Book Review: Deep River by Shusaku Endo

While searching for the novel “Silence” by Shusaku Endo at the local library I came across one of his later novels, “Deep River”.  “Silence” is better-known and considered by many to be his masterpiece; Martin Scorsese is planning to film it soon.  However, since the library didn’t have “Silence” I decided to give “Deep River” a try, and I’m glad I did.  It’s mainly set in India, after all, which is always a draw for me, as I spent so many years there, and it deals with disparate people seeking spiritual truth, which is another theme that interests me.

It’s a fairly short novel, and concerns five Japanese drawn for different personal reasons to Varanasi, the city on the river Ganges where Hindus come to die or dispose of their dead.  It begins by giving the background of each character, highlighting the key moments of their lives that lead them to the river.  Then it brings them together in a tour group as they work out their various destinies.  It’s an elegant book, and what struck me about it was the writer’s courage.  It’s obvious that in this novel Endo is struggling with his own inner battles, and his own attempts to reconcile the truths of the religions of Christianity, Buddhism, and Hinduism.  What I have read about his life suggests that it is shot through with autobiographical references.  But even more, I was struck by his intensely personal, noncommercial method of plotting.  I fear I have been too concerned with commercial fiction of late; that is, the necessity of an early hook, drawing the reader in with action, and so on.  I admire Endo’s sincerity, which shines through on every page.  It is something I have always aspired to but need much more of.

The only problem I had with the book was the translation, which was rudimentary and did not do justice to the elegance of the work.  It was obvious in places that the translator was struggling to express what Endo had written.  That aside though, I highly recommend the book.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories.  Thanks!

Posted in Book Reviews, On Writing | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Slap in the Face

Something slapped me in the face a few days ago, and it took me a while to figure out what it was – no, I am still figuring it out.  Maybe writing down my thoughts will help.

Well, one obvious thing is that I have not been working on my writing enough.  I have been (contrary to copious advice) obsessing over my blog stats and the miniscule sales figures of my print and electronic short story collection and individual short stories.  I intend to rectify that situation.  I am preparing the memoir of my time on the road in the mid-70s for publication, and I hope it will be ready in a month or two.  It’s not just a travelogue; it’s a radical piece of writing documenting my thoughts as I courted danger and diversity for the sake of art.  Afterwards, there will be another short story collection, at least by summer I hope – possibly sooner.  And then, we shall see.

One problem is that I have been equating sales numbers with quality.  That doesn’t work.  There are too many stories of great writers who were unknown in their lifetimes, or only became known near the end of their lives.  I am not saying that I am great.  But I am unique.

That’s another thing.  Because I have not sold much or become well-known I have considered myself a fledgling.  But it isn’t true.  I have paid my dues.  I have traveled the world and have put myself into bizarre situations, to say the least, for the sake of my art.  I started writing back in the early seventies, and though there was a large gap in time during a very confusing period in my life, I have been back at the keyboard for fifteen years or so.  I am not a neophyte.

Of course, I am not a success either, and that’s part of what bothers me, but it shouldn’t.  Success matters little in the pursuit of truth.  I’m not after quantity but quality, but I have so much I want to say that quantity shouldn’t be a problem either.

So what slapped me in the face?  A reality check that said:  get busy.  I do have a lot to say, and less time than most.  I think about my mortality often, something I am fairly sure that younger writers do not do.  So be it.  It’s another prod to spur me onward.  I will not make any empty promises such as New Year’s resolutions, but I will get busy.  Now.  Today.  And every day possible.  Stay tuned.

Posted in On Writing, Travel | Tagged , | Leave a comment

Book Review: Dangerously Funny: The Uncensored Story of The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour by David Bianculli

If I had to pick a decade that was germinal for me I would probably not pick the sixties but the seventies.  I was a teen in the sixties, true, but I was a late bloomer.  I didn’t really absorb the sixties counterculture until the early seventies.

But I was there, and I was awake, if naïve, and I saw what was happening around me.  And one thing that was happening in the late sixties was The Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour. 

The show was not my first exposure to this dynamic comedy team, though.  When I was a child we had a number of their records (that’s right – old vinyl LPs) and listened to them frequently.  But when their show began I was a young teen, and as their show matured and became more radical so did I along with it.

This book describes the background of the rise of the Smothers Brothers as a popular comic team, but focuses mainly on the Comedy Hour show, and the battles with the censors at CBS as the show became more and more cutting edge as far as the youth culture was concerned.  It’s fast paced and well-written and researched.  Actually, Tom and Dick Smothers asked the writer to do the book and cooperated fully with interviews and information, as did most of the writers and other personnel.

But the book is not just about an old TV show that ran three seasons and then was forced off the air.  It epitomizes an era.  It was shown Sunday nights from 9:00 to 10:00 opposite Bonanza, the old stalwart, and nobody expected it to survive in that brutal time slot.  Instead it lasted from 1967 to 1969, that is, from the Summer of Love to Woodstock – a point that the writer of the book brings out.  And as time passed the Smothers tried to get more and more new and fresh ideas past the obdurate narrow-minded network censors. 

It was a losing battle; in the end they were fired for their trouble.  But it was a temporary loss, as is related in the final chapter of the legacy of the Smothers Brothers Comedy Hour.  They have been enormously influential on entertainers that followed them.

I highly recommend this book.  For one thing, it gave me a great feeling of nostalgia.  As the important moments of the show were described I remembered every one of them.  But even if you are too young to have seen the show way back then, it’s an exciting story about entertainers who stuck to their principles in the face of great opposition by the powers that be.

The shows are now available on DVD.  At the first opportunity, I gotta have them.

Posted in Book Reviews | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Happy New Year

I started this post this morning, and then changed it.  And I think that exemplifies the coming year:  there will be changes.

Things are changing rapidly, not only in politics and economics and the arts but also in my own life.  My sons keep growing of course, and now most of them, I say without shame, are taller and stronger than I am.  That’s as it should be.

But it is my writing life to which I refer.  A lot has happened in the last year.  My first story collection is out both in print and electronic versions, and you can find links to it here.  All the individual stories within are available separately online too.  More books are in the works.  In addition, some of my original stories appeared in 2010 in anthologies such as “Patented DNA” (Pill Hill Press) and “Warrior Wisewoman 3” (Norilana Press) and got good reviews.  I also launched this blog/website near the end of last year.

There is a lot to look forward to.  Publishing is changing rapidly.  The percentage of e-books sold continues to rise.  More and more writers are going indie, making for a lot of mediocrity, true, but also a lot of originality and freedom.

Where will it all take us?  Who can say?  But the world of the arts is an exciting place to be in 2011.  As traditional outlets wither, creativity finds new ways to manifest itself.  If people can’t write on paper they will write on walls – digital walls, that is – or find some other way to express themselves.  Let’s hope that the world of Web publishing continues to be free and continues to grow, and that many more artists find in it a vehicle in which to pursue their talents.

As far as this blog is concerned, I will continue to post about writing, parenting, literature, my travels, Greece, and so on.  In addition, I’m sure new subjects will present themselves.  Last year, major events happened which I could in no way foresee; this year, hopefully, will surprise us all again.

As it is said:  May you live in interesting times.

Happy New Year.

Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

Whatever Happened To Christmas?

For me, Christmas passed by in a haze.  There were legitimate reasons, of course.  I had many hours of teaching work right up until the 23rd, and so had little time to contemplate much else.  Two of our sons got stranded in northern Europe in the midst of ice and snow, enroute to here, and the interim, during which we sought for ways to speed them on their ways, was exceedingly stressful – but it was more than that.  What it is, I’m not sure.

I’ve always been the Christmassy sort.  Not to the extreme, as some are, and I’ve never had much money to spend on it – but I look forward to it as a time of rest and peace.  I even like all the garish lights on the houses; energy wastage notwithstanding, they brighten up the otherwise drab city.  When I was young, growing up in a Catholic household, Christmas was a big deal indeed, with LPs of carols, stockings, a huge natural tree, piles of presents, plenty of food and drink, and of course the obligatory trips to mass that I eventually rebelled against.

Then, later, when I was on my own, details changed due to circumstances but I still retained that impression that something was special about it – and I must emphasize that that feeling had nothing to do with the commercial aspects of the holiday, which I did and do despise.  I think the most important aspect of Christmas that abides for me is the feeling of family.  It’s nice to get together with family at Christmas.  And at times when I was far away from any other relative – for example, one Christmas when I cooled my heels in Malaysia waiting for a visa to enter Thailand – the feeling was strongest of all because the longing for companionship gave it increased poignancy.

I have a large family, my father, four brothers and three sisters, and I miss them at Christmas.  They all live on the west coast of the US and here I am halfway around the world in Greece.  But this year some of my sons have come from their far wanderings, and we have a tree, and a few lights outside, and a few other trimmings, and yet – Christmas passed by in a haze.

Have I outgrown it?  I speak not as a Scrooge-type here.  My sons and I have fun together now that they are here, but we would have had similar fun at any other time.  And when I am alone, the most joyous occasions are when I am working on my latest project:  that is, proofreading and formatting and preparing covers for the stories in my recent collection, to put them up online as individual e-stories.

Times change.  What gives us joy this year may not do the same next year.  No matter.  Apart from the writing and the visits from my sons, what I most appreciate about the holiday this year is the chance to rest up and recharge my batteries for the balance of the school year yet ahead.  So be it.  Times change; people change.

Merry Christmas.

Posted in Parenting | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Book Review: Postwar: A History of Europe Since 1945 by Tony Judt

It is a measure of the worth of this book that I begin writing the review before I have even finished it.  It is also a measure of the length.  It is over 850 pages of small print.  When I first picked it up from the library I balked, not because of the length but because the print was so small I didn’t want to strain my already very weak eyes.  However, I persisted, and I’m glad I did.  Tony Judt, the author, is a hell of a writer.  He makes the very complex history of Europe both East and West after the Second World War read like a novel.  He is erudite and his material is well-organized and he has an amazing vocabulary besides.  He begins right after the war when Europe was divided; he chronicles the West’s dependence on American aid and its struggle to rebuild shattered societies and cities, and the East’s takeover by the dark shadow of the Communist USSR.  He describes the amazingly rapid growth of the West, and the equally amazing stagnation and decay of the East.

But one very striking part is the section on the decay of the Communist regimes of the East, their downfall, and the opening up of the East to freedom of travel and expression.  It almost brought tears to my eyes.  He leads up to it masterfully, so that when it happens its inevitability is clear.  I empathize with those people, so long oppressed and then suddenly free.  It is truly one of the great eras of modern history.

To anyone who can handle the length I highly recommend this book.  It is one of the best history books I have ever read, right up there with “The Best and the Brightest”, and “A Bright Shining Lie: John Paul Vann and America in Vietnam” and the trilogy on Martin Luther King and his times by Taylor Branch.  Of course part of its relevance to me stems from the fact that I have been living in Europe for the past twenty years or so, but that aside I think I would have enjoyed it just as much anyway, for the brilliant piece of work that it is.

The book carries the story up until 2005, and I realize that it has clarified for me many things I have noticed while living here – things I saw and sensed but didn’t fully understand.

Something that affects me personally is the ubiquitous study of the English language by the younger generation.  I didn’t grasp what a continental phenomenon it was; it is one of the forces that binds the European Union.  Here in Greece, for example, students are required to learn English all through primary school and high school; however, due to the mediocre level of teaching in the public schools private language schools are everywhere, in every village and on every street corner of every major city.  An English language certificate is a prerequisite for many jobs, and students study for many years and often make multiple attempts to pass the tests necessary to acquire these certificates.  That’s where I come in:  I teach English as a second language as my day job.

Another phenomenon that is widespread across Europe is its anti-American sentiment.  This, too, I have seen firsthand, in the bullying and persecution my kids have sometimes received at school.  Don’t get me wrong; it is not as if it is unsafe to walk down the street if you are from the USA.  Most people are polite to me as an individual, but will nevertheless have no qualms about railing against the American government.  One of the main events that brought this about was Bush’s post 9/11 invasion of Iraq, which many Europeans balked at, though they reluctantly, after being strong-armed, offered their assistance.  It isn’t my intention to get into a political discussion here, but merely to recount what Judt expresses is one of the triggers that has exacerbated an already prevalent mood.

In closing, I want to reiterate that I highly recommend this book to anyone who is interesting in understanding modern Europe and how it has become the way it is.  Whether you live here or not, it’s good to experience, at least vicariously, a culture other than your own.  That’s one thing that drove me out of the States in the first place:  despite all the material comforts, despite all the high technology, despite all the military might, I felt that the viewpoint of most of its people was overwhelmingly provincial, introverted, self-absorbed.  Break out of the rut:  read this book.

And then come for a visit.

I’m a professional writer; I make my living by my words.  I’m happy to share these essays with you, but at the same time, financial support makes the words possible.  If you’d like to become a patron of the arts and support my work, buy a few of my available books or available stories.  Thanks!

Posted in Book Reviews, Travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Stranded

Sunday, December 19th, was one of the most stressful days my wife and I have had in a long time.  As any parent knows, there is no paucity of anxiety when you are raising kids, but this situation was extreme even by parenting standards.

Two of our sons were on their way here to Greece for the holiday season, one from New Jersey and another from England.  The one studying at an English university left first, at six in the morning his time, walked to his bus because there was no taxi, and managed to get to Heathrow Airport in plenty of time for his flight only to find out it was canceled due to adverse weather conditions.  After cooling his heels for a long time he went to another airport in the London area where he heard there was a flight to Greece, only to find not only that it was full but that buses back to Heathrow were not running because of the snow.  After they cleared the roads he finally caught a bus to Heathrow and then went into London to stay with a friend.  We were trying all day to help him out by checking conditions online, looking for tickets, and so on, but then the situation began to look grim when his phone began to run out of batteries and we found out that due to antiquated laws concerning working on Sunday here in Greece we were unable to send him the extra money he needed.

My other son successfully flew from Newark to Frankfurt, Germany, but then due to snowfall about half the flights were canceled.  His was not, but it was delayed several times and we were all in a state of uncertainty until finally he was able to board and travel onward after a wait of about twelve hours at the airport.

Other travelers were not so fortunate, I know; evidently hundreds of thousands have been affected by this freezing weather all across northern Europe.

When you are going through it these experiences seem traumatic and unendurable, but in aftermath they can morph into adventures.  I ought to know; I have been through plenty of extreme situations myself.  Once I was turned away at the border of Iran and Turkey because they no longer issued visas at the border.  I had hitchhiked there and was almost broke and had to return a day’s travel back into Turkey to get the visa.  Something similar happened on another occasion at the border of Pakistan and India; at that time I was absolutely flat broke and had to raise some money in Lahore and then journey halfway across the country to Islamabad.  Once my passport was stolen in a remote part of Iran and I had to return to Tehran to get a new one at the American Embassy; you can read about that in the essay “The Lost Poem”.  I have any number of other stories of delayed flights and roadside ordeals in inclement weather where no one would pick me up hitchhiking.  But you know what?  Though sometimes it was very uncomfortable and even dangerous, for me it was always part of the adventure.

The hard part is knowing that someone you love is going through difficulties and being helpless to do much else other than wait.  Many times yesterday I wished that I was the one stranded.  It’s happened to me before, as I said, and I know what to do.  I would gladly have taken their place, if they could only have been delivered safe and sound without all the fuss and bother.

But then – that’s not the point of it all, is it?  We all, when it comes right down to it, have to experience some of these things for ourselves.  I can tell about it but it’s not the same as actually going through it, and going through it is valuable.  There’s nothing like the school of hard knocks.

Don’t get me wrong.  I don’t apply this to everyone who is stranded this holiday season.  My heart especially goes out to families with young children.  I have traveled long distances with three or four children at once and I know what it’s like.  Alone or with other adults you can relax and eat and drink and read or whatever, but with kids in tow it’s a whole other ball game, as they say – never a dull (or restful) moment.

So if anyone reads this on your laptop while cooling your heels waiting for a flight out, or in between spells of chasing your kids around the crowded terminal, take heart.  It will be over sooner or later, and you’ll look back and while sipping coffee or brandy in a warm comfortable place tell the story as an interesting interlude to your children or grandchildren who will most likely eventually have to go through the same thing themselves.

Posted in Parenting, Travel | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

Book Review: The Year’s Best Science Fiction, 26th Annual Collection, edited by Gardner Dozois

I have a confession to make.  Though I write a lot of science fiction and fantasy, I read very little of it.  Many years ago I existed almost solely on a diet of SF and F, but not anymore.  First of all, there is so much else to read:  mainstream fiction, history, general nonfiction, memoirs, and so on.  But apart from that, when I have read science fiction of the sort that has been published in the last decade or so, even award-winning stuff, I have been generally disappointed.

Notwithstanding, I do write it, so I figured I should have some sort of idea what is happening in the genre – that is, what sort of stories are considered the best.  Gardner Dozois as both a writer and an editor I greatly admire, especially as a writer.  He has an elegant writing style, every word expressed with absolute precision.  So if there were anyone I would trust as a judge of what is best in the field, it would be him.

Well, I read the book and overall I was – sigh – disappointed.  Don’t get me wrong.  With very few exceptions the stories are well-crafted and adequate.  But that is all.  They are not exceptional.  They are not stories that set the heart pounding and the blood coursing through the veins – stories, in other words, that change your life.  They are merely good stories.  The one I remember most clearly as exceptional was “The Egg Man” by Mary Rosenblum, not so much that it was original but that the setting in futuristic Mexico was very nicely portrayed.  The story itself reminded me of “Of Mist, and Grass, and Sand” by Vonda McIntyre.  Both stories posit super-creatures that dispense pharmaceuticals to heal disease; I have to admit, though, that it is cooler for the healing animals to be snakes rather than chickens.  A couple of other stand-out stories were “The Political Prisoner” by Charles Coleman Finley, and “G-Men”, by Kristine Kathryn Rusch.

Here I have a further confession to make:  I was spoiled by the late sixties and seventies, by the so-called “new wave” in science fiction, by Harlan Ellison and Samuel Delaney and Roger Zelazny and James Tiptree Jr and Robert Silverberg and Cordwainer Smith and other writers who wrote back then, (not to mention editors like Damon Knight and his incomparable “Orbit” series of anthologies) who thrilled me with attempts to expand the genre, to burst out of convention, to create literature and not just cheap thrills.  I felt a vitality in their work that I did not feel as I read these modern stories.  There’s nothing wrong with telling a good story; actually, telling a good story is vital, but I want more.  I want dynamic explosions of the mind and heart.  I want to be intellectually and emotionally thrilled.  I want writers to attempt great things, even if they fail.

So, yes, I was disappointed.  But perhaps it’s partly my fault.  Perhaps I set my expectations too high.  As I said, these stories were readable and entertaining.  But let’s get back to life-changing, as well as world-shaping.

Posted in Book Reviews, On Writing | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

One True Reader

It is to Henry Miller that I turn in my confusion: Henry Miller, who made an art form out of despair.  I haven’t read him in years.  Well, let me qualify that.  I recently re-read “Reflections on Writing”, which is one of my favorite essays.  Four or five years ago I re-read “Tropic of Cancer” and “Sexus”.  But when I first discovered Henry Miller, back in the early 70s, I dove in.  I read everything by him I could find.  I started with “Tropic of Cancer”, if I remember correctly, and then went on to “Tropic of Capricorn”, “Black Spring”, “Sexus”, “Plexus”, “Nexus”, “The Colossus of Maroussi”, “Big Sur and the Oranges of Hieronymus Bosch”, and so on.  I couldn’t get enough of Miller.  He set me free as a writer as no other writer ever had.  I filled notebook after notebook with Miller-esque prose, as I’m sure many a young writer has.

But I digress.  What brought on this reminiscence is the fact that I got discouraged by the lack of interest in my new blog.  Of course it is logical that it takes time to become known, to develop an audience.  But still I couldn’t help but look at the stats every day and get glum because I didn’t surge into sudden popularity.

Then I remembered what Henry Miller once wrote.  I can’t recall where it’s found, but he said that he fully expected that most people wouldn’t understand his intentions as an artist, and that he would be satisfied if he had only a few readers, or even one, who would fully appreciate what he was getting at.  This realization liberated him from having to pander to those who would never grasp the crux of it anyway, and would demand he turn this way or that to satisfy what they thought he should write, rather than what he had to write.

In the last few days one person has been checking out my blog.  Just one.  I thought it must have been my oldest son, until I asked him and he denied it.  Now I think I don’t want to know.  It might be that one true reader; who knows?  It might be another of my sons, or a more distant relative – but who says they can’t be true readers as well?  I had been contemplating cutting back on the number of posts.  After all, why write if nobody is listening?  But someone is listening.  And some days there are several hits.  And more will come.

It is for you, lone reader, that I compose this today.

As the voice says in “Field of Dreams”:  “If you build it they will come.”

One other thought, this time from none other than Mark Twain.  In one of his lesser-known works,  “Captain Stormfield’s Visit to Heaven”, he writes about those unknowns who were as brilliant as any of the celebrities on Earth:  “That’s the heavenly justice of it – they warn’t rewarded according to their deserts on earth, but here they get their rightful rank.  That tailor Billings, from Tennessee, wrote poetry that Homer and Shakespeare couldn’t begin to come up to; but nobody would print it, nobody read it but his neighbors, an ignorant lot, and they laughed at it.”  The story goes on that they mocked him to his death, but then when he arrived in heaven he was surprised that he had made it there at all, much less that a fuss was made over him.  When I read that for the first time it made such an impression on me that I never forgot it, and I wondered how many amazing writers and poets there were all over the world, working away at menial jobs, their rejected masterpieces moldering away on shelves or in drawers.  Thank God for the Internet.  By posting this I have a potential audience of millions.  But it will not have been in vain if I have but a few true readers.

Or even one.

Posted in On Writing | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Book Review: Inherent Vice by Thomas Pynchon

Thomas Pynchon can write; there’s no doubt about that.  He can spin a sentence as well as anyone.  It’s a pleasure to read this novel just for the word-craft.  But looking deeper, I think what I object to most is the novel’s flippancy.  It’s light – almost a piece of fluff – despite the plot complexity.  The characters are shallow – not characters, in fact, but caricatures.  They appear “cool” on the outside, with their casual joint-toking and pill-popping, but inside they are hollow; nobody’s home.

That’s the trouble with other “hippy” novels too, or at least novels that I have looked to in hopes of finding something to reflect my own experience in the late 60s and early 70s, the last sad dying days of the hippy era.  “Another Roadside Attraction”, for example, is absurd – but then, it never tries to be anything else.  “Dog Soldiers” deals with the dark fringes of the drug world but never attempts to go into the mainstream.  I have been searching for good novels that deal with the hippy experience in depth but have so far been disappointed.  That’s one reason, in fact, that I wrote my own, of which I will speak no more here, as it is now making the rounds of the New York publishers.

The thing is – in my experience hippies were not cool at all.  They were lost individuals.  Some just jumped on the bandwagon for the party; they would have been just as happy swilling beer or whiskey in another era, and indeed many switched to alcoholic highs further down the road when their paranoia got the better of them and they decided to stick to something legal.  Others were sincere searchers, but looking in the wrong place.  Fragmenting your psyche is not one of the roads to enlightenment, but one of the side-paths to destruction.  Others went along because they saw their friends or those they admired doing it, and became lost, disappointed, confused; these often fared far worse than the rest in the hippy milieu, because they came into it not knowing what to expect and by the time they realized that drugs were not the purported cure-all people claimed them to be, it was too late and they were even more lost than when they had begun the journey; they were confused, delusional, unable to cope with reality.

I fall into the last category.  Smoking too much pot, and then by extension taking too many psychedelics, disturbed me for years, made me listless, rudderless, unable to focus on anything worthwhile, even the writing career I had realized by then that I wanted.

So, no – taking drugs is not a joke and what happened in the hippy era is far more complex and relevant to what the world is today than Pynchon gives it credit for.  I wish he had created real characters that we could weep for and empathize with.

That said, I have to admit that “Inherent Vice” is good entertainment, in the same way that a comic book, or as they call them today, a graphic novel, entertains.  Just don’t expect much more.  That’s the mistake I made:  I did.

Posted in Book Reviews | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment