writing Archives - A Geography of Reading

Beginning a New Year as I Mean to Continue – with the Alchemy of the Word

January 5, 2019 by Isla McKetta, MFA Leave a Comment

I wanted to write this review in December, but I was busy stealing moments to make writing from the inspiration I found in Alchemy of the Word.

I wanted to write this review over the Christmas holiday, but I was practicing balance.

I wanted to write this review on New Year’s and fill it with links to all the posts I’ve previously written about inspiration, but I had just found out that my grandmother died.

So here I am beginning the new year as I mean to end it, practicing balance, experiencing the fullness of life, and giving myself a little grace for the fact that I am trying my best. (If you need to give yourself a little grace, let Icess guide you).

Practice, Practice, Practice

I used the word “practice” very deliberately above, because I am not good at balance but it is a skill I’m trying to polish, just as writing is a skill that requires practice. The writers whose essays make up Alchemy of the Word are all very practiced writers and, as members of the faculty of Goddard College (my alma mater), are also tasked with helping new writers get into the habit (practice) of writing. The essays in this collection come from the speeches our teachers use to inspire us at residencies and to (lovingly) warn us about the writing life to come at commencements. They are about subjects as myriad as craft elements, literary activism, and failure. This last one is especially important (and frequent) because failure looms when you don’t practice. More so, failure plagues when you “fail” to see the success that is simply continuing to practice.

As I read this book, I found myself looking for essays I might have originally heard delivered aloud but ultimately found that didn’t matter. The know-how of practicing is something I’ve already absorbed. Instead each of the essays in Alchemy of the Word served as a much-needed reminder to practice.

Balance is Tricky, Balance is Necessary

As a working writer/mom/wife, the breadth of life in these essays reminded me that writing is part of my balance, not something I can add on after. Deborah Brevoort contextualized the anti-intellectualism that’s plaguing our politics (and chinking away at my soul), Elena Georgiou encouraged me to search for my own personhood and to fill myself, Keenan Norris reminded me that I actually love the humility that comes with writing, and Micheline Aharonian Marcom exhorted me (again) to “Do [my] work.”

But to do my work (well), first I must fill up again. And I must develop a plan to keep myself filled during all the things that are to come. Here’s the advice from Alchemy of the Word that I’ll be carrying close to my heart as I navigate finding my balance:

“As a writer, I think of my body as a well that is mostly filled through reading.” – Elena Georgiou

“Remember to be absent, Writer. Be in the habit of being absent more often.” – Kyle Bass

Life Happens. And Then You Write about It

The sympathy that might have jumped into your heart when you read “my grandmother died” is not really earned. I hadn’t spoken to my grandmother since 2012 when she called on my birthday to yell at me for not inviting her to my wedding. I didn’t invite her to my (tiny) wedding because I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her because she’d never taken the time to get to know me. Are there things to mourn in my history with my grandmother, yes, but they are probably not what you expected at the outset.

“Inherent in the creative process is a perpetual tension between love and loathing that gives art its life.” – Aimee Liu

I wish that my grandmother’s tension between love and loathing of the female line she created had tipped more toward love, but the tension is something that gives life to my own work. In Alchemy of the Word, I was reminded to write deeply:

“You have to go to the scariest places, the absence, where nothing has been said so there is no protection at all.” – Rahna Reiko Rizzuto

“It is our duty as artists to enter into those places that are kept most secret in ourselves, and bring them to light not so much that we may be healed, but so that others might.” – Paul Selig

Today is the first time I’m explicitly writing about my relationship with my
grandmother, so I don’t pretend my thoughts are profound. I do hope that at the very least I can offer someone the comfort of solidarity in the complexities that are family relationships.

For myself, I’m taking solace in the birthday call I received from my other grandmother (my Baba) in 2011—a call I took on the beach at Port Townsend— the very same beach I so often walked while at Goddard. It was the last time I talked with Baba and I was sad that day in knowing that was probably true. But I am filled with joy at the thought that Baba saw me and loved me enough for two grandmothers.

How I Plan to Move Forward

This year I will write. I will try new things and fail. I will try new things and succeed. I will practice. I will read and take time to be absent. I will be kind to myself. Most of all I will play, because these two quotes resonated with me more than any of the others in Alchemy of the Word and helped me find the joy and purpose in this writing life:

“Being a writer is to be a student without end, and it is to be at play without end. The two are tied, study and play. Both commit us to risk and remediation, that is to learning, always to learning.” – Keenan Norris

“The artists I know have the capacity for wonder and surprise coursing through their veins. And they are all riotously free—whether they have, the way my mentor had, summers off or not.” – Michael Klein

I’m off to play now—to read, to soak in a tub, to watch my son create Playmobil orchestras, to joke around with my husband and to think. All of this is practice. All of it is life. And I am lucky.

To freedom.

To reinvigorate your writing practice pick up a copy of Alchemy of the Word from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

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 Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Reading Outside My Comfort Zone with Marston Bates

March 9, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 2 Comments

I don’t usually read nonfiction. In fact, it’s the one genre I get snobby about (especially those self-help-type business books that regurgitate info rather than creating anything). I really do have strong feelings about those books. But the rest of nonfiction, for me, simply falls victim to my desire to lose myself in the dream worlds of poetry and fiction. So I have no idea what inspired me to pluck The Forest and the Sea by Marston Bates, but I’m glad I did because it opened me up to a whole world of ideas and helped me see the world from a variety of fresh perspectives.

The Forest and the Sea is a tiny book about just that, the creatures, vegetation, and environment of the forest and the sea. He explains and investigates, in a very accessible way, the parallels and differences between these environs. He also looks into man’s relationship with our environment. I am not certain that this book is a precursor to the environmental movement, but I do see how it could be a rallying cry to create one, even for someone as disengaged with that on a daily basis as me.

The Family Perspective

I actually didn’t even know why I had The Forest and the Sea until I opened the front cover. It’s a tiny little paperback with snails on the cover and it just doesn’t look like something I’d buy or read. So I knew it had either come from my grandmother’s library or my mother’s. In the upper-right corner of the first page was the name “McKetta” in a handwriting that wasn’t quite my grandmother’s but it was definitely not my mom’s. Then I read the dedication and title pages. The book, written in 1960, is dedicated to Bates’ Zoology students at the University of Michigan.

I was holding my father’s textbook. He would have been at Michigan a few years after that, actually, but the coincidence was too great. As I read this book, I felt closer to my dad (who I’m proud to say reads this blog) and found myself considering each bit of knowledge from his point of view. He’s a forest economist by trade and that experience really enriched my reading. It was the next best thing to talking with him about what I was learning

If you have family textbooks available to you, go read one now. It’ll change the way you view all the facts.

The Science Perspective

I was hardly a dumb blonde in school, but somewhere along the line, I started to treat science as this weird other thing that I could never understand. It’s a shame, really, because when my husband turns on Nova, I usually wait for the next day’s summary. I do care. I am interested. But my specialization of knowledge has focused so deeply (especially lately) on the literary that I think I’m limiting myself. The Forest and the Sea opened, in really intelligible language, a whole new world to me and I’m so glad I read it. Because science isn’t jargon or formulas anymore than literature is jargon or sentence diagrams. I just forgot that for a little while.

The Pre-Global Warming Perspective

I do worry about our effect as humans on the environment (as does Bates, especially toward the end of the book) but I sometimes get lost in the political rhetoric around global warming. The whole thing makes me want to disengage. So when Bates writes “We are still living in an ice age,” it is so easy for me to cut through all that noise and pay attention to the science in front of me. He does have an agenda, but he’s relatively transparent about it, and I was so grateful for the chance to engage with what he was saying instead of having to understand then fight a hidden agenda just to understand the truth behind the words.

The Creative Perspective

If you’re like me, you are sick to death of biped aliens in movies with two eyes and maybe, if the creature designer was feeling really creative, four fingers on each hand instead of five. It’s as easy to get stuck in a creative rut as it is in a reading one, but there is so much out there.

When I started reading Bates’ descriptions of how and why undersea creatures and vegetation had developed the way it did (how the wavelengths of light fish have access to changes their coloration and that their eyes are very sensitive or even blind because light isn’t a primary part of their environment) There were about five minutes where I thought I might try to be the next Ursula K. LeGuin. I wanted to go out and design a new world with different constraints and see what creatures developed as a result.

I know there are amazing science fiction writers out there who are way into this stuff (including LeGuin) and I probably won’t be poaching on their territory anytime soon. But it was a relief to start to think of something like creature design in a totally new way for me.

The Perspective of Balance

One of the most exciting parts of this book for me was when Bates started talking about seawater as an equilibrium and how complex that equilibrium is. I loved the idea of the environment balancing itself out and the way he described it, “Materials are constantly being added, but materials are also constantly removed” was so simple and clean that it allowed my brain to take off in all kinds of crazy directions and think about how much I value balance, how I can achieve it, and what that might mean for my work. It reminded me of an amniotic fluid that I could run off and let my work and my life gestate in.

There’s so much else in this book, inter-connectivity, the gorgeous metaphor of the forest being like the sea but on land, and wonderful stories about Bates’ own research. And it’s all completely intelligible to a non-scientist like me. It was a delightful book to read to broaden my knowledge of the world at large.

What I’d love to know about, though, is books you’ve read that have been outside of your comfort zone and how they’ve influenced or changed you as a writer.

If you want to read The Forest and the Sea, pick up a copy from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.

Living and Sustaining a Creative Life by Sharon Louden

January 25, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 4 Comments

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be a writer and how I can do this thing that feeds my soul and still feed myself and my family. I was thrilled to achieve one of the markers of success as a writer this past year, but it hasn’t made “being a writer” easier. So when I saw Living and Sustaining a Creative Life by Sharon Louden, I knew I had to read this book.

Living and Sustaining a Creative Life is a collection of 40 essays by visual artists about how they are making art and life work together, and it should be required reading in any MFA program for artists of any kind. Here are a few things that really connected with me.

What does Success Look Like?

“I remember the first time someone told me that many artists with apparently thriving careers and gallery representation still had day jobs. It was the first of a very long series of realizations that the art world is at least 50% smoke and mirrors. At the time I felt an almost personal betrayal at the realization that artists I had already perceived as incredibly, unattainably successful still had to find another way to pay the bills.” – Jennifer Dalton

I loved this quote because I could feel the anger and disappointment in it. We all want to succeed at what we love in life. But I don’t think most of us know what that means until we’ve already “succeeded” which can make it hard to help others get past the goal line. In the case of writers, I feel like we’re pushing to get published in a magazine and then the next goal is the first book.

On the outside, my writing career looks very successful right now. I’m publishing two books this year, Polska, 1994 and Clear Out the Static in Your Attic: A Writer’s Guide to Turning Artifacts into Art. If I was an established writer, I think that would still be cause for celebration. As a newbie, I’m ecstatic. But it doesn’t mean I can quit my day job, nor can I retire to the beach and write full time and that leaves me feeling a little disappointed. I’m sure some part of me knew I wouldn’t retire off my first book (or my 20th), but I was so excited to get past that goal line that I thought everything would be magical fairy princess unicorn land afterwards.

I’ve been wonder where my skewed vision of success comes from. I think part of it is that it’s gauche to complain when you’ve gotten the thing that you and so many people have been striving for. In that spirit, I’m doing my best to enjoy every round of edits and compiling databases and checking contracts. But I am aware, too, that by not talking about that process, I’m helping to hide how much work takes place after you get the “we’d love to publish your book” gold star.

Another part is that it’s easier to shoot for a dream than a reality. To be perfectly honest, friends have told me some of the work that goes into publishing, but I just stared at them and concentrated on the “yes, but you’ve gotten what I dream of” look in my eyes while covering my ears to the reality. I think I could only process one step at a time. If denial about the amount of work that goes in after the writing is part of what got me to this step, then I suppose I have to embrace the denial because I am happy to be here. And even knowing now that the process is a lot more time-consuming than I could have imagined, I still want to write.

It does all leave me a little shy about what happens next in the land beyond the goal posts, but I will report on it here. I have no idea if my experience is universal, but I am happy to share it in case it can help writers in the way reading Living and Sustaining a Creative Life did for me.

Non-creative Work

“These tasks also include things like packaging artworks for shipping, preparing canvases and panels for painting, writing press releases and artist’s statements, keeping records for tax purposes, and vacuuming dog hair off the rug and furniture before it has a chance to migrate to the surface of my works in progress.” – Laurie Hogan

Obviously some of the tasks visual artists have to do are different from writers. Some of the things I find I have to do to maintain a creative life are: gathering tax info, cleaning my office, maintaining my computer, social media, reorganizing my drafts and my bookshelf, editing, more editing, even more editing, compiling lists of people who might be interested in my book, writing a glossary and translation notes, research.

There is a lot of work that I do which isn’t typing my next book. I try to maintain what Laurie Hogan describes as a “conscious effort towards efficiency” and use each task as a way to learn about myself and my process. I’m surprised sometimes at the ways those little things are an important part of the process and can be nurturing if I let them. For example, as I wrote a glossary for Polska, 1994, I remembered part of what had made me excited to write the book in the first place which is information I’ll share later in an interview. Vacuuming is time away from words when I can let creativity germinate. Social media is a chance to find new inspiration. Even these book reviews are part of that process and as I find a way to communicate with you what I have learned from a book, taking initial impressions and forming them into complete thoughts, I’m teaching myself too.

Creative Community

The way I have found to balance art/life is to try to maintain an equilibrium between social space and solitary space. I need a lot of solitary space both to work and to just ‘be.'” – Julie Langsam

Artists need each other. Sometimes to feel sane, sometimes for honest feedback in a world that doesn’t yet understand the boundaries you’re trying to break. But the more I’ve worked on my books, the less time I have to spend with my friends and that hurts sometimes.

I’ve been worried lately that I’ve withdrawn so far into the work that when I’m ready to come back out, there will be no one to play with. Luckily I have fabulously interesting friends with full lives. By being forced to retreat just from the sheer volume of things I have to do, I am learning that sometimes when I don’t hear from those wonderful people, it’s because they are this busy (or even busier). I miss them when they retreat and I miss them now, but I am grateful for a community that understands.

Partners and Families

“Because we shared everything, we enriched one another’s education.” – Maggie Michael

I feel amazingly blessed to share my life with a creative man. My husband is a visual artist and got his BFA in painting and photography before I could even admit that I wanted to be a writer. Unfortunately for him, when he graduated, neither one of us knew enough to know that the likelihood of him getting to be just an artist was slim. I pushed and prodded and I think a lot of the fun of the art went away for him. We’re in a place now where he’s starting to explore that again, but I wish I could have been as good of a creative partner to him when he graduated as he was to me when I did.

But I am grateful to share my life with someone who values aesthetics as much as I do and who can talk about art movements and big ideas. I don’t expect him to care about epistrophe, but the way he looks at the world enriches my thinking every day. And sometimes, when I’m on deadline, he takes over the cooking for weeks at a time (and does a better job at it then we do together).

Parenthood

“Many people seem to give us extra credit because we involve our child in our life as artists.” – Dan Steinhilber

One thing I have been very concerned about in choosing a creative life is how to support kids both emotionally and financially and still finding time to write. I’ve been very impressed by my writer friends who’ve had children and continue to write. Some say it teaches you efficiency. I think if I get any more efficient I might just crack, but I’m willing to try.

On the financial front, we’ll figure something out when the time comes, but I was very heartened to read Julie Blackmon’s essay and how she handles parenthood. She says, ” I give myself permission to be a really bad mother for a few days” and the way she describes chips for dinner and other insanity makes me realize that it’s a vacation for the kids too. We all need to let our hair down sometimes.

Living

“Life has to be nourished first. Creativity follows sustenance.” – Justin Quinn

Today I will let my hair down. I’ve turned in final edits on two books in the last month. I’ve written that glossary and those translation notes. I’m halfway done compiling a marketing list. I’m way behind on organizing a panel for AWP, and I had to ask for an extension on a magazine writing project I care very deeply about. But it’s time to recharge so I’m off to Port Townsend for the day with my husband and his camera.

I realize I’ve told you very little about Living and Sustaining a Creative Life and rather focused on how I live and sustain mine. It’s an essential book, and I hope you’ll read it when you are feeling the pressure of deadlines or your day job or just wishing your friends could come out and discuss what it feels like to lead a creative life.

We learn from each other I’d love to hear more about how you do it all in the comments below.

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

The Art of Writing: Under the Jaguar Sun by Italo Calvino

January 19, 2014 by Isla McKetta, MFA 4 Comments

There are a very few authors whose work I love so much that I covet and then hide their books away so I don’t read all of them at once. Italo Calvino is at the top of that list. So when my husband gave me Under the Jaguar Sun for Christmas, I thought I’d stumble on it some day in the future when I really needed a good read.

But something he said about the title story and love and adventure made me read the book just a few days later, and I’m so glad I did. I was performing final edits on two manuscripts at the time and if there is ever a time in a writer’s life that she needs a good book, it’s during those final edits when you think you’ve done everything you can to a book and need a little boost. I’ve always loved Calvino, but what he showed me in just a few pages made my work infinitely better.

Be warned: I’m going to spoil (a little) some plots in this review, but I don’t think that will take very much away from the pleasure of reading this book for the first time. If you’re worried, though, stop reading here and come back and chat with me when you’ve read the book. It’s only 86 pages so don’t be too long.

Writing for All Senses

This book was conceived as a series of stories that each focus on one sense. Although Calvino worked on it over a period of 13 years, he only completed three. I’m somewhat embarrassed to say I didn’t realize that was the conceit of the book until the end, but that also tells you a bit about how I surrender to Calvino and just let him do whatever he wants with my brain.

It’s not uncommon in writing workshops to draft a story that focuses on a sense. I wish I could do it as well as Calvino does and I love the way that his focus shapes the very nature of the story. “Under the Jaguar Sun” is a relatively traditional narrative about a couple visiting Mexico that focuses on taste. The story is gorgeous and well-written, which I’ll go into more in a moment, but it didn’t prepare me at all for “A King Listens.” That second story is a monologue told in second person to you, the reader, the king. The way the focus of the narration shifts from quotidian advice to implications of rumor that breed suspicion and paranoia is flat-out brilliant. It played with the fleeting nature of hearing and how we interpret the implications of what people tell us.

“Epigraphs in an undecipherable language, half their letters rubbed away y the sand-laden wind: this is what you will be, O parfumeries, for the noseless man of the future.” – Italo Calvino, “The Name, the Nose.”

The third story, “The Name, the Nose” captures the ineffable magic of scent as a man seeks to find the woman who so bewitched him with her perfume. The story plays with the power of our sense of smell to provoke memory and also the way that memory sometimes shifts as we recall it. The way the story unfolds is a huge part of the magic, so that I will not spoil here.

Showing Your Hand

The art of writing, in the hands of masters, is about manipulating the experience of the reader so the words you put on the page evoke what you want them to, even though each person brings his or her lifetime of connotations into their reading of it. Like a magician, one of the ways Calvino does this is by telling you what he’s going to do to you before he does it.

This is most obvious in “Under the Jaguar Sun” when the couple encounters Salustiano who becomes a sort of guide. The narrator describes him thusly:

“It was his way of speaking–or, rather one of his ways; the copious information Salustiano supplied (about the history and customs and nature of his country his erudition was inexhaustible) was either stated emphatically like a war proclamation or slyly insinuated as if it were charged with all sorts of implied meanings.” – Italo Calvino, “Under the Jaguar Sun”

Okay, that’s all a pretty cool description of character. But it’s also the key to what the narrator is interested in about the man and about what he’s just learned from this character and will soon try out on us.

“From one locality to the next the gastronomic lexicon varied, always offering new terms to be recorded and new sensations to be defined. Instead [of chiles en nogada], we found guacamole, to be scooped up with crisp tortillas that snap into many shards and dip like spoons into the thick cream (the fat softness of the aguacate–the Mexican national fruit, known to the rest of the world under the distorted name of “avocado”–is accompanied and underlined by the angular dryness of the tortilla, which, for its part, can have many flavors, pretending to have none)” – Italo Calvino, “Under the Jaguar Sun”

What Calvino is doing here, besides giving me a wicked craving for guacamole, is deconstructing the sensation of encountering these things so that they are new to us by calling attention to the renaming of the avocado. He’s insinuating that the things we encounter that seem bland–the tortilla chips–have a flavor and rich experience all their own. In the context of the story, this passage also has implications about how we fail to appreciate the flavors of our lovers.

Because Calvino is so adept at this sleight of writing, this manipulation expands and enhances the story for me. I enjoy it rather than bucking against it.

Repetition

A friend once told me that things need to be repeated seven times in a book for a reader to really catch on. I’m not sure if that same number holds for a short story, but Calvino definitely uses repetition as emphasis and he does it so subtly that you’re constantly re-encountering information without feeling like you’ve heard that all before.

In the case of “Under the Jaguar Sun,” some of the most powerful repetition revolves around Olivia, the narrator’s lover, and eating. At first he very carefully observes her eating, following as she chewed “the tension as it moved from her lips to her nostrils, flaring one moment, contracting the next.” Later, they are at a temple having just heard about human sacrifice and he focuses on her “strong, sharp teeth and sensed there a restrained desire, an expectation.”

The subtle repetition of theme slowly sinks in as you read, and the way Calvino handles eating, especially in relation to Olivia, evolves very quickly throughout the story. What it ultimately says about her relationship to the narrator made me glad this wasn’t the story of my relationship. But the story is very evocative and I think we’ve all been in that place at least once.

I’ll return to this book, as I plan to return to all my Calvinos, when I need that boost of writing excellence. Who are the writers who speak to the way you write and who teach you with every word they put on paper?

If this review made you want to learn from Calvino, pick up a copy of Under the Jaguar Sun from Powell’s Books. Your purchase keeps indie booksellers in business and I receive a commission.