparsely described, so we readers have to work at figuring her out. Clement, the sad man who proposes to her after just a couple of weeks of knowing her, and who is scarred by World War II, is also a fascinating character. This brief novel moves along briskly, despite its mysteries. Coral, although alone in the world, is surprisingly resilient, and there is a surprise ending that is quite satisfying. The writing in this novel is delicate, indirect, and compelling. Although I started by resisting the novel, it won me over with its unusual yet believable characters and its lovely writing.

"Voice" in Student Writing

The concept of “voice” is somewhat controversial in academic circles. Here I put that controversy aside to share my experiences with “voice” in my students’ writing. We are aware of voice in the writing of well-known authors. But it is much harder to discern, naturally, in that of amateur writers, especially students. Most students take a while to develop distinctive voices, and often produce a high proportion of pedestrian, unoriginal writing. But over time, whether in academic or creative writing, they gradually develop, or uncover, their own idiosyncratic and particular ways of expressing themselves. It is such a pleasure to see their imaginations at work, to read an unusual turn of phrase, or to note a sense of humor or a unique perspective. When this happens, something exciting occurs: the student’s voice calls out to the reader in a specific way that only that student could enact. What a joy that is for the reader!

"Lucky in the Corner," by Carol Anshaw

Having enjoyed Carol Anshaw's newest novel, "Carry the One" (and written about it here on 4/8/12), I decided to read one of her earlier novels, "Lucky in the Corner" (Houghton Mifflin, 2002), and enjoyed it as well. The most crucial relationship in the novel is the complex and vexed one between Nora and her college-age daughter Fern, but their relationship is embedded in a tangle of other relationships with lovers, parents, siblings, and friends. Nora, who has a similarly complicated relationship with her own mother, Lynette, left her husband Russell some years ago, when Fern was very young; Nora could no longer suppress or ignore her true lesbian self. She has now been for many years in a relationship with Jeanne, and together they have created a calm and happy home. But Nora's desire for another great passion tempts her to betray Jeanne with Pam. Meanwhile, Fern is doing well in college, loves her Uncle Harold (whose alter ego is Dolores), has a part-time job as a telephone psychic, starts a relationship with James, and becomes increasingly responsible for her friend Tracy's baby Vaughn. She is also in danger of losing her dog Lucky, whom she dearly loves, and who represents to her a kind of stability and continuity throughout all the changes in her life (her parents' divorce, her mother coming out as a lesbian, etc.); he is now old and arthritic, and in clearly declining health. The story moves along quickly, the characters are interesting, and although they are in nontraditional family configurations, readers can relate to the misunderstandings and communication breakdowns among them. What the novel portrays well is the ways in which we all have contradictory impulses that are hard to reconcile. For example, Nora loves her daughter and her partner, yet can't stop herself from betraying them as she follows her passion. Fern loves her mother, but doesn't trust her not to let her down again, so she doesn't let Nora get too close to her. My only reservation about the novel is that its portrayals of the characters, while realistic and sympathetic, do not seem to go deep enough. I found myself wishing that the characters had shared more about themselves. Perhaps because of this, I found the novel enjoyable but not memorable.

Do We Believe Good-Looking Authors Write Better?

In a New Yorker article about Albert Camus (“Facing History,” 4/2/12), Adam Gopnik puts forth the intriguing theory that we, the reading public, give more credit to good-looking authors than to those who are less so. He begins by noting that Camus “was a terrifically good-looking guy whom women fell for hopelessly” and that this was part of his appeal. He goes on to assert that “when handsome men or beautiful women take up the work of the intellect, it impresses us because we know they could have chosen other paths to being impressive.” The rest of Gopnik’s article on Camus focuses on more usual literary and political topics, but the introductory assertion caught my attention and made me wonder about its validity. What IS true is that writers’ appearances -- especially those of women writers -- are often mentioned in reviews, biographies, and other works about them. Just recently, in Jonathan Franzen’s New Yorker article on Edith Wharton (about which I posted here on 2/22/12), he made the point that Wharton was “not pretty” and speculated about how that affected her writing. Another woman writer whose lack of beauty is often pointed out was George Eliot. Some writers who have been romanticized, such as Byron and Kerouac, are known for their looks (and life styles) as well as their literary work. Photographs of writers on book jackets often appear to be somewhat glamorized. Maybe there is some truth to Gopnik’s assertion; who doesn’t like to look at beautiful people, whether writers or others? But I resist believing that we readers actually give attractive authors more credit for their writing. Surely we are not that shallow?