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Reading Locally with Lidia Yuknavitch and Jamie Ford

January 13, 2013 by Isla McKetta, MFA 2 Comments

Jessica Prentice created the word “locavore” to mean one who eats locally, but I propose a broader meaning—one who consumes locally. The Latin roots support this (“loca” is related to “locus” or “place” and “vore” means “eat” but also “devour”). Because I devour mostly books, I wanted to look at the benefits of reading locally using Dora: A Headcase by Lidia Yuknavitch and Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford as examples. Both books are set in Seattle where I make my home.

First of all, let me say that I’m unusually blessed living in Seattle. Other cities star more frequently in novels (New York and Paris come to mind), but something about Seattle—maybe because it’s smaller or because I feel like part of the amazingly rich and diverse literary community here—is more intimate. Or maybe it’s because you have to go out of your way to get here, so (unless you’re writing Twilight) authors usually visit the area to get to know the place before writing about it.

I could have written this post about any number of Seattle authors like Sherman Alexie or GM Ford (both of whom I’ve loved), but these two novels by Northwest authors crossed my path this week and they speak to such different geographies that I want to look at each of them here. So we’re on the same page, when I say geography, I mean the location and also the people who affect (and are affected by) the place.

Dora: A Headcase by Lidia Yuknavitch

Nearly every review you read about Dora: A Headcase begins with some version of the following phrase, “contemporary coming-of-age story based on Freud’s famous case study.” If I had known this, my reading of the book might have been more nuanced. But I didn’t. I went to the store in search of Yuknavitch’s memoir, The Chronology of Water, which I was unable to find. What they did have were several copies of Dora. I like the serendipity of discovering a book, so I bought and read this one without considering the back cover or the introduction. I may have missed a dimension of the book in doing so, but it didn’t dampen my enjoyment.

Yuknavitch’s characters capture the spirit of Seattle. Smart and angsty teen Dora showed me just how active a protagonist can be as she teams up with the wild gang of Obsidian, Ave Maria, and Little Teena to rage against convention and authority. I’ve seen people just like each of them on Capitol Hill. Dora has that well-to-do hipster with an angry edge vibe that is uniquely Seattle and the others are equally authentic. Dora’s uptight parents and more-rigid-than-he-ever-thought-he’d-be Dr. Siggy were also familiar and well-drawn, and it was easy to imagine them pushing carts through Trader Joe’s on Queen Anne.

Although the specifics of some locations in the city were treated with creative license, the essence of the neighborhoods is well portrayed. And when the action of the book moves to suburban Renton, the characters stand in even starker contrast to the landscape. I won’t spoil the story, but the shift in setting adds a whole new, very important, dimension to the book—a peek at what all us crazy city folk look like mere miles beyond our border.

The book is a very wild ride and I’d recommend it for those occasions when you are looking for a (legal) way to indulge in revenge.

Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet by Jamie Ford

Jamie Ford’s Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet showcases a very different but equally real Seattle. Set primarily in the International District during World War II, the book tells the story of Chinese-American Henry and Japanese-American Keiko and a love that could not be.

The layered complexities of racial relations that Ford presents rival Sherman Alexie’s Indian Killer, though this is a very different book. The detailed scenes revealed an aspect of Seattle history I’ve managed to mostly ignore until now. I’ve known about the Japanese internment for a long time, but only in an abstract way. Ford made the events and their impact real for me, even if the love story was a bit pat.

I have always been interested in World War II, but I usually read about the Holocaust and the European campaign. This book helped me put names and faces with experiences—wondering about the Moriguchi family (owners of Uwajimaya, which was in Tacoma until after the war) and what their life must have been like during the war.

I came away from this book with a deeper appreciation of Pioneer Square where I work and the International District where I sometimes shop. In any city, we are surrounded by more strangers than friends and books can help us understand a place even if we can never meet all of its characters. This is a great book to pick up if you want to find out more about events that rocked Seattle during an era that many people are still not talking about. It will make your next visit to the Wing Luke Museum (or even through the bus tunnel) all the richer.

My Writing

Geography was very important to me in writing my first book, Polska, 1994, as I tried to understand the people of Poland. My characters are shaped by their location in the smaller city of Toruń just as Dora would have been a very different book if it was set in Ballard rather than Capitol Hill, and Hotel on the Corner of Bitter and Sweet needed to be set in the International District.

Perhaps that’s why my next book (a work in progress) feels unmoored at the moment—it currently has no setting and is instead entirely about the characters in relation to each other. I like the amorphous nature this gives the characters, but it is also far outside my comfort zone for them to not have a place that shapes them and which they play against.

I am grateful to both Lidia Yuknavitch and Jamie Ford for reminding me that good stories happen at home, too, and that by devouring local books, I might get that extra layer of enjoyment of learning about my city. Do you read locally? What books would you recommend about your city?

If this review made you want to read either book, pick up a copy of Dora: A Headcase or Hotel at the Corner of Bitter and Sweet from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Field Reports from World War Z

November 29, 2012 by Isla McKetta, MFA 2 Comments

I’m so excited to finally be reviewing World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War by Max Brooks. On Saturday, I watched the piling masses of zombies and Brad Pitt in the preview for the film (on the front of Twilight) and rushed home to steal the book from my husband and start reading. The rest of the weekend was me avoiding everyone (including the aforementioned husband) so I could read, read, read.

But a bout of food poisoning led to some really nasty zombie/vampire fever dreams that resulted in an equally nasty cold. And I’ve been unable to write ever since. So you could say that zombies ate my brains. But I’m back and I want to tell you about this book.

Reportage

World War Z is my first foray into the zombie lit genre. Most of my horror novel experience was in my early teens when Satanists and creepy toys were the horror darlings of the day. So I didn’t really know what to expect, but I imagine that Brooks’ decision to tell the story of the zombie war as a collection of field reports surprised many readers.

Reading the introduction, the way Brooks chose to tell these stories struck me as odd, but as a Poli Sci wonk, I found it easy to get into the idea of post-incident reports and was interested in the conceit of stories “too intimate” to include in the official record. Some of the individual stories are the victim stories you might expect. Others provide insight into the bureaucracy and military and civilian corps in exciting and interesting ways. So my concerns rapidly vanished and I got sucked into the book.

Creating Unique Characters

One of the challenges of telling a story from a variety of viewpoints (especially when they are all first person) is making them sound different to the reader. Brooks did a great job of subtly differentiating the voices of his characters through specific vocabulary. For example, military folks called zombies, “Zack.” It’s an effect that could have easily been overdone, but Brooks blended just the right amount of character-specific words with clean prose and it worked.

Stories from Around the Globe

Part of the reason the book felt so immediate, even though it was told from after the war, was that the reports came from around the world. The stories unfold chronologically which should provide order, but because you could be reading about Virginia on one page, Finland the next, and Antarctica a few pages later, the zombie outbreak felt like it was closing in and there was no escape. The stories wove together to form a fascinating picture of the pandemic.

World War Z: The Film

I’m all out of Twilight movies (okay, I still haven’t seen 2 or 4, but I got the gist and I’m over it), but after reading World War Z, I can’t wait to see this movie in theaters. It looks like the story might revolve specifically around Pitt’s family and I can understand why screenwriters Damon Lindelof and Matthew Michael Carnahan might choose a more traditional narrative (getting a star enough lines is only one reason). Still, I think I’ll miss the surprising storytelling of Max Brooks.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Deconstructing Plot with Alan Brenham’s Price of Justice

November 18, 2012 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

Aristotle would have loved detective novels. He considered a fine-tuned plot more important than characterization. Gustav Freytag, father of the dramatic pyramid would also appreciate the way most modern detective novels make use of his five-part model (exposition, rising action, climax, falling action, and dénouement). Because I write literary fiction, plot is something I sometimes fail at, so I looked closely at Price of Justice by Alan Brenham to see what I could learn.

Exposition

To start a good book, the writer must clue the reader in to what is happening. As this ground situation is set, every detail that will be important throughout the rest of the book is introduced. And like Chekhov’s gun (the idea that a gun introduced in the first act must go off) all the details that are introduced should be important.

Price of Justice is told from two main points of view, Detective Scarsdale’s and Dani Mueller’s. Both have good reason to hate sex offenders. Scarsdale is recovering from losing a case against one and Mueller has a dark secret involving the man who raped and killed her daughter. Brenham expertly outlines the character’s conflicts and all the details readers need to know to navigate the twists and turns of the tightly-woven plot.

Rising Action

Once the reader gets his or her bearings in the fictional world, it’s time to add in complicating details and plot points. And Brenham escalates the action with all kinds of increasingly tense plot complications. These incidents (ranging from workplace politics to a break-in) are closely related to the ground situation. They add richness to the world while propelling the reader through the story.

Climax

This is the point in Freytag’s pyramid where the tension is supposed to be at its height. Although the details add up nicely, Chekhov’s gun goes off, and Brenham does a good job of keeping the story on theme, by the time the climax finally rolled around, I was more than ready for it. There had been so much heavy action leading up to this moment that I wanted even more from the big moment. Instead the climax felt a bit too easy.

Falling Action and Dénouement

Price of Justice is a modern novel, and as such it doesn’t have much action after the climax. Brenham intentionally leaves a few questions unanswered, but the ending is satisfactory.

Characterization

Detective novels on the whole are something I very much enjoy reading for fun. But they often lack the character development that I love. I appreciated that Brenham created more complexity than average in Dani Mueller’s background. Her motivations were unflinchingly straightforward, but the unusual nature of her background allowed for some unexpected turns as the plot unfolded.

Price of Justice is set in Austin, TX, a city I know and love, and I enjoyed how Brenham also used the city as a character.

What I learned from looking closely at the plotting of this book is that it is possible to write much more tension into a book than I usually feel comfortable doing. I need to realize that when I feel anxious writing something, that is not a reason to flinch. Instead it is a reason to follow that feeling and see what I can do to deepen the reader’s experience. I will likely always be a literary writer—mucking around in my character’s psyches instead of their actions, but that’s no excuse for letting the tension in my books lag.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Price of Justice from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Joan Silber: A World of Voices in The Size of the World

October 21, 2012 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

In The Size of the World, Joan Silber relates six linked stories from the first person point of view of six different narrators. Using word choice, tone, and sentence length, Silber provides insight into the character through the distinct sounds of their voices.

Toby

Toby is an engineer in Arizona who is sent to Viet Nam to explore defects in the guidance systems of fighter planes during the war. He speaks very directly using short sentences like: “I liked getting lost in projects.” His sentences are often six or seven words long and rarely more than two linked clauses. This gives him the clipped sound of someone who works with data but who is a loner. He uses clichés: “Ernst slept like a baby” which makes him seem like an unlikely narrator—like words are unimportant to him. He works with a man named Ernst who is even more removed (someone comments that he may have Asperger’s) and has his own terse phraseology, often speaking in two or three word sentences: “‘Can’s gone’…‘as in dead.’”

Kit

Kit was Toby’s high school girlfriend. He thinks she is vacuous and dim. Her initial voice indicates that she is not a serious person and she uses alliteratively comical phrases like, “sanctimonious sharpie.” After running into Toby, she asks herself many questions: “The world wasn’t all sex, was it?” and “[a]nd what did I want from Toby anyway?” which makes her sound uncertain and lost with a bit of self-loathing peppered in. After being manhandled by the police in Mexico, her voice loses most of its brightness: “I was oozing money, and his country was a hobby to me.” And this tone follows her throughout the rest of her section as she flounders through life never really regaining the lightness she started with.

Corinna

Corinna is older than Kit and Toby, though she is first presented in her youth. Her voice is prim and her phrases like: “the sort of boy” and “quite decently” sound proper like those of someone from her generation. She is actually a very free spirit who moves to Siam after losing her parents and falls for her brother’s Malay guide. But when she speaks, she is very candid about even risqué subject matter such as having premarital sex in the woods, but she is roundabout with her phrasing: “I still bled every month” instead of saying she wasn’t pregnant. She is a woman confined by her generation not by her spirit.

Mike

Mike is a professor who is divorced and meets his high school sweetheart later in life and has a second chance at love. He is full of regrets but resigned to his life as in the following passage: “I suppose I always thought I would have a family, though not so fast” and “[b]ut later I was sorry I hadn’t gone.” He uses “but” and “though” over and over as a sort of “if only…” and the reader understands that his life is not what he wanted to make of it if he had travelled, if he had slowed down, if…

Annunziata

Annunziata is another older woman who was born in Sicily and immigrated to the U.S. after World War II. Her voice loops back on itself as she introduces a topic, e.g. hating America when she was young and then engages in a long digression only to come back to the original point she made. This gives the reader a rich understanding of her background but it also takes on a feeling of her living in the past because she is always delving into the history of what brought about the events. She comes off as richly interesting rather than efficient and interested in moving forward.

Owen

Owen is Kit’s brother. When we first meet him, he is still living in Siam although he is starting to feel used up. His tone is caustic, even when addressing his sister either telling her about his latest adventure: “‘The whole cold-blooded enterprise’” or responding to her attempts to lighten the mood: “‘Don’t be suave and brittle, please’…‘Now is not the time.’” When he comes home he is depressed and it shows in the lack of enthusiasm in his language as he describes, “unspeakably dull dinners.” His life is unsatisfactory: “I was not what I’d once been” and he describes having “humiliated myself” during his Depression-era job search. This is a man who held himself high and above others. When he comes home he is faced with the reality of who he is. He becomes a salesman, and struggles even at that. His self-image of the independent adventurer is dashed if it even was ever true.

By giving each character a unique voice, Silber is saying more about them and in a more palatable way than if she had simply outlined the characteristics of these characters. The characters are fully realized in their narration and when they engage in dialogue. She even portrays the individual voices of more minor characters. Silber has created a very rich world of characters and at the end I felt like I understood a little of the individual natures of each of them.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of The Size of the World from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

A Geography of Greece with Fuschia Phlox’s Return to the Aegean

September 4, 2012 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

There are a myriad of things that make me fall in love with a story, but a strong setting has to be at the top of the list. A literary geography is comprised not just of the landscape where the story takes place but also of people their relationships with the location. Though Fuschia Phlox’s Return to the Aegean is well plotted, the rich characters and gorgeous setting are what captured my heart.

“There is such pleasure in taking from nature what wants to be taken.” – Fuschia Phlox

PHlox reaps the natural beauty of the Greek islands and sows it into the descriptions in this novel. From olive orchards to rocky shores, I wanted to move in with Thalia as she returns to the place she once called home. While Thalia explores the mysteries of her family’s past, the reader is treated to loving descriptions of Greek rituals of life and death.

I’m not always the most careful reader, but something about Phlox’s character descriptions makes it easy to differentiate between the large number of characters in the novel. The characters are believable and I found myself wanting to befriend Irini and Petros. I felt for Mina and I loved Sophia. Each new character seemed to have his or her place in the natural order of the island.

I appreciated that as wide as the focus of characters is, the narrative always returns to swimming and the sea. In fact, the gently insistent way Phlox consistently brings the book back to the theme reminds me of Anne Michaels.

Phlox has a knack for pacing. Each chapter leaves off with a gentle prod forward that kept me reading well past my bedtime. I don’t think I’m spoiling anything if I say the end unfolds like the denouement of a 19th century novel.

“You don’t listen until you are truly ready.” – Fuschia Phlox

This was my first experience reviewing a book from a PDF and the format affected the way I read the book. Because I am used to editing my own work onscreen, I found I had difficulty getting distance from this novel. As a result, I paid more attention to nitpicky things than I normally would when reading for pleasure. For example, the (albeit few) sentences that were overwritten really stuck with me. I also got hung up on the footnotes that defined the Greek words and kept thinking about editing context clues into the text instead. It seems I’m still a few years off from being ready to go the e-reader route.

Overall, I’d say that Return to the Aegean is the perfect mixture of a vacation book and a serious novel. You may think you are wholly engrossed with the mystery, but part of you will be checking flight times on the next plane to Greece.

If this review made you want to read the book, pick up a copy of Return to the Aegean from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.