The best way to learn is to immerse yourself in a subject. Tyler describes a deep reading process. I’ve followed this path over the past few months in a deep Irish “content” jag. I’ve either read or watched
The primary effect of this immersion is a desire to hole up in a cottage in Donegal with my iPad, printer, and notepads and churn out great literature. Soak in the landscapes and split G’s every night at the local pub.
On a more practical level, I notice the lyricism in dialogue. Not Shakespearean iambic pentameter or Mamet’s famed dialogue, but an Irish way of speaking. Even my flat ear can hear the music jump off the page with wonderful jumps and inflections. The dialogue sings in my head.
Sadly, this hasn’t touched my writing. Too many years of living in NJ with our fast-paced, rhotic speech pattern. A lengthy corporate career. My dialogue is realistic but not interesting. Maybe I need a cottage. Or a Guinness.
blows dust off the console for the website Apologies for the long delay since the last update for Chawner Writes. Thankfully, it’s not been for lack of writing. I’ve been cranking our short stories for my upcoming collection “After the Second Wave”. I have a healthy backlog of books to discuss. This is a combined review because of the relationship between the books and how they affect the reader.
Neither of these books are mainstream and probably not available in the local Barnes and Noble. I came across Shopkeeping on the Material Review. A bookseller in Seattle, Peter Miller, collected stories, lessons and anecdotes from a long career as a brick-and-mortar retailer. Fast and easy to read. Highly recommended, even if you (like me) never considered the art of shopkeeping.
While the content of the Shopkeeping is engaging, it’s only part of an overall experience. Miller writes like an American Zen master of his craft, inviting the reader to put the book down repeatedly, stare off into space and think what the words mean to them. Every part book’s layout, from its textured cover, author-drawn sketches of the shop, font, etc. engages the reader. Clearly Miller put the same care into the physical book as he does his shop. I’ve read a lot of books about creativity over the last few years, but only Rick Rubin’s invoked a similar reaction.
Miller mentions other books in Shopkeeping; books on art, design, rare books, etc. But one description caught my eye:
“(In Praise of Shadows) is a fascinating study of light and shadow and culture”. (Pg 54)
A book that relates light, shadows and culture? In Praise of Shadows did not disappoint. Written by Tanizaki, a famous Japanese author from the early 20th century, In Praise of Shadows is a short, concise, stream-of-consciousness examination of the elements that make the Japanese unique, especially when compared to the west.
As the title implies, many of his observations and theories revolve around shadows in Japanese architecture and life. For instance, he explores how traditional Japanese buildings limit the amount of light entering them, shaping the character of rooms, utensils, and the faces of actors with specific makeup. Jarringly (at least to this westerner) he discusses how the Western obsession with bringing as much light as possible into rooms has downsides. And this really highlights the true intent of the piece, contrasting between traditional Japanese use of shadows against westernization/modernization. Including a most interesting discussion of bathroom design.
Not only does Shopkeeping discuss In Praise of Shadows, the entire book is in conversation with Tanizaki’s treatise. By using aesthetics, both engage in a larger conversation on culture and community, exploring what is lost when physical shops and Japanese traditions are replaced. And both provoke deep contemplation about the world around the reader.
My to-read pile was anemic. For years, my to-read pile was overwhelming and, instead of generating excitement, created dread. I’ve recently enjoyed only having 1-2 books at the ready but this became a problem as I finished books and the queue had unexpected stinkers (novels I gave up on).
Off to my local BN for an emergency search. I beelined to the sci-fi section, where I had previously considered Neal Stephenson’s most recent two books. I knew they were a commitment having read six of his older books. Neal likes to go into incredible depth on, well, everything. This can be enjoyable when in the right mood. As someone who is trying to write concise short stories, his books read long.
But desperate times call for desperate measures. I picked up Termination Shock, at a (for Stephenson) a svelte 700 pages. And, halfway through, it’s deep, technical, and well-written. Immediate problem solved, but the to-read pile was empty.
Enter a road trip to Portland. First stop was Powells with friends. One of them, another reader, recommended a few books while we were perusing the shelves. And now my to-read pile is seven deep. The only problem is they look more interesting than Termination Shock.
I’m reading 2 books going at once (following my fiction/non-fiction scheme). I might pause Termination Shock to read a book about a Tokyo bookstore that interests me. But I’ve not fully engrossed myself in TS and worry if I drop now won’t return… paradoxically, I have to get myself invested and interested in TS before I can safely put it down.
I began writing fiction during the pandemic. Without travel, gym trips, or work commutes, mornings were the same. I established my morning writing routine; 500 new words per day wedged in between Morning Pages, meditation and a bike or run.
I carried this routine into the immediate post-pandemic world, featuring brief trips in hotels for soccer tournaments, occasional commutes, etc. I wondered if changing the routine but keeping the commitment would unlock creativity (no!). Fast forward to now; as work and life speeds up past it’s previous velocities, the unbreakable daily commitment faltered.
Writing is harder now. Specifically, it is challenging to find the right time and mindset. I still carve out at least 30 minutes for “writing” each morning, but under the pressure of making the ferry and a full day of potential work issues… the needed focus isn’t there. Often I skip writing these mornings.
Writing while away is also hard. Once I broke this unbreakable promise to myself, writing while on vacation with family or friends became an impossible obstacle. And I can only beat myself up so much about it… what’s more important in the long run, scribbling down dialogue between two imaginary people or playing with my niece?
But I feel empty or guilty every day I don’t write. The original mandate to write everyday mandate came from Tyler Cowen. Granted, Tyler writes non-fiction, but is prolific and so good. The other voice scolding me is Julia Cameron, who I leaned on when I started. Hard to argue against keeping the muscle very active and tuned and supplying a large supply of material.
I used to think I needed a mythical writer’s getaway; alone in a cabin in the woods with nothing to do but write for weeks on end. Now I know better. I’d benefit from a routine allowing a couple hours of daily writing and follow-up time (editing, seeking feedback, blog writing) for a handful of hours each week.
I’ve often referenced After the Second Wave, an in-progress collection of post-apocalyptic short stories. The project is moving along, albeit slowly with a writing coach and editor. Progress is slow because my original versions of these stories weren’t very good. The feedback process, combined with a full workload and family, takes time.
I’m not only getting feedback on the individual stories. Not only am I getting feedback on the individual stories, but I am also being challenged to consider how the collection should present as an overall piece. I’ve thought of it as a bunch of stories held together by a common world and common characters, with callbacks and references. But there should be more; the collection needs a through-line. There is a loose through-line as a function of the genre. Any post-apocalyptic story is about our modern world and how we’re destroying it, the true nature of man when confronted with a new world, overcoming hardships, etc.
Ghostwritten by David Mitchell is my guiding light on this project. In his first novel, he assembled a collection of seemingly independent stories interrelated by characters and the world. The stories hang together loosely on first read; each subsequent read reveals tighter and tighter cause and effect. Any reference to an event or character outside of the current story is invariably a callback or reference. But I can’t find a through-line. The last two stories directly reference the Iraq war and an almost global nuclear war controlled by an out-of-control AI (developed by a character from a previous story, of course).
There are a cluster of themes within Ghostwritten; stories about love and isolation and overcoming. And I need to consider the same; readers need a sense of an arc. The initial stories could focus on the shock of a new word, causing pain and suffering. Then, the middle stories reflect change to the new world. The final set could offer a glimpse into successfully, or unsuccessfully, overcoming obstacles and finding a better way.
It’s helpful to consider through lines after most of the stories have first drafts. Much the same way, applying the classic story structures is more effective after the first draft. Starting with a story structure first or set of themes would hinder the natural progression and feel forced (more on this in a future post). Now is the time for me to see the through-line.
In a previous post I mentioned a Netflix documentary on Tom Wolfe , an author I’d heard of but never read. Shortly after watching the doc, I was in B&N and The Bonfire of the Vanities was on display. I knew little about Bonfire other than a Tom Hank’s movie based on the book and it was set in the 1980s.
I enjoyed the first third of the book. It’s always fun to read about rich bankers doing rich banker things, like living in extravagant Park Avenue apartments, attending exclusive parties, wearing $1200 (1980’s money) shoes. Sherman McCoy, the protagonist, is a bonds guy who considers himself a Master of the Universe, a term Wolfe either created or popularized. We also meet a struggling assistant DA, a failed reporter, politically minded preachers and DAs, wives and girlfriends, and cops. It’s a fun introduction, save long-winded.
Once the main plot gets rolling, though, Bonfire becomes a slog. Scenes go on forever; I lost count of how many times I thought “I get it, let’s move on,” From a style standpoint, reading Sherman’s internal dialogue was brutal; literally pages of him just repeating he was worried. I had to skip the long paragraphs… luckily the worried thoughts were italicized and easy to pick out.
The other major flaw the lack of anyone to root for. Not one character, certainly not the selfish, cheating, MOTU Sherman, the scheming political DA’s or clergy, the perpetually drunk and lucky reporter, the socialite wives only concerned with status and becoming skeletally thin, nor the cops and defense lawyers who exist in a corrupted and broken system. Assumedly this is the point; all these groups are self-motivated and grind on each other to everyone’s detriment. But as a reader, I’m not interested.
Overall, I was disappointed in Bonfire, especially after a strong start. Wolfe was talented but needed a stronger editor to reign in the rambling inner dialogues and never-ending scenes. I’d like to read his feature articles from Vogue or GQ as a comparative as the constraints of a magazine could help him.
On this site, I’ve discussed how to find new reads, my pile of unread books and libraries. But not bookstores.
Most of my purchases (for everything) are on Amazon for price, convenience, and selection. When I get a recommendation, nothing is easier than ordering on Amazon. But there is a discovery problem. Sure, Amazon recommends books based on purchase and browsing history. But these recommendations are simplistic and favor popular titles. New books have to prove themselves before I invest the time and energy; the millions of titles from the last few hundred years deserve equal consideration.
Which brings me to bookstores. Touching books, the smell of coffee and binding, racks full of speciality magazines. Whenever I travel, I stop at local, independent stores. Powell’s in Portland, Oregon, was a religious experience. Locally, I was limited to an old-school Barnes and Noble. Spending time in that store wasn’t appealing; it was loud and focused as much on selling toys and trinkets as books.
But our local BN left their classic building last year and took a smaller space. And the redesign is great. Very book centric. This is part of a trend from BN.
This re-thinking of BN works. I enjoy picking up a coffee and wandering through the stacks. The layout is much airier and inviting.
It’s not perfect. They desperately need a used-book section. And the new store still dedicates too much shelf space to crappy celebrity cookbooks and current events titles with flashy titles. But these are small things.
On my most recent visit, I experienced the magic of the in-person bookstore. I needed a new read so I wandered the fiction section. And one name jumped out: Tom Wolfe. The day before, I watched a short documentary on Netflix called Radical Wolfe. I didn’t know (before the movie) he wrote The Right Stuff or Bonfire of the Vanities. And there it was, a gold-covered copy of Bonfire smiling up at me, eye-level. This wouldn’t have happened via Amazon (yes, cookies and tracking, but I am so jaded by any sort of ads online I ignore the recs).
The new BN format is a welcome change. I’ll still order from Amazon for quick, definitive purchases, but I’m in BN at least monthly now.
I watched Slow Horses when it was first released on Apple TV+. It quickly became one of my favorite streaming series. Great cast, interesting characters, and English spy craft. The series is based on Nick Herron’s series Slough House (rhymes with cow).
I heard his books described as a modern Le Carre so I avoided them… I find Le Carre slow. I could never become invested in the story or the characters. Oddly, though, I liked many of the movies or series based on Le Carre novels, such as Tinker, Tailor, Spy, and A Most Wanted Man. I tried Slough House and read along while re-watching.
Each 6-episode season is based on one book; the first season is Slow Horses. I’d read to a point, then catch up with the series. I’d never done this before; usually I’ll watch the movie or series after finishing the book.
The first 4 episodes are almost beat-by-beat from the novel. It was fun hearing the exact lines taken from the book, especially from Lamb (SH is an ensemble, but Gary Oldman as Lamb is the star). The minor changes jump out, like Ho (the techie) not wearing glasses or living in a different house. And makes me wonder why they made these slight changes.
The series drifts from the book over the last two episodes; the plot around the kidnappers is very different. They add time with the kidnappers and the victim.
This is my main criticism of the book (lesser, as Herron only spends a few pages with the kidnappers) and series; the “bad guys” aren’t interesting. The genuine conflict in SH is between the members of Slough House themselves (who treat each other delightfully horribly), Jackson Lamb vs his own team, and Slough House vs the main MI5. Any time spent away from the central characters appears an un-necessary distraction. And the main kidnapper/bad guy in the series is cartoonishly evil and unrealistic.
The show runners for the series could have handled the kidnapping in the abstract by using news reports, intel, and keeping the camera with the main characters. It felt like they didn’t trust the viewer enough.
Other aspects of reading while watching were interesting. Namely, as a reader, I didn’t have to conjure pictures of locations (the notable Slough House or the starkly contrasted MI5), how the characters looker or spoke, or even the general vibe. I would have come up with a slightly different take on River Cartwright… I would have had him more serious, while Jack Lowden plays him with a lighter touch.
Slow Horses is a good read, far better than any Le Carre I’ve ever attempted. I want to read and rewatch with the other two novels, and contrast the experience to reading one that hasn’t been turned into a season. Herron’s writing is a perfect combination of smart, literature-esque, strong characters but with a strong plot that moves. Highly recommended.
Readers of the blog know I am a Hemingway fan. I read The Sun Also Rises during my junior year in high school along with The Great Gatsby and Huck Finn. The Sun Also Rises was the rare book I loved upon first reading and have re-read it four or five times since high school.
Everybody Behaves Badly by Lesley M. M. Blume is the story behind The Sun Also Rises. This book was featured on One True Sentence podcast in 2020 and went into my Amazon wishlist. And there it sat until Ryan Holiday included it on his November 2023 book list. Seemed like the universe was trying to tell me something, so I picked it up… although I was still wary.
I read a similar book, The Undoing Project, which provides the backstory to the writing and authors behind Thinking Fast and Slow. Everybody Behaves Badly is a much better, more interesting read and highly recommended.
Blume tells the story of Hemingway in Paris in the 1920s, from his background as an unknown writer who schmoozed his way into the (already) famous literary scene in Paris. Here we meet so many of the people Hemingway would use as characters in The Sun Also Rises, from Robert Cohn to Lady Brett Ashley. We get enough of Hemingway’s background to understand who he was, but not an exhaustive biography.
More importantly, we get an account of Hemingway’s’ trips to Pamplona and the bullfights, especially the trip in 1924 with Harold Loeb (portrayed as Robert Cohn), Lady Duff Twysden (Lady Brett Ashley), Pat Guthrie (Mike Campbell) and Donald Stewart (Bill Gorton). The Sun Also Rises is a retelling of this trip, with the characters and events only slightly altered. One of the great revelations of Everybody Behaves Badly was how close to a straight travel story The Sun Also Rises, a beat by beat retelling of events.
This covers about 2/3 of the book. The final third describes life for Hemingway during and immediately after the publishing of The Sun Also Rises, which made him an internationally famous author (his goal). The epilogue details the lives of the characters/real friends (that word is doing a lot of work here) after the publishing. Amazing to see how much their inclusion in The Sun Also Rises affected their lives for the worse.
I tried to co-read The Sun Also Rises with Behaves… I’d read along while learning about the circumstances around the writing. A shocking thing happened, though… while I truly enjoyed Everybody Behaves Badly, The Sun Also Rises read very slow, especially to start. I’m not taking The Sun Also Rises out of my pantheon of favorite/best books… I wonder if I was just in a rush to get to the bullfights, and also to start other fiction novels stacking up on my to-read pile (an unread David Mitchell and two William Goldman books). But I couldn’t finish it… felt like Jake Barnes spent seventy pages aimlessly drinking in Paris (at the bars and restaurants Hemingway frequented, of course).
Behaves is a fun and easy read. Blume shows us where and how The Sun Also Rises events, places and characters originated. The Sun Also Rises is still one of the best novels of all time, although my journey over the last few years (reading a ton of short stories, including most of Hemingway’s) tilts me toward his short stories instead of his novels… a complete 180 as per my thoughts a few years ago.
Is reading part of the writing process? I wouldn’t write if not for my lifelong love of books and reading. I have more than a dozen books on writing, from the technical to the philosophical and countless works of fiction. But how useful is reading?
Consensus is writers must read. Stephen King, in On Writing, wrote at length about how critical reading is for a writer.
“I don’t read in order to study the craft; I read because I like to read… Yet there is a learning process going on. Every book you pick up has its own lesson or lessons, and quite often the bad books have more to teach than the good ones.” (On Writing, p 145)
Neil Gamain, in his Masterclass, said to write genre fiction, you must be intimate with said fiction (to understand, deliver and/or subvert expectations).
The flip side is time spent reading is not time spent writing. You know, actually doing the work. But it seems like progress. I can read a book on the craft, the technical aspects of constructing stories, author’s biographies… and it feels like I’m learning. I can picture taking the advice and turning out better work. Same with great fiction. Reading exceptional writing allows me to analyze the story and the writing style, sparking fantasies of doing the same.
I’ve noticed this same behavior with people trying to start a workout habit. Buying new sneakers and other workout gear, watching a video about nutrition, signing up for a gym membership all feel productive. But it’s not doing the work. And, sadly for me, neither is reading about writing. In triathlon, there’s an idea called the law of specificity… sure, cross training is great and helpful. If you want to swim better, you need to swim more. Probably a lot more. I feel the same about writing.
Of course, there is a place for books on writing and consuming literature. It’s useful, necessary, and spending time with art is worthwhile. There must be a balance, however. And the balance must favor the work.
