Books Archives - Page 22 of 53 - A Geography of Reading

Exploring the Extraordinary with The Calcutta Chromosome

August 31, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 2 Comments

I started reading The Calcutta Chromosome: A Novel of Fevers, Delirium & Discovery by Amitav Ghosh because I’ll be traveling to India in just over a month. The book had been in my to-read pile for ages and I’d heard good things about it, I just wasn’t ready to read it… until now. And what I found in those pages made me glad I waited to read it, because if I had read this book at any other time, I would have missed what became the central lesson of the book for me: thinking beyond the expected.

Blowing Apart Genre

I have to admit, this book was really slow going for the first half. The first chapter feels like it describes a semi-dystopian future where Antar is scanning relics of the past. He soon recognizes an ID card of someone he once knew in India. Then we are plopped down in 1995 where a man named Murugan is on the trail of a British scientist from 100 years before (which felt like a nonfiction account of curing malaria). Then the story flashes to that scientist. Then we hear of another scientist at the same period (whose subplot feels like a mystery novel). And a writer (ghost story).

There are some connective threads between these stories–it’s not like I had no idea where we were going–but I soon found myself wondering why Ghosh strung these stories together. Each was interesting on its own, but I found the disconnection exhausting and couldn’t read more than one (short) chapter a night.

“You also have to remember that she wasn’t hampered by the sort of stuff that might slow down someone who was conventionally trained: she wasn’t carrying a shit-load of theory in her head, she didn’t have to write papers or construct proofs… She didn’t care about formal classifications… She was working toward something altogether different.” – Amitav Ghosh

Somewhere in the middle I saw those threads start to form a whole and I realized it was my expectation of this book that was standing in my way. I didn’t understand the genre because it was unlike any genre I’d read before. It was many genres woven together to form this one new way of telling a story that was perfect for this book. The mishmash was intentional and had I been more open to the novelty of experience, I might have seen what Ghosh was doing earlier. Either way, I’m glad I didn’t quit reading.

I absolutely will not tell you more about this book because I feel like the discovery is part of the joy. Just know that to best enjoy this book, I hope you will surrender to it earlier and with less fight than I did. Love it for what it is.

The Extraordinary in My Own Life

Bloom: I can’t wake up next to another stranger, who thinks they know me, or even wants to know me, cause I don’t know – who – I’m thirty five years old, and I, I’m useless, I’m crippled, I don’t, I’ve only ever lived life through these roles that aren’t me, that are written for me by you.
Stephen: Tell me what you want.
Bloom: Why? So you can write me a role in a story where I get it? You’re not listening to me. I want a real… thing, I wanna do things how I don’t know are gonna work out, a-I, want, a…
Stephen: You want an unwritten life.

In The Brothers Bloom (which happens to be one of my favorite movies), Bloom tells Stephen (his older brother who had been scripting cons for them throughout their lives) that what he wants most is an “unwritten life.” That phrase has stuck with me ever since 2008 when I first saw the movie, because it captured something I longed for so desperately but could never name.

My parents would tell you that I was always going to live life on my terms. Whether it was going to preschool in my grandmother’s pumps or the clown costume I frequently wore for years after that. My decision to become a teen rebel at 12 (something I turned right around to become conservative at 17, just when one group of friends was only starting to rebel). They wouldn’t know about the day I stood on an unremarkable street corner in Poland fingering the passport in my pocket and dreaming of running away to create a new, anonymous life in Paris. But they shook their heads and supported me when at 19 I decided I wanted to buy a house. So when I started my MFA in creative writing, I’m sure the only thing that would have surprised them is if I wasn’t surprising them.

But inside, where it counts, and in clutch moments where I feel like I have the choice to follow an extraordinary life, I feel like I panic and then fail. Part of my problem is that always being on the outside of expectations is exhausting. Part of it is that at times I find myself living in opposition to expectation rather than figuring out what I really want to do. And part of it is that deep in my heart I long to be normal, too. I want a husband and a house and a dog. I want to have kids and a beach house and to be able to afford all of it. But I still want that sense that I am following my own path.

This struggle has come into sharp relief lately when I’ve come to a place where, after a few years of just trying to make it day to day, I actually have some choices. I have a job that I can in many ways make whatever I want. I have a literary career that could possibly flourish if I don’t let it languish. I am married to an artist who understands how important it is to nourish that crazy burst of inspiration in my soul. And still I feel like I am failing myself.

I cannot tell you how many times recently someone has suggested that I could make a go of it as purely a novelist–kind people who would be thrilled to see me follow my dreams. And my answer is always that I can’t. Not because I don’t want to but because I don’t want the pressure. I want to write without having to worry about sales or what people think. And so I limit that dream because I know how much I need to be me, even if it’s in a private way that only I see.

But the pressure to be extraordinary on the outside–to make my own rules and just move–is building inside me.

What Happens Next

I don’t know what happens next. I leave for India–a country I’ve dreamed of but never thought I’d get to–in October. I will continue working to pay the mortgage on my house. I might even take a few risks and see how far I can actually stretch the definitions of that job. And I will go back to writing–the thing that nourishes me and I’ve neglected for far too long.

Perhaps at Sarnath I’ll have some Buddhist revelation. Or I’ll have a Lovecraftian moment that will change the entire future of the world. Whatever happens, I hope I have the strength to start to do things in my own way again and to love myself the way I am. Because I don’t know what an extraordinary life means to me yet, but I do know I’ll gladly settle for an unwritten one.

If you want to dig into this world, pick up a copy of The Calcutta Chromosome from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Seeking Myself in a Pile of Books by Women

August 3, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 4 Comments

Lately I’ve been searching. Digging into books by women about women—trying to find out what it means to be me. Although I have some very dear friends, I’m feeling the absence of a community as we’re too busy to get together or too far apart. Most likely I’m sheltering myself too deeply inside me.

So I’ve taken this quest where I take all of my quests—into the pages of books. The place where it’s safe to learn and stretch and grow. To shine and blossom away from any influence that might divert or derail me. But I’m ready to come out now—my thoughts jelled enough I’m no longer terrified I’ll twist and shape them to please others. At least for now.

Men Explain Things to Me

I picked up Men Explain Things to Me by Rebecca Solnit on a night when I was headed to a gathering of female writers (a group that will not be named). During dinner before the event, Ann Hedreen and I discussed what we really thought of this group. I was wrestling with the fact that the event had to be secret. That the organizers felt they had to exclude men. And that they had named their group after a remark by someone they would consider part of the patriarchy. It all felt so reactive.

Ann and I had a really good discussion that night about feminism and what it means to be a woman. It was just the kind of conversation I’d been craving. We wandered into Elliott Bay Books and ran across this book and I thought it would be just the right time to get a new perspective on feminism. The event went well. It actually felt amazing to be surrounded by so many successful women who were so open and generous with each other. I was still sad that it needed to be exclusive, but if that’s what made them be as open as they were, I can understand the place for that.

What I didn’t love was this book. I actually had a fight with my husband about it before I even opened it. I think I was reacting to some sense of being stifled and he was reacting to the combative title. But I put myself in the position of defending something I hadn’t even read. Which I now deeply regret.

What I wanted from Men Explain Things to Me was some insight into the reasons I sometimes feel small or less than. To slights and microaggressions that might be undermining me as I try to build myself up. What I got was a story of how men victimize women. Solnit was saying that not all men intend to put women down, but behind her hand her tone sounded as though they should know better. They should be responsible for our feelings even when we are not responsible for ourselves. I think the book is meant to be playful, but I didn’t feel playful in reading it. I felt less than rather than equal. And not in a way that made me want to improve my lot.

Strike one on finding empowerment in the pages of a book.

When She Named Fire

The next book I picked up, When She Named Fire is a collection of poems by women. I have to admit I haven’t gotten very far into the book yet because I was so floored by Kim Addonizio‘s contributions (the book is alphabetical by last name if you want to know how soon I got hung up) that I stopped reading.

In just four poems, Addonizio struck deep into the heart of how the two sexes wound each other and ourselves. She opened up sensuality. And she made me reconsider (deeply) my relationship with my mother. I don’t know how good the rest of the book is, but I’ll be reading this one slowly and for a long time. If even one or two more poems are as good at helping me take ownership of myself and my experience, that sense of empowerment will bleed into my next book, which is a good and necessary thing.

Courage: Daring Poems for Gutsy Girls

Courage: Daring Poems for Gutsy Girls was co-edited by Karen Finneyfrock, someone I’ll dare to call a friend although we don’t yet know each other that well. Karen and I spent a few days up at the Whiteley Center together with Nicole Hardy and I was so impressed by her centered sense of self and her presence.

Karen works a lot with teens and this collection was created to empower teen girls by showing a wide diversity of experiences. The poems get to the heart of owning yourself and of the myriad ways we can be beautiful and strong and sometimes hurt ourselves. I fell in love all over again with Sarah Kay and Patricia Smith. I read this book fast and will probably read it over again. I’m definitely buying copies for the young women in my life.

What stuck with my most about Courage: Daring Poems for Gutsy Girls, though, is the sense that we write for ourselves. Full of many right answers and a few wrong ones, I’m sure that girls will take comfort in (and power from) this book. They will learn that they are not alone. But they will also not really listen and will instead go off and make their own lessons. And that is how it should be.

What surprised me about this book is how maternal it made me feel. And maybe that’s because my best friend is having her first baby this weekend (so it’s on my mind), but maybe I’m growing up a little, too. But reading and communing with these women over their tenderest moments, I came to realize how small and individual our lives are. I have so many things I want to teach to young women, but maybe the lessons we need to learn cannot be taught. Maybe I could not be taught. Maybe it’s okay that I, like many young girls, longed not to be told how to live but to be loved no matter what choices I made—what successes and failures I created.

Talking to My Body

The irony of Talking to My Body is that I found author Anna Swir through a collection anthologized by Czesław Miłosz who at every turn celebrated her feminism but in the most misogynistic tone. I can’t really explain and I think it was well intentioned and also cultural. Regardless, after reading one or two of her poems, I had to have more.

And the real reason I picked this book up is because Swir’s poetry is incredibly sexy. And not in a 50 Shades of Grey sort of way. I actually thought there would be more erotic poems in the book, but twenty-five or so poems gathered as “To Be a Woman” were enough. What Swir does in this section is explore the experience of being a sexual being through the voices of three very different women. It’s gorgeous and full and the three diverse perspectives open up an entire plane of acceptable possibilities.

“A night of love with you,
a big baroque battle
and two victories.”
– Anna Swir

Why this Now

One of the things I’ve been struggling with in this post-publication summer (if not my whole life) is that I ache to be known. Deeper than that, I ache to be accepted in all of my faults and failings. I’ve built a wall to shield those tendernesses and I understand that as long as I hold strong this wall, none of that will happen. I’ve learned a lot from Rebecca Bridge about the power of exposing your experience while sitting with yourself (see her essay about her boyfriend’s suicide on Gawker), but I also see how vulnerable being at that edge can make her (and watched others jump over) and I’m not sure I’m brave enough to sit that close to the fire.

Some days I think that the pain of not being known is just slightly less than being rejected for who I am. On those days I do not write. And some days I am strong enough that I want to dig and become no matter what anyone says or thinks or feels. That is when I unlock the door—let the words tumble out into the shape of the real me. Whoever that may be.

What I’m looking for in these books—in all the books I ever read—are the edges I butt up against—the rubs that show me the negative space that is me. With each book I shift and change shape—sometimes a little and sometimes a lot—find my center of gravity and learn to occupy this space.

I don’t know if I’m a feminist. I do know that I am most happy when I’m surrounded by a sea of voices speaking their own truths and when I speak up so that my voice is counted among them.

I have a date, soon, with Roxana Arama where we’re going to talk about writing—where I’ll get real with her about the things I’m struggling with most and I’ll listen as she does the same. And tonight I’ll talk about books and reading and life with a very accomplished group of women. I feel lucky to be counted among all of the women I’ve named in this post and those whom I have not named. As much as I long for a large communal kitchen filled with all the generations of women and all the voices I love, I know, too, that this is my way of engaging, and that maybe, if I’m lucky, my voice will endure to someday help someone else.

On Reading Beyond the Bestseller List: How You Can Find New Authors

July 27, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 3 Comments

stacks of books Awhile back (longer ago than I’m willing to admit), a dear friend, Natasha Oliver, asked me how I find out about new authors. And I didn’t know how to answer her because sometimes it feels like they just materialize from the noise of our digital zeitgeist. But then Icess Fernandez Rojas posted on Facebook this weekend asking for recs of new Latin American authors and I realized it’s time to look deeper into my sources and see where that information really comes from.

I hope this post will help you find some new avenues of discovery. It will also probably help me stock my shelves with something beyond the latest Murakami (who I love, but if I still haven’t read the last one, then maybe it’s time to look for some new voices).

Friends

This is always my choice when looking for a new book to read, especially a new author. It’s especially helpful because you know your friends well enough to know who to ask for what types of books. Gwendolyn Jerris loves the sound of language in the same way I do, so when she recommended recommended Jenny Boully and Eva Sjödin, I bought those books immediately. I trust Rebecca Bridge to tell me about contemporary poetry that’s going to stretch the way I use language, and her recommendation of Blueberry Morningsnow was just what I needed at that moment.

I reciprocate by being a good resource for Eastern European and Latin American authors because those are my loves. I also know more about literary authors every day.

Goodreads

This is kind of like asking your friends, but there are a lot of strangers on Goodreads who are equally good resources, even if you don’t know them all that well. They have a recommendation engine based on your shelves. It’s not at all foolproof but it knows me better than Netflix does. There are also tons of discussion groups. What I most love about Goodreads (besides spying on my friends’ bookshelves) is reading through the reviews of a book. You can usually get a good idea of who was just the wrong reader for a particular book and whether you’ll be the right one.

I lied. My most favorite section of Goodreads is the giveaways. Because free books. But really it’s a low-ish cost way for publishers to reach actual readers, so a lot of smaller presses use this function. Input your category (I always type “literary” in the search because for some reason that isn’t a category) and request away. Over time you will likely win a giveaway or two, but more importantly you’ll be learning about all kinds of new authors. I found Donna Lynch this way. And then the press contacted me and offered me more books.

Anthologies

My husband taught me to find music through soundtracks because invariably someone you’ve never heard of is on the list. Anthologies work the same way. For some reason poetry is more enjoyable for me to read in collections than fiction, but in the last little bit I’ve “discovered” the poetry of Anna Swir, Kim Addonizio, and Carol Muske in this way.

Lit Mags

Like anthologies, but probably a better resource for the newest voices, lit mags can be a great resource. I have to admit I don’t read most lit mags, but I found Heidi Julavits (whom I have reviewed at least three times) in BOMB. I also read The Paris Review and Harper’s.

The key with lit mags is to find the one that resonates with you. I read BOMB because it covers a wide spectrum of arts (often just a step back from the cutting edge) and features artists interviewing each other. If you like quieter stories, Glimmer Train is a great resource. McSweeny’s is full of great contemporary voices, and if you’re hipper than I am, you might relate to Tin House.

Facebook

The latest algorithm shifts have kind of screwed this up, but there was a time that every new press got straight on Facebook because it was cheap and their interns understood it. I think I found Matt Betts this way. You can still “like” all the small presses and go directly to their pages to see their stuff, but unless the algorithm changes again or small presses suddenly have tons of cheddar to drop on ads, this might be a dying method of discovery.

Industry Publications

I subscribe to Shelf Awareness and The Review Review because I like to know what’s the haps with the industry and oftentimes there are new voices included in both. Shelf Awareness in particular will highlight the long list of the latest award and when I haven’t heard of someone, I go back to Goodreads and learn more about them. I found Neel Mukherjee in this way just this week. These are not necessarily going to be debut authors, but they are new to me and that’s enough to get me started exploring.

Intertextuality

When authors recommend or reference other authors inside their books, I’m in heaven. It’s an academic tic, but I want to know who all the predecessors are of whomever I am reading so I write down any name that’s unfamiliar and investigate that writer. Not as many contemporary writers use intertextuality, unfortunately, and sometimes (Borges) you can find yourself looking for books that do not actually exist. But when you do find a book this way, you have so much more context for it which adds to the pleasure of reading. For example, both Umberto Eco and Italo Calvino were huge fans of Jorge Luis Borges. That adds a new dimension to all of their works. And Calvino led me to Cesare Pavese…

If you think Wikipedia dips can last forever, I’m still investigating predecessors of Eco.

AWP and Other Book Fairs

ahsahta awp Sometimes the books come to you. There were not a lot of big name publishers at AWP this year, but that made me pay even more attention to the smaller publishers who were there like Ahsahta Press (above) who has some of the prettiest book design in the business. Kim Addonizio’s book called to me off one of the shelves. Actually, enough books called to me to fill my very large coffee table.

awp book haul

Browsing at Bookstores

cotsiya powells Sometimes a book just jumps off the shelf at you. I rarely go to the bookstore with something in mind. Instead, I try to allow myself a lot of time for the books to call my name. If Serendipity is not responding, try browsing by color or imprint or any other way you don’t normally categorize books. You’ll be surprised by what you discover.

Take Notes While You Query

As writers we’re supposed to be querying, right? And we’re supposed to have read every book ever published by the press so that we can support them before they ever support us… yeah, I can’t afford that either. But the internet makes it really easy to browse their books and see what press feels like home. But the secondary (and most important to this post) benefit is that you learn about so many great books this way. It’s how I found Edan Lepucki before Colbert did (and I still recommend that novella today).

Start a Book Review Blog

Debut authors are hungry for reviews and they will find you if you put a call out into the world. This is how I got to read Richard Clark, Karen Rigby, and Matt Pine. And if you start a book review blog, please let me know, I’m a little behind with my own marketing 😉

Hug a Librarian

nancy pearl eat read hugo I actually never go to the library because I prefer to write all over my books, but librarians are treasure troves of information. These wonderful people have read more books than I’ll ever see and are trained to think about information from a variety of perspectives so they can recommend exactly the right book to you at exactly the right time. When I grow up I want to be Nancy Pearl.

Twitter

Perhaps the biggest trove of information, if also the most cluttered, is Twitter. I follow everyone I can on Twitter: presses large and small, new writers, established writers, industry publications, readers, and reviewers. I do not read all of their tweets, but I do dip in and see if Serendipity is smiling on me that day.

Curating a reading list is a lot of work, but it’s also super rewarding. Especially since it means you don’t have to rely on one reviewer’s tastes. Because as much as I love sharing what I’m reading with you all, I will admit that I think first about what book calls to me and second about how it might help someone else. When you’re on your quest, try to look beyond the names you already know and for the ones you don’t. It’s harder than you think, but it’s worth the effort.

I’d love to know how you find new authors and if there are lit mags and anthologies (and more) that you recommend. Please share your latest discoveries in the comments.

Beachcombing at Miramar and What it Takes to be a Writer

July 20, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 5 Comments

I read Beachcombing at Miramar: The Quest for an Authentic Life by Richard Bode just as I was changing jobs earlier this summer and somewhat terrified that I’d never write again. Things are better now, as of this weekend I have two books started and a jumble of poetry I vow to someday edit, so I feel like I can finally talk about this book and what it means to me.

Isolation

Bode retreated to his house on the beach after a divorce from a marriage it sounds like he was never that into. And this book is a collection of essays about the year he spent beachcombing. Like many memoirs (most particularly Walden), it feels carefully trimmed to highlight the experiences that string together into the best narrative. I guess fiction does that too, but in this instance, especially as he talks about his isolation, I wondered if he was anywhere near as removed from society as I dreamed he was.

“Since they have never learned how to be by themselves, they have never learned how to be together.” – Richard Bode

My relationship with isolation is cloudy. A first born, there was a time in my life where I was very happy with only my own company, but I feel like my parents resisted this impulse in me. Perhaps because of the adorable baby brother who soon followed or just to fit into society in general. But somewhere very early I got the impression (in a way that was difficult to argue with) that I was supposed to be social. I started flitting from group to group engaging just enough to feel like I’d satisfied the requirements and then I’d go on to the next. But I never again settled into my own company.

Even in grad school for writing, a time when I should have been most deeply immersed in my thoughts, I was experiencing an immense push-pull between the isolation I craved and the importance of sociability that I’d internalized.

But there are times when a writer cannot be social. It’s perhaps the lonesomest of careers (and maybe that’s why it calls to me). Because I work with words, the slightest verbal interruption can throw me off completely—sometimes for the whole day (especially when I’m in that nuance of language place). I cannot even listen to music with lyrics.

And yet, I’m still pushing and pulling myself about whether that isolation is okay. Often all it takes is a declaration of intent that “I will be writing today and cannot be interrupted” for me to then turn around and follow my husband around the house all day (unlike Bode, I’m very lucky in my choice of spouse).

The best times—the most productive times— are when I find balance, as I believe Bode did, between the alone time required to think and create and the social time that almost everyone wants some degree of. To do that, I have to give myself permission to be alone sometimes and to be honest with myself about the times when I don’t.

Inspiration

“Where does your inspiration come from?” has to be the most frequently asked question of writers. With this book, Bode allowed himself time to think and to observe the world. Although his book is self-referential (inspiration comes from the very time and space that he’s writing about), I believe the magic of inspiration actually comes from an artist’s brain.

I’m not saying that artists have different ways of thinking than others—that would imply some sort of biological predisposition toward art I’m not prepared to champion—but I do believe the openness, fluidity, and tangential nature of thought are necessary to the creation of art. Because the magic of inspiration is actually the magic of connections that we make, of looking at the same thing as everyone else from a fresh angle. Some of that is allowing ourselves the time to think, and some of it is allowing ourselves the space to see whatever it is we are looking at in the light of our unique experiences (and then honing the skills to express that viewpoint).

“I have a task that is greater than all the labors assigned to Hercules. It demands that I live in the richness of this moment because that is all I have or will ever know.” – Richard Bode

Bode is just walking up and down the beach. But by being on that beach through the seasons, he sees the experience of being there in a different way. The thoughts in his mind are shaped by that presence and evolve into something a day visitor might not understand. It’s pretty wonderful.

And inspiration, as long as you are open to it, really is inexhaustible (I’m sure I’ll kick myself for writing that someday, but I do believe it). At work this week, I was treated to this presentation:

How to Never Run Out of Great Ideas from Peter Meyers

That was at a marketing conference. But because I didn’t have my head stuck in the “this is the place I work” vs. “this is the place I write” rut, this fabulous presentation inspired me professionally and personally. Not every part of this presentation will be tailor made for you. That’s the point. Pluck the parts that resonate and marry them with something else and go make work.

There is a line from Gattaca that is with me always. Vincent (Ethan Hawke) is explaining to his much more athletic brother how he beat him at swimming this vast distance when they were kids. He says, “You want to know how I did it? This is how I did it, Anton: I never saved anything for the swim back.” If you are saving back ideas for the next project or for the right moment, you are holding back a part of yourself. Go back to that presentation above. Check out slide 7. Then slide 8. 20. 21.

The time to make your best work about that burning issue is right now. Because tomorrow something else might be burning and you will have lost that moment forever.

Coping with Fear

“The individual who fears the criticism of others is no different from the one who seeks their praise. Both are shadow figures, fading into the landscape, lacking the will to act for themselves.” – Richard Bode

Just before that quote, Bode relays an anecdote about Georgia O’Keeffe that is likely apocryphal, but the sentiment is important. He says that before ever showing her work to the world, she set up a show for herself to decide what she thought of the work. She had the wisdom to look into the work and to see it for all of its flaws and also its successes. She also had the wisdom to know that it was her critique that would be the most valuable to future work.

Making art is scary. I’ve been writing about that a lot lately, here, here, and also in my notebooks. But that’s life and it’s time to move on.

I found a lot of comfort this week talking with a beloved writer friend about art and fear. We walked through Madison Park with her kids and talked about our work and the things that are inspiring us. She is a person to whom it is safe to say aloud the things I haven’t worked out on paper. I even let her thumb through notebook #1 – the next novel. The point is that the world is a lot less scary once you find those people to whom you can open up. My husband hears about my emotions and my writer friends hear about my art. And everything else must go into the work.

“I am on my way toward the center of myself, doing my best to strip away layers of sham and pretense as I go along.” – Richard Bode

Beachcombing at Miramar is a very Buddhist book—right down to the quotes from Thich Nhat Hanh. And I love it. It helped me find some of my center during this latest transition, and re-reading it today it helped me all over again.

What are the books and influences that shape your life as a writer? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

If Beachcombing at Miramar is your thing, pick up a copy from Bookshop.org. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

The Art of Voice in Keri Hulme’s The Bone People

July 13, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

I admit I probably picked upThe Bone People by Keri Hulme because I was looking to flesh out my South Pacific section. It won the Man Booker Prize back when it was still called the Booker Prize and I was intrigued by the description. But late in the night when I dusted this book off and took it to bed, I had no idea what I was in for. Starkly original and painful (and at times even painful to read), this book taught me more about originality and writing with your authentic voice than anything I’ve read in a long time.

The story of a lone woman, a mute boy who seeks her out, and the boy’s adopted father, The Bone People broke my heart over and over and over with complex tales of isolation, abuse, and alcoholism. I’m going to focus on the writing part today (partly because I don’t know how to do the story justice without revealing too much), but if you ever need to see how well broken people can be inhabited and conveyed in a way that is neither overly sympathetic nor antagonistic but always deeply heartfelt, read this book. I learned so much and I know there’s a lot more to learn should I read it again.

Writing Your Culture

Part Maori and part British Islander, Hulme is a New Zealander through and through. I knew from the moment I read in her introduction, “I live five hundred miles away, don’t have a telephone, and receive only intermittent mail delivery” that this was a woman who was living a life very unlike my own. And that comes through beautifully in the book. The craggy landscape, the relationship with the sea, the nuances of interaction between the indigenous population and the settlers—it’s all there and it’s conveyed with an extraordinary authenticity. Funny how you can point out the things that tie a book to its culture, but if you try and write it from the outside, it’s never the same.

Writing Yourself

The similarities in this book between the author, Keri Hulme, and the protagonist, Kerewin Holmes, including her ethnicity and her penchant for isolation, were uncanny enough that I thought they would interfere with my reading of the book. They did not. Instead, she managed to create this work that is so wholly her own that fact and fiction don’t matter. I was so enthralled in the narrative at times that I’d avoid picking the book up because I knew I could not put it down again.

“I was lucky with my editors, who respected how I feel about… oddities. For instance, I think the shape of words brings a response from the reader—a tiny, subconscious, unacknowledged but definite response.” – Keri Hulme

And this book is original. From the opening line, “He walks down the street. The asphalt reels by him,” through the first few pages, I had no idea what was happening, but the force of her writing compelled me forward. I had the sense that this book came from the very depths of Hulme and I always wanted to read more.

Nonconformity in Writing.

To be fair, there are lots of writers out there doing their own things with language. Some very subtly and some very obviously. But few have reshaped the conventions as much as Hulme does in this book and managed to win so much acclaim. She starts the book with a fugue state where the reader has no idea what’s happening. She invents her own style of how the text should look. She intersperses whole Maori phrases. It’s an absolutely maddening book. But it’s so completely compelling, too.

Maybe she wrote this book this way because it depicts a lifestyle that’s outside the literary norm. Or maybe this is the way the words come to her. What’s important to me about this book is that for all of the differences between her style and whatever expectation I may have had, she grabbed me by the emotional core and hung on. Every difficult passage or heartbreaking moment is rewarded by some insight into either the characters or a way I could be rethinking my own language.

Finding my Voice

Subscribers to this blog know that I’m wrestling a lot with my writing right now in the months following publishing Polska, 1994, my first novel. What I learned from Hulme is that I need to pull inward, to find that voice at the center of my core. I can (and do) learn all kinds of tools from the writers around me, but the gestation of my voice is my individual responsibility. It comes from learning to trust myself, from praising myself instead of seeking praise, and from being willing to dwell alone in that creative space. I may not run 500 miles from the nearest telephone (although that sounded wonderful for a few brief moments), but I must be willing to sit with myself and my writing. That’s the only way I’m ever going to make anything worth reading again.

What are the books that have most challenged you? What did you learn from them? I’d love to hear from you in the comments.

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