Let’s Discuss “Content”

Posted on April 18, 2012 by tolmsted

This year, at the start of BEA, an interesting experiment will be happening. Bloggers will be getting together at the first Book Blog UNCON. This meeting will take place on Monday, June 4th, at The Center of Fiction in Midtown.

What does this mean for my readers? Well, for most of you, probably not much. But I have high hopes for UNCON. Rather than the traditional conference format of panelists and audiences, UNCON will consist of group sessions and (what I, for one, consider) workshops where bloggers will discuss different ideas and topics relevant to the field of book blogging.

The organizers have asked attendees to propose sessions and topics they’d be interested in. Here are some ideas I have.

I’d like to see a session about content. It’s an on-going conversation between Lori @TNBBC (Hollah!) and myself that I’d like to open up to a larger and more diverse group. A big question I have is about finding and developing new content. More specifically, I’d like to hear everyone’s opinions on -

The Blogger / Publisher Relationship – Who determines what is Buzz-Worthy?
What Do You Review? – Is it helpful to have a specific criteria for determining which books you request/review – or is it better to go by your gut? Do you/should you look for diversity? Do you browse publisher catalogs? or wait for them to contact you? What other sources are helpful?
New Releases vs. Back Catalog – What % of each?
Beyond the “Review” – That’s a pretty broad area that can include Blog Series, Memes, Blog Tours, Interviews, Vidcasts, Podcasts, Twitter, etc., etc… the possibilities are nigh endless.

That’s it… my two cents have officially been added.

Children in Reindeer Woods by Kristín Ómarsdóttir (translated from Icelandic by Lytton Smith)

Posted on April 16, 2012 by tolmsted

Remember Björk? The trippy videos, the swan dress, Dancer in the Dark… I used to think of her as an artist marching to the beat of her own drum. In a word: “Quirky”. But as I continue my exploration of Icelandic literature I’ve come to believe that she might be a fairly typical example of the Icelandic population. Really, comparatively tame.

Take, for example, Kristín Ómarsdóttir’s Children in Reindeer Woods. It’s odd. Much odder than a swan dress. From page one – where the author describes three soldiers crossing a field – this book twisted me into knots. As I read, the trio casually approaches a farm. “A cow lows in the backyard”. The family comes out of the house to meet them.

On the east side, beside the gate, a pebbledash table is set into the earth. The woman with the red tray heads there. The breeze tugs at the edge of her skirt. The people stand in front of the soldiers, who shuffle their feet in the gravel. One of the soldiers shoots the woman with the tray. The milk bottle and glasses shatter. The coffee pot clatters to the ground. Blood runs from the woman’s eyes as she grips the tray tightly and falls; she lies face down in the grass as if resting peacefully on a pillow, and the blood leaks across it. The youngest child runs to her but is shot on the way. The cow lows in familiar fashion. The chickens hurry over to look at the bodies.

A girl, eleven-year old Billie, escapes the massacre by hiding in the bushes. When the shooting is over, only one soldier remains standing. He’s a strange, disturbed young man named Rafael. He picks her up, brings her into the house and begins caring for her. Their relationship is the main source of the book’s tension. We learn that Billie was sent by her parents to the house called “Children in Reindeer Woods”, and that she lived there with other children. (Something akin to London children being sent into the countryside during WWII to escape the Blitz). She quickly accepts Rafael as her new caregiver. Rafael plays farmer, as well as older brother, trying to create – or capitalize on – a bucolic oasis in a war zone. But Billie’s and his new life is continually threatened as people keep arriving at the farm.

The plot of Children in Reindeer Woods has a stylized, surreal quality. It reads like a fable or an allegory (imagine the video for the song Human Behavior). The strangeness created by the two main characters’ isolation seems like it should be symbolic of something…though what that something is remains elusive. Events in the outside world – Billie’s & Rafael’s back story – are alluded to but never fully explained. We don’t know which country they are in, who is fighting the war or the truth behind Billie’s strange memories of her parents. One thing I can state with certainty: Rafael has all the signs of suffering from a form of PTSD. (And possibly Billie as well). His condition shapes the readers’ perception of events, despite the fact that the story is told to us in third person. Lytton Smith has done a remarkable job of translating what has to be a complicated text in its original language. Setting down this novel feels like awakening from a fugue state.

Which might be why I finished it in one sitting. The experience of falling down the rabbit hole and the mystery of “what the hell is going” on acts like a carrot on a stick. Add to that the unbearable tension of waiting for Rafael to completely crack. Ómarsdóttir exerts constant pressure on the narrative by slipping moments of incredible violence between mundane, domestic images – giving them equal emphasis. She writes about a child playing with Barbies and the burning of bodies in the same way. And while at times, due to that idiosyncrasy in her prose, the plot may appear absurd - it never falls apart. Children in Reindeer Woods is definitely making a statement. I may not have figured out exactly what the statement is, but for some reason my ignorance in no way hindered my enjoyment of this thrillingly original novel.

Publisher: Open Letter, University of Rochester (2012)
ISBN: 978 1 934824 35 1

The Shortlists Are In

Posted on April 14, 2012 by tolmsted

The Independent Foreign Fiction Prize

Blooms of Darkness by Aharon Appelfeld / Jeffrey M. Green, translator (Hebrew)
Alice by Judith Hermann / Margot Bettauer Dembo, translator (German)
From the Mouth of the Whale by Sjón / Victoria Cribb, translator (Icelandic)
The Prague Cemetery by Umberto Eco / Richard Dixon, translator (Italian)
New Finnish Grammar by Diego Marani / Judith Landry, translator (Italian)
Dream of Ding Village by Yan Lianke / Cindy Carter, translator (Chinese)

The Best Translated Book Award (Fiction)

Lightning by Jean Echenoz / Linda Coverdale, translator (French)
Upstaged by Jacques Jouet / Leland de la Durantaye, translator (French)
Kornél Esti by Dezső Kosztolányi / Bernard Adams, translator (Hungarian)
I Am A Japanese Writer by Dany Laferrière / David Homel, translator (French)
New Finnish Grammar by Diego Marani / Judith Landry, translator (Italian)
Stone Upon Stone by Wiesław Myśliwski / Bill Johnston, translator (Polish)
Scars by by Juan José Saer / Steve Dolph, translator (Spanish)

What’s the verdict, readers? Pleased? Disappointed? Just confused? I wish I could speak to these lists more, but all I can say is that I’m glad to see that both Umberto Eco and Sjón moved on to the next round of the Foreign Fiction Prize. SO…

I have a proposition: If you’ve read any of the books shortlisted for either prize, tell us what you think in the comments below. If you’re a blogger and have a review up for one of the finalists, leave the link. Or, if you’re in that kind of mood, feel free to bitch about your favorite book being overlooked.

An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter by César Aira (translated from the Spanish by Chris Andrews)

Posted on April 12, 2012 by tolmsted

More than once I’ve seen a blogger recommend An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter to readers newly discovering César Aira. I wonder if that’s because the plot appears more straightforward in comparison to his other books? Of the three I’ve read it definitely has the most linear trajectory, moving in a (fairly) straight line from start to finish. It’s easy to track the rise, peak and decline in the action – not something you can take for granted with this author.

Of course, no story is completely straightforward. A no frills summary of An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter would tell you that it’s a fictionalized account of Johann Moritz Rugendas’, the19^th century German landscape painter, visit to Argentina. A fellow countryman, the naturalist Alexander von Humboldt, suggested he go to paint the Latin American terrain. And so Rugendas traveled there with a companion, a minor artist who ultimately proves himself the best of friends. At the story’s climax Rugendas and his horse are struck by lightning. The plot veers, turns in a completely unexpected direction. An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter becomes wondrous. Extraordinary. Grotesque.

The variations revolved around a curious impossibility: how could he communicate the proposition “I am a monster”? It was easy enough to set it down on paper. But transmitting its significance was far more difficult. In the case of his Chilean friends the problem was pressing, and he took particular care over his letters to them, especially the Guttikers, who had already written inviting him to stay at their home in Santiago, as he had before setting out on his journey a few months before. Since they would be seeing him shortly, he felt he had to warn them. The obvious thing to do in this case would have been to exaggerate, in order to diminish the surprise. But it was not easy to exaggerate… He ran the risk of falling short, especially if they were allowing for obvious exaggeration.

I could quote the passage where Rugendas is struck by lightning, which is – quite frankly – beautiful. Or describe what happens afterward. But who am I to deprive readers of those surprises? Honestly, if I’ve done my job I shouldn’t need to discuss plot points to pique your interest. Even if it had no narrative substance – and oh it does! – Aira’s prose is enough of an enticement for any reader.

While the signature writing style is always the same, (introspective, flowing, lyrical) every Aira book still manages to be unique. Ghosts is an avant-garde ghost story set in the present day; Varamo reads like a rambling, paranoid delusion; and An Episode in the Life of a Landscape Painter is a 19^th century painting – all ochre and burnt sienna layered over a rapidly drawn charcoal sketch.

It was not really rain so much as a benign drizzle, enveloping the landscape in gentle tides of humidity all afternoon. The clouds came down so low they almost landed, but the slightest breeze would whisk them away… and produce others from bewildering corridors which seemed to give the sky access to the center of the earth. In the midst of these magical alterations, the artists were briefly granted dreamlike visions, each more sweeping than the last. Although their journey traced a zigzag on the map, they were heading straight as an arrow towards openness. Each day was larger and more distant. As the mountains took on weight, the air became lighter and more changeable in its meteoric content, a sheer optics of superposed heights and depths.

By this time it must be obvious that I can’t get enough of César Aira. Don’t worry. I’m not alone. The popularity of, and respect for, his work increases in the United States with each new English translation. Currently there are seven books available in English (six through the publisher New Directions & one from Serpent’s Tail), and a short story appeared in the New Yorker just this past December. A new book, The Miracle Cures of Dr. Aira, comes out in the Fall of 2012. Needless to say – this man is a ridiculously prolific writer. His extensive bibliography consists of dozens of untranslated works and extends all the way back to 1975. And he is still young – only sixty-three! Isn’t it lovely to know that there’s so much material in existence, patiently waiting to be enjoyed by all?

Note: the New Directions edition comes with a preface by Roberto Bolaño, who calls Aira “one of the three or four best writers working in Spanish today.” I believe, for Bolaño, that qualifies as a glowing endorsement.

Publisher: A New Directions Paperback Original, New York (2006)
ISBN: 978 0 8112 1630 2

Just Another American Expat in London

Posted on April 9, 2012 by tolmsted

Tomorrow, darling readers, you’ll find me in rainy London. That’s right, I’m jumping the pond for a day. Kimbofo (a.k.a – Kim Forrester, one of my blogger icons) invited me to spend this Tuesday at her blog Reading Matters. It’s Triple Choice Tuesday - where each week she has a reader, author or blogger discuss three books that are important to them. Past Tuesdays’ line-ups have featured some of my favorite authors and bloggers, and I’m hugely honored to be included among them.

So, come take a peek at my choices and spend some time exploring Reading Matters.

And don’t forget to check in at Three Percent. They’ll be announcing the Best Translated Book Award shortlist sometime tomorrow.

Cheers!

KINO by Jürgen Fauth

Posted on April 6, 2012 by tolmsted

KINO. The title was the first thing I loved about Jürgen Fauth’s debut novel. Short for Kinematographie (German for cinematography), it’s the nickname of the story’s tragic hero. But more importantly, it embodies the glamour of Berlin between two World Wars – a town of cabarets, never-ending parties, sex, cocaine (Zement), a new and prospering film industry and an economy teetering on a highwire… DAMN! what’s not to love?!

There was one lie that made me seem more interesting than all the others. Everyone wanted to drink with me, get high with me, and sleep with me when we told them I was a movie director. It was a lie that turned me into the center of attention and opened the tightest twat. One night over dinner, Joachim Ringelnatz – the whimsical poet who wore a sailor’s uniform wherever he went – eyed me funny and asked if I wasn’t a bit young to be working for the cinema, “für’s Kino.”

I had my mouth full of lamb stew, so Steffen came to my defense. “Don’t you read the papers? Klaus is a prodigy! The youngest director in Neubabelsberg!”

I put down my fork, swallowed, and pointed a finger. “Joachim,” I said. “I don’t work für’s Kino. I am Kino!”

When two German film canisters appear on Mina “Wilhemina” Koblitz’s doorstep she puts her life on hold to track down where they came from and what they mean. Her grandfather was Klaus Koblitz - the enigmatic German filmmaker of the 1930′s known as Kino. A wunderkind whose entire oeuvre, with the exception of a Hollywood B-Movie, was lost in the war. That missing work attained a legendary/cult status among serious film buffs. And Mina quickly learns that the reels of film in the canisters hold what many believe to be his masterpiece – Tulpendiebe (The Tulip Thief).

Jürgen Fauth has written a wild adventure full of intrigue, conspiracy theories and family history. Who to trust? What is the truth? Whose side are you on? That last question might be the most difficult to answer. As the book progresses we are introduced to the entire Koblitz clan – and a more miserable bunch of Arschlöcher I’ve never encountered. Or a more fascinating. Tolstoy, apparently, was right. Over the top, extreme in every way, the Koblitz’ motivations and responses are always realistic. Fauth has accomplished something which I think can be very difficult for a novelist. His characters hang together like a family. You can read the Koblitz genetic code in each of them. They resemble one another yet retain their individual personalities.

As the convoluted narrative unfolds we see Kino in 3-D. He’s dissected in journal entries, friend’s and family members’ memories and – of course – the films themselves. All interpreted through the 21st Century eyes of Mina.

I don’t know what I expected, honestly. Something ponderous and silent, German expressionism or whatever. It started with a logo I’d already sort of seen in our apartment, holding the film up to the kitchen lights. Then, a pair of huge eyes: a close-up of a little girl, staring straight into the camera. Her father, whose face we don’t see, Peanuts-style, is reading her a bedtime story. The cover of the book he’s reading from supplies the title credit: Tulpendiebe.

Right away, Dr. Hanno started to whisper to me like a real-life DVD commentary track. How back in the twenties, farming devices were all the rage, Dr. Caligari being the most obvious example. He translated all the intertitles, even the one that said “Holland, Anno 1636.”

The main part of the movie is set in a picturesque Dutch seaside town, canals and fields and windmills and so on, but it’s all done in the studio with painted backdrops, making it looked stylized, like a kid’s book, with extras in clogs and bonnets and pantaloons. Fake, but sort of charming. Would have been better in color.

Fauth has created in his portrait of a man something reminiscent of The Real Life of Sebastian Knight. KINO is densely packed with ideas. The story plays out against the backdrop of Mina’s life, the year 2003 and the Iraq war. Obsession, an undeniable part of an artist’s make-up, is a major theme KINO explores. How much is an artist willing to sacrifice for his or her art? And still remain within the bounds of what society deems acceptable? What, as a reader, do you find tolerable?

And then there is the history.

I’d guess there have been thousands, if not tens-of-thousands of books, fiction & non-, written about WWII and the Holocaust. KINO is also a part of that tradition, giving a thoughtful portrait of the toll Nazi Germany took on its own people. The shattered hopes, dreams and lives – broken friendships & communities. There is a hint of it in Daniel Stein, Interpreter. Viktor Frankl touches on it briefly in Mans Search for Meaning. I thought of the musical Cabaret a few times while reading the novel (in a good way that I don’t usually associate with musicals). But KINO hones in – forcing the reader to pause and consider what this man might have become if the rise of Hitler could have been removed from the equation. From there it’s not so hard to make the leap as to how we might behave if the same situation was inserted into our own lives.

Yeah, Fauth has written a novel crowded with ideas.

KINO challenged me all the way to its final, fabulous last sentence. It is absolutely flawless.

Publisher: Atticus Books, Kensington Maryland (2012)
ISBN: 978 0 9832080 7 5

The Land of Decoration by Grace McCleen

Posted on April 1, 2012 by tolmsted

There seems to be a surplus of juvenile narrators these days. They, and their problems, are ubiquitous. I’m beginning to think if you’ve read the story of one adolescent with a troubled home life, you’ve read them all. And the 10-year old heroine of The Land of Decoration is no exception. A strange mixture of wide-eyed credulity and religious fanaticism – Judith’s upbringing has been unconventional. Her mother died when she was born. She and her emotionally distant father are members of an end of days church. And her preoccupation with the coming Apocalypse doesn’t make her any friends in school. Judith is the favorite target of one particularly vicious bully, a boy named Neil. A boy so violent and cruel he is almost a caricature. She escapes from this drab and unhappy existence into the miniature world she’s built out of found scraps and trash called The Land of Decoration.

One evening, desperate to avoid Neil at school, she makes it snow in the Land of Decoration. The next morning she looks outside and sees the world covered in snow. She hears a mysterious voice telling her that she can perform miracles. Everything suddenly changes.

I couldn’t help comparing The Land of Decoration to Sheri Reynold’s The Rapture of Canaan or the short-lived television series Joan of Arcadia - mainly because of the shared religious subject matter. But whereas I remember a tragic poignancy to Reynold’s heroine and the real life difficulties faced by Joan, McCleen’s characters (and story) lacks that kind of complexity. Judith is all conviction, with no hesitation in her beliefs. She has no conflict in her personality (though there is a hint at possible mental illness – something that isn’t pursued). I couldn’t buy into it. There is something too perfect, too unquestioning, too accepting about this young girl. Round out the cast with a father who is as cold as granite, a bully who is the embodiment of evil, and a motley bunch of likeable misfits… it’s almost a script for a Hallmark Channel movie. In truth the only character I found intriguing was the disembodied (and vaguely sinister) voice of God which only Judith can hear.

There are some hints of interesting writing in The Land of Decoration… frustrating glimpses of the book I’d hoped to read. I really enjoyed the passages about Judith’s handmade world and the how-to chapters explaining how parts of it were built. And that sinister God – who triggered all sorts of warning alarms. McCleen has created a straight forward narrative out of a plot that should have been anything but straightforward. Sadly, the unique elements she introduces become no more than props. She glosses over them to focus her efforts on the conventional and ordinary.

Publisher: Henry Holt and Company, New York (2012).
ISBN: 978 0 8050 9494 7