Gilead

I finished Gilead earlier this week, and in what seems to be the Marilynne Robinson fashion, the end redeemed the novel. The book is one long letter from a dying man to his son. It is slow and meanders through tangents that hardly seem relevant. But of course, toward the end, it all starts to make sense; the structure and pacing serve the characters, theme, and content. I admit that I liked it, reluctantly.

I’m still working my way through Anna Karenina, but I think a few minutes I caught of a Gilmore Girls episode spoiled the ending. I’m not entirely sure they were discussing this book, though, since I walked away as soon as I heard the conversation. Ugh. I hate it when things (people, news, TV, etc.) ruin books.

What Makes a “Real” Writer/Artist?

I’ve been plodding away in Anna Karenina, which is long but enjoyable.  Today I came to a section in which a few of the characters visit a painter in Italy.  The painter thinks to himself that they’re “dilettantes” who know nothing about art but pretend and make their comments.  I find it funny that they have nothing to do, so they take up painting, and then the “real” painter sees right through them.  He gets frustrated when they talk about technique.

This reminds me of the debate about whether or not writing can be taught.  The other day Ryan and I were talking about blogs and YouTube and how everyone thinks they can write and make films.  The Internet and technology allow us access to the tools and an audience to distribute our “art.”

So what makes an artist?  Does a singer have to study music and earn an MA?  Does a writer have to pursue the MFA?  Is it technique or inherent talent?  Can anyone with a digital camera call themselves a photographer?

If there are conditions to claiming the artist’s identity, then I wonder what they are.  Some say a writer is one who writes, as simple as that.  Others insist on publication.  For the longest time growing up, I wanted to run, I read about running, but I never actually ran.  It wasn’t until I started running consistently on my own that I felt comfortable calling myself a runner.  Should I qualify it by saying I’m a recreational runner since I am not an elite runner and my times are average?

If only we could fast-forward one hundred years and find out what the scholars of that day call art and who they canonize.

The Running Blues

Saturday’s run was probably the best of the entire year.  We ran along the river near Grand Avenue in Glenwood Springs.  I don’t know if it was the weather or what we ate or some combination of unknowns, but it was amazing.  I haven’t felt that good all year.

But the summer’s coming to an end (take the heat!), and it looks like I won’t be in proper shape to run the Boulder Backroads, again.  Last year, it was my knee.  This year, I don’t know.  Laziness, lack of discipline, business, life changes.

I’m working on an article about running and discipline, but it’s hard to finish because I haven’t put in the miles this year.  Some of the things I love best in this world require discipline, but they’re slipping away because I let my feelings control my actions.

Location in Writing

Location, or place, in writing occupies a lot of my thoughts. So many writers live in NYC or have at one point in their lives. A lot of writers have moved around and experienced different cultures. There are those writers, and then there are Southern writers, regional writers, Southwestern, Midwestern, and so on. But what about Colorado writers?

Usually an article about a writer from Colorado is placed in the context of the region. They’re writing about a coal mine or a flood or something related to the (sometimes boring) history of Colorado.

A poetry professor in college insisted that where we’re from, and where we’ve lived, seeps into our writing, that place is unavoidable. Since then I’ve been trying to figure out how Colorado factors into my writing.

At a novel writing workshop this summer, our instructor spoke briefly about place. We read an excerpt from a book that takes place in a coastal town in Maine. For the project I started, I couldn’t figure out whether to set the story in a coastal town or in Colorado. There is no doubt that location can be as large as a character, and if not, still shapes the story.

Colorado is landlocked, neither truly the West nor the Midwest nor the Southwest. We’re kind of the border state between the Midwest and the West. Sometimes we’re categorized as the (Wild) West and sometimes with the Midwest. The most accurate classification I’ve seen is the Mountain Region.

A few months ago I read David Payne’s essay in the Oxford American about why writers from the North are considered national and writers from the South are considered regional. I love Southern writing. The distinct flavor is down-to-earth, sometimes strange, lyrical, and magical. The writing seems to focus more on characters and place than ideas and plot, though neither of the latter are missing. But it’s no wonder that those writing from the South are tired of hearing that their fiction is colorful or being grouped together with the only common thread being place. I just stereotyped writers who happen to live in the South in this very paragraph.

But we can’t ignore location, can we? Flannery O’Connor and William Faulkner, two of my favorite writers, can’t be separated from their roots. Would As I Lay Dying be a different novel if it were set in the middle of Boston or San Francisco or Denver? What about O’Connor’s stories? The country characters need their farms and open spaces in order for the stories to work. The characters can’t go into town without having come from outside of it.

What irks me is that the sheer number of writers in New York seems to equate writing with the city. It says that writers can’t be writers outside of a city. I absolutely don’t believe this, but I’m tired of reading in a byline or the back flap of a book cover that the writer lives in New York. Even Flannery O’Connor lived in New York for a time. So does one have to venture East in order to be taken seriously?

There exist numerous ways to classify writing, and I suppose place is just one more. But I can’t help but wonder if our need to categorize and analyze reduces writing to stereotypes or helps elucidate the finer points.

Reasons for Reading

There are times, especially during the summer, that I want something easy to read, something that does not require a lot of thought but isn’t entirely insulting either. When this happens, I’ll pick up a teen book. Other times, though, I want to speed through pages but linger with a story, which means a large paperback. Despite what I wrote previously about Jodi Picoult, the three books of hers that I’ve read did seem to do that. But they have a certain flavor. It’s like John Grisham–if you don’t feel like reading a mystery or thriller or suspense novel, no matter how great it can be otherwise, it won’t hit the spot. It’s like picking up a glass of milk when you’re expecting orange juice.

What do you read when your brain is tired? Are there writers you return to when you want a break?

This assumes there are two reasons to read: for easy, “pleasure” reading and for some kind of intellectual, spiritual, artistic pursuit. Why else do you read?

Freelance Encouragement

After trying to chase away the thoughts that say I am crazy to have given up my job and that there’s no way freelance writing will actually work, encouragement came in the form of blogs. The first woman writes from Israel, the second from Ireland. If you’re a freelance writer or want to be, you’d be a fool not to visit their blogs. All I can say is “thank you.”

Now I know exactly what awaits me Monday morning.

Donald Barthelme’s Reading List

I stumbled across this list.  Too bad we can’t ask Barthelme himself if it’s his list.  If you’re not familiar with Donald Barthelme, read “The School.”  It’s short and amazing.  I’ve forced friends to listen to me read it at dinner because it’s just that good.

The Catholic Perspective

Here are a few places you can visit should you want to learn more about the Catholic perspective:

The Catholic Thing and The Faith & Reason Institute.

It looks like those sites provide some interesting articles about politics and other issues that intertwine with faith for better or worse.  Browse at your own risk, though; I have not looked enough to know if they are trustworthy.

Since I identify with the Protestant branch of Christianity (though I was born of Catholic heritage), it’s all too easy to forget about how Catholics perceive culture and politics.

On the topic of politics, sometimes it’s daunting trying to keep abreast with all the issues and discerning who tells the truth and whose truth is best.  I invite you to leave any links regarding politics and/or religion (of any form) in the comments.  May we all stay informed and vote wisely this November.

Ayn Rand

What do you think of Ayn Rand?

Six years ago I read all but the last 20 pages of The Fountainhead, which I loved and am not sure why I never made it to those final pages. Since then I’ve tried to read Atlas Shrugged, Anthem, and We the Living multiple times, but I haven’t read past the first 50 pages.

I saw Atlas Shrugged on a TV show the other day, and now I’d like to give it another try (please stop me until I finish at least Anna Karenina).

Some seem to love her. Some talk about her philosophy. Others don’t say much, but with that silence seem to disapprove.

What do you think of her books?

Longing for Books

Lately, I’ve been nostalgic for the books I read last year.  As soon as I finish the many I’m reading now, I’d like to reread some, which makes me wonder how much the average American today rereads anything.

Rereading really began for me in college.  I was so thrilled to take creative writing workshops that I read the assigned (and unassigned) stories multiple times.  When classmates handed in stories, we were supposed to read them at least twice.  This was my initiation into the wonderful world of rereading.  There were times when I could not stand a story, but on rereading, I found redeeming qualities.  Soon I was reading their stories up to four or five times.

Since then, my rereading has subsided.  With what seems like so little time and so many books, I race on to the next.  Last year I did reread a handful of books, but I wish I had the patience to read each one twice before opening another.

There is the question about whether a writer should write a book that the reader only understands in the second or third reading.  Some applaud this, others call it a failure (today’s readers will never do that, and therefore, never understand the book).  Should we cater to the lazy reader or challenge him?

Summer stretches on for at least another month, so if you’d like a great book to read, here are some recommendations from my 2007 reading:

Fiction

1.  The Corrections – Jonathan Franzen (if you’re can stand [or skip over] some four-letter words and a few distasteful scenes, if you don’t get annoyed at a writer peeking through at times saying “look at me”)

2. The History of Love – Nicole Krauss

3.  Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close – Jonathan Safran Foer

4.  Anything by Chaim Potok.  If you have any inclination toward art (or are interested in Judaism), read My Name is Asher Lev and The Gift of Asher Lev.

5.  Like I wrote in a previous entry, read Jeffrey Eugenides.

6.  Zadie Smith offers some interesting stories about people of differing races in England.

7.  Virginia Woolf is worth the work.  “Time Passes” in To the Lighthouse is lovely and brilliant.

8.  Read The Hours after you read Mrs. Dalloway.  If you’re prone toward depressive moods, maybe read these books during summer days.

Nonfiction

1.  Daniels’ Running Formula – Jack Daniels, Ph.D

2.  Anything by Mary Karr.  Start with her first memoir, The Liar’s Club.

3.  Anything by Lauren Winner.  She writes about her conversation from Orthodox Judaism to Christianity.  She’s smart and interesting.  I can’t say enough good things about her.

4.  The fabulous Flannery O’Connor.  Read her fiction, as well.  In Mystery and Manners you can read about her thoughts and experiences being a Catholic in the Protestant South.  This is also one of the best books I’ve read that deals with what it means to write as a person of faith.

5.  Kathleen Norris