Author Archives: bookdwarf

Boldly Go!

The new issue of Boldtype is up complete with an interview with Jonathan Lethem. I can’t make up my mind about him. I’ve only read one book, the obvious one. Is his other stuff worth it?

Good Links

The Globe has a nice piece on 3 new independent bookstores in the Boston area. One opened right near my neighborhood in Porter Square. I haven’t spent much time there (for obvious reasons), but it’s a nice place.

And the LA Times (which is free now?) has a great piece on food writing. Lots of stuff to add to my TBR pile now. Drat.

We’ve finally hit the jackpot in terms of weather today, though we didn’t get it from fortune cookies.

Bellow’s Affection Lost in the Mail

I read this article in today’s Globe on how 2 books that Bellow inscribed for his sons right before he died got lost in the mail. You know some asshole is eBaying them right now.

When a parcel and its contents become separated, the empty package is sent to the addressee, said Bob Cannon, a spokesman for the Postal Service. The orphaned item would be sent to the Mail Recovery Center in Atlanta. “‘It’s not a hopeless situation,’ he said. ‘The good news is that it’s a specific unique item, not something generic like a fruitcake.'”

No, they are most definitely not fruitcakes. I hope these books are recovered and given to Bellow’s sons. In a nice world that would happen.

Snow Flower and the Secret Fan by Lisa See

Lisa See’s new novel Snow Flower and the Secret Fan contains elements that should make a good story. Set in 19th century China, we are given a glimpse into the realm of women, their traditions and culture as they live in a repressive society. To the modern womman, some of it is hard to read. Women in 19th century China, like many places in that age and even today, endured a great deal of subjugation by men. See chooses to focus on the bonds between women. She crafts her novel around a forgotten secret code developed by Chinese women, called nu shu. They used it to communicate with the laotung or ‘old sames’, the women they were sometimes paired with at a young age. These relationships lasted lifetimes and Lily’s story is about her bond with her laotung, Snow Flower.

Lily lives in a remote Hunan county, part of a farming family. Early on, Lily is told she is special by a matchmaker, Madame Wong. Her ‘golden lilies’, or her bound feet, will be special enough to secure a match that will bring her standing up in the world. Bound feet make a position in society. Lily’s mother’s feet were wrpped badly, so that she needs a cane to walk, thus diminishing her value. The smaller the foot, the better. Upstairs in the women’s quarters at the age of 7, Lily, her cousin Beautiful Moon, and Third Sister all have their feet bound at the same time. See makes clear the role of women in the household. They were used for making matches and doing the housework. As the second daughter, Lily is not very important, but her special feet bring her standing up. Lily’s laotung pairing comes when she is 8. The matchmaker comes with the potentail match, which is discussed much like a marriage. She also brings Lily a beautiful fan, with nu shu written on each fold. This fan will keep appearing as the landmarks in Snow Flower and Lily’s lives are added to each fold. The rest of the book follows Lily and Snow Flower through their marriages, childbirth, and so on.

The story is a strong one, and unfortunately See does not seem able to carry the weight. The rich historical details are given to the reader rather than letting them unfold by themselves. This ruined much of the book for me. The intricacies of Chinese society, which can seem foreign to the West, are explained each time they pop up. I’d rather that they were shown to me. And See can’t resist obvious foreshadowing and playing to modern sensibilities. During a very difficult period, when Lily is visiting Snow Flower’s family and they are forced to flee to the mountains to escape the Taiping revolt. Snow Flower’s husband has the lowest position in society—he’s a butcher and one with an angry temperament. After their second son dies, he beats Snow Flower so badly, she miscarries. “Her body bruised and torn from the daily punishment her husband rained down on her. Why didn’t I stop him? I was Lady Lu. I had made him do what I wanted before. Why not this time? Because I was Lady Lu. I could not do more. He was a physically strong man, who did not shy away from using that strength. I was a woman, who, despite my social standing, was alone. I was powerless. He was well aware of that fact, as was I.” Why include this part at all? I could infer this myself. It’s the added explanation, just in case the reader doesn’t get it, that irked me about this book. Maybe some like it, but I’d rather figure things out myself.

I really wanted to like this book. I love historical novels. In a good one, I can imagine myself living the life that is being described to me. The story here, while rich with details, was too thin for me to imagine clearly. The flaws distracted me from the story too much.

Toga, Toga

Since Ed announced his intentions, I might as well admit that I will be attending BEA this year (as part of my day job). But that won’t stop me from meeting my fellow LBCers for some drinks. Ron has secured us a location for Thursday night at the Slipper Room on Thursday, June 2nd between 6-8 PM. So come for drinks and discussions about books. I’d say I am somewhere between Barney and Homer in terms of drunken buffoonery. Good times!

What’s in a Name?

I was reading this interview with Diana Abu Jaber (which I got from Moorish Girl by the way), author of the lovely memoir The Language of Baklava, when I hit this part:

FS: In the Foreword to TLOB and recently in the panel “Memoirs: Family Matters”, your remark rather honestly about the fusion of memoir and fiction….Can you talk a little bit more about this – this fusion and how it influenced your new work?
DAJ: Oh yes, I’ve often wanted to called my new book a memvel, or a noivoir, because it really didn’t seem to fall along whatever the perceived lines are for writing within traditional genre lines.

Over at the LBC website there’s been an ongoing discussion across several posts about ‘serious’ literature vs. ‘non-serious’ literature. Genres like Scifi, Romance, and Mystery often get dismissed to quickly by folks, who don’t consider it good enough. It’s like candy, they say. This quote made me think about the labels use and how perhaps we are damaging some books. Case in point, I just finished Perdido Street Station, which I loved. It’s one of the most engrossing and well-ritten things I’ve read recently, since Divided Kingdom last month. PST is defintely Scifi, but I dare anyone to read it and call it candy. But to say it transcends the genre also seems to say that the genre lacks something. I haven’t worked this out in my head yet, but I suppose I do know one thing. There are well-written books and there are crappy books. Period. Dan Brown is no China Mieville. I can’t think of a solution to this problem though.

Links to Keep You Busy

Helen Falconer wrote an interesting article for the Guardian on Chicklit. She maintains that far too many books written by women are dismissed as chicklit (i.e. not serious literature).

The Globe had an article yesterday on litblogs. The Litblog Co-Op gets a mention.

Nextbook has 2 good articles (plus many more): One on how Samuel Freedman struggled to write about his mother. And in the second Joseph Lelyveld the former executive editor of NYT talks to Eric Umansky about writing his memoir.

And finally, Dan Wicket has another author interview available. This time it’s Brian DeVido, author of Every Time I Talk to Liston.

That should keep you busy for a bit.