Tagged with Novel writing

Burning from the Inside Out: Let the Great World Spin

Colum McCann recalls the moment when his own father-in-law barely escaped from the World Trade building and came straight to his house on the day of the 9/11 attacks. He got out from the second building literally with just minutes to spare. At first, McCall’s daughter, Isabella, was excited to see “Poppy.” After a little while she went and hid and later came out and told her father that “Poppy’s burning.”

That’s just the smoke on his clothes, sweetheart,” McCann said.

“No, no. He’s burning from the inside out.”

McCann says he was stunned by the prescience of such moments of childhood insight and began wondering, “How do you write about this?”

He thought about how we’re all burning from the inside out, how America was and is. Eventually, the tightrope walk came to mind. The image of this lone figure, almost angel-like, above the city. What is the historic context of the novel? Vietnam was recently over. There were even computer hackers beginning for the first time, and he saw connections between that time and the present time. Iraq could substitute for Vietnam. So he went “to the depths” to see what he could find about where we happen to be now.

In the video below, Colum McCann discusses the dirty-beautiful world he has created in his fourth novel, Let the Great World Spin. He says that the tightrope walker’s stunt, around which the novel is written, has been called “the art crime of the century.” Beginning from high above, the novel then moves down to the depths of the city, and, as a result, penetrates it–and speaks to our own historic moment.

It’s also a novel about the human heart. Quoting Faulkner, McCann says that “the conflict of the human heart” is what he’s after. My attempt here is less to discuss this novel as a review than to shine a little more light on it. (The reviewing job seems to have been done well enough for the PR campaign that this book has already generated the past year and a half.)

The novel is framed with an inter-connected weaving of lives in New York during a moment in time when a man decided to tightrope between the the twin towers. Here’s a helpful article on Philippe Petit, the French acrobat who in 1974 did it. McCann does make “reaches” by undertaking many characters from the street. For instance, he has to channel the voice of a 38-year-old, black prostitute from New York City. He calls that “part of the beauty of fiction,” and indeed his careful, detailed and often idiomatic sense for each character’s voice and back story are convincing.

“You try to find redemption and joy, what is meaningful to the human heart,” McCann says.

It’s even called “psychological fiction” as one of the Library of Congress classifications on the title page. As with any narrative in which intricate and inner highly observational “moments in time” (such as I myself took on in The Director of Happiness in New York!), the reader is faced with more of a challenge than something that has more plot movement, or in which “the stakes” are a little more black and white. But that’s what literature does. It just only aim to entertain–it also aims to enlighten, challenge and/or illustrate a vision of life. The way one can appreciate Let the Great World Spin is through the characters and the struggle of their lives. The poetic images, thematic integration and historic connections follow.

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Joe Meno Does His Thing in The Great Perhaps

I remember first reading about Joe Meno in a Publisher’s Weekly–or was it a Writer’s Digest?–with a short interview about his early and continued success (Tender as Hellfire, it is a well-documented fact, was published when Meno was 24). The Great Perhaps, the Chicagoan’s fifth novel, was published in 2009. While his earlier efforts did reasonably well, Hairstyles of the Damned really launched him (and Akhasic Books), selling 80,000 copies. Impressive. And yet, in that interview, Meno seemed modest and realistic about his early breakthroughs. I think that’s what pulled me in and kept me curious.

The Great Perhaps is his first book with Norton. He’s launching a sixth, Office Girl, this July with Akhasic. He also happens to be doing an author book tour, which he and C&R Press’ own, Mickey Hess (The Nostalgia Echo), will be touring together for a few dates in July.

After Meno had visited one of Hess’s classrooms several months ago, I told Hess how impressed I was in general, and how much I could really connect with his material, and that I’d just read Tender as Hellfire and The Great Perhaps. “Yeah, Meno does his thing,” Hess replied.

He really does.

Conceptually, I love each particular storyline for each of the four major character’s lives. Jonathan is a paleontologist who searches endlessly for a prehistoric giant squid. He falls into convulsions only if he starts staring at a cloud. Apparently, this is a true condition (Casper-Cerebrovascularitis). Madeline is an animal behaviorist who struggles when her experiment shows distressing signs that her original ideas are probably failing. Their oldest daughter, Amelia, is a disappointed teenage revolutionary going through identity issues and seeking attention. Youngest daughter, Thisbe, is on an earnest but frustrating search for God. Their grandfather plays an interesting part too, limiting his words by one each day until he will no longer say anything. Does it seem that the grandfather wants to disappear? That may or may not be a reach. He may have just wanted to escape his institution.

It’s pretty challenging to write about cloudiness, though, isn’t it? Thematic subjects like anxiety, murkiness, ambiguity can be hard to execute for the very nature of the subject. The way it works here is that we experience the narratives through distinctly different character perspectives, and each one is grounded in a current-day, ordinary suburban life realism. They are easy people to recognize, or identify with, in spite of their apparent extravagant struggles. The overall strongest, most developed character is Jonathan, who is also responsible for some of the funniest moments in the novel related to his search for, and despair of, discovering the giant, once-believed-to-be-extinct Tusoteuthis longa. I admit I did expect Thisbe’s experiences to be a little more intense and funnier throughout. And while I thought the stylistic approach of alphabetizing Madeleine’s perspective was interesting, I felt disconnected from her the most. Was that the idea? For me, Amelia, was the character I felt the most for. Her passionate extremes, her insecurities, mistakes, and struggles made her funny-in-a-sad way, and we were left with some hope at the end.

The Great Perhaps is an ambitious novel. It explores a difficult and narrow terrain, which at times could resemble Don Delillo, but perhaps feels a little more optimistic? It explores this kind of modern alienation or “cowardice” thematically, grounded in the particular worlds of a “typical” (for all their issues) American family.

I’m thrilled to have discovered Meno’s work, and am a fan. I’ve recently purchased a copy of The Boy Detective Fails and How the Hula Girl Sings. My collection is coming together.

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Tom Perrotta’s The Abstinence Teacher

Like many, I first learned about Tom Perrotta from the movie, Election. Was Reese Witherspoon hot in that thing, or what? It came out in that time of American Beauty and The Sixth Sense, and Magnolia and is one of those dark, edgy, artistic, satiric films that I just love.

Come to find out, Perrotta was no one-hit wonder. He’s a terrific writer, and he even accepted my friend request on Facebook! and responded to my silly fan-gushing post on his wall.

I recently picked up a copy of The Abstinence Teacher because the title attracted me. I was thinking of creating a character who either was a “Fundamentalist” Baptist coming apart at the seams in trying to maintain his belief system, or something of the opposite (which I ultimately went with for the character of Chad Denning in Simon Krimple’s Wager) in which the character has left that belief system but is still “coming apart” because of his lack of conviction for much of anything.

I recently read an interview with Perrotta where he said he sees his first novels as his “private” novels in that they came out of auto-or-semi-autobiographical experience. Election was what he calls his first “public” novel. The characters and story was completely “made up,” and he had a more specific target audience. The Abstinence Teachers falls in the category of his “public” novels.

It’s a story about Ruth Ramsey, the human sexuality teacher at a local high school, who comes into conflict with Tim Mason and the zealous religious group that he’s a part of. Only Tim has a colorful background, a musician who struggled with addiction and found a way out through the help of Pastor Dennis and the Tabernacle, an evangelical Christian church. Ruth stands up to their crusade against the high school, comes into conflict with Pastor Dennis and the Tabernacle, and Tim Mason is caught up in the emotional crosswinds between his attraction to Ruth and the values and beliefs he’s supposed to…believe in. Part satire, part compassionate examination of different perspectives, it’s wonderfully written with an especially memorable end.

I’ve clearly missed the boat if I was trying to help promote this book It first came out in 2007. But five years out isn’t so bad, especially when we’re all dreaming of writing literature that endures for 50 years. Or more! (Okay, not all of us have dreams of empty glory.) If you haven’t discovered Perrotta, he’s worth your time, and this is as good a novel to begin with as any, “public or private.”

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Mission Accomplished? A First Draft

It’s printing as I write. Simon Krimple’s Wager. The first time I’ve printed any of it as a matter of fact. A first draft. 100,000 words later and mission accomplished! 325 double-spaced pages. A first complete draft. Wow. Feels pretty good. A signpost in the sometimes seemingly endless terrain of novel writing.

A first draft is a special animal. For me, the goal this time around was to get it down. Beginning, middle, and end as I’d often tell my students when we’d do a writing exercise. Get something down all the way through. All the way through being the key phrase. In this way, you can justify keeping up with brick-and-mortar things like meeting a daily and weekly goal for word count. You get into the zone when you can, but sometimes you slog forward with prose you know probably won’t make the cut later on. Maybe it’s not the wisest approach. After all, words are words. You can fall in love with sheer quantity, patting yourself on the back for producing some certain amount of words that very well may suck. It certainly isn’t a “best words, best order” approach. But that’s for the craft drafts, right?

I won’t name my goal, and actually the word count itself is less important than the main goal, which was to produce a “complete” first draft in 12-16 weeks, depending of course on where the narrative took me. But I did chart my daily progress. It helped with accountability, too. If I’m counting correctly, this first draft took 20 weeks (but there were a good three in there over the no-school holidays where very little got done and there was a week in Disney), so technically I feel like I was only about a week off in meeting my goal.

Mission accomplished? Well, let’s say I hope it isn’t the equivalent of standing on an aircraft carrier three weeks into the Iraq War and saying the same thing. But I do know there’s a way to go yet. Layers of editing, arranging. In short, the craft. Poet Tom Lux says he loves all the in-between drafts. The first is scariest. Just getting it down. The later drafts of fine tuning can get wearying. The in-between drafts are where so much of the excitement and artistry get done. I believe novelist Richard Russo, who takes about four years for each novel, says something similar.

Perhaps I shouldn’t tell Shelley that part about four years? Yikes, it’s still printing!

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