3.5 Books on the New York Times Besteller List

Sunday morning, as I read the New York Times Book Review with my tea, still the most favorite moment of my week, I was thrilled to discover three and a half literary novels on the print best seller list. That’s barely one-fifth of the titles, but as it is usually filled with all escapist fiction, this was a treat.

Just launched, J.K. Rowling’s first adult novel, “The Casual Vacancy” landed at number one. There was an awful lot of hype and expectation on this one, and a lot of pre-orders, so no surprise, and while the critics have been harsh, I’m told she weaves another good albeit dour yarn. 

Michael Chabon’s “Telegraph Avenue” is bursting with his signature descriptive prose and earthy dialogue and is a riff on race in America through the daily lives of a handful of residents of Oakland, CA. Chabon in my mind is pure genius and although the prose if often a bit too dense and makes you mind wander, I just love him. I want him at the head of my fantasy literary dinner party table.

The greatest surprise on the list was Junot Diaz’ “This is How You Lose Her” as stories, even woven together into a metaphor, don’t usually make for best sellers. However Pulitzer Prize winner Diaz is that rare literary creature who captures the Hispanic-American culture with characters that we root for and long for or sometimes want to banish from the earth, and his language is so hip that you don’t even notice how brilliantly crafted it is. The half on the list: “Gone Girl.” Yes, it has been on the list for 17 weeks and other than the “Shades of Grey” trilogy was the most talked about book of the summer, and an interesting contemplation of relationships and sanity, but, in the end, more page-turner than literary, which may be why so many enjoy reading it, of course, and that's the nature of the book business.

And now a heads up: Barbara Kingsolver's novel "Flight Behavior" lands early November and I've had the great pleasure of reading it. What's it about? The monarch butterfly image is a hint. The new novel is another gorgeous, languorous, brilliant evocation of the crossroads of human longing and the natural world. In the simplicity of Kingsolver's prose lies terribly important truths and while critics take her to task for her so-called "ecological agenda" she writes beautiful novels that make us think - is there any better definition of literary fiction? I want her on the other end of my fantasy dinner party table! Happy reading.

The Daughter Blogs

She writes a book ["The Mindfulness Workbook for Addiction" with Rebecca Williams] and she blogs on her website and now, blogs for the fantastic Huffington Post! WOW!!!
Read it here.

Parentheticals

I took a playwriting class in San Miguel - one of the highlights of the trip and of my life - and the instructor [Mark Saunders, lovely man, terrific teacher, successful playwright] advised us, in short plays especially, to keep parentheticals to a minimum. Parentheticals are those short stage directions provided to guide the actor: pause,  sigh, clearly upset, etc. A long list of options. And the thought occurred to me that this might be very good advice for life.

In our world of incessant self-examination and self-discovery and self-direction, there are a multitude of parentheticals in our heads and in our paths which could easily be obstacles as well. Some of these might be considered demons: the inner scolds, regret, the should-have or could-haves. Some might be the simple neurotic nature of the modern world: OMG what were you thinking? Or the way we tip toe on the egg shells of intimacy [pause: watch your words] often at the expense of simply relating to each other honestly.

Think about it. Other than those private moments while walking or meditating, driving,  slipping into sleep, at Yoga or Pilates class, where the instructor provides the parenthetical narrative, or immersed in a good book where other lives take direction, we are constantly hearing parentheticals in our heads. If we allow them to be heard. If we allow them to define us.

Parentheticals can be positive [she smiles with satisfaction] or negative [she groans with disappointment.] Either way, they disrupt, albeit momentarily, natural impulses, and they disrupt the genuine ebb and flow of our journeys.

The well-written play, I learned, permits the dialogue to define the characters and the action to define the conflict. The well-written play provides actors an opportunity to interpret and breathe life to the story. To take words on a page to new meaning on the stage. The fewer the parentheticals, the better chance for the play to come to life on its own. To flow freely. Permit spontaneity. To allow us to lead with our hearts, not those stage directions in our minds. Yes, best to keep the parentheticals to a minimum.

San Miguel de Allende 2012 - Part II

Late summer in SMA. Quieter than winter, although week-ends rock with the music of Mexicans from big cities and countryside who come to wander El Centro. They wander, they walk, they pray, they party. A lively scene. 

So what do I do? I go to a late afternoon movie with friends. 

There are two small theaters here, each with two screens, although more like private screening rooms. I go to the “Pocket Theater” which must have been a hacienda at one time. An elegant entry, flanked by two lovely parlor-like rooms, leads into a courtyard, typical of homes here, off of which are the two “theaters” each with roughly 20 seats, real movie theater seats mind you, and a large old-fashioned pull down screen. There is surprisingly good surround-sound, which further enhances the sense of intimacy with the film. Best part? The price of 80 pesos [$6] includes a drink from the bar, which is the room on the left and open whether you go to the theater or not, and when you are seated for the film, you are handed a bag of warm popcorn. Lights go down, no previews, no ads, just a good film. Only thing missing is the whir of the projector as these are DVD’s. Nearly first-run movies, documentaries, foreign films, old favorites, all day long, in both theaters. And also in the other theater of this type only a few blocks away. So on a rainy or cold day [although I’m told the space heaters don’t exactly warm the space] or a very hot day, as it’s naturally cool inside, one can take in the cinema. They know how to do things here in San Miguel de Allende. 

Hologram for the King - Book Review

In case you missed it on the OC BookBlog, read about Dave Eggers new fabulous novel: A Hologram for the King. Worth waiting for after several not-so-great reads this summer. He is a gem.
http://www.ocinsite.com/index.php/blog/comments/ocbookblog_a_hologram_for_the_king_by_dave_eggers

Happy reading.

Book Review: The Buddha in the Attic

Julie Otsuka

Have been so busy writing a column and book reviews, have hardly had time to post, but want to keep you up to date on great reading...

National Book Award nominee Julie Otsuka has published a second novel that, like her first, “When the Emperor was Divine” is a slim volume that packs a huge punch. “The Buddha in the Attic” is further example of how powerful a story can be told with few words, and in this case, more like a prose poem.

Told in a first person plural voice, no mean feat of storytelling, the narration represents the many women imported from Japan to San Francisco as what were called “picture brides” at the turn of the 20^th century. Although told as if one, we come to understand each individual experience, some horrific, all fascinating. The women of this novel arrived to provide companionship to countryman who had come to build bridges and railroads or mine the land. They were completely misled about what to expect, from the aged photos of men no longer young to lifestyles in America. The learned quickly to expect the unexpected.

“We gave birth under oak trees, in summer, in 113-degree heat. We gave birth beside woodstoves in one-room shacks on the coldest nights of the year. We gave birth on windy islands in the Delta, six months after we arrived, and the babies were tiny, and translucent, and after three days they died.”

This little novel tells a tale repeatedly told over centuries of immigration to America, a tale perhaps still being told. From the farthest locales, they come to improve their lot in life, to make a better life for their children, to build memories of which they can be proud. However,

from their first long painful journey on a trans-Pacific boat with few amenities, these women bond and share their hopes and expectations, most of which are instantly dashed.

Their tales of hardship and woe are told as if the pieces of quilt sewn together into one larger image. The husbands they were promised are not at all as presented and their lives in America nothing like they imagined and even harder work then they experienced in Japan.

“They admired us for our strong backs and nimble hands. Our stamina. Our discipline. Our docile dispositions. Our unusual ability to tolerate the heat… They said our short stature made us ideally suited for work that required stooping low to the ground. Wherever they put us they were pleased… We were the best breed of worker they had ever hired in their lives.”

In the end, their families would be interned during WWII as potentially dangerous to their American neighbors, and as a final blow, their children reject their Asian heritage in favor of American pop culture.

The truth of their lives is disturbing and moving, the poetry of the language and the strength of the protagonists’ spirits absolutely beautiful to read. Definitely worth your time and also an excellent book group selection.

The Coffee-Cafe Culture a la Laguna

Photo compliments of Laguna Coffee Company

Writing is a solitary act so I often work at a café. I frequent several, taking comfort in the white noise of conversation and the familiarity of alternative living rooms.

The café culture, perfected by Europeans and promulgated by Starbucks, is integral to social interaction. We chat with friends over coffee, or tea. We hold meetings. We linger with a book or computer. Friendships are forged. First dates.

However unlike the iconic bar, where one goes to engage, the café also offers an opportunity to maintain a distance, if preferred, enjoy an eavesdrop, or write, and each one has its own cultural identity.

We begin with Zinc. Populated largely by locals, many regulars, who cluster under iconic umbrellas or hide in the tiny eatery. Zinc is our gourmet café, replete with elegant gifts and dramatically tall vases filled with exquisite bouquets to set the scene. Stage directed to perfection, for those who wish to see and be seen.

Down the street, at Anastasia’s, a more intimate scene, where an artsy crowd favors proximity to fashion, lingering over beautiful food served to paper-topped tables [perfect for scribbling notes or numbers.] Patrons there socialize, philosophize, or seal business deals. The owner, Enrique, is an enigmatic Mexican with a wicked sense of humor and great humility, we love the place just for that.

The Coffee Pub near the Post Office might be called the un-Zinc, for those who would rather hang out with a newspaper or colleague. I’m told barefoot patrons at the Orange Inn get high on organic coffee. Jean Paul’s Goodies, barely visible in North Laguna, is the place for Francophiles, and Café Vienna in South Laguna the final outpost before Pain du Monde in Dana Point, the place locals call their own and a personal favorite [the healthy harvest muffin is a must.]

Regulars at Laguna Coffee Company favor fresh roasted blends and Saturday morning jazz. Close by, Heidelberg serves as an anchor for Hip District workers and shoppers, and a stop for tourists en route to town, who might have missed Koffee Klatch two blocks south, tucked way like a Moroccan teashop, where the pastry case beckons and cushioned banquettes are perfect for curling up with a good book or a close friend. And, by the way, the only coffee café open at night.

For those who prefer a bitter blend, there is always Starbucks, in this town with a view of Main Beach. And so it goes wherever you are, Starbucks versus the others, if you are lucky enough to have such  diverse coffee cafe culture.

Café culture is less about thirst than atmosphere. We choose in the moment where to socialize, or not, or gravitate to the same spot like swallows to their nest. Where we land reflects who we are or who we want to be, as much as where we live or what we wear, and as integral to our society as the art that lines the walls at just about every café in town. In fact, it has little to do with coffee in the end, especially for tea drinkers, like me.