Library of America Fail (And Win!*)

Dear friends and loyal readers may remember that a few months ago, after finishing Shirley Jackson's complex and suspenseful The Haunting of Hill House, I mentioned that Library of America would be publishing a volume of Jackson's work which I hoped would include one of Jackson's three (four if you count The Sundial, as I tend to) out-of-print novels.

After two months of checking the Library of America website twice a week for a table of contents for the upcoming volume, it has finally been posted.

I certainly understand that Library of America is a prestige publication, in fact, it is the unofficial cannon of great American authors, and therefore I also understand why it is necessary that Jackson's major work (The Lottery, The Haunting of Hill House, We Have Always Lived in the Castle) be included. However, while I appreciate that the volume will include previously uncollected stories and unpublished short stories, the omission of all of these other novels is a sore disappointment to me.

The consolation is, at least, that I can now spend largish sums of money without buyers guilt to obtain copies of them.

*Check out the comments!

Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay
by Michael Chabon

(10: 16/50)

"'You weren't the same person when you came out as you you went in. Houdini's first magic act, you know, back when he was just getting started. It was called 'Metamorphosis'. It was never just a question of escape. It was also a question of transformation.'"

The entry below will openly analyse Michael Chabon's The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay and address specifically its possible themes, symbols and intent. No plot-related spoilers will be divulged.

Back in 2007, author Bret Easton Ellis called The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay one of the three greatest novels of his generation; a strong statement by an author who is himself greatly admired by many. While the man is certainly welcome to his opinion, I can't help but feel that the praise is exaggerated.

The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay is a vibrant chronicle of the most exuberant and tremulous periods of a quintessentially American art form, the comic book. It is a portrait that is both inseparable and disparate from one of the darkest epochs of history, World War II and the Holocaust.

Chabon's novel is concerned with escape: From the physical, choking restrictions and dangers of Nazi-occupied Prague, from the innermost secrets of ourselves, from the painful struggle of domesticity, from the hard truths of reality, and from past escapes that in their new reality have morphed themselves into traps of their own. Yes, it's a novel about escape, but more importantly it's a novel about how our escapism is not, as we often perceive it to be, disparate from our reality but rather intimately involved in shaping it. It is a notion that Chabon makes manifest in the characters of Carl Ebling and Tracy Bacon who become physical embodiments of the fictional characters within the world of the novel.

The notion that Kavalier and Clay is Chabon's magnum opus is accurate. It insists upon escapism's importance in our lives, and that the "lower" crafts (television, comics, genre fiction, etc) are in no way inferior to their "loftier" peers. It's a belief that Chabon has enacted upon since the publication of Kavalier and Clay with The Final Solution, Gentlemen of the Road, and the Yiddish Policeman's Union. This is the battle Chabon has devoted himself to, and in Kavalier and Clay there is a passionate, articulate argument for it.

All this may seem rather incongruous considering where we began. Make no mistake, Chabon's novel is a work of exquisite plotting, and literary deftness; it is very enjoyable, and undeniably the technically best of his work I've read, likely of all his work; it is a novel worthy of the Pulitzer it won but it is very often a work that lacks emotional resonance. That is a criticism that sounds harsher than I intend it to be. For myself, the hallmark of a work of genius, the stories that inevitably become my favorites, are those that move me to emotional extremes or are of staggering technical impressiveness. Chabon's novel fails to reach either of these extremes, but it is absolutely a great read.

Up next: James Baldwin's Giovanni's Room

Ruminating on the 2010 Pulitzers

The 2010 Pulitzer Prize winners will be announced in two weeks on April 12th, and it seems like that fact is stalking me. I'm reading a Pulitzer winner, I'm drafting a comprehensive list of fiction winners for the local library; even the local library's book club is doing a Pulitzer winner.

Last year when Olive Kitteridge was announced the 2009 recipient, I didn't know anything about the book or couldn't have even made any sort of prediction as to what might have won. Over the course of that year however, I read five new titles* and more importantly became more conscious of the titles being released, so I'm a little more prepared to weigh in this time around. Last year, I consulted pprize.com for their list of likely winners. This is their prognostication, in order of likelihood:

1. My Fathers Tears by John Updike
2. Lark and Termite by Jayne Anne Philips
3. Homer and Langley by E.L. Doctorow
4. The Humbling by Philip Roth
5. Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann
6. The Maple Stories by John Updike
7. American Salvage by Bonnie Jo Campbell
8. Spooner by Pete Dexter
9. Generosity: An Enchantment by Richard Powers
10. In Other Rooms, Other Wonders by David Mueenuddin
11. The Lacuna by Barbara Kingsolver
12. A Good Fall by Ha Jin
13. The Red Convertible by Louise Erdrich
14. Chronic City by Jonathan Lethem
15. Dear Husband (or Little Bird of Heaven) by Joyce Carol Oates

So that's a lot of books, not all of which am I familiar with and only one of which I've actually read. Based on reviews, I'd argue that Roth and Doctorow are both easily discounted, despite their high positions on the list; Both books were at one point priorities for me, but with mediocre reception, they've been relegated to sometime in the future.

John Updike, though his final collection My Father's Tears got very good reviews, is likely featured so prominently on the list due to his passing at the beginning of 2009. True he had passed by the time of the 2009 nominations, but the Widows of Eastwick was poorly received and would have been discrediting. I wouldn't expect Updike to win this year either. Updike has won twice in the past, and so there's no sense of career validation (though I don't feel that's a concern with the Pulitzers anyway) and additionally, there has never been a Pulitzer winning short story collection that hasn't begun with "The collected stories of" or "The stories of."

I also wouldn't bet on Oates. Her prolifacy is a bit of a detriment to her, and more over if her most successful novels such as them or Blonde were passed over, I don't think this is the year to expect a change. I do think Jonathan Lethem has a strong chance of winning. Chronic City has a strong literary progeny, has been frequently cited as one of the best books of the year, and has had -- at least for myself -- a near ubiquitous presence creating the urge for me to read it.

Call it a kind of vanity, or naivete, but I genuinely believe that the one book on this list I did read, Colum McCann's Let the Great World Spin, has an especially good chance of taking the award. The Pulitzer is an American award, given to American authors, yes, but also with preference given to books dealing with American life. Let the Great World Spin is a book about how lives converge in the face of massive events; a novel about New York in the 1970s, but also unmistakably tied to New York in the wake of 9/11. Not only did Let the Great World Spin win the National Book Award (which isn't a great signifier, actually. Only five works of fiction have taken both in the National Book Award's 60 year history), but I think it also, at least of what I know the books above, meets the criterion best.

However, that leaves a number of books I'm familiar with on levels ranging from having thought about buying it, book in hand to complete ignorance of both author and title. Anyway. That's my predictions for what they're worth.

*Lowboy by John Wray - Nobody Move by Denis Johnson - Let the Great World Spin by Colum McCann - Admission by Jean Hanff Korelitz - This is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper

Authors and their Fan Pages

I was crawling around the internet last night, and for some reason it struck me to compare the number of fans authors have on facebook (some authors have more than one page because people don't know how to search properly on facebook, and in the purpose of cleanliness only the combined number will be shown).

Biggest Legion Found: Dan Brown, 144, 742
Smallest Group Found: Betty Smith, 91 Fans
Greatest Unexpected Reality: Paul Auster, 35, 887 Fans

J.K. Rowling: 69,912 Fans
Stephanie Meyer: 30, 400 Fans

Danielle Steel: 30, 030 Fans
Nora Roberts: 16, 077 Fans

Stephen King: 141, 521 Fans
Dean Koontz: 36, 590 Fans

Fyodor Dostoyevsky: 34, 164 Fans
Leo Tolstoy: 17, 651 Fans

Norman Mailer: 1,692 Fans
Gore Vidal: 6, 043 Fans

Harper Lee: 287 Fans
Truman Capote: 10, 437 Fans

Ernest Hemingway: 10, 631 Fans
William Faulkner: 11, 740 Fans

Nathaniel Hawthorne: 1, 614 Fans
Edgar Allen Poe: 32, 487 Fans

Philip Roth: 1, 620 Fans
Don DeLillo: 897 Fans

Kurt Vonnegut: 17, 662 Fans
Ray Bradbury: 17, 615 Fans

So that doesn't include Austen, Dickens, Salinger, Orwell, Kerouac, Joyce, Jackson, Mann, Forster, Cheever, Carver, or an absurd number of others, but I think it gets the job done.

E.M. Forster's Maurice

Maurice
by E.M. Forster

(10: 15/50)

"There seem two roads for arriving at Beauty-- one is in common, and all the world has reached Michelangelo by it, but the other is private to me and a few more. We come to him by both roads."

The entry below will openly analyse E.M. Forster's Maurice and address specifically its possible themes, symbols, and intent. No plot-related spoilers will be divulged.

If you were to look up works of gay fiction, there are few titles-- if any-- you would find referenced as one of the best as frequently as Maurice. First published in 1971, Forster's novel actually dates back to 1914, and yet, perhaps distressingly so, its reason for literary significance, even at such a late date, hadn't seemed trivial. It's the first novel of my run on gay fiction that is of substantial note in the cannon.

Characteristic of Forster, Maurice is a novel with a humanist theme. Maurice is a normal man in almost every imaginable way: He's an attractive young man, of good social rank, capable but not impressive, nor is he very brave or especially smart. He's perfectly average except, of course, that he's gay and it's this that sets Maurice apart from other people. It is part of his private road: The way by which he comes to the world and other people that is unlike that of anyone else.

Through Maurice, Forster is making a case for empathy. Not only is Maurice misunderstood by other people, but he misunderstands them as well; two struggles that are at the heart of this novel, consistently embodied in Maurice's loneliness. Forster makes Maurice normal in every way imaginable to insist on normalcy's relativeness to personal nature. It's not something that can be weighed comparatively between people.

Maurice and Clive, at first so similar to one another become the other's foil, and the results, sparing detail here out of consideration, elicit strong emotion. Maurice, Clive and Alec each serve, in their way, Forster's assertion.

Maurice is a work of deft subtly, exploring empathy, love, and class within the confines of the old novel: elaborate craftsmanship in the guise of a simple romance. It's the sort of novel whose beauty doesn't dawn on you until the crisis of plot and cleaver turns of phrase have turned to embers in your memory: still drawing oxygen, but no longer serving to distract. The novel insists upon being read twice.

It's a book worthy of it's place in the cannon not only for its historical literary significance, but also for its genuine merit. Perhaps I come to Forster by two paths myself, but I can only expect I'll be returning soon.

Up Next: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay by Michael Chabon

Borders

There are a few things that when my attention is forced upon them, my heart aches as though someone is pulling apart the organ's tissue. I suppose am I the worst capitalist in America because nothing effects me quite so significantly as a failing business. I don't know if it's the prospect of the jobless, or of the spectral husks of former places of commerce, or simply the demarcation of some sort of change but any place threatening to close its doors forever has never failed to instill a sense of profound sadness.

I've mentioned the looming decline of booksellers before I believe, but if you're wanting for concrete proof, you can find it here.

I could write a long post about how terrible the world would be without actual, physical booksellers, or detail the path of the store's decline but I don't feel there is a particular need. I don't know what it's been like in the rest of the country, for you, but in my little niche of New York I've seen a lot of places, local and chain alike, close up shop. Frankly, it depresses the hell out of me.

Defining Gay Fiction

As I've mentioned previously, I'm making an effort to read gay fiction at present. For this reason, I've spent a good deal of time reading about and exploring the internet for direction as to which books I should be reading in this short period of narrowed focus. Finding a definitive list of significant pieces of gay fiction has proved a significant challenge.

If you google "best gay fiction", you'll find goodreads and afterelton at the top of the results. These are both democratic mob-rule type lists and they're helpful to an extent but if you're like me, by the time you get to the tail end of each you start the doubt the total credibility. I don't know a thing about Faith and Fidelity by Tere Michaels or A Better Place by Mark A. Roeder but if we were to judge books by their cover... they don't look like the kind of books that belong on any "best of" fiction list.

Conversely, you can find lists like the one compiled by Publishing Triangle which includes works such as To Kill A Mockingbird, Moby Dick, and Little Women among the ranks of the best gay fiction, and although I haven't read all of these, their inclusion seems to be the result of great exaggeration or radical readings.

Ultimately for my own purposes I've had to come to a decision as to what I felt was or could included among the ranks of the best gay fiction. This is how I have come to define gay fiction: Fiction written by a LGBT author, fiction concerned with gay themes or subjects, and/or ideally, a work of fiction with a LGBT central/major character whose sexuality is in some minor or major way an element of the composition.

I think this definition gives the niche the breadth it's due without being absurd about what's inclusive. I think it would be a great thing to see a list, considerate of historical and influential importance, assembled of the legitimate best gay fiction.

If the world is waiting on me to do it they'll be waiting awhile. I have far too much reading to do.