Remembering Saul Bellow

There is a fascinating selection of Saul Bellow's letters to other writers and literary figures - including Philip Roth, William Faulkner, Bernard Malamud, John Berryman, John Cheever, Martin Amis, and Cynthia Ozick - in the April 26, 2010 issue of The New Yorker. The letters span over 50 years, from 1942 to 2004, shortly before Bellow's death in 2005. As I read them, I was reminded of how much I had admired and liked some of Bellow's novels during my college years, especially "The Adventures of Augie March", and - best of all - "Herzog." The latter was perfectly suited to my early-20s philosophizing years, when I was - in the way of many people of that age - trying to figure out "the meaning of life." I didn't read much Bellow after that, perhaps because I was busy discovering all the wonderful women writers who were not taught in my college classes. Some years later - perhaps in the 1980s - Bellow came to speak at the university where I teach, and afterward, was honored at a luncheon. I remember being in awe of having a meal in the same room with the great Saul Bellow, although not at the same table (I was too junior a faculty member then for that honor!). The only words we exchanged were a phrase or two, but it was an exciting and memorable occasion for me nevertheless.

"The Curse of the Appropriate Man"

At a recent library sale, I spotted a short story collection titled "The Curse of the Appropriate Man" (Harcourt, 2004), by Lynn Freed. I couldn't resist buying it, partly because I had read and liked other books by Freed, a South African author who lives here in the San Francisco Bay Area, and partly because the title was so intriguing. Some of the stories take place in South Africa and some in the United States, some are about poor black servants and some about sophisticated but often restless and unhappy whites in both South Africa and the U.S. Issues of race, class, and gender underlie many of the stories. The women characters in particular seem to have trouble settling into their lives; they are dissatisfied seekers and yet seem resigned to their inability to find or create better lives. The title story explores a topic that many women are very familiar with: the attraction women often feel to the "bad boys," the outlaws, the men who may not treat them well or offer stable lives, but who provide excitement and a feeling of being fully alive. Women know these men aren't good for them, but can't resist them either, and they may find more "appropriate" men dull. Freed is an excellent writer, the author of several novels, perhaps most notably "Home Ground" (Mariner, 1987), which I read and was impressed by many years ago. More recently, I very much liked her book of autobiographical/literary essays (a genre I am quite partial to, as readers of this blog have probably noticed), "Reading, Writing, and Leaving Home: Life on the Page" (Harcourt, 2005), which I posted about on 2/10/10.

Willa Cather: A Pioneer, An Original

The incomparable Willa Cather (1873-1947) was not only the author of wonderful, original fiction, most notably a dozen novels, but also a strong, independent woman who had a career as a journalist before she became a novelist. A major strength and source of originality is that most of her novels take place in heartland areas rather than in the big cities of the East, in contrast to most novels of the time. The best of the novels, in my opinion, are "My Antonia," "Song of the Lark," and "Death Comes for the Archbishop." The main character of "My Antonia" is a young woman who has immigrated to the U.S. from Bohemia with her family; they settle in the prairies of Nebraska. Living conditions are harsh, but the family works hard, gradually making lives for themselves. Antonia, although young, is the strongest family member, the rock upon whom the others rely. She is independent, hardworking, big-hearted, and kind. At several points, she has to stand up for herself and/or her family, and is competent and fearless in doing so. She is an American original, a truly wonderful character, one who reflects many aspects of Cather's own life and qualities. "Song of the Lark" is the story of Thea Kronberg, who is from Colorado but goes to Chicago and eventually New York, becoming a famed opera singer. It is a lovely ode to the way art transforms lives and allows us to transcend limitations. "Death Comes for the Archbishop" takes place in New Mexico, and treats historical themes about the Catholic church, Native Americans, and colonialism. It is a spare, intense, poetic novel, with vivid descriptions of the stark and striking landscape.

"Twilight of the Superheroes"

Several of the stories in Deborah Eisenberg's "Twilight of the Superheroes: Stories" (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux, 2006) are very much New York fiction: urban, quick, abrupt, scattered, elliptical, talky, somewhat neurotic. Some - especially the title story - are informed by the events of September 11, 2001. There are exceptions to the New York setting, such as "Window," which takes place in suburban and rural settings, and "Like it or Not," set in Italy. Yet even the characters in those stories are, or seem to be, of urban American backgrounds and sensibilities. Eisenberg's stories are always compelling, although unsettling. I read this book when it came out in 2006, and just re-read it; the stories definitely deserve re-reading. If you like this collection, you may want to look for the author's very recent book, "The Collected Stories of Deborah Eisenberg" (Picador, 2010), which includes all four of her previously published story collections.

Engaging with a Novel through Teaching It

When I teach a novel, I get to know it in a way that I wouldn't otherwise. First, I read it more often, and more carefully. Second, I read more about it: literary criticism, biographical information about the author, etc. Third, I learn from my students' questions and comments. Most of all, I involve myself more deeply with the book, I steep myself in it, and I feel more connected to it. Of course I wouldn't have chosen to teach the book if I didn't already admire it, but teaching it brings a deeper relationship with it. This has happened to me with quite a few novels and other literary works, perhaps most notably Jane Austen's "Sense and Sensibility," Charlotte Bronte's "Jane Eyre," Willa Cather's "My Antonia," Virginia Woolf's "Mrs. Dalloway," Edith Wharton's "House of Mirth," and Toni Morrison's "Sula."

Girl Books and Boy Books?

This semester my writing class is reading (along with a textbook) "Digging to America," by Anne Tyler. I thought the themes of mixed cultures co-existing, international adoption, and family would stimulate good discussions and good writing, and they have done so. After we finished the novel this week, I asked students to write a quick overall response to the book: Did they like it? Were they glad they had read it? Would they recommend it to friends? Should I assign it again in future semesters? I asked them to be honest. All of them liked it at least somewhat, but the responses were quite gendered. The women all liked it without reservation. The men liked it more or less, but several of them said that they preferred books with "more action." And one male student stated that he liked it, and wrote very well about what he learned from it, but concluded by saying that it was a rather "girly" book, wasn't it? I am not sorry that I assigned this novel, as students spoke animatedly and wrote well about the themes and characters, and seemed genuinely interested in the story. But the male responses reminded me of something that I sometimes forget: for whatever reason, nature or nurture (I will not get into that huge and fraught question here!), it does seem that -- on average -- males have overlapping but at least somewhat different tastes in books than females. As an educator, should I take these differences into account? Should I look for novels with literary value but "more action"? I will have to think long and hard about this before the next time I need to select a novel for a class.

"Atlas of Unknowns"

"Atlas of Unknowns," by the Indian-American author Tania James, has just come out in paperback (Vintage, 2010). I read this engrossing novel when it was originally published in 2009, partly because I am always interested in novels about India and about Indians in the U.S., and partly because I am drawn to stories about sisters (perhaps because I don't have any, and wonder what it would be like to have them?). Two sisters, Linno and Anju, grow up in India; Anju wins a scholarship and goes to the U.S. to study, betraying her sister in the process. After various plot twists and troubles, Anju leaves the American school and disappears. We readers know she is safe, although unhappy, but Linno and the rest of the family does not. Linno has had success in India, due to her artistic talents, and she tries to go to the U.S. to find Anju. Despite all the secrets and sadnesses, the sisters' bond is inspiring. This is a good old-fashioned plot- and character-driven story, told extremely well; the cultural aspects regarding both India and the United States are of interest as well.