Separate Literary Prizes for Women -- Good or Bad Idea?

In my post yesterday, I quoted A. S. Byatt as saying that women who write smart, demanding novels are seen as unnatural. In the same Guardian online article, and elsewhere, Byatt was quoted as disapproving of the Orange Prize, a British prize for women writers. I can see Byatt's point about its being demeaning to have a separate prize for women, but I disagree with her. Since the playing field in literature, like that in most areas, is still not completely level, I am in favor of anything which helps to highlight great literature by women writers. I am equally in favor of the many other targeted prizes, such as those for British Commonwealth writers, those for writers of certain nationalities or ethnicities, and those for writers under thirty.

A. S. Byatt Speaks Her Mind

According to the Guardian UK online (8/20/10), the esteemed English novelist A. S. Byatt recently stated that women who write "smart, demanding novels are perceived by critics as strange and unnatural." As a feminist, I am aware of and alert to slights of, or mistreatment of, women, including women writers. However, as a reader of many book reviews and critical pieces, I don't really see this as a widespread issue any more, although it clearly was in the past. Perhaps in England, where Byatt lives, this is more true? Or perhaps she is sensitive because although her novel "Possession" was highly praised and is her best-known novel, her recent novel "The Children's Book" received mixed reviews? I personally liked "Possession," but abandoned "The Children's Book" after a few chapters. I am of course willing to admit that Byatt knows more about this than I do, both from her own experience and from being a part of the literary world, but I can't decide whether she is right about this topic, or whether it is her own issue, so to speak.

Bad Dad. Really Bad.

Despite my complaining about Lily King's novel "The English Teacher," I went ahead and read "The Pleasing Hour," and blogged about both novels (on 7/23/10 and 7/29/10). Now I have just finished her latest, "Father of the Rain" (Atlantic Monthly Press, 2010), but I had to pick myself up by the scruff of my neck to push myself to finish it. What is it about this author that brings me back, but at the same time makes me feel so reluctant to keep going when I read her work? She writes beautifully and is obviously a major talent. But her main topic -- family dysfunction -- makes her fiction painful to read. In this novel, Gardiner Amory is alcoholic and cruel to his wives and children; he is also charming in a WASPy way, and manipulative. King's achievement is to show his awfulness without resorting to (many) dramatic scenes. Things seem to be going fine for a while, and then a sudden horribly cruel remark or a hard slap remind us that -- despite our hopes, and those of his daughter Daley -- it is highly unlikely that Gardiner will ever change. Daley keeps trying to help him, though, even -- at least for a while -- giving up a prized job and a loving boyfriend in order to do so. She can't accept that her childhood and family were so rotten, and she wants to change things by sheer desire and effort. Needless to say, it doesn't work. Readers will root for Daley, at the same time that they want to tell her, "Stop! Don't give up your own life and future for him!" Fortunately she does learn this lesson finally, and there is even a sort of feeble reconciliation at the end of the novel.

"The Hand That First Held Mine"

"The Hand That First Held Mine" (Houghton Mifflin, 2010), by the English writer Maggie O'Farrell, tells two stories in alternating chapters. Each story is compelling in and of itself, but the gradual convergence of the two is a masterpiece of storytelling. O'Farrell achieves this feat without pyrotechnics, without seeming gimmicky, and with a purposeful lack of hyped-up suspense; in fact, at certain points she explicitly announces future events, as if to say "This novel isn't about the suspense; it's about how I take you there." The first story takes place in the 1950s and focuses on Lexy, a fiercely self-made and independent young woman during a time period when such independence was not common; Lexie is a journalist/writer/critic. The second story takes place roughly 50 years later; the main character is Elina, an artist. These two characters as well as the other characters (parents, lovers, husbands, friends, co-workers) are exquisitely well portrayed. In both cases, readers can also enjoy the snapshots of the artistic milieu in London. Some of the most powerful portions of the novel are the pictures of the characters' lives as new mothers. Only a mother, as the author is, could immerse us in the piercingly joyful and scarily overwhelming world of the first days and weeks with a newborn. Elina in particular lives in a sort of unreal twilight zone, with the lack of sleep that makes mothers unsure what time of day it is, what is going on in the outside world, and where their own minds are. Also powerful is the portrayal of how childhood events, especially those involving parents, can have a lasting effect on children. This is a beautifully written novel with vivid, original yet somehow familiar characters; I highly recommend it.

Uh...Thanks! Really!

I had to smile when I read a blogpost by Darragh McManus in the Guardian online Aug. 18, 2010 (http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/booksblog/2010/aug/18/book-recommendations-go-wrong) about the question of what to do when a friend or colleague presses a book on you, telling you you will love it, and it turns out you don't love it at all. I am sure we have all experienced this, perhaps from both sides -- being the presser and the pressee, so to speak -- at various times. I know I have. Generally my friends know my taste well, and I have often been thrilled to discover new books and authors through their recommendations, but sometimes I am surprised by a book that I really cannot get into or enjoy. I still appreciate their generosity and thoughtfulness, of course. On the other side, I am sure I have misjudged in some of my recommendations or gifts. I admit that one could say that this whole blog is a kind of pressing books on people; my rationale is that at least it is not targeted to any one person, so no one is put on the spot. The feeling of being put on the spot is what McManus was humorously getting at: What do you say to the giver/recommender who asks you later, with eagerness, how you liked the book? Should you be honest? Or fake it? Or dodge the question? Or...?

E-mail in Fiction

Much has been written, including on this blog, about how new technologies affect, may affect, and will affect the reading experience and the publishing world. What about the Kindle, the Nook, the I-Pad? What about copyright issues for books online? Etcetera. In addition to pondering those questions, I was just recently thinking about how the actual content of fiction has changed with the new technologies. I remember reading, a few years ago, a novel that was largely an ongoing exchange of e-mails among the main characters; this reminded me of the epistolary novels of the 18th and 19th centuries, but the e-mails were much faster, shorter, and more conversational than the letters. And I recently (7/31/10) posted on this blog about the novel "Landing," which is about a trans-Atlantic relationship between two lovers; much of their communication is by phone, text, and, especially, e-mail. This is a relationship that literally could not have existed without access to technology. The couple meets briefly, and only because of e-mail do they develop and continue their relationship. So the evolving technology is not just something that affects the publishing world, and is not even just something that now appears in fiction, but is a force that actually shapes which stories are possible.

Evocative Poem about Reading

Today's "Writer's Almanac, with Garrison Keillor" (which, as I have mentioned before, you can have emailed to your mailbox every day if you choose) has a lovely, evocative poem about reading. It is titled "Midsummer, Georgia Avenue," and it is by the esteemed poet Mary Jo Salter. I am not sure what the copyright status is about reproducing a poem from that website, so I am posting the link here, and hoping you will read the poem. If for some reason you have trouble with the link, just Google "Writer's Almanac" for today's date. The link is: http://writersalmanac.publicradio.org/ If you are looking at it tomorrow or in the future, just use the "previous" button to get back to Aug. 19 and this poem. Enjoy it!