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Saying of the week: "You must be the change you wish to see in the world." -- Gandhi
This week I’m sharing some good news with all my friends. Over the past few months I’ve been searching for ways to promote the upcoming publication of my first novel, Island Song. Well, in searching out places to advertise, I inquired at QBliss.net, a gay online and soon to be paper magazine. The editing director asked to see a sample of my writing so I pointed him to my three blogs. When he got back to me, he asked me to write a monthly column for QBliss, which would put my name and publishing information in front of thousands of gay readers every month. I was, of course, thrilled, and jumped at the offer. We exchanged several emails discussing exactly what theme my column would have. I felt that there were three areas I could add value to the magazine, a world travel column (I’ve traveled to over 40 countries in the last 10 years), a book review column (I read two to three current books per month), or a column about gay literature and publishing (I’ve written four novels, at least two of which are in the process of being published.) After weeks of going back and forth, he asked me to write all three articles for each issue.
I know that sounds like a lot of writing, but in actuality, it’s not much more than I’m doing now with my blog posts. I write two or three book reviews, and a weekly blog article, so I don’t think it will take much more of my time. The best news is that my lover, Herman, has decided to help on the writing and picture selection of the travel article, since he loves travel even more than I do. It’s a project that we can work on together, writing about the many places he and I have visited over the years.
So my lucky streak that started at the beginning of this year with the acceptance of my second novel by Zumaya Publications continues to roll smoothly along.
Check out the March issue of QBliss magazine at QBliss.net for a colorful article on Bagan, Myanmar (Burma), and a book review of Frederick Smith’s Right Side of the Wrong Bed, and Alan Bennett’s The Uncommon Reader. It’s free.
You can also find travel articles about other destinations at HermanandAlan.blogspot.com
If you’re experiencing similar good news in your life, please let me know. I love hearing about good news even more that sharing my own.
And now I need to cut this short, the Burma article is calling….
Sunday, February 10, 2008
Book Review of Atonement, by Ian McEwan
Atonement By Ian McEwan 
On a sunny day on an English country estate shortly before WWII, the Tallis family’s youngest child, thirteen-year-old Briony, glimpse four confusing events: a moment’s flirtation between her older sister and Robbie, the cleaning lady’s son; a crude love note; a passionate lovemaking scene between the same sister and Robbie; and in the dark of night, the rape of her fifteen-year-old cousin. Briony’s incomplete grasp of each of these situations stir her precocious imagination into committing a crime that will transform each of their lives. The repercussions of her crime cause Briony to seek atonement throughout the turmoil and carnage of the fall of Dunkirk, the Blitz of London, and into the close of the twentieth century. Does she finally achieve it? You must be the judge.
This novel has won the NY Times Book Review Editor’s Choice, the National Book Critics Circle Award, and the LA Times Book Prize, and deservedly so.
Lush detail, lavish descriptions, McEwan pulls you into his world until you are fully engaged, smelling the flowers, feeling your cotton shirt sticking to your skin on a hot summer day, hearing the singsong rustle of oak leaves. The characters are real, passionate, persuasive. The plot is a tightly organized storyline of family life that begins to unravel, then must suffer the horrors of war, both on the battlefield and also in Blitz torn London.
With this book, you’ll want to find a quiet spot in the garden, with no interruptions, and let yourself be lost in its precisely controlled style and voice. It is not an easy read, the pacing is sometimes glacial -- McEwan could easily have snipped fifty pages of description from the story without it being missed -- but don’t let that stop you. Though the journey is sometimes slow, the destination is well worth the time spent. This is the finest novel I’ve read in years. Not since Cunningham’s The Hours, has a story gripped me like this one, or left me so stunned.
If you enjoy lavish prose, credible characters, and well constructed plots, do yourself a huge favor: don’t see the movie before you read the book.
On a sunny day on an English country estate shortly before WWII, the Tallis family’s youngest child, thirteen-year-old Briony, glimpse four confusing events: a moment’s flirtation between her older sister and Robbie, the cleaning lady’s son; a crude love note; a passionate lovemaking scene between the same sister and Robbie; and in the dark of night, the rape of her fifteen-year-old cousin. Briony’s incomplete grasp of each of these situations stir her precocious imagination into committing a crime that will transform each of their lives. The repercussions of her crime cause Briony to seek atonement throughout the turmoil and carnage of the fall of Dunkirk, the Blitz of London, and into the close of the twentieth century. Does she finally achieve it? You must be the judge.This novel has won the NY Times Book Review Editor’s Choice, the National Book Critics Circle Award, and the LA Times Book Prize, and deservedly so.
Lush detail, lavish descriptions, McEwan pulls you into his world until you are fully engaged, smelling the flowers, feeling your cotton shirt sticking to your skin on a hot summer day, hearing the singsong rustle of oak leaves. The characters are real, passionate, persuasive. The plot is a tightly organized storyline of family life that begins to unravel, then must suffer the horrors of war, both on the battlefield and also in Blitz torn London.
With this book, you’ll want to find a quiet spot in the garden, with no interruptions, and let yourself be lost in its precisely controlled style and voice. It is not an easy read, the pacing is sometimes glacial -- McEwan could easily have snipped fifty pages of description from the story without it being missed -- but don’t let that stop you. Though the journey is sometimes slow, the destination is well worth the time spent. This is the finest novel I’ve read in years. Not since Cunningham’s The Hours, has a story gripped me like this one, or left me so stunned.
If you enjoy lavish prose, credible characters, and well constructed plots, do yourself a huge favor: don’t see the movie before you read the book.
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Another Senseless Killing. What to do?
This week’s saying: "All of life builds up to and then radiates from a single moment." -- Milan Kundera
I had intended to write a blog piece on a totally different subject, but then I happened to see the following article posted on the web:
COCKEYSVILLE, Md. (AP) - A 15-year-old boy was charged with murder Sunday in the shooting deaths of his parents and two younger brothers in their suburban Baltimore home. Nicholas Waggoner Browning was charged with four counts of first-degree murder in the slayings of his father, John Browning, 45; his mother Tamara, 44; and his brothers Gregory, 13, and Benjamin, 11. He was charged as an adult. Browning was arrested at 1:05 a.m. Sunday after he admitted to the killings, Baltimore County Police spokesman Bill Toohey said. The teen had not been getting along with his father, police said in a news release. On Friday night, he went into the house after other family members were asleep and shot each of them using his father's handgun, which was in the house, police said.
As I’ve stated in other blog entries, I’ve been investigating the origins and nature of violence in humans so that, as a writer, I can better understand my character’s motives. So when the above article caught my eye, it triggered an avalanche of thoughts.
No doubt, the press will churn away, looking for a reason why this young man went ballistic. They’ll blame the fact that he was not getting along with his father, or his school chums, or his teachers, the usual stuff that happens after one of these sad incidents. But seldom do I see anyone address what I feel is the key issue, that society conditioned him to vent using weapons. We, as a society, are at fault. Each one of us helped pull that trigger. And we will continue pulling triggers until we stand up together to stop the violence.
Think about it, people are not born killer. They are taught to kill. This young man has been conditioned day after day by what he saw in the movies and on TV. Hardly a day went by that he didn’t witness multiple murders, which hardened his psyche, slowly sculpted his behavior, all in the name of entertainment and the almighty dollar.
Many people feel that violence in movies and TV is healthy, that because the bad guys get captured or die in the end, the movies send the right message, but I strongly disagree. One movie immediately comes to mind, Cliff Hanger, in which Sylvester Stallone goes after a gang of twenty or more bad guys and kills each of them, one at a time. That was the entire plot, the so called hero murdering twenty bad guys to save the day. And what made him the hero? Why was he any different from the bad guys? Because he had moral motives, he was on the side of justice. Another perfect example is A History of Violence, where an ex-hitman kills his brother and a dozen others rather than being drawn back into the mob. This good killing evil is the theme of most of the movies produced in Hollywood.
That’s the message that has been pounded into the American psyche over and over and over again: it is honorable to kill as long as it’s for a just cause. It’s somehow noble to go to war and slaughter thousands, soldiers and civilians, as long as it’s to preserve a justice idea.
The problem comes in trying to determine what is righteous, who is just. Perhaps Nicholas Waggoner Browning’s father treated him unfairly, harshly punished him for something he didn’t do. Nicholas was a hero in his mind, standing up for his rights. The boys who shot up Columbine were treated unjustly by teachers and students. Didn’t they have justification, based on the message Hollywood vomits out in every action movie? The point is that everybody, especially young people, are impressionable and fall victim to the images on the screen. They can’t help but be conditioned by the violence spewing out of Hollywood, and that of course translates into actions.
How long will people continue to die before we stop rewarding Hollywood with our dollars for producing violent trash? How many families will suffer before we, as a society, say enough, and revert to wholesome examples of moral behavior? How long before we recognize that this conditioning has made us the most violent and hateful country in the world. When will we demand that all movies demonstrate how to resolve human conflicts without resorting to violence?
This is an issue that involves us all, and it will take all of us to solve it.
At the risk of sounding superior, which is certainly not my intention, I can say that I have stopped viewing violent films, and I stopped watching television long ago. I refuse to reward Hollywood or the TV networks a penny for condoning bloodshed. And as a novelist, one of my chief ambitions is to write gay friendly stories that promote human kindness and overcoming obstacles in ethical, compassionate ways.
If you agree with me, please, let people know, get people talking about it. One of the great things that happened in the 60s was masses of people turning towards peace and love. We need that again, desperately, only without the beads and fuzzy hair….
I had intended to write a blog piece on a totally different subject, but then I happened to see the following article posted on the web:
COCKEYSVILLE, Md. (AP) - A 15-year-old boy was charged with murder Sunday in the shooting deaths of his parents and two younger brothers in their suburban Baltimore home. Nicholas Waggoner Browning was charged with four counts of first-degree murder in the slayings of his father, John Browning, 45; his mother Tamara, 44; and his brothers Gregory, 13, and Benjamin, 11. He was charged as an adult. Browning was arrested at 1:05 a.m. Sunday after he admitted to the killings, Baltimore County Police spokesman Bill Toohey said. The teen had not been getting along with his father, police said in a news release. On Friday night, he went into the house after other family members were asleep and shot each of them using his father's handgun, which was in the house, police said.
As I’ve stated in other blog entries, I’ve been investigating the origins and nature of violence in humans so that, as a writer, I can better understand my character’s motives. So when the above article caught my eye, it triggered an avalanche of thoughts.
No doubt, the press will churn away, looking for a reason why this young man went ballistic. They’ll blame the fact that he was not getting along with his father, or his school chums, or his teachers, the usual stuff that happens after one of these sad incidents. But seldom do I see anyone address what I feel is the key issue, that society conditioned him to vent using weapons. We, as a society, are at fault. Each one of us helped pull that trigger. And we will continue pulling triggers until we stand up together to stop the violence.
Think about it, people are not born killer. They are taught to kill. This young man has been conditioned day after day by what he saw in the movies and on TV. Hardly a day went by that he didn’t witness multiple murders, which hardened his psyche, slowly sculpted his behavior, all in the name of entertainment and the almighty dollar.
Many people feel that violence in movies and TV is healthy, that because the bad guys get captured or die in the end, the movies send the right message, but I strongly disagree. One movie immediately comes to mind, Cliff Hanger, in which Sylvester Stallone goes after a gang of twenty or more bad guys and kills each of them, one at a time. That was the entire plot, the so called hero murdering twenty bad guys to save the day. And what made him the hero? Why was he any different from the bad guys? Because he had moral motives, he was on the side of justice. Another perfect example is A History of Violence, where an ex-hitman kills his brother and a dozen others rather than being drawn back into the mob. This good killing evil is the theme of most of the movies produced in Hollywood.
That’s the message that has been pounded into the American psyche over and over and over again: it is honorable to kill as long as it’s for a just cause. It’s somehow noble to go to war and slaughter thousands, soldiers and civilians, as long as it’s to preserve a justice idea.
The problem comes in trying to determine what is righteous, who is just. Perhaps Nicholas Waggoner Browning’s father treated him unfairly, harshly punished him for something he didn’t do. Nicholas was a hero in his mind, standing up for his rights. The boys who shot up Columbine were treated unjustly by teachers and students. Didn’t they have justification, based on the message Hollywood vomits out in every action movie? The point is that everybody, especially young people, are impressionable and fall victim to the images on the screen. They can’t help but be conditioned by the violence spewing out of Hollywood, and that of course translates into actions.
How long will people continue to die before we stop rewarding Hollywood with our dollars for producing violent trash? How many families will suffer before we, as a society, say enough, and revert to wholesome examples of moral behavior? How long before we recognize that this conditioning has made us the most violent and hateful country in the world. When will we demand that all movies demonstrate how to resolve human conflicts without resorting to violence?
This is an issue that involves us all, and it will take all of us to solve it.
At the risk of sounding superior, which is certainly not my intention, I can say that I have stopped viewing violent films, and I stopped watching television long ago. I refuse to reward Hollywood or the TV networks a penny for condoning bloodshed. And as a novelist, one of my chief ambitions is to write gay friendly stories that promote human kindness and overcoming obstacles in ethical, compassionate ways.
If you agree with me, please, let people know, get people talking about it. One of the great things that happened in the 60s was masses of people turning towards peace and love. We need that again, desperately, only without the beads and fuzzy hair….
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Book Reading with Fred Smith, review for Lawnboy
Saying of the week: "Physical courage, which despises all danger, will make a man brave in one way; and moral courage, which despises all opinion, will make a man brave in another." -- Charles Caleb Colton
I recently attended a reading in San Francisco by a fellow gay writer, Fredrick Smith, author of Down For Whatever and Right Side of the Wrong Bed. It was the first time I have attended a reading by any author, and I came away with several surprises.
My first surprise was how few people attended. Granted, it was a stormy, rain drenched evening, but there were only eight or ten people there. Because he was reading from his second novel, I assumed his first, which has been out two years, would have gained him enough notoriety to attract a larger audience. I knew that he had traveled here from L.A., and he ended up selling perhaps four or five books. I keep wondering if doing out of town readings is worth a writer's time and effort. Clearly it was a money-losing proposition for Fred. So, was expanding his readership by a few people worth the trouble? I really don't have a clue and would welcome comments by other writers.
My second impression was how little reading he actually did. He gave an overview of the plot and the main characters, then read for what amounted to three or four pages (two different places where main characters met for the first time) and then opened the floor to questions. I realized later that to read much more would have probably bored the audience. The point was obviously to feed them just enough to peak their interest, which is exactly what Fred did, masterfully so. The question and answer portion took up the most time and was perhaps the most interesting as there were several good quesitons.
My third impression came from one of the questions. A woman asked: did Fred feel that he took any risks in writing his new novel. Fred gave a thoughtful grin, and then answered the question. I didn't listen to his answer. I was too occupied by wondering about what risks I take in my own writing. It is a question that has stayed with me since hearing it, and what I've come to feel is that every writer takes risks. Every writer opens up their soul and lets himself/herself pour on to the page. No matter how well we try to hide the fact that we are describing ourselves, we can't help smearing ourselves on the page. Each one of our characters reflect a different part of our inner being. It seems to me that the amount of risk a writer takes, is how much of their soul they are willing reveal. And using that as a definition for risk, I believe I take huge risks with every story I write -- a fact that both pleases and frightens me.
My last surprise came from another question: did Fred think the book would be made into a movie? I found it strange that someone who thought enough about reading to show up at a book reading/signing would be so concerned about a movie version. His answer mirrored my own thoughts. He said that he had nothing against movies, especially his own stories being filmed, but he hoped that more people would read the story, that all people would read more in general. I enjoy a good movie as much as anyone, however, I feel that movies rob the audience of participation. It spoon feeds them every image, every gesture, every emotion. A book fires the readers into conjuring up their own images, to partner with the writer to make a mental image that is the story, and because the reader brings their own perspective to the book, each story is somewhat tailored to the reader, making it slightly different for each person. That is the power of novels: it is a collaboration between writer and reader, where creativity flows both ways. I say, let everyone enjoy movies, but also let more people enjoy the creative power of words on the page.
For my book review, I recently finished Lawnboy By Paul Lisicky (copyright 1998)
Lawnboy by Paul Lisicky
Lawnboy is a coming of age story, a tale about fumbling through firsts -- first time away from home, first kiss, first fuck, first love -- and attempting to define one’s self in a crumbling postmodern world. Written in the first person, the teenaged narrator leads us through his experiences as he leaves home to live with a forty-something man who lives down the street, then travels to a different city in Florida to help his older brother (also gay but still trying to be straight to please he parents) restore a dilapidated resort motel. After another disappointing love affair, which makes the young hero take stock of his life, the narrator moves on again, still looking for meaning and happiness, and what he finds are a few sweet, grace notes of renewal.
My impression while reading the first hundred or so pages was, here we go again, another coming of age story about being gay, that is, living the “gay experience” -- gays dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a persecuted minority and all it entails.
Admittedly there is much of that, but Lawnboy blossoms into a story of thoughtful beauty that explores the complexities of love and desire and betrayal.
I admit that Lisicky didn't make me care about his main character as much as I had hoped, but that could easily have been because I'm old enough that I can't relate to the fumblings of a seventeen-year-old. He did, however, keep me anxiously turning the pages to find out what would happen next while making me reflect upon my own teenaged years. The prose is beautifully written, which added greatly to my enjoyment of a worthwhile read.
I recently attended a reading in San Francisco by a fellow gay writer, Fredrick Smith, author of Down For Whatever and Right Side of the Wrong Bed. It was the first time I have attended a reading by any author, and I came away with several surprises.
My first surprise was how few people attended. Granted, it was a stormy, rain drenched evening, but there were only eight or ten people there. Because he was reading from his second novel, I assumed his first, which has been out two years, would have gained him enough notoriety to attract a larger audience. I knew that he had traveled here from L.A., and he ended up selling perhaps four or five books. I keep wondering if doing out of town readings is worth a writer's time and effort. Clearly it was a money-losing proposition for Fred. So, was expanding his readership by a few people worth the trouble? I really don't have a clue and would welcome comments by other writers.
My second impression was how little reading he actually did. He gave an overview of the plot and the main characters, then read for what amounted to three or four pages (two different places where main characters met for the first time) and then opened the floor to questions. I realized later that to read much more would have probably bored the audience. The point was obviously to feed them just enough to peak their interest, which is exactly what Fred did, masterfully so. The question and answer portion took up the most time and was perhaps the most interesting as there were several good quesitons.
My third impression came from one of the questions. A woman asked: did Fred feel that he took any risks in writing his new novel. Fred gave a thoughtful grin, and then answered the question. I didn't listen to his answer. I was too occupied by wondering about what risks I take in my own writing. It is a question that has stayed with me since hearing it, and what I've come to feel is that every writer takes risks. Every writer opens up their soul and lets himself/herself pour on to the page. No matter how well we try to hide the fact that we are describing ourselves, we can't help smearing ourselves on the page. Each one of our characters reflect a different part of our inner being. It seems to me that the amount of risk a writer takes, is how much of their soul they are willing reveal. And using that as a definition for risk, I believe I take huge risks with every story I write -- a fact that both pleases and frightens me.
My last surprise came from another question: did Fred think the book would be made into a movie? I found it strange that someone who thought enough about reading to show up at a book reading/signing would be so concerned about a movie version. His answer mirrored my own thoughts. He said that he had nothing against movies, especially his own stories being filmed, but he hoped that more people would read the story, that all people would read more in general. I enjoy a good movie as much as anyone, however, I feel that movies rob the audience of participation. It spoon feeds them every image, every gesture, every emotion. A book fires the readers into conjuring up their own images, to partner with the writer to make a mental image that is the story, and because the reader brings their own perspective to the book, each story is somewhat tailored to the reader, making it slightly different for each person. That is the power of novels: it is a collaboration between writer and reader, where creativity flows both ways. I say, let everyone enjoy movies, but also let more people enjoy the creative power of words on the page.
For my book review, I recently finished Lawnboy By Paul Lisicky (copyright 1998)
Lawnboy by Paul Lisicky
Lawnboy is a coming of age story, a tale about fumbling through firsts -- first time away from home, first kiss, first fuck, first love -- and attempting to define one’s self in a crumbling postmodern world. Written in the first person, the teenaged narrator leads us through his experiences as he leaves home to live with a forty-something man who lives down the street, then travels to a different city in Florida to help his older brother (also gay but still trying to be straight to please he parents) restore a dilapidated resort motel. After another disappointing love affair, which makes the young hero take stock of his life, the narrator moves on again, still looking for meaning and happiness, and what he finds are a few sweet, grace notes of renewal.
My impression while reading the first hundred or so pages was, here we go again, another coming of age story about being gay, that is, living the “gay experience” -- gays dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a persecuted minority and all it entails.
Admittedly there is much of that, but Lawnboy blossoms into a story of thoughtful beauty that explores the complexities of love and desire and betrayal.
I admit that Lisicky didn't make me care about his main character as much as I had hoped, but that could easily have been because I'm old enough that I can't relate to the fumblings of a seventeen-year-old. He did, however, keep me anxiously turning the pages to find out what would happen next while making me reflect upon my own teenaged years. The prose is beautifully written, which added greatly to my enjoyment of a worthwhile read.
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Gay fiction needs more than sex and coming out
Saying of the week:
"You gotta dance like nobody’s watching, dream like you will live forever, live like you’re going to die tomorrow, and love like it’s never going to hurt." -- Meme Grifsters
For my second read of 2008, I selected a book that has been sitting on my shelf for several years but never gotten around to reading: Paul Lisicky’s, Lawnboy. I have not quite finished the book so I will not include a review in this posting. But in reading the story, it has made me ponder a great deal about what I like, and don’t particularly like, about gay fiction, and I’ll share some of those thoughts.
Like the first novel I read this year, Wild Oats by Jacob Epstein, Lawnboy is a coming of age story, a story about fumbling through firsts -- first time away from home, first kiss, first fuck, first love -- and attempting to define one’s self in a postmodern world. Wild Oats is about a straight boy, Lawnboy about a gay one, so by contrasting the two, I inadvertently gained a perspective of how gay stories differ.
The experience has reminded me that much of gay fiction, not only Lawnboy but many others I’ve read, is predominately about being gay, that is, the “gay experience” -- gays dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a persecuted minority and all that entails. Also, several novels I’ve read seemed more concerned with presenting gay sex than anything else. Of course, most of these novels I’m talking about have a plot, but it is often a very thin one, merely a vehicle to carry the gay theme or sex. The two most notable examples of this type of fiction are the:
1) coming of age story (coming out and dealing with family, friends, getting laid)
2) the romance (the main character spends most of the story trying to get mister right, or wrong, in bed.)
The one impression that I’m feeling about these kinds of stories are that I’m so over that category of fiction. It’s been done and redone so much that, for me, it’s simply time to move on. It seems to me that gay people, like so many others, want to celebrate their differences, want to feel like they’re in a special, privileged club. But the more I study people, the more I’m convinced that we are truly all the same, dealing with the same issues. So the kind of gay fiction that I’ve come to prefer are the stories where the main characters are grappling with important life issues, life and death circumstances, and they just happen to be gay, which adds to their depth as a character and my interest in them.
The most notable example of this kind of fiction that I can think of is Michael Cunningham’s, The Hours, which deals with what constitutes a meaningful life, coping with grief, and transcendent longing. Even though the majority of the principle characters are gay, their gayness is never really pushed as an issue.
(As an aside, a published author in my online writing/reading group recently made the comment that Cunningham’s flowery prose is what won him the Pulitzer Prize for The Hours. The statement merely confirmed my suspicions that this particular writer, along with a sizable number of gay readers, has little appreciation for complex and invigorating plots, depth in characters, or an appreciation for skillfully handling significant issues using masterful prose.)
At the same time I was exploring the issue of my needing more complex stories with gay characters, I received an email by a leading gay e-publisher, rejecting my submission of a novella. The reason I bring it up is that the chief editor raved about how much he enjoyed my story. He claimed that the reason he rejected it was because it is primarily about a gay Native American who helps a grisly old rancher to die with dignity. The romance between the Native American and the rancher’s grandson was a small yet important side story. So the editor told me that if I made the romance the primary story and included some hot sex scenes, they would jump at the chance to reconsider the story for publications. My bad for not doing better research about the publishers needs, but it made me stop and wonder if most gay readers are really that shallow.
Admittedly, my first novel being published in July by Zumaya Publications, Island Song, deals with several gay issues -- getting over the death of a long time partner, coming out, gay bashing, alternative families, even a few sex scenes -- however its main theme is one of a universal struggle that I won’t give way here. And perhaps that’s why I’m ready to move on from novels that deal with only gay issues and sex, I’ve written about them and now my writing is, hopefully, moving on.
I would love to hear from anyone with similar or contrary points of view. This is a topic I’ve only recently begun to think about and would love to explore further with the input of others.
As for a book review, I recently finished Breaking Back.
Breaking Back By James Blake
Breaking Back is James Blake’s autobiography about a year-long period of his life when he had to overcome crushing adversity. In 2004, just as Blake was fighting his way into the top echelons of men’s professional tennis, he fractured his neck (sidelining him from the sport). During his recovery, he lost his father to cancer. Then, only months after his father’s death, Blake contracted zoster, a rare virus that paralyzed his face and threatened to end his tennis career.
His story is an intriguing reflection on the nature of tragedy and a very real testament to the human spirit, and our ability to overcome heartbreaking obstacles. The prose is nothing to write home about, and it sometimes feels a little too sappy, but it is an engrossing read and a worthwhile one.
I must admit I was somewhat disappointed, only because I was hoping for something slightly different. Since I am completing a novel about the trials and tribulations of a gay tennis pro coaching a teenage, straight tennis player on the men’s pro tour, I was hoping to gain insights into what goes on behind the scenes of pro tennis tournaments. Unfortunately for me, there was precious little of that information in the book. It really centers on Blake’s time away from the tour and spent more time dealing with family issues rather than professional one. Still, it kept my interest throughout. It is not, however, a book I would recommend to someone who is not an avid tennis fan, mostly because the tennis jargon would confuse people not familiar with the game.
And for those of you wondering if the rumors are true about his being gay, I can only say that he didn’t mention a girlfriend once. I found that odd considering he mentions all his other friends, repeatedly. So the possibility is out there. We can still hope….
"You gotta dance like nobody’s watching, dream like you will live forever, live like you’re going to die tomorrow, and love like it’s never going to hurt." -- Meme Grifsters
For my second read of 2008, I selected a book that has been sitting on my shelf for several years but never gotten around to reading: Paul Lisicky’s, Lawnboy. I have not quite finished the book so I will not include a review in this posting. But in reading the story, it has made me ponder a great deal about what I like, and don’t particularly like, about gay fiction, and I’ll share some of those thoughts.
Like the first novel I read this year, Wild Oats by Jacob Epstein, Lawnboy is a coming of age story, a story about fumbling through firsts -- first time away from home, first kiss, first fuck, first love -- and attempting to define one’s self in a postmodern world. Wild Oats is about a straight boy, Lawnboy about a gay one, so by contrasting the two, I inadvertently gained a perspective of how gay stories differ.
The experience has reminded me that much of gay fiction, not only Lawnboy but many others I’ve read, is predominately about being gay, that is, the “gay experience” -- gays dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a persecuted minority and all that entails. Also, several novels I’ve read seemed more concerned with presenting gay sex than anything else. Of course, most of these novels I’m talking about have a plot, but it is often a very thin one, merely a vehicle to carry the gay theme or sex. The two most notable examples of this type of fiction are the:
1) coming of age story (coming out and dealing with family, friends, getting laid)
2) the romance (the main character spends most of the story trying to get mister right, or wrong, in bed.)
The one impression that I’m feeling about these kinds of stories are that I’m so over that category of fiction. It’s been done and redone so much that, for me, it’s simply time to move on. It seems to me that gay people, like so many others, want to celebrate their differences, want to feel like they’re in a special, privileged club. But the more I study people, the more I’m convinced that we are truly all the same, dealing with the same issues. So the kind of gay fiction that I’ve come to prefer are the stories where the main characters are grappling with important life issues, life and death circumstances, and they just happen to be gay, which adds to their depth as a character and my interest in them.
The most notable example of this kind of fiction that I can think of is Michael Cunningham’s, The Hours, which deals with what constitutes a meaningful life, coping with grief, and transcendent longing. Even though the majority of the principle characters are gay, their gayness is never really pushed as an issue.
(As an aside, a published author in my online writing/reading group recently made the comment that Cunningham’s flowery prose is what won him the Pulitzer Prize for The Hours. The statement merely confirmed my suspicions that this particular writer, along with a sizable number of gay readers, has little appreciation for complex and invigorating plots, depth in characters, or an appreciation for skillfully handling significant issues using masterful prose.)
At the same time I was exploring the issue of my needing more complex stories with gay characters, I received an email by a leading gay e-publisher, rejecting my submission of a novella. The reason I bring it up is that the chief editor raved about how much he enjoyed my story. He claimed that the reason he rejected it was because it is primarily about a gay Native American who helps a grisly old rancher to die with dignity. The romance between the Native American and the rancher’s grandson was a small yet important side story. So the editor told me that if I made the romance the primary story and included some hot sex scenes, they would jump at the chance to reconsider the story for publications. My bad for not doing better research about the publishers needs, but it made me stop and wonder if most gay readers are really that shallow.
Admittedly, my first novel being published in July by Zumaya Publications, Island Song, deals with several gay issues -- getting over the death of a long time partner, coming out, gay bashing, alternative families, even a few sex scenes -- however its main theme is one of a universal struggle that I won’t give way here. And perhaps that’s why I’m ready to move on from novels that deal with only gay issues and sex, I’ve written about them and now my writing is, hopefully, moving on.
I would love to hear from anyone with similar or contrary points of view. This is a topic I’ve only recently begun to think about and would love to explore further with the input of others.
As for a book review, I recently finished Breaking Back.
Breaking Back By James Blake
Breaking Back is James Blake’s autobiography about a year-long period of his life when he had to overcome crushing adversity. In 2004, just as Blake was fighting his way into the top echelons of men’s professional tennis, he fractured his neck (sidelining him from the sport). During his recovery, he lost his father to cancer. Then, only months after his father’s death, Blake contracted zoster, a rare virus that paralyzed his face and threatened to end his tennis career.
His story is an intriguing reflection on the nature of tragedy and a very real testament to the human spirit, and our ability to overcome heartbreaking obstacles. The prose is nothing to write home about, and it sometimes feels a little too sappy, but it is an engrossing read and a worthwhile one.
I must admit I was somewhat disappointed, only because I was hoping for something slightly different. Since I am completing a novel about the trials and tribulations of a gay tennis pro coaching a teenage, straight tennis player on the men’s pro tour, I was hoping to gain insights into what goes on behind the scenes of pro tennis tournaments. Unfortunately for me, there was precious little of that information in the book. It really centers on Blake’s time away from the tour and spent more time dealing with family issues rather than professional one. Still, it kept my interest throughout. It is not, however, a book I would recommend to someone who is not an avid tennis fan, mostly because the tennis jargon would confuse people not familiar with the game.
And for those of you wondering if the rumors are true about his being gay, I can only say that he didn’t mention a girlfriend once. I found that odd considering he mentions all his other friends, repeatedly. So the possibility is out there. We can still hope….
Monday, January 14, 2008
Once more into the breach
Saying of the week: "Every man’s work, whether it be literature or music or pictures or architecture or anything else, is always a portrait of himself" -- Samuel Butler
In September of ’07, I was under the impression that I had finished, for good, the editing of my second novel, Changi. A love story that unfolds within a Japanese POW camp during WWII. It’s a complicated story with several plot twists, funny and sad, memorable characters. I love this story. But I must admit, after reading it a dozen or more times over the previous two years, I was overjoyed to tie a big rainbow colored bow around it and put it on the self. It was clearly time to move on.
Life has a strange sense of humor, however. After purging the book from my mind and having a thoroughly marvelous holiday season with friends in Las Vegas, I came back home to find an email in my inbox from my publisher, Zumaya Publications. They want to publish the story but they have issues, and they proceeded to list some needed changes, changes that would require going through the entire manuscript again. (frown)
My first reaction, of course, was to tap dance down Market Street. The idea of having my story published and read by hundreds, perhaps thousands of readers made me dizzy, or at least more dizzy than normal. But now, here I sit with the manuscript in front of me, ready to charge through the story once again. (deeper frown)
I suppose I could leave it on the shelf for a few more months while I finish up the first draft of my forth novel, but I really hate the idea of some unfinished work looming over my head. The notion of too much of a good thing is a valid one, and at the moment, certainly applies to me and Changi.
So, into the breach once more dear friends, one last push for Queen and Country.
Also, I’m starting something new this year. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to read at least three books each month (editing my own books doesn’t count). My reasoning is that every accomplished writer claims that the most important thing a writer can do to improve his skills is to read, read, read. And then read more.
So along with reading, I also plan to write a review of each one and post them onto my blogs. The following is a review of my first read in 2008.
Wild Oats By Jacob Epstein
1 Star
An ugly cousin to Catcher in the Rye: college freshman having trouble adjusting; falling in love with a girl and not handling it well; he has no direction, fumbling through some funny and serious moments in his rite of passage of being away at college.
Written in the first person POV, the story plods along, trying to give the reader a humorous glimpse into this kid’s jumbled life as he tries to fit in. The writing is not particularly eye-catching and the humor often falls into the ream of stupid or absurd rather than funny. All in all, an unremarkable read. I think the main problem, for me anyway, was that the main character didn’t do a single thing to make me care about him. So I didn’t care if he flunked out of school, got the girl or not, or made friends. More than once, to my annoyance, the writer drifted from past tense to present, and then back to past. I found myself skipping whole pages and skimming the last third of the book (almost putting it down twice) wishing it would end soon. Of course, I didn’t care much for Catcher in the Rye either, so perhaps I simply can’t relate to this literary theme.
In September of ’07, I was under the impression that I had finished, for good, the editing of my second novel, Changi. A love story that unfolds within a Japanese POW camp during WWII. It’s a complicated story with several plot twists, funny and sad, memorable characters. I love this story. But I must admit, after reading it a dozen or more times over the previous two years, I was overjoyed to tie a big rainbow colored bow around it and put it on the self. It was clearly time to move on.
Life has a strange sense of humor, however. After purging the book from my mind and having a thoroughly marvelous holiday season with friends in Las Vegas, I came back home to find an email in my inbox from my publisher, Zumaya Publications. They want to publish the story but they have issues, and they proceeded to list some needed changes, changes that would require going through the entire manuscript again. (frown)
My first reaction, of course, was to tap dance down Market Street. The idea of having my story published and read by hundreds, perhaps thousands of readers made me dizzy, or at least more dizzy than normal. But now, here I sit with the manuscript in front of me, ready to charge through the story once again. (deeper frown)
I suppose I could leave it on the shelf for a few more months while I finish up the first draft of my forth novel, but I really hate the idea of some unfinished work looming over my head. The notion of too much of a good thing is a valid one, and at the moment, certainly applies to me and Changi.
So, into the breach once more dear friends, one last push for Queen and Country.
Also, I’m starting something new this year. One of my New Year’s resolutions is to read at least three books each month (editing my own books doesn’t count
So along with reading, I also plan to write a review of each one and post them onto my blogs. The following is a review of my first read in 2008.
Wild Oats By Jacob Epstein
1 Star
An ugly cousin to Catcher in the Rye: college freshman having trouble adjusting; falling in love with a girl and not handling it well; he has no direction, fumbling through some funny and serious moments in his rite of passage of being away at college.
Written in the first person POV, the story plods along, trying to give the reader a humorous glimpse into this kid’s jumbled life as he tries to fit in. The writing is not particularly eye-catching and the humor often falls into the ream of stupid or absurd rather than funny. All in all, an unremarkable read. I think the main problem, for me anyway, was that the main character didn’t do a single thing to make me care about him. So I didn’t care if he flunked out of school, got the girl or not, or made friends. More than once, to my annoyance, the writer drifted from past tense to present, and then back to past. I found myself skipping whole pages and skimming the last third of the book (almost putting it down twice) wishing it would end soon. Of course, I didn’t care much for Catcher in the Rye either, so perhaps I simply can’t relate to this literary theme.
Sunday, January 6, 2008
Celebrating the New Year
Saying of the week: "We can’t run from who we are. Our destiny chooses us." (unknown)
It has been a fast and furious and wonderful few weeks to end the old year and begin the new. My partner, Herman, and I were treated to a week in Las Vegas by two dear friends who own a timeshare condo just a half block off the Strip, very close to the MGM.
None of us gamble but we had a splendid time eating at the myriad of fine restaurants, shopping in the casino malls, and people watching. And because the sun made an appearance every day, we also managed to get in several sets of tennis in the sub-fifty-degree weather.
It amazes me how fast Vegas is growing, not only on the Strip but also in the outlying areas. Those beautiful deserts and mountains are being populated with track homes and malls. And on the Strip, across the street from Bellaggio, they are building a massive new complex, The City Center, that boasts of five skyscrapers. I counted twenty five cranes rising above the construction site. One condo high-rise, The Oriental, won’t be completed for another year but the million-dollar-plus condos are 97% sold already! With the housing market whooshing down the toilet, at least someone has some money to spend….
THE BEST PART came after I returned home on January second. Waiting in my inbox was an email from my publisher, Zumaya Publications, telling me that they want to publish my second novel, Changi, a gay, interracial, men-in-uniform story that takes place in a Japanese POW camp during WWII.
What a fabulous way to start the new year. The story took me three years from concept to acceptance letter, and I was beginning to think it would never be read by more than a handful of close friends. Zumaya has not given me a publication date as yet (in fact we haven’t even signed the contracts), but I know they are booked through most of 2009, so I’m hoping for a late ’09 or early ’10 release. That sounds like ten lifetimes away, but one thing I’ve learned is that nothing moves fast in the book publishing world. Patience is as essential as talent in this business.
My first novel, Island Song, a gay interracial romance that takes place on the big island of Hawaii, was accepted for publication in late ’04, and after Zumaya pushed out the release date twice (6 months each time), it is scheduled to hit the shelves this July. All my fingers and toes are crossed....
Anyway, to sum it all up, my old year went out with a colorful bang and the new year is looking more promising than I’d dared hoped for. I feel like some of those gamblers I saw at the crap tables in Vegas, riding a winning streak and wondering how long it can last.
I sincerely hope that you, that everyone, are having as wonderful a new year as mine. And if so, I’d love to hear your good news.
It has been a fast and furious and wonderful few weeks to end the old year and begin the new. My partner, Herman, and I were treated to a week in Las Vegas by two dear friends who own a timeshare condo just a half block off the Strip, very close to the MGM.
None of us gamble but we had a splendid time eating at the myriad of fine restaurants, shopping in the casino malls, and people watching. And because the sun made an appearance every day, we also managed to get in several sets of tennis in the sub-fifty-degree weather.
It amazes me how fast Vegas is growing, not only on the Strip but also in the outlying areas. Those beautiful deserts and mountains are being populated with track homes and malls. And on the Strip, across the street from Bellaggio, they are building a massive new complex, The City Center, that boasts of five skyscrapers. I counted twenty five cranes rising above the construction site. One condo high-rise, The Oriental, won’t be completed for another year but the million-dollar-plus condos are 97% sold already! With the housing market whooshing down the toilet, at least someone has some money to spend….
THE BEST PART came after I returned home on January second. Waiting in my inbox was an email from my publisher, Zumaya Publications, telling me that they want to publish my second novel, Changi, a gay, interracial, men-in-uniform story that takes place in a Japanese POW camp during WWII.
What a fabulous way to start the new year. The story took me three years from concept to acceptance letter, and I was beginning to think it would never be read by more than a handful of close friends. Zumaya has not given me a publication date as yet (in fact we haven’t even signed the contracts), but I know they are booked through most of 2009, so I’m hoping for a late ’09 or early ’10 release. That sounds like ten lifetimes away, but one thing I’ve learned is that nothing moves fast in the book publishing world. Patience is as essential as talent in this business.
My first novel, Island Song, a gay interracial romance that takes place on the big island of Hawaii, was accepted for publication in late ’04, and after Zumaya pushed out the release date twice (6 months each time), it is scheduled to hit the shelves this July. All my fingers and toes are crossed....
Anyway, to sum it all up, my old year went out with a colorful bang and the new year is looking more promising than I’d dared hoped for. I feel like some of those gamblers I saw at the crap tables in Vegas, riding a winning streak and wondering how long it can last.
I sincerely hope that you, that everyone, are having as wonderful a new year as mine. And if so, I’d love to hear your good news.
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