The story of “Jasper Jones”
June 2, 2011
U.S. dust jacket
Craig Silvey’s new novel (his second) is categorized as a book for young readers by Alfred A. Knopf, which published the book in April. And yet it’s standing with adult literary heavyweights as a contender for the IMPAC Dublin Literary Award. That struck me as unusual, but then I realized the teen classification is from the U.S. publisher. I checked Allen & Unwin, the Australian company that first published the book in 2009, and Jasper Jones is listed there as literary fiction. Either way it falls, I had to find out what this book is about, and why so much attention is on it – Jasper Jones has won scads of awards in Silvey’s native Australia, including the Australian Indie Book of the Year Award 2009.
The novel is set in a small Australian town in the 1960s. It opens with the feral 14-year-old Jasper Jones seeking the help of 13-year-old narrator Charlie Bucktin in covering up a murder until he can find who’s responsible for it. Jasper can’t go to the police because he’s a social outcast whom everyone blames for whatever goes wrong in town. Also, Laura Wishart, the girl who was murdered, is hanging from a tree in his secret hideout. She was Jasper’s best friend.
While the story begins with a murder, it doesn’t predictably dissolve into a “whodunit.” Silvey brings other plots to the forefront: Charlie’s BFF relationship with Jeffrey Lu, a talented cricket player shunned by the town’s team because he’s Vietnamese and Australian soldiers are dying in the Vietnam war; his confrontational relationship with his mother; and his complicated love relationship with Eliza Wishart, Laura’s sister.
Australian dust jacket
One of the most entertaining elements of this vivid story are the conversations between the bookish Charlie and the amusing Jeffrey about who’s the better superhero, Batman or Superman, and how stripes get into toothpaste and why men have nipples. It’s like overhearing kids on a school bus. Maybe this is kid talk written for a teen perspective, but it’s also masterful character creation that makes Charlie and Jeffrey fully real to an adult.
Racism and social ostracism are powerful themes, but the concept of fear as a misguided source for belief and action is the most affecting one. Indeed, it’s at the root of all that goes wrong. At one point, Jasper says to Charlie: “See, everyone here’s afraid of something and nuthin. This town, that’s how they live, and they don’t even know it. They stick to what they know, what they bin told. They don’t unnerstand that it’s just a choice you make.”
Silvey packs a lot in to this enjoyable, intriguing and briskly paced novel, and he does it so well it’s as if we’re living and breathing the air of this small mining town. Teen lit? I’d say a definite yes, but it’s on the mature level of the Hunger Games, which I’m guessing will fill theaters with its adult readers when the movie’s released 2012. IMPAC winner? Definitely a worthy contender, and we’ll find out June 15.
A thirst for fame: John Wilkes Booth
May 25, 2011
Ever heard of the author David Stacton? I hadn’t, until I received in the mail my NYRB Book Club selection for May, The Judges of the Secret Court, a historical novel about John Wilkes Booth. The story begins the day of President Lincoln’s assassination, Good Friday 1865, with Edwin Booth experiencing disturbing premonitions about his brother John Wilkes. It moves swiftly through the dramatic historical events of Lincoln’s death; John Wilkes Booth’s desperate flight to the South, capture and death; and the trial of Booth’s associates that was a mockery of justice.
Stacton (1923 – 1968) was critically acclaimed for his historical novels during his writing life, more so in Europe than the United States, where his books didn’t resonate with the reading public. Even so, the editors of TIME magazine included Stacton in a list of impressive novelists during the early 1960s, alongside Joseph Heller, John Updike, Philip Roth, Bernard Malamud and Ralph Ellison.
Stacton these many years later seems out-of-place among those laudable literary names, but he is indeed worthy of being singled out for his historical novels, if his fictional expression of the assassination of Abraham Lincoln and the events that followed represents all his work. The Judges of the Secret Court is surprisingly addictive with its post-Civil War atmosphere and politics deftly conveyed without textbook tedium, as well as the fast-paced drama of Booth’s evasion of justice and the intriguing psychology of the actor’s delusional self-perception.
Violating the “show don’t tell” writing principle, Stacton’s narrative style tells the story in a very certain, confident and refreshing voice. He adheres to the factual events of Lincoln’s assassination, the historical figures and what follows, instead of embellishing the story with fictional characters and scenes. (The New York Times’ review of The Judges of the Secret Court, August 13, 1961, claimed the story “tells more about the quixotic assassin, probably more accurately, than any historian’s biography could…”) Also – and herein lies the imaginative spark for this great read — Stacton employs the God-like omniscient perspective, and so he enters the interior, private thoughts of the event’s participants, including President Lincoln, Vice President Johnson, Secretary of War Edwin Stanton, let alone John Wilkes Booth and his friends.
Even those well-read on the topic of Lincoln’s assassination will find this 1961 novel a fascinating account of this moment in American history and the days that followed. Stacton leaves us not only with a renewed understanding of what happened but also a well-crafted exposition on the soul of an actor thirsting for fame.
Walking the road of ‘know thyself’
May 19, 2011
“60 Minutes” recently televised a story about the monks of Mt. Athos, Greece, also known as the Holy Mountain, the center of Eastern Christian Orthodox monasticism. Friends who saw the news segment commented,“I want to go there,” and I heard in those words a desire for the kind of peace known to those who pursue the monastic life.
For myself, that desire is the reason I read books about the monastic life, or memoirs about spiritual journeys, such as Kathleen Norris’s The Cloister Walk and Acedia; Nancy Maguire’s An Infinity of Little Hours: Five Young Men and Their Trial of Faith in the Western World’s Most Austere Monastic Order; and Ari L. Goldman’s The Search for God at Harvard.
So here, a few weeks back, I’m writing about Andrew Krivak’s debut novel The Sojourn and learn Krivak once pursued a calling to be a Jesuit priest and wrote a memoir about the journey called A Long Retreat: In Search of a Religious Life. I headed to the library and borrowed it. The book sat on a chair unopened for so long I had to renew it, too busy with other books to give it time. Until this week, when I read it late into several nights, immersed in Krivak’s story and my own reflective response, similar to that experienced in the other books I mentioned – a removal from and rising above the small (Did I walk the dogs? Pay the bills? Return that phone call?) and into the larger questions of life, as Krivak struggles to know himself.
A small difference with this memoir, compared to the other books: The author’s moodiness hangs over A Long Retreat, a kind of brooding and frustration over those larger questions, especially over the lack of compact answers to erase his doubt about whether or not to become a Jesuit. But then, Jesuit formation is not an easy path to walk. It involves years of scholarly study, teaching and ministry, which Krivak thoughtfully and vividly illustrates, so we see not only the joy of the formative process, but also its emotional rigors of loneliness and anxiety.
During his eight years of study and work, Krivak lived among the very poor in the Dominican Republic; studied in Russia and Slovakia; served as a chaplain in a hospital ward of HIV/AIDS patients; and instructed university philosophy students, struggling himself with the questions of life purpose he taught in the class. He writes:
“Who are we? What ought we to do with this life? Is there something rather than nothing? And why, in the end, should it even matter? If only those students knew, then, that I was as wracked to find the answers for myself as they were to find the answers for the exam.”
We know from the book’s first page that Krivak does not take final vows, by reference to his wife Amelia, but the ending is still a surprise, as he unravels and deciphers the complex reasons that drove him toward the profession. And yet: “How simple it should have all been. The Spirit calls, the man says yes, and the life that’s lived is a fine one, austere, yet somehow heroic. It has its up and downs, the poignant tests … but anyone in any life could say as much.”
Old paperbacks: irresistible vs. collectible
May 15, 2011
Pulpfest 2011 is taking place the last weekend in July. The event primarily features pulp magazines and related materials, but among those related materials will be vintage paperbacks. That got my attention, and I marked my calendar. While I don’t actively collect vintage paperbacks, as I expressed two years ago on TLC, I can’t resist them if they cross my book-life pathways.
As I type, I even hesitate to use the qualifier “vintage” for my predilection. Maybe what I can’t resist isn’t always vintage collectible, just old and intriguing, such as the 1968 Dell first edition paperback of John Fowles’ classic The Magus to the left, with Candice Bergen seductively wrapping her leg around Michael Caine. It was published after the movie, which starred the aforementioned couple and also Anthony Quinn. Nostalgic thoughts about those young actors captured me more than anything else.
Same can be said about this 1960 first edition Signet paperback of Ian Fleming’s Goldfinger, below. My grandmother, not fully understanding the storyline, took my sister and me to see the movie when we were too young for violence. She rushed us out of the theater the first time Oddjob threw his killer hat.
Another movie-related paperback in my library is this issue of Faulkner’s The Reivers, published after the film hit theaters, starring Steve McQueen. The paperback even came in its own slipcase. Inside the pages, I found a Cracker Jack surprise – a newspaper article from the Chicago Daily Tribune dated December 13, 1950: “Faulkner Just a Farmer Who Likes to Write: Nobel Prize Winner Is No Literary Man.” Faulkner won the 1949 Nobel prize for literature but received it in 1950. He gave his acceptance speech December 10, 1950. The Associated Press article reports on his life in Mississippi and thoughts about his books.
Is this one a collectible vintage paperback, or just a collectible paperback because it’s a 1969 first edition of a Faulkner novel?
Here’s another old paperback I couldn’t resist buying. This 1950 Bantam edition of Carson McCullers’ Reflections in a Golden Eye would fit nicely into the line-up of many dramatic cover illustrations I’ve seen featured on vintage paperback websites, along with its subtitle: “Strange loves in an emotional underworld.” The guy on the cover looks like a gorilla ready to pounce on that vulnerable, sexy woman in her luxurious slumber.
One more: this 1965 Fawcett Crest edition of John Updike’s Of The Farm. No racy cover illustration, but the irresistible element is on the back, a line drawing of Updike. Love the design of it and hey, the book has doubled in price over the years from its original 75 cents — I paid $1.50 for it. Another 50 years, it may go for an astounding $3.
A whale of a story shortlisted by IMPAC
May 10, 2011
This is the second appearance of Michael Crummey’s novel Galore on TLS, which I spotlighted several months ago as a forthcoming book to keep an eye on. After being absorbed in it this past week, I can tell you it’s one of those novels that engulfs readers in atmospheric writing and unique characters that provide delightful escape into another world. That world is from the late 18th through the early 20th centuries, although in the first half of the book the timeframe is vague. It takes place on the unmerciful shores of Newfoundland in a fictional fishing outport called Paradise Deep. The story opens biblically with an albino man pulled from the belly of a beached whale, and he survives. Inhabitants of Paradise Deep refer to this mute stranger afflicted with a permanent stink as the Great White or Judah.
Judah is ever-present in the 300+ pages of Galore, but no one character in this extraordinary novel gets predominant focus, rather it’s a story about the handful of people in this place descended from rivals Devine’s Widow and King-Me Sellers. Their unlikely marriages and love affairs, their adventures on the water, and their varying religious faiths cleverly stir the plot. This is no typical generational saga, however, because of the folkloric sorcery Crummey deftly weaves into their fishing lives. It lends a magical, seductive quality to the story, and I responded to it as if unaware that it was anything unusual – such as the ghost of a dead man living with his wife, or the thick foliage of an apple tree providing baptismal protection from disease to the children, or a teacup curing a rash of warts. One difficulty: Keeping the characters straight in the second half of the book is a challenge, but Crummey provides a family tree, which I frequently referred to.
The short and long of IMPAC
Galore has been shortlisted for the International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award, the largest and most international prize of its kind. Nominees come from public libraries in countries around the world. According to the award’s website, 10 novels have been shortlisted for the award, from a total of 162 novels nominated by 166 public library systems in 126 cities worldwide. The International IMPAC Dublin Literary Award is worth €100,000.
Along with Galore, books on the shortlist for the IMPAC prize include the following. The winner will be announced June 15.
- The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver
- The Vagrants by Yiyun Li
- Ransom by David Malouf
- Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann
- Little Bird of Heaven by Joyce Carol Oates
- Jasper Jones by Craig Silvey
- Brooklyn by Colm Toibín
- Love and Summer by William Trevor
- After the Fire, a Still, Small Voice by Evie Wyl
True crime in 1950 Mississippi
April 26, 2011
The common thought about self-published books is traditional publishing isn’t interested in them. And here I’ll confess my own quick judgment about this area of publishing: When I hear a book’s been self-published, I immediately think someone’s brought forth their unvetted literary pet project, and I doubt its quality. One Night of Madness, self-published by author Stokes McMillan, makes me realize this isn’t always the case.
According to Publishers Weekly, McMillan had an agent for his book, but it took longer than anticipated to write it. By the time it was completed, the agent and author had amicably parted ways. McMillan figured it would take the typical one to two years to go through traditional publishing, let alone the time it would take to find another agent. He had interviewed many eyewitnesses for the book, and, if he waited much longer, some who were dying wouldn’t be around to see it.
One Night of Madness tells the story of a vengeful, drunk white man who murdered the three children of a black woman he tried unsuccessfully to rape. McMillan’s father, a journalist and photographer, reported the story for the family newspaper, writing about the crime, three-day manhunt for the accused and the trial. His photographs and other material regarding the crime were kept in a scrapbook that McMillan-the-son used to write his book. This Deep South crime stands apart from others during that pre-civil rights time because of the response by white residents of the Mississippi community: They didn’t look the other way, as was typical when blacks were violated by whites. Instead, they pursued and prosecuted the murderers.
You can preview One Night of Madness on Amazon, where McMillan originally published it via CreateSpace in November 2009. It won a 2010 Independent Publishers Book Award for Best Regional (South) Non-fiction and, according to Publishers Weekly, is close to selling out of its original 3,500 print run. McMillan’s father took 51 pictures of the story’s events, and the book contains 21 of them. Others are available on the author’s website. The one you see on the book’s cover received the National Press Photographers Association prize in 1950.
Smart, hilarious (better?) book titles
February 25, 2011
Not enough time to read this week (frustrating), and I’m in the middle of a 500+ page novel I’d like to be done with. So here I’m sharing not a new book discovery, rather a blog discovery that made me laugh amidst the week’s craziness. A tweet lead me to it — Better Book Titles – which has been around since the fall, but I hadn’t seen it yet.
It’s got howlingly funny content, not too surprising since it’s hosted by a comedian. With tongue in cheek, he explains the blog’s raison d’être as being for those short on reading time. “I will cut through all the cryptic crap, and give you the meat of the story in one condensed image. Now you can read the greatest literary works of all time in mere seconds!”
That’s not true, of course, and Better Book Titles reinforces that truth: the humor doesn’t work if you haven’t read the books. There are exceptions, though. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson is one of my favorite Better Book Titles, and I haven’t read the book.
Larsson’s novel and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Great Gatsby are among those listed in a top 10 category, which also includes Lolita and Ulysses. Once you hit the top 10 page, scroll down to see the titles. From there you can access and get lost in the library of accumulating entries, but unless you recognize and single out the book covers, the library becomes a blur.
A new better book title is posted every weekday, and Friday’s are for reader submitted titles.
The kind of question one can never answer
February 17, 2011
In 1949, the editor of the Philadelphia Inquirer Books wrote about his love for reading on the back cover of a Gladys Taber novel, where we’re used to seeing blurbs about a book’s phenomenal-ness. He posed the question, “Why do I like to read?” and then answered it, but with a final sigh of doubt saying, “But it is the kind of question one can never answer. It remains beyond the bounds of definition…”.
The Philly editor was David Appel, who joined the Philadelphia Inquirer in 1946 and started the paper’s stand-alone book review section. The novel, which I came across in a used bookshop the other day, is Especially Father. Author Gladys Taber was a prolific mid-20th century writer the New York Times compared to Martha Stewart. Taber wrote more than 50 books during her career, the most recognized being her Stillmeadow books. Stillmeadow was her 17th century farmhouse and surrounding land in Connecticut, where she lived and wrote. The setting and people figured into her fiction and non-fiction. Taber also wrote for Ladies Home Journal and Family Circle magazines.
There’s no earth moving new thought from Appel, nor a connection of his comment to the novel’s plot, that I can tell, only the wonder of its placement. Imagine something similar written by Ron Charles, book editor for The Washington Post, on the back of a Franzen novel. We’d be surprised enough, it just might sell the book.
I like what Appel says, especially the last line. You can click on the image to read it, or read it below.
Why Do I Like to Read?
by David Appel, Editor, Philadelphia Inquirer Books
Perhaps it would be easier to explain why I love books. I recall the answer I gave to an aunt of mine who once asked me: “Why do you like to go to the library?”
I was very young then and not too ready with a reply. After some thought I said:
“Because I like the smell of books.”
Years later my aunt often laughingly remarked about my liking the “smell of books,” but I have never been able to find a more apt description of the attraction that they hold for me.
Ever since I can remember there have been books in my home. They have been as much a part of it as the dishes, or the chairs, and the walls themselves.
I can still remember the first book I ever owned. It was Stevenson’s ‘Child’s Garden of Verses,’ and I treasured my copy for years. I remember marching around the edge of the front room rug reciting the poems in order. When I grew a little older and acquired a much coveted library card, I firmly resolved to read every book in the branch library from Altsheler to Zola. I didn’t get much farther than Irving Bacheller, but I still think it was an admirable goal.
I doubt that I have answered the question. But it is the kind of question one can never answer. It remains beyond the bounds of definition, a delight, a mystery, a challenge.
Asking me why I like to read is like asking me why I like to breathe. It would be hard to go on living without doing both.
