Put your money where your mouth is: would you pay to get into author events?

In an attempt to escape the pile of student papers waiting to be graded (they're staring at me judgmentally as I type), I stumbled upon an interesting book-related NY Times article. It's all about the fact that independent bookstores are starting to charge admission to author events. The article purports that indie bookstores are losing revenue to sites like Amazon as customers start to use their local bookseller as a glorified library: come in, put some titles on your iphone, then go home and get them cheaply on the web. Owners are worried that if they don't shift their business model and start thinking of new ways to bring in the cash, they'll be in (even more) serious trouble. I don't blame them.

And so, some bookstores are charging people to come to their many author events, and I can understand the logic. I went to a book launch the other night and enjoyed free wine and snacks, a series of readings by emerging authors, and a Q&A with an Australian writer. I didn't buy her book at the event and I felt pretty guilty about it. Why? Because one of my favorite bookstores just spent money to make sure I enjoyed myself and they got not a penny from me. Author events both large and small are a fun form of entertainment. I pay to go to live music gigs, outdoor concerts, comedy shows, etc., so I think that bookstores are perfectly within their rights to charge us.

A lot of bookstores are asking people to buy the featured book as a form of cover. I think this is the ideal solution, because it means that the store, the author, and the publisher are all winning out. But I don't think it's a practical solution, because a lot of people just can't afford to pay $32.00 to get into an event, even if it means walking away with a novel. Prices like that will turn away a lot of students, young professionals, single moms, pensioners, and tight asses the world over. It'll also discourage walk-ins who don't know the author but like the idea of sitting in for a read-along. Some would argue that won't make or break an event, but some of the artists I've come to love and loyally support are ones I discovered by accidentally walking in on one of their free events. As Anne Patchett points out, "those are your readers". Authors may not be able to afford scaring them away.

That said, I'd be happy to pay five or ten dollars for a few hours of books and conversation, especially if I'm not going to buy the featured book. It's a way to show my support for the event and for the indie that runs them. Don't get me wrong, I'd love author events to stay free. Wouldn't we all? But it irritates me to hear people bemoaning the fact that indie bookstores are a 'cultural center' and that it's bordering on blasphemous for them to slap a price tag on what are supposed to be community events. Well guess what? Bookstores are also a business. Sometimes, when we wax on about the book as cultural lifeboat, we forget about that.

I'm a big fan of having my cake and eating it, too (and making it myself so I can lick the bowl and spoon), but the reality here is pretty simple: if we don't find ways to support our local indies, then they are going to go away.

So what do you think? Would you pay admission to get into an author event?

Young Minds on the Deterioration of the Written Word

I haven't been blogging much lately because I've been grading papers. Student papers. Well, actually, student blogs. They were asked to write a blog on a significant topic in writing and I was shocked by what turned out to be the #1 most popular blog topic: how social media and text messaging are 'destroying' the English language.

There were a lot of impassioned speeches about how 'the youth today' (umm, you're seventeen... you are the youth today... but alright) don't respect the glory of English at all. I even had a student tell me that, if we weren't careful, eventually we'd end up talking to each other in nothing but a series of grunts. A lot of them seem to feel that technology in general - including ebooks - are raping and pillaging worthwhile literature and eviscerating our appreciation and understanding of the written word.

I find myself... confused by this. I'll agree that 'text speak' is finding its way into our everyday language - after all, 'LOL' and 'OMG' have been added to the Oxford English Dictionary - and I'll agree that it can be annoying. But students are still learning 'real' English in school. They're writing 'real' English in classes and speaking it to other people. It is annoying that people don't check the grammatical correctness of their Facebook status updates... but in the end it's just their Facebook status update. I don't think a misplaced apostrophe or a ZOMG mean that English is tumbling downhill.

I find it fascinating (in the way you find a car crash on the side of the highway fascinating) that so many of my students feel we're experiencing not only a decline in English usage, but also in the quality of published books. A lot of them like to site Twilight's popularity as a prime example of how the mighty literary canon has fallen. They like to say things like 'books with the beauty of Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice just don't get published anymore'. But the thing is... beautifully written books are being written and published all the time. I just re-read Cold Mountain - it wasn't written all that many years ago - and I challenge anyone to read that book and tell me that masterpieces aren't still being written. Twilight may not be the best written series of all time, but guess what? That doesn't make it trash. It brought millions of non-readers to the written word. That's more people getting interested in language, trying their hand at writing themselves. More people falling in love with storytelling. Because that's part of what makes 'quality' literature, isn't it? The author's ability to tell us a story that sets us on fire, regardless of whether their work is considered 'literary' fiction.

And while we're talking about how technology is ruining us... I find myself blown away by the attitude towards ebooks. Because - well - ebooks are still BOOKS. They are exactly the same as the hardback original, just packaged for a different format. I think that, if anything, ebooks are getting more people to read. Sure, reading on a screen is always going to be a different experience than reading 'in the flesh'. But they can be bought and consumed instantly, and that is appealing to just about everyone. It worries me that we are so stuck in this romantic ideal about reading and writing that we aren't able to be open to the exciting possibilities that technology presents for literature.

In sum, I'm as keen and romantic about hardback books and beautiful prose as anyone. And I think that it is important that kids be taught the basic rules of our language so that, when they play and experiment with it, they are adding something to the evolution of our language (or, at the very least, know that emoticons will never be as powerful as using real words to evoke real emotions). But I'd hate to see us put our hands over our ears and pretend that technology and genre fiction = the end of the good book as we know it.

Rant concluded; back to grading.

Kindling

So I did that thing I never thought I'd do. I bought a Kindle.

Well, actually, some other lovely person bought it for me, but the point is that it's mine. Even though I'm a prime candidate for the e-reader trend - I travel and I read like a dehydrated camel drinks water - but I was always a little skeptical about the e-book thing. It's not that I didn't think they were a great idea. Lightweight, portable, tree-friendly - what's not to like? But I already spend a large chunk of my day staring at a screen. I couldn't bear the thought of reading for pleasure from one. Reading is my escape from being 'plugged in'. Plus there's that whole obsession with printing and cover art and bookstores - it just didn't seem like e-books and I were meant to be.

And then I went on my umpteenth very long plane journey across the planet with three big books in my handbag. And I realized that a certain portion of the books I read are ones I don't feel the need to keep on my shelf. There are books I rip through in less than a day that end up taking up prime real estate in my already cluttered bookshelves. Why overload my handbag with half my weight in books when I could keep them all on a Kindle (and buy them for a fraction of the price)? Don't mind if I do.

And I have to say, I'm loving it. It isn't back lit, so it really is like reading from a printed page. I quickly forgot about the things I thought would bug me - the blackout blip between page changes, the slightly grainy quality of the text - and found myself losing sight of the fact that I wasn't reading an actual book.

If I had to complain about anything, I'd say that I miss the cover art, although Kindle has come up with lots of cool screen savers that pop on every time you turn the device off. But e-books tend to be cheaper than hardbacks, and I can't say I'm not a fan of that. Although, considering the fact that you're getting an electronic file instead of the whole printing package, some of the prices should really be cheaper. (But that's a subject for another post.)

That said, I'll never stop buying hardbacks. People talk about e-readers as if you have to choose to read one way or the other, which I've never understood. I'll buy books on my Kindle for travel, for books I know I don't need on my shelf, and for books I plan to rip through. But I'll still buy hardback copies of the books I love. I'll buy them because I love the printing process - the binding, the cover art, the feel of the pages. I'll buy them because the books I cherish are ones I want to leaf through and to keep on my shelves as treasures. Because I don't think there is one decorating feature more telling and lovely than a wall full of cherished books.

So I'm not ashamed to say that I love my Kindle. Because you can be up with the reading times without having to shove hard copy books aside.

Book Review: Linger

Linger by Maggie Stiefvater

YA Urban Fantasy

It's been a loooong time since I blogged. It's been a rough couple of months. And when times get rough, I get reading. And watching period films. And, recently, Buffy the Vampire Slayer seasons 1 - 3 (something about 90s fashion and bad vampire makeup seems to sooth me).

I'm going to be upfront and say that when I eagerly picked up Linger I was already in love it. I had already read Shiver, the first book in this series, and am a regular reader of Maggie's blog. I have a huge aspiring writer's crush on her. But still: this book lived up to all of my expectations.

I loved this book for the same reasons I loved Shiver.

First, because of the strength of the story's tone. The book oozes longing - the longing for connection, for permanence in a crazy world, for escape - it pervades every sentence, every beautifully constructive phrase, hanging over the story like a good soundtrack. The mood is satisfyingly palpable, and you can see how the four POV characters mirror that longing in different ways.

I was captivated by the strength of each characters' individual voice. All four character's voices are very distinct: you could crack open the book to any page and know who is narrating. Because of this, you get a story made richer for experiencing it through very different sets of eyes. These characters become mirrors for each other, reflecting a new and surprising truth with every change in point of view. I love that the same scene would sometimes be narrated by more than one character and would bounce back and forth between two perspectives. This book is a good example of how the 'always keep us in one character's head' rule can (and sometimes should) be ignored.

Third, the unabashed grit in the story. This is not just a 'boy and girl in love vs the world' YA story. It contains emotionally ugly, raw, and sometimes uncomfortable truths. I love that these four characters all said and did things that made me feel frustrated and disappointed. I like that Grace's parents were horrid in such a believable and unsightly way. I like that this book leaves frayed edges exposed, refusing, as many other YA books like to do, to tie up all the loose ends and make everything neat and tidy by The End. This story is emotionally jagged, and all the more enjoyable for being so.

Reverence, Respect & Mauling

In Anne Fadiman's book Ex Libris, a fabulous ode to book nerds the world over, she discusses the different ways in which we treat our books. Fadiman wisely surmises that "... just as there is more than one way to love a person, so there is more than one way to love a book". The way she sees it, there's 'courtly love' and 'carnal love'- and which the book lover practices can say more than one thing about them.

I found myself fascinated by her articulation of a thing I've thought about for years. It's interesting to me how people treat their books and how adamant they are about the right way to love literature. One of the authors at work- definitely a courtly lover- admitted to me that she hates writing in books, so much so that she didn't want to mark in a copy of her own book. I'd say that's an old-fashioned feeling- books are hallowed, keep them clean- but I've known many an older reader who beat their most loved books into submission. My grandfather lived by his books, and he wrote in his (with a pencil). Granted, he only put tiny tick marks next to paragraphs, a pretty minimalist legacy to leave behind. Reading past his tick marks is like becoming a detective: why did he mark that part? What was it that made him slow down and make note?

It seems to me like every reader has their own cringe-worthy feelings about a certain book marking vice. There are those who think writing in a book is a huge bookkeeping sin.

Then there are those people who want to cry when they see a book laid open and face down instead of using a book mark. I've never much cared about leaving books laid open, but a broken spine is a tough pill for me to swallow.

Then there are those people (I'll say right now that I DO NOT get you) that won't buy second-hand books because they are 'dirty'. You know what else is dirty? Money. Treadmills. Door knobs. Your car seat probably has a higher probability of giving you somebody's cooties. And isn't there something great about a book with a history? One that you know has been in someone else's hands, has passed through somebody else's life? Plus they are savers of trees. So get over yourself.

I'm a carnal lover of books (shocking, I know). I tend to devour them, underline them, sometimes (often) stain them. That, plus my frighteningly acute power of losing book marks (even while lying supine and still), means that dog-earring is sometimes a necessity. But ever since I watched Finding Forester, I've had conflicted feelings about dog-earring a page. I can understand why someone would find dog earring offensive... but isn't it better to see that a book has been consumed?

All of this nerdy musing leaves me wondering: can you tell the level of love a book has experienced by its condition? By looking at how someone treats their books, can you learn anything interesting about them that you wouldn't have known otherwise?

I went to my own bookshelf to investigate.

Most of my books are still State side, so I've got a limited sample size. That said, here are some of my findings from books I picked (somewhat) at random:

St Lucy's Home For Girls Raised by Wolves (loved it): browned, water wrinkled, and written in. Still has the price tag on from Politics & Prose (bought 12/7 of an unknown year), which makes my heart squeeze.

Confederates in the Attic (loved it): Holding up well, but a little dirty around the edges. It still smells like the bookstore at the Antietam battlefield. Makes me think of fall and of my Dad.

Down Under (loved it): Wow. I just found my ticket stub from my flight from Paris to Dubai in this book- one of the flights on my first long journey to Australia. I can tell I had this book while in 'Europe' mode- it is yellow, beaten, tired-looking and proud of it.

Watership Down (loved it): scratched and a bit weather beaten, but still in pretty good shape. I found a bus slip in it from grad school days. Spine still very much unbroken.

Mudbound (loved it): spine broken (damn), and bottom corner stained, probably because I loved it so much I loaned it to three people and keep on my desk (where I often eat [spill] breakfast and writing snacks).

Conclusions?

1. I have not made a habit of keeping books I've only sorta liked since coming to Australia.

2. I can tell which books are from which eras of my life. Dog eared and written in profusely= high school falling-in-love-with-literature era. Sun damaged from sitting on a windowsill/dented from holding up a bed= frantic, boisterous college era. Filled with memorabilia but otherwise treated with some semblance of respect= big girl era. All have been ravaged. Just in different ways.

3. My books are a time machine through which I can revisit the time when I bought them and read them. That's pretty nice.

4. The only books of mine that look pristine are the ones I haven't read yet.

Inconclusive findings, but interesting (to me, anyway). So what's your book handling philosophy?

Books Just Make the Greatest Present

I'm a big fan of birthdays. The last few months have seen a lot of friends and family members birthdays come and go, so I've got them on my mind. I may not always remember whose is on what actual date (I'm getting better... right?), but I think they're a pretty big deal. I don't why people want to pretend they're not happening. If you're going to stand up and celebrate anything, you should celebrate the day you were born. It's a celebration of the fact that you're alive. On what other day do you get to sip wine with the people who love you and have them rejoice in the fact that you are, well, you?

I'm also a big fan of giving books as presents. Yes, they're generally heavy and you can't guarantee that the person will like/not have read a particular book, but I can't think of a gift that is more personal. Personal, you say? Really? Yes, really.

I never give books that I haven't read. I only give books I've loved. By doing so, I'm giving that person something that has moved me, brightened me, inspired me, even shaped me. That book says a lot about me, about who and where I was when I loved that particular story. It is a window into my life and my passions, given in the hopes that it will serve the same service for them as it did for me. It also says a lot about my relationship with that person, because for me a book I've loved is a way to strengthen the bond between me and the friend I'm giving it to. It's me saying, "This book illuminated my life. I want to share that light with you."

There are people from my past who have given me books that have turned into beautiful keepsakes, more treasured than some of my oldest pictures and cards. When I open The Sheltering Sky and Catch-22, I remember the teachers who believed that I was something special. When I flick through Into The Woods and Dandelion Wine, I remember the good friends who love and have loved me. When I look at The Fledgling, Mom feels less far away.

Books own a special kind of magic. They're a great way to tell someone you're glad that they're alive.

Reads That Feed

I recently read this post from the venerable Maggie Stiefvater about books that feed her creativity while working on a project. There are those writers who don't like to read while they're writing because they don't want to 'corrupt' their own authorial voice (there are those would-be writers who hardly read at all... say what?). That's something I can understand, to a point, but not something I resonate with. If anything, I read more when writing something new.

This is, undoubtedly, a procrastination tool ("It's OK that I'm not writing. I'm reading"), but it is also something else, something important. When I'm writing, I feel compelled to turn back to the writers that rocked my world with their words and their stories. I can turn to these beloved reads and know that I can crack them open to any page and come across passages like this:

He flapped again at the flies and looked out the window at the first smear of foggy dawn and waited for the world to begin shaping up outside. The window was tall as a door, and he had imagined many times that it would open onto some other place and let him walk through and be there. - Charles Frazier, Cold Mountain

And this:

"Hello boys."

"Hello, Mrs. Lisbon" (in unison).

She had the rectitude, Joe Hill Conley later said, of someone who had just come from weeping in the next room. He had sensed (this said many years later, of course, when Joe Hill Conley claimed to tap at will the energy of his chakras) an ancient pain arising from Mrs. Lisbon, the sum of her people's griefs.

- Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides

And then this:

I loved hearing Anatole speak English. His pronunciation sounded British and elegant, with "first" coming out as "fest," and "brought" more like "brrote." But it sounded Congolese in the way it rolled out with equal weight on every syllable- a pig in a sack- as if no single word wanted to take over the whole sentence.

- Barbara Kingsolver, The Poisonwood Bible

These books are what I want my writing to be: they are powerful without being overpowering, elegant without being flowery- every word and detail adds something powerful to the story and the flow. They inspire me, chiefly, because they are beautiful examples of voice. These are voices I can pick out of a crowd, so strong and assured that they literally sweep you off your feet and into the world they are creating. These voices have a unique and undeniable pull.

There are moments when I find this exercise deflating, especially on a bad writing day ("My writing will NEVER be this good. In fact, in comparison, it is two inches shy of abysmal"). These moments are almost always overridden by feelings of awe and inspiration. Every time I open these books, I learn something new that I can bring to my craft. I am challenged to rise above my best and reach for something even better. These authors feed my creativity in ways that make me want to be better.

Other books I like to return to are The Time Traveler's Wife, Bel Canto, and (for travel writing) Confederates in the Attic. Are there reads that feed your creativity? What is it about them that brings you coming back?

Conquering The Pile

Anyone who calls themselves a Reader will know The Pile. Go look at your bookshelf... what do you see? There are the books you've just finished, stuffed lovingly between the ones you read over and over again. If you're like me, you see books from your childhood; books you're saving for friends; monsters that were a big part of your college education that you can't bring yourself to get rid of. Looking good!

OK, but wait... look closely. What about all those books that you bought/were given many moons ago, but you just haven't gotten around to reading? Are those unread titles, neglected and gathering dust amongst your best-loved classics, burning their images into your retinas? Telling you (as does your partner/roommate/family member who is disgusted by your book-buying problem) that "you HAVE books in your bookshelf you haven't read. Why don't you just read one of those?"

You've been trying to avoid them, haven't you? That's why, for me, they're called The Pile. I've stacked these books (not small in number, I'm afraid) and let them teeter precariously in a conspicuous spot. That way, every time I walk out the door and make a bee-line for Avid or Borders, I am reminded that trees died so that I could use these books as window dressing. Heavy, space-stealing, hard-to-take-with-me-overseas-in-large-quantities window dressing. I can almost hear their tiny voices pleading, "Read us. You'll like us. Promise."

It's not that I don't want to read them. I bought them because I wanted to read them (or was given them by someone who I respect and adore). It's just that I don't want to read them right NOW. A book can be ruined if you read it at the wrong time, squandering my potential for ultimate enjoyment. There just never seems to be a great time to give them the attention they deserve. That's why I stopped making New Years resolutions like "I will read every book that I own that I haven't already read." It's a guaranteed failure, every time. Plus, I have a bookstore addiction... but that's a subject for another post.

Still, a girl's got to put her foot down sometime. Some of my now-favorite books have come from The Pile. My Dad gave me The Time Traveller's Wife one year, and it wasn't until maybe two years later that I actually cracked that sucker open. That sucker then proceeded to rock my world.

This is My List, currently harassing me from the corner of my desk:

Song For Night by Chris Abani

If On A Winter's Night A Traveller by Italo Calvino

Amsterdam by Ian McEwan

The Moviegoer by Percy

The Idea of Perfection by Kate Grenville

Accordion Crimes by Annie Proulx

Lie Down In Darkness by William Styron

The Lovely Bones by Alice Sebold

Netherland by Joseph O'Neill

Time to get cracking on whittling my List. Who's featuring on yours?

All I Want For Christmas...

There are scores of reasons to love December. There are parties and mittens and slippers with bells. There are nine million semi-legitimate excuses to indulge in chocolate desserts. It's a time of enjoyment, of merriment- of giving.

And then, there's the receiving. December is the only time of year that I get given BOOKS.

Let's face it- I've cursed myself. My obsession with books, which borders on reverence, is so well known by friends and family that they are terrified to give me any. They argue that A) my tastes are so 'refined' that they think I won't like what they pick out, and B) that chances are if it's good, I'll already have read it.

To which I say: what rubbish.

First, I like to think that my tastes are rather varied. Literary classics and Sookie Stackhouse ain't the only things I read. Give me speculative, historical, literary, mystery, doesn't matter: if you loved it, then I'm excited to try it. And as for fearing I've already read it? I have two words for you. Shelfari and Amazon. My wish lists will show you which books I'm drooling over. Consider it a cheat sheet that you're allowed- nay, encouraged- to use.

Lists aside... I probably haven't read it. Because there is SO MUCH out there. If I had a thousand lifetimes, I couldn't get to all the 'good stuff' on those bookstore shelves. I wish they'd hurry up and figure out regeneration so I could have a few more years just to read more of what's out there. There I books I stumble upon that I am amazed I didn't know about before. Again, if you loved it enough to want to share it, then chances are you're giving me a really thoughtful gift.

In fact, Dad and I reconnected through the giving of books. Every year, Dad would research new releases, scanning BookWorld clippings and online reviews for reads he thought I would like. I'd drive through the deserted Christmas morning streets knowing the treasures that awaited me under the tree. Dad would pile them on my lap, each one beautifully wrapped and waiting. As each one was unveiled, he'd tell me why he picked it out as I caressed their covers and read their jackets. In this way, he gave me some of the great books of my life. That's not to say I loved them all, but I loved the ritual through which they were chosen. Each book formed a small connection, a brick in the ever-growing foundation of him plus me.

That's what I really crave for Christmas: to pick up that hefty rectangular present that bends just slightly between your hands. Knowing that the thing waiting beneath the shiny paper could give me pleasure, make me think, ignite my passion, maybe even change my life.

Bring on the giving season!

Read of the Week

Now that I actually have time to read for pleasure, I find myself wandering into bookstores all over Brisbane and being too overwhelmed to choose a book out, which got me thinking about that standard get-to-know-you question, "What is your favorite book?". I've always thought that was a boring, not to mention unanswerable, question.  So I've come up with some more interesting ones in an attempt to shake off my book buyer's block.

What was your favorite book as a child? 

The Fledgling by Jane Langton. Even as an adult, I still dream myself into that story.

What book did you have the strongest positive emotional reaction to? Negative reaction?

Fried Green Tomatoes at the Whistle Stop Cafe by Fannie Flagg. This book made my heart overflow with happy feelings, and the conviction that love can heal anything.  

Giovanni's Room by James Baldwin. I hated the whiny, selfish main character so much that I threw this book against the wall and wished evil things on it. I actually felt like he'd insulted me personally with his fictitious decisions.

What book have you most identified with?

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith. When I first read it, I felt like someone had ripped off my shadow and made it into the book's main character. It was a surprisingly fulfilling experience, discovering a piece of myself in someone else's book. 

What book do you read over and over to escape?

Harry Potter, of course. Like all "trendy" reads, I didn't want to love this series, but I inevitably fell for it, utterly and eternally.  No one creates a world that readers long to run into like J.K. Rowling. I'm very grateful to her for that.

What is the most rewarding book you've ever read?

Crime and Punishment by Dostoevsky. Reading this book felt like wading through molasses; it was arduous and difficult. That said, every page gave me something unique and rich. Every chapter taught me a lesson about literature, about reading, and about living.

What is your favorite guilty pleasure book?

The Sookie Stackhouse series by Charlaine Harris. Vampires, Southern culture, and detailed sex scenes? Sign me up. When I'm feeling stressed, this series is my go-to, and I enjoy every page. Don't tell anyone, though.

When forced, what do you tell people is your favorite book, and why that one?

Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte. It is intense, haunting, beautiful, and dark- it is a timeless work that transfixes even dubious readers with rich characters and a 'love story' that is tortured and real. If I was being honest, though, I'd say that's changed to The Tenant of Wildfell Hall by Anne Bronte, the much-forgotten youngest sister. Her tale may not be as immediately transfixing as Emily's, but it is, in many ways, more grown up, more haunting, and more beautiful. 

I'm looking for something that will sweep me up with good language and a captivating story. Any suggestions?