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A Geography of Reading

"It is by reading novels, stories, and myths that we come to understand the world in which we live." -Orhan Pamuk

Captain Corelli’s Mandolin Fails to Woo Me

January 5, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 4 Comments

Captain Corellis Mandolin - Louis de BernieresBooks are my sanctuary. They are how I learn about the world and myself. And they are where I take solace when having a bad day. So when a book fails me (and I fail to put it down), everything in my life feels askew. This happened recently with Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (also called Corelli’s Mandolin by Louis de Bernières.

Auspicious Beginnings

As I lay down in bed with the first few pages of this book, I was enchanted by the story of Dr. Iannis extracting a decades-old pea from a patient’s ear. It was a delightful story and so unexpected. As I drifted off to sleep, I revisited my vague, sweet memories of the movie starring Nicholas Cage and Penelope Cruz and was looking forward to more.

Maddening Monologues

When I opened the book again the next day on the bus, I was confused to be ensconced in a first-person monologue. And then it seemed to be followed by another. My recollections are inexact at this moment because I’ve tried to block the story from my mind, but I was placed directly inside the mind of Il Duce, Metaxas, and someone called (at that point) simply “The Homosexual.” The chapter titles told me who was speaking but the text failed to tell me why I cared and I struggled to find the overarching story. I kept reading because it was the only book I had with me (the argument that may some day convince me to get an e-reader), but I wasn’t happy about it.

I think if I had some understanding of World War II in Greece (and a better understanding of Mussolini), I might have gotten more out of those first-person narratives. Instead I was annoyed and felt bandied about. I was looking somewhat for the story I thought I knew (although I did not remember enough of the film to make the same mistake I had the first time I read The English Patient) or the story that enchanted me that first night, so I kept reading.

Sweet Moments of Romance

Interwoven with those first-person assaults were little gems of Pelagia and her father, the doctor. And there were adorable moments of Pelagia falling for a local boy, Mandras. They were romantic like I remember the movie being. They were also a little expected. When Pelagia admired Mandras, I felt like de Bernières was writing how he would want to be admired. Perhaps that’s a writer’s prerogative (I’ve done it), but it felt vain and made me feel more separate from the story.

When Mandras becomes inconvenient, his character becomes less interesting. I don’t take issue with Pelagia’s falling out of love with him, that seemed quite natural given their separation, but I did start to wonder why this Greek god we had been supposed to admire was suddenly shunted aside into the realm of one-dimensional characters.

Captain Corelli and Pelagia also held my interest for awhile. I kept wanting to put the book down but had just enough interest in the characters to keep me going. And, much to my relief, the monologues seemed to subside.

Choosing Titles

I’m thinking a lot about titles right now as I seek the perfect name for my novel which is due to be released later this year. I’m rubbish with titles so for a long time the book was called simply Polska. As the book neared completion I examined the themes and writing and started calling the book Murmurs of the River after Chopin’s “Murmures de la Seine” which had influenced some of the rhythm of the book, but I knew the title was weak, so now I’m looking for something that will make a reader pick my book off of a virtual shelf without betraying the content. I have pages of lists of potential words and one good candidate. UPDATE: My editor and I chose to go back to basics and call this book Polska, 1994.

What I’m saying is that I know titles are both very important and very difficult. Still, I was surprised when it felt like I didn’t meet the title character (both Corelli and the mandolin) until halfway through the book. That might not be true because I read the beginning much slower than I read the end. But to me Pelagia was the center of this book, not the mandolin.

I’ve spoiled so much that I won’t go into the ending here, but I will say that the tone and style of the book changes about halfway through. And that wasn’t just because I was skimming it while waiting for the plumber to replace our pipes. I usually try to respect a writer’s decisions as final, but in this case I will say that this large book which is trying to say so many things could have used another edit with an eye to theme. I kept reading, but I was mostly sorry I did. I should have done myself the favor of putting down the book and enjoying happy memories of the beginning.

If you are a more patient soul than I, pick up a copy of Captain Corelli’s Mandolin from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Filed Under: Books, Eastern Europe Tagged With: Captain Corelli's Mandolin, Louis de Bernières

Looking for Writing Help and Inspiration in the New Year

December 29, 2013 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

I’m not very good at asking for help. Most of the time that’s okay because writing is such a solitary activity, but there are times when I reach a writing plateau that reading 1,000 books won’t budge me from. At those times, the best thing I can do for myself is take a writing class.

I was stuck this year. More stuck than I had been in a long time. I was working on a book I started just after grad school (three years and counting) that never went anywhere. It got longer but not more defined. The theme shifted as I grew, but the writing wasn’t looking more like a book. I needed help.

Reaching Out to a Writing Community

The safest place to turn for writing help (before I get up the gumption to take a class) is another writer. I spent a wonderful October afternoon with Liza Wolff-Francis in Austin, TX talking about writing and, more importantly, about not writing. We visited independent bookstores and confessed our difficulties. It felt amazing to share the problems I was having with someone who knew exactly what I felt like.

ModPo from Coursera and the University of Pennsylvania

Liza also told me about a modern poetry class she was taking online, ModPo from the Kelly Writers House at the University of Pennsylvania. It’s a MOOC (Massive Open Online Course) which means that the barrier to entry was low–I didn’t have to know how good of a student I’d be before I signed up–and that it was okay I was starting the class a month late.

The class was wonderful and I couldn’t get enough. I read poets and poems I knew and ones I’d never heard of. I was inspired to re-examine books I’d read and dismissed as I watched videos of the class TAs discussing the poems and learned about the many ways to read a poem. Through the weeks, I started to feel like I was at that table with new friends discussing poems I liked and others I didn’t but came to understand. There were tens of thousands of students from around the world but the experience was so intimate that I felt like I was part of a writing group that met whenever I had time and would pause for me when I needed to make coffee or breakfast. I did not write the papers in the class and I’m actually still working through the poems in week 8, but I’m so thankful that this resource was available.

I’m grateful to professor Al Filreis, to the TAs, and to Liza. I’m still not working on the new book as much as I’d like, but that’s not because I’m adrift without knowing how to get to shore, it’s because I’ve been blessed to have two books slated for publication next year. I am inspired and I can’t wait to work on distilling the language and ideas for that new book.

ModPo doesn’t start again until September of next year, but if you are curious, it’s worth waiting for. Set yourself a calendar reminder to check this link around that time and sign up.

Sharing Inspiration with Others

Cheers to you, dear readers, because sharing books with you is a constant source of inspiration. The conversations we have in the comments help me think more deeply about the books and knowing that you’re out there keeps me honest about posting regularly. I know my timing has been a bit off over the holidays. As soon as I get these book edits done, I’ll be back on track. Thank you for reading. You are a very important part of my writing community.

If you are feeling full of writing goodness and want to pay it forward, I’d encourage you to support your favorite writing groups with your year-end giving. Two of my favorites are Richard Hugo House (where I’m a board member) and the Kelly Writers House (home of ModPo). Of course it’s the people who make these places alive, but cash helps keep the lights on. You could also bake some cookies for your favorite writing buddy or the person who makes you dinner while you write, or buy a brand new book (preferably from an independent bookstore) to support publishing in general.

I’ll be back in the new year to share with you the books I’m reading. Until then, I wish you a very happy new year full of writing, reading, and inspiration. Much love!

Filed Under: USA & Canada Tagged With: help, inspiration, kelly writers house, Lit, modpo, new year, richard hugo house, writing

Celebrating Christmas with Literature

December 22, 2013 by Isla McKetta, MFA 4 Comments

You might have guessed, reading was a very important part of my upbringing and the holidays were no exception. Besides the requisite viewings of whatever interpretation of A Christmas Carol we were ready for that year, I always remember my dad reading aloud to us on Christmas Eve. It’s a tradition I brought with me as I made a new home in Seattle.

The Gift of the Magi

“One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one’s cheeks burned with the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas.” – “The Gift of the Magi” by O. Henry

So this year, as in all the years past (and future?), I will be snuggled up by our tree with some cider reading aloud to my husband. The set list hasn’t even varied. I’ll start with O. Henry’s “The Gift of the Magi” and weep my eyes out. The “the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their house” has always touched me very deeply and every year I better understand how wise Della and Jim were in their love and their sacrifice.

Christ Climbed Down

“Christ climbed down
from His bare Tree
this year
and ran away to where
no intrepid Bible salesmen
covered the territory
in two-tone cadillacs
and where no Sears Roebuck creches
complete with plastic babe in manger
arrived by parcel post
the babe by special delivery”
– “Christ Climbed Down” by Lawrence Ferlinghetti

Once I’ve somewhat recovered, I’ll pull out Lawrence Ferlinghetti’s A Coney Island of the Mind, turn to page 69, and read “Christ Climbed Down.” In the twinkling light of our (natural) tree, I’ll think about what’s important to me about the holiday. I wasn’t raised with religion (although I dragged my mom to a different church every Christmas and Easter), so I don’t really have a relationship with the Baby Jesus (even though I display a creche every year). That makes it especially important for me to question my relationship with the commercial Christmas and Ferlinghetti’s poem is the perfect start.

I’m missing my “clever cornball relatives” already.

Regardless of how you spend the holidays (and which holidays you celebrate), I hope the coming days find you snug and surrounded by love. And if your holiday traditions involve books, I’d love to hear about your favorites in the comments.

Filed Under: Books, USA & Canada Tagged With: christmas, ferlinghetti, o. henry, Reading, traditions

Layers of Linguistic Meaning in Empire of Signs by Roland Barthes

December 8, 2013 by Isla McKetta, MFA 6 Comments

Empire of Signs Roland Barthes

I’ve been writing long enough to notice some patterns in my process. Recently I’ve been in the “read big thinkers because you’re ready to take a big leap” phase. It has something to do with the morass that my second novel has become over the last three years. Enter Empire of Signs by Roland Barthes.

As a literary theorist and semiotician, Barthes writes a lot about signs, and reading his work always gets me excited about the ways we as writers, readers, and humans construct meaning. So although this book contains interesting observations about Japan, it was the meta-level reading that really interested me.

Layers of Meaning Across Languages

One of the first things I noticed when opening this book, is that it had been heavily annotated by its previous owner, Nobuko Yamasaki, a Japanese student at Cornell. What should have been clean white pages with black type were instead highlighted in yellow and underlined in various colors of pencil and pen. And there were notes scribbled in the margins. In Japanese.

Empire of Signs - interior

As I added my own notes to the pages, all I could think about was how much Barthes would love this. Here was a book about Japan, written in French, translated to English, and then Nobuko translated some of the more difficult words back into her language. In three separate language we are using characters to assign meaning to words that then assigned meaning to a culture. And Nobuko’s notes were making me reconsider not only Barthes’ observations and the translation, but my own language as well. When she circles “infinite” and writes “So many negative words,” I see a prefix I had never even considered.

When I found reproductions of Barthes’ own translational notations reproduced inside the book, I felt a kinship for him–that Barthes, Nobuko, and I were all on equal footing in this world as we tried to make meaning and expand our understanding of the world.

Empire of Signs - interior 2

I thought about the connotations of words that would be lost and gained as they were translated across all these cultures and languages, and the richness of that experience made me happy. Of course some meaning would be lost along the way, but an equal amount would be gained. A real linguistic nerd (I’m only a pseudo nerd in this area) could tell you about how the imprints the writer, translator, and readers left as we transformed objects into language are affected by our respective cultures. It’s a conversation I wish I could have with Barthes.

On Japan and Japanese Culture

Living in the Pacific Northwest of the United States, I feel like I am surrounded by Japanese culture and that I understand it. Aside from Narita Airport, I haven’t actually been, but I am surrounded by friends who have (my mom just got back from Japan a few weeks ago) and the imprints of Japanese culture from decades of immigration on Seattle abound. Reading this book, I realized that I wasn’t actually as familiar with Japanese culture as I thought I was. By looking at the country through the eyes of a Frenchman, I realized I was only familiar with other people’s interpretations of the culture. I’ve traveled enough to know that cultural understanding grows with time and direct experience, and I was grateful for that reminder.

Of course, Barthes can only recount the Japanese culture through his own eyes as well, but I found from reading his thoughts on everything from Japanese architecture to the way gifts are packaged and exchanged, I learned more about my own slanted and limited views.

Haiku

“Haiku reproduces the designating gesture of the child pointing at whatever it is (the haiku shows no partiality for the subject), merely saying: that! with a movement so immediate (so stripped of any mediation: that of knowledge, of nomination, or even of possession) that what is designated is the very inanity of any classification of the object… in accordance with the spirit of Zen” – Roland Barthes, Empire of Signs

Haiku is a form I’ve been increasingly interested in as I write more poetry. By looking at this form from a linguistic perspective, Barthes helped me understand the construction and how to write better. He showed me that I was trying to express deep emotion in a form that might not be suited for it. That doesn’t mean I won’t try, but it does change how I will play with the language.

Because of the inability to strip out our inherent cultural views, I did find myself doubting some of Barthes’ interpretations, but it doesn’t matter, because I can learn from the way he approaches the subject. I simply have to remember that we all have our cultural frames that we bring with us and not blindly accept the teachings of others as I sometimes want to do.

I realize I have told you little of the book itself. That is intentional. Although I think Barthes would have enjoyed the idea of the extra layer of meaning a reviewer adds to the work by interpreting it, I also think I’m too far from the text. Although the meaning would not get watered down (one thing I’ve learned from Barthes is that meaning like energy doesn’t dilute, instead it changes). I can signify the book, but I cannot represent it.

If you want to return to the source material, pick up a copy of Empire of Signs from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Filed Under: Asia, Books Tagged With: empire of signs, roland barthes, semiotics

You Can Hear the Echo by MK O’Donnell: Revisiting the Day Kennedy Was Shot

November 22, 2013 by Isla McKetta, MFA 2 Comments

Very few events shake a nation to its very core. In my lifetime there was September 11, 2001. I remember catching the Today show that morning after the planes had hid but before the towers collapsed. I sat riveted and watched wishing I could reach out to Clayton who was already away at school and without a cellphone. In my parents’ generation, fifty years ago today, event that changed everything was the assassination of John F. Kennedy. You Can Hear the Echo by MK O’Donnell drops in on a family in a small Texas town just as shots are fired from the book depository on that Friday and follows them throughout the subsequent weekend.

Why this Book Now?

Although today is the fiftieth anniversary of that unforgettable day, that is not why I bought or started reading this book. I found it used at a local store and I was entranced to have a look into how events like this shape our lives and our culture. I’ve been unable to read fiction about September 11 even now, and I was curious what and how O’Donnell had captured as she wrote this book just two years after Kennedy was shot.

I also wanted to know more about my family. My parents both grew up in Texas, though I’m not sure if my mom had already moved to New Mexico by then. I know she was in school when the news broke. My father though was 19 and already in the Marines. Because I once asked, they’ve both told me exactly what they were doing when they heard the news, but the memory wasn’t visceral for me so I promptly forgot. I am sure their memories of 1963 are as clearly imprinted on their minds as 2001 is on mine.

It wasn’t even until I was nearly finished reading the book that I realized this anniversary was near.

What Did I Learn?

O’Donnell presents a wide and representative array of characters in this book. From the conservative father to the new wife who worries that he could have been part of the plot and the liberal son who loved Kennedy and suffers greatly and openly for it. They have neighbors who are former communists and a former maid who rounds out the story with a look at an African American woman in the still-segregated South. I was not emotionally invested in these characters. Even when the son nearly shoots his father, I was not roused. Instead they feel like set pieces laid out to each show what that type of person would have felt. That was a failing of the book, but a part of me understands creating that kind of emotional distance from a tableau that must have felt fresh. Still it surprised me because the setting of this book was so domestic and I expected to empathize more with the characters.

What surprised me about the book was that the conspiracy theories about Ruby were surfacing so early. I’ve read Libra by Don Delillo and American Tabloid by James Ellroy, but I always just assumed (regardless of the truth or fiction behind either book) that all of that information surfaced later. I found myself wondering throughout the book what else the characters had access to because when I think of that day in history, all I can see is the Zapruder film, but how different it must have been to hear the news first. I wondered also if that footage would have even been shown on television then in all of its gory detail.

What I Still Don’t Know

As much as I love fiction and prefer it both to nonfiction and in many cases real life, I am not sure if fiction can capture the full or true essence of events this momentous. Poetry can, and I found some solace in Poetry After 9/11 even as I failed to connect with Falling Man by Don Delillo and chose not to read Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer. Even in War and Peace I skim over the war bits to read the juicy love story.

It’s not that I don’t care about these events. I care about them in a place so deep inside me I can’t even talk about it. As a student of politics and humanity, I want and need to know how we function as a society and as individuals in times of great loss. I’ve read everything I could ever find about the Holocaust. Maybe it’s because those are all things that happened to other people in other times and fiction and literature are the only way that I can connect with them that I accept the imperfect facsimile.

Maybe I’ve seen the Zapruder film and watched the towers fall too many times. But when it comes to events that feel closer to me–my grandparents knew Lady Bird Johnson and Nellie Connally, even if only peripherally–I know that there is something in my heart that is not described by these social commentaries.

So I’ll disappoint you today and avoid talking about the craft of this book. But what I’d love to know from you is where you turn when you seek to understand the evils of the world. Do you look for and find solace in literature? Have you read pieces about these events that you care to share? Or do you want to share that most intimate gift, your own story about a day in history?

I’m off to ask my parents once again what they experienced on November 22, 1963. Maybe this time I’ll write it down.

Filed Under: Books, USA & Canada Tagged With: Don DeLillo, James Ellroy, jfk, kennedy assassination, mk o'donnell, you can hear the echo

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My Books

Polska, 1994

Polska 1994

Clear Out the Static in Your Attic

Clear Out the Static in Your Attic_cover

Recent Posts

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What I’m Reading

Isla's bookshelf: currently-reading

Birds of America
Birds of America
by Lorrie Moore
The Ecstasy of Influence: Nonfictions, Etc.
The Ecstasy of Influence: Nonfictions, Etc.
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The Souls of Black Folk
by W.E.B. Du Bois
Bomb: The Author Interviews
Bomb: The Author Interviews
by BOMB Magazine
On Writing
On Writing
by Jorge Luis Borges

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