Kevin Holtsberry Dot Com

Lev Grossman takes a look at How Fiction Works by James Wood and argues that the book is enjoyable but perhaps not in the way it was intended:

Books about how to read fiction are a thriving business. This summer also brings us Thomas C. Foster on How to Read Novels Like a Professor (Harper; 304 pages) and John Mullan on How Novels Work (Oxford; 346 pages), though Wood, as a book critic for the New Yorker, is the heavyweight of the field. These books fall into the curious netherworld of extra-academic literary theory. They are the last, depleted descendants of what used to be called aesthetics, the branch of philosophy that theorized the human response to works of art. For most intents and purposes, aesthetics collapsed in 1970 under the weight of Theodor Adorno’s Aesthetic Theory. What’s left is books like How Fiction Works–which is, oddly, a delight, but not for the reason it’s supposed to be.

The pleasure of the book lies in watching Wood read. For Wood, the history of the novel is itself like a novel, in which genius-heroes perform astounding feats of literary innovation. Proust finds a new way to render character in Swann’s Way (”Progress!” Wood shouts); Flaubert (”the bearish Norman, wrapped in his dressing gown”) writes prose with a precision that until then had been reserved for poetry, and in the process inadvertently invents realism as we know it; Tolstoy narrates the fading consciousness inside a freshly severed head. Wood’s enthusiasm is glorious. Reading alongside him is like going birding with somebody who has better binoculars than yours and is willing to share.

He then argues that theory, as it pertains to the novel, is a hopeless cause:

The point of How Fiction Works is supposed to be Wood’s theory of the novel. And yes, we dutifully make the rounds of narration, dialogue and so on, topics that inspire in even the most passionate reader a special, pure kind of boredom. But as Wood himself observes, “The novel is the great virtuoso of exceptionalism: it always wriggles out of the rules thrown around it.” The novel is corrosive to systematic thought–whatever is good about it is precisely that increment that resists theorization. The great pleasure of Wood’s book lies in the examples, not the points they prove, and the lessons lie in watching him read, not think. The novel exists only in practice, not in theory, in the moment when the brain hits the page–the moment when a dying servant’s bare heels meet beneath the sheets on his deathbed.

Read the whole, rather short, review and tell me what you think.  Do we need to know how fiction works?  Is theory ultimately of no use because fiction/novel “is corrosive to systematic thought”?  Or is Grossman missing something? 

Richard Lewis has become one of those authors whose books I read as soon as they are released. Every since his first book, The Flame Tree, I have enjoyed reading his intelligent and unique take on the young reader genre. I have enjoyed interviewing him via both podcast and email. And I check in on his blog regularly.

So I was eagerly anticipating his latest release The Demon Queen and it didn’t disappoint. At this point I may not be the most unbiased observer, but I found Demon Queen to be full of interesting characters and a entertaining blend of action, suspense, and horror. It also weaves in an interesting perspective on our post 9/11 world.

Here is the basic plot from the publisher:

Jesse is a boy with a mysterious past. In and out of foster homes his whole life, he believes he was abandoned in Los Angeles as a baby. When he comes under the scrutiny of Homeland Security in an incident involving a mistaken identity, he starts learning some unsettling facts about himself.

Now he is living with the Mindells in a small Midwestern town, and for the first time he feels like he may have a real home — until Honor Clarke shows up. Ever since Honor and her mother moved back to town following the gruesome death of Honor’s father, strange things have been happening. Someone is murdering birds and painting odd symbols all over town, and Jesse feels as if he’s losing his mind. He starts to see a man no one else can see, he is having violent nightmares, and it all seems to be leading to one conclusion — he is here for only one reason: to fight the evil that is Rangda, the Demon Queen, and her loyal follower, Honor Clarke, no matter the consequences.

At one level DQ is a rather straightforward teen horror novel. Loner, but kindhearted, orphan boy finds himself in the middle of a dark plot and must fight evil to save himself and the community. It touches on the cruelty of adolescence and the awkwardness of relationships between the sexes at that age. You have the ugly class bullies and the loyal sidekick. You even have the trusted adult who turns out to be at the heart of the evil plot.

All of this Lewis handles well. Both Jesse and Honor are interesting and well drawn characters when seen from this angle. But what makes things more interesting, and gives it an added edge in my opinion, is that the international flavor Lewis brings to the plot - Indonesian mythology and characters, etc. - also connects to the war on terror and the changes in the world since 9/11.

Lewis touches on a number of potentially controversial subjects from Christian fundamentalism, small town parochialism, and the deeply flawed American adoption system to belief in the supernatural, the nature of evil, and incarceration and interrogation in the age of terror.

For Jesse these questions are very real because they directly impact his life. His precarious legal status and unique identity means he is constantly at risk of being thrown into the ugly side of all these questions. On the most basic level of being turned in, roughed up, and deported; and in the supernatural realm of facing the evil that has been unleashed alone and without allies.

What makes Lewis’s take more interesting is that he avoids the temptation to turn didactic and instead leaves the reader with questions instead of clear answers. Just when you think he is developing an anti-fundamentalist take the plot switches. When the legal system seems stretched to the breaking point in anti-terror enthusiasm (or fear) he shows the dedication and decency of those involved.

For Lewis, it seems, there are rarely clear cut good guys and bad guys, or systems, but instead always messy human beings with all the baggage and confusion that brings. And despite all the excitement and action that comes from a unique mythological creature threatening to take over the world, the real horror Lewis describes is being a young person alone in the world without a family; without a refuge from the chaos and danger. Whether that is a new junior high school, the foster family system or the legal system in an age of terror it really is a horror story.

This is not to say the less ideological/current event aspects aren’t exciting. The mythology Lewis brings gives the book a unique plot and style. Instead of witches and wizards, or traditional psychopaths, we get shamans and goddesses battling across time and space. All set in an Midwestern university town.

I hope the above has convinced you to check out Richard Lewis if you haven’t already. He really does bring a unique perspective and style to the YA genre. If, like me, you enjoy reading in this area - or if you are just looking for something different and challenging for your younger readers - Lewis is a enjoyable find. I highly recommend The Demon Queen to readers young and old.

–> Ring of Hell: The Story of Chris Benoit and the Fall of the Pro Wrestling Industry by Matthew Randazzo V

Publishers Weekly

In June of 2007, the professional wrestling community was rocked by the suicide of wrestler Chris Benoit, after murdering his wife and seven-year-old son. In this wide-ranging expose, crime reporter Randazzo demonstrates that, among professionals driven to incredible levels of steroid, drug and alcohol abuse, Benoit was not unique. Benoit spent years in Canada and Japan enduring training that bordered on the medieval, eagerly employing steroids to achieve the industry’s standard physique. As his star rose, so did the injuries and the chemicals; Benoit’s signature move, a flying headbutt, was responsible for countless concussions. Culminating in a 2001 spinal injury that left him at risk of permanent paralysis, Benoit, like many other wrestlers, treated himself with copious doses of painkillers before returning to work for more punishment. Combined with a crumbling marriage, Benoit’s life became a perfect storm of mental and physical anguish; unfortunately, Randazzo’s broad biographical strokes (he saves details for pivotal matches) and wide focus on the industry’s evolution make Benoit little more than a minor character in his own story. Wrestling fans will savor the industry gossip, but those interested in the how and why of Benoit’s tragic murder-suicide will be disappointed.

–> Pharmakon by Dirk Wittenborn

Publishers Weekly

In this ambitious but flawed novel about drug makers and drug takers, Wittenborn (Fierce People) unfurls the cautionary story of Dr. Will Friedrich, a psychopharmacologist at Yale in 1951, who teams up with a female psychiatrist to test an experimental mood-enhancing drug extracted from a leaf used by New Guinea witch doctors. Will tests the new med on a suicidal freshman, Casper Gedsic, and Casper’s resulting homicidal outbreak will trouble Will for the rest of his life. Zach, the narrator and youngest Friedrich boy (conceived in the wake of Casper’s freakout), comes of age during the tail end of the ’60s, has a truncated brush with writerly success and cops a crippling habit. He and his three siblings end up disappointing Will as their lives run counter to his ambitions for them: daughters Fiona and Lucy forgo lucrative careers for more fulfilling lifestyles (Fiona becomes a painter, Lucy an aid worker), and Willy drops out of prelaw to study art. Unfortunately, the fates of the Friedrich children are of much less dramatic interest than that of their father, and as the novel shifts focus to their travails, this dysfunctional family narrative disappointingly peters out into irresolution.

–> Outsmart!: How to Do What Your Competitors Can’t

From the Publisher

Jim Champy revolutionized business with Reengineering the Corporation. Now, in Outsmart! he’s doing it again. This concise, fast-paced book shows how you can achieve breakthrough growth by consistently outsmarting your competition. Champy reveals the surprising, counterintuitive lessons learned by companies that have achieved super-high growth for at least three straight years. Drawing on the strategies of some of today’s best “high velocity” companies, he identifies eight powerful ways to compete in even the roughest marketplace. You’ll discover how to find distinctive market positions and sustainable advantages in products, services, delivery methods, and unexpected customers with unexpected needs.

Paul Simon, Suprise

Because you cannot walk with the holy,
If you’re just a halfway decent man.
I don’t pretend that I’m a mastermind
With a genius marketing plan.
I’m trying to tap into some wisdom,
Even a little drop will do.
I want to rid my heart of envy
And cleanse my soul of rage
Before I’m through.

- from Paul Simon, Wartime Prayers.

Are you ready for the exhausting general election? It has already started, unofficially of course, but perhaps this Jib Jab might cheer you up:

How much do you know about energy in America?

I have decided to experiment with using software to import the blogs I post elsewhere into this blog.  So KH Dot Com will essentially be the place you can read everything I blog (or nearly everything).  That way you can read it all in one place.  If you want individualized content you can go to the individual blogs and read the niche content.

I am experimenting with this so bear with me as I see how it works.  Meanwhile I hope you enjoy reading.

As regular readers will know, I occasionally dip into children’s and young adult fiction particularly fantasy. I find it is often imaginative and creative in a way that similar genres of “adult fiction” are not. And having been reading some more serious non-fiction, I decided to check out The Misadventures of Benjamin Bartholomew Piff. I had picked up the first volume, You Wish, at a library sale for a couple of bucks and decided to give it a read.

It was a quick and easy read, and entertaining in many ways, but not enough to tempt me to keep reading the series. While the premise is interesting, and the hook creative, the characters are just a little too flat and the setting not quite put together.

The basic plot is that Benjamin Bartholomew Piff is sent to an orphanage when his parents die in a plane crash. As is usually the case in this literary situation, it seems to be the default setting these days, things do not go well. He is forced to clean out giant soup pots with a toothbrush. The food is bad and the authorities cruel. Ben plans his escape but is foiled by, of all people, his kind hearted social working showing up with a birthday cake. When he makes wish on his candle, however, he unknowingly followed the rules of wishes exactly and thus is granted his incredible wish: unlimited wishes. Soon Ben is riding high and getting whatever he wants.

This sets off trouble in the realm where wishes are granted. The Wishworks factory is in crisis because it seem wishes are something of a zero sum game, if Ben gets unlimited wishes some children are bound to do without. This powerful wish also opens up an opportunity for the dastardly Cursework factory to build a diabolical weapon. It is up to Ben and the Wishworks team to defeat the Curse-makers. This will involve Ben giving up his deepest wish (and the original unlimited wishes).

As I said, the story moves at a quick pace and the idea of the wishing rules and the Wishworks factory is interesting. But the story doesn’t quite live up to this promise. None of the characters really grab your attention and the setting is a little thin. The Wishworks aspect is the most developed, the author clearly enjoys creating that part of the story, but the rest of it seems a little cookie-cutter. It comes off lighthearted and fun but on the thin side and just too derivative.

Maybe the story gets filled in and developed in the rest of the series, and depending on the reader, not everyone requires a fully developed story and setting. For now I am not planning to read the rest of the series, but if your children are voracious readers always looking for another series to dive into, The Misadventures of Benjamin Bartholomew Piff might be a good fit.

There is a certain bittersweet aspect to reading Flying High: Remembering Barry Goldwater. It is the last book William F. Buckley wrote, or at least that was ready or publication - he was working on a book on Reagan when he passed, and at the same time to it looks back to what was in many ways the the political dawn of the conservative movement. Those seem like heady days compared the troubles of today.

The fact that it is a very personal account, and a sort of novelization, ads to this feeling. This isn’t straight history but rather a remembrance: Buckley attempting to capture his friend not just the historical figure. As such it tells the reader about both Goldwater and Buckley and their relationship. That doesn’t mean there isn’t history involved just that it is a particular perspective and description of the history they both witnessed and participated in.

As such it is a quick and enjoyable read with the typical WFB style and wit. With a few flash forwards interspersed, Buckley basically tells the story of how Goldwater came to be seen as the candidate which would allow the conservative wing of the GOP to take control of the party and offer a full throated conservative as the party’s candidate. He details how the conservatives centered around his magazine, National Review, played a critical role in bringing this about and how they were eventually cut out of the campaign by Goldwater’s top advisers. Along the way Buckley attempts to give readers insight into the Goldwater he came to know and how their relationship developed and survived the stress and strains of the campaign and its aftermath.

This is not an ideal volume for students seeking to get the basic facts but rather an enjoyable look back for fans of either man; or those acquainted with the larger history of conservatism and American politics. And that is only appropriate as Buckley was not a historian but rather a unique combination of prose stylist, conservative polemicist (and populiser), and larger-than-life personality. All of these characteristics are present in Flying High.

This volume is an obvious must have for Buckley and Goldwater fans, but it is also an interesting look at the intersection of the conservative movement and American politics. Anyone with an interest in either topic will enjoy this short but unique read.