The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time by Mark Haddon

On numerous occasions I have been tempted to pick up Mark Haddon’s The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time as it seemed like the kind of book I would enjoy. Short, with a unique perspective and story line. Plus it seemed to be garnering a certain amount of buzz and that often stokes my curiosity. My wife, however, kept preventing me from buying by insisting that a friend had it and could easily loan it to us. Since I always do what my wife tells me (wink, wink, nod, nod), I put off purchasing it.

Well, low and behold my friend did lend it to me and I recently read it. I must admit that I read it practically in one sitting. I can see what all the buzz was about, it really is an imaginative and powerful work.

Continue reading →

I am Harriet Klausner

One of the many threads that linger in the vapor has to do with book reviews by bloggers. Most of us here on Collected Miscellany review books; maybe Phil doesn’t, but I sense that if moved to do so, he would. Dan Green of the Reading Experience has written some insightful posts about literary criticism. Sarah Weinman provoked a good discussion about who should review; Sarah reviews for the Baltimore Sun and that makes her a professional. Phil’s recent post about Harriet Klausner made me realize that I am Harriet Klausner.

This confession or epiphany is very disconcerting. I’d always assumed that Harriet was a mythical person, a disembodied montage created by the Internet’s Special Effects People. Not only is she real, or as real as it gets in this context, she has become a Top Gun, maneuvering high above the Amazon faster than Newt, more powerful than Jack and Coke.

To confirm my suspicions about myself as a reviewer, I need look no further than my incessant babbling about Elizabeth Crane’s All This Heavenly Glory. I can’t review it because all I really want is for all of you to buy the book and read the damned thing. Stop what you’re doing and go buy it; no, don’t take it out of the library because your overdue fines will mount and you’ll find yourself in a sea of nine year olds who’ve lost their library cards.

This begs the question if I’m Harriet Klausner, who is Harriet?
This is precisely why the French recently booted Sartre off their Top 100 Philosophers list. Maybe Dick Clarke could host something similar here; we could have a countdown. Coming in at number 100…you guessed it…Harriet Klausner.

Olen Steinhauer, Ken Bruen, Tacitus

Dan Wickett of the Emerging Writers Network included Kevin and I in an interview panel titled Lit Bloggers III. While Kevin’s recuperating take a look at Dan’s site and check out the latest in this series of interviews.

Linda McFall at St. Martins Press sent Olen Steinahuer’s The Confession his successor novel to The Bridge of Sighs. I’m halfway through it; it’s excellent. If it works out with my schedule I’ll review it Friday. She also sent me Ken Bruen’s The Magdalen Martyrs. Ken Bruen is an Irish writer who toured the US in March. He’s the author of The Guards among many others.

With unusuual self-restraint I’m not mentioning the Yankees’ crushing win over the Bosox last night. Author David Wells took the hill for the visitors; perfect, he wasn’t. Looked more like BP for the home side. As some of you know I was not invited to try out for the Yanks this spring, but as I told Steinbrenner, I’m not a set-up guy, I’m a starter. We’ll see how Randy Johnson works out.

Joshilyn Jackson’s Gods in Alabama is in the TBR pile; her book will released in mid-April. As for Tacitus his book was released in AD 97 entitled The Histories. He chronicles the end of Nero’s reign and the rise of the Flavian emperor Vespatian. It includes a section on the Jewish War, the revolt in Judea that required six Roman legions to put down. Think of it as a political thriller.

Not to alarm anyone but as things stand now Pamela Anderson and Jose Canseco are the two greatest writers of the 21st century. Polish those manuscripts, gang.

Under the knife

Early tomorrow I will be having ankle surgery to repair a torn tendon. I am not sure what kind of shape I will be in afterwards (it is outpatient surgery), but I imagine there will be at least a small interruption in content on my part. As is par for the course, my reading has gotten ahead of my writing and I have a number of reviews pending. So I as soon as I can sit upright and take my pain meds I will try and post some of these backloged reviews. Until then I leave things in David and Phil’s capable hands.

Lee Briccetti's Day Mark

On another blog, I hope to post on poetry and poets throughout the month, since April is national poetry month. Some of those posts I’ll publish here and probably before I send them there. Yesterday, I said that if you want poetry that makes you scratch your head, sign up for the Poem-a-day by the Academy of American Poets. I admit that I thought the chosen poems would be a bit thick, if you know what I mean. So I’m pleased to report that the first poem out of the box is thoughtful and beautiful. Lee Briccetti’s “Sacred Heart” is available on the academy’s website.

“Even as a girl I knew the heart was not a valentine;
it was wet, like a leopard frog on a lily pad”

The poem meditates on a painting of Jesus with an exposed chest, showing his heart glowing within him. I may not understand Briccetti’s intent in “Sacred Heart,” which seems to be a plea for emotional or spiritual salvation, but I admire the lack of bitterness which I think I see in many modern poems.

The poem is in a collection called Day Mark, published in March by Four Way Books. Another poem from the book, called “Something Useful,” is published on their website. It’s a warm-hearted perspective on “the fabulous bread of your fortunate life.”

The Effects of Light by Miranda Beverly-Whittemore

The Effects of Light is a debut novel from Miranda Beverly-Whittemore published by Warner Books. The story is told from the point of view of Pru and Myla Wolfe, sisters bound by a unique childhood; Pru, the narrator, is the younger of the girls, not quite five when we meet her. It doesn’t compromise the plot to know that Pru is dead and we encounter her only in flashback. The girls were subjects of nude photographs, taken over a decade as they grew to maturity. Their mother is dead and their father, David, is a professor of art history. He has strong ideas of about the role of art as the highest expression of beauty we can achieve; when he encourages photographer Ruth Handel into creating and displaying her collection of photos he sets off a chain reaction that lingers for years.

The author chose a risky strategy to frame her narrative; it opens in Pru’s voice as a child before switching to the adult life of her sister. Myla has taken on a new name. She’s teaching at an east coast college, a long way from her Oregon roots. The story is incited by a lecture delivered by Myla’s lover, a fellow professor who implies in a lecture that Myla’s father was responsible for Pru’s death.

Myla flees to Portland to the home of old friends and surrogate parents. She’s receiving mysterious packages, her father’s notes and a manuscript, that force Myla to confront her rage and question the premise that David’s pursuit of beauty ruined her life. The scenes in Portland that form the bulk of the novel hinge on this unresolved struggle to understand her father, her sister’s death, and Myla’s inability to engage in meaningful adult relationships.

These moments are interspersed with passages from Pru and sections the author calls ‘proofs’ narrative descriptions of photo shoots; the novel sags at times, slowed by plot devices as well as Myla’s proclivity for abrupt emotional responses. Pru emerges as the character we care most about, and the circumstances of her death provide the novel’s most powerful moment. The metaphor of light in the study of art often freezes the narrative in awkward ways; it’s the risk alluded to earlier, the risk of trying to capture something ephemeral yet vital without resorting to melodrama. The author uses prose to guide us through a visual experience while not neglecting the emotional impact the images create. She doesn’t always succeed at this in part because Myla’s character shies away from confronting her pain; the author seems constrained when writing about Myla, free while describing Pru. This is her thematic intent, to describe the passage from girlhood to adulthood through the perspective of experience that engenders caution, regret, anger and loss. The Effects of Light is well worth reading for the complexity of what the book conveys.