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Archive for the ‘Books’ Category

The simplicity and durability of the codex book is hard to match. A decidedly low-tech marvel by today’s standards, a book is still a nearly magical thing.

I have books in my house that are hundreds of years old. I have one was made in the early 1700s. That’s three centuries, my friend. And all of them still work.

The printed book has held many secrets. A lover’s note hidden between the leaves. Scribbled  marginalia penned by a previous owner. Messages constructed with the first letter of each physical page. Code keys built from characteristics of specific editions.

And here’s a new one. “Fore-Edge Paintings.” (more…)

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Echoes from another time.

“You’re too sensitive.”
“I was just teasing!”
“You need to come out of your shell.”
“You spend too much time in your head.”

When I was young, adults labeled me with words like “shy” and “bookish” which didn’t sound bad but I was pretty sure they weren’t compliments. I had no such confusion with the schoolyard taunts of “pussy” and “faggot.”

These were the judgments pronounced upon me. They were the phrases that defined me. They were spoken so often, I believed them. I believed that I was defective, inferior. I believed that I was somehow less. Even with all my gifts–of concentration, of perseverance, in music, as an autodidact–I still felt that there was something wrong with me because I didn’t fit in, because I rarely spoke up, because I enjoyed solitary activities, because I preferred walking in the hills to traveling with the pack.

So, when a friend recommended Susan Cain’s sociological study, Quiet, I was intrigued.

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Kurt R.A. GiambastianiI’ve run across a couple of phrases this past week that initially read opposite from their intent.

In an anniversary card, my dad said, “It’s not as easy as you make it seem.” On first reading, I took it to mean that we were making it harder than it should be. A second reading cleared it up, but it was weird that my brain turned it backward.

Yesterday, in a chat conversation, someone said, “If there were more convos like this, I’d be more unreluctant to be online.” Twisted syntax, to be sure, so I don’t blame myself for blinking twice before I was able to winkle the meaning out of this one

But these two instances triggered a memory. I remembered a phrase from a book read years ago.

“I don’t know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve.”

Good old BIlbo Baggins. What a card.

I read The Hobbit and the LotR trilogy when I was in junior/senior high. I do not know every line of the books and I cannot do a scene-to-chapter comparison between Jackson’s movies and the books as a party trick. Still, a few key phrases from the books have stuck with me over the decades, and this was one.

Bilbo says this line during his speech at his eleventy-first birthday. It’s a wonderfully convoluted sentence–intentionally contorted–and I always took it as Bilbo’s tricksy way to slam his less savory relations while not insulting his friends; sort of a backhanded compliment, as it were. But was I correct? The two instances from this week made me wonder.

So, for the first time ever, I parsed it out.

Taking the two clauses separately, and reducing the “half of you” and “less than half of you” obfuscators, I got two relatively clear sentences

  • I don’t know you half as well as I should like.
  • I like you half as well as you deserve.

I was stunned. All this time I thought Bilbo was putting down his rough-side-of-Hobbiton relations, when in fact he was complimenting them. Yes, there is deprecation built into the sentence but it’s self-deprecation, saying that he hadn’t done enough. Tricksy it may have been, yes, but not snide.

I’m not a LotR fanatic, so I’m not very interested in why Tolkien put this bushel of tangled sentence structure into Bilbo’s mouth at that particular time and then pointed out to the reader just how confusing the statement was to his audience. I’m more interested in why I never before parsed it out myself.

As a high-achieving, low-social-skills youth embedded in AP classes and hours of practicing, rehearsals, and concerts, I know I was pretty damned arrogant. Back then, the thought that I could have misinterpreted a sentence, no matter how tangled, just didn’t compute. I read the line, I interpreted its meaning, I moved onward. But obviously there was the seed of doubt buried deep in my consciousness, or it wouldn’t have sprouted to life this week.

Since my youth, I’ve read a lot of classics, and have been slowly ambling through the syntactical forest of Proust’s magnum opus. I’ve read a lot of convoluted syntax and have no qualms about going back and re-reading a sentence if it didn’t click first time through.

I’m glad to know, at last, what Bilbo really meant. I’m also glad I’ve learned enough not to be so damned arrogant as to consider myself infallible. (Yes, that’s right. If you think I’m arrogant now, you should have met me when I was in my prime. Hoooooo-boy!)

Happy Friday.

Onward,

k

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Stephen King has spoken. Again.

This time, he speaks in an interview in The Atlantic (that reads more like an essay) about a topic not covered in his On Writing memoir: Opening lines.

I hope aspiring writers read all of what he said, instead of picking their favorite sound bite.

It’s not that the first line of a book isn’t important–it is–and King discusses what a good opening line can bring to the party. On the other hand, he admits he’s not always done well with them, and stresses (waaay at the end) that an opening line won’t make or break a novel. If the story sucks, a good opener won’t save it.

The discussion prompted me to go back and look at the opening lines from my novels. How well did I do? I wondered. Let’s see.

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Stack of BooksThis week I came across two articles for writers that I thought I’d pass along.

The first article comes from my friends over at The Noble Dead website. Barb and J.C. Hendee are bestselling authors with nearly a score of books to their collective credit. J.C. is also their webmaster, and trust me, he knows his stuff. (more…)

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If there’s one thing that irks me, it’s applying rules to creative endeavors.

I’m also not much for taking things out of context. Like this.

Any word you have to hunt for in a thesaurus is the wrong word. There are no exceptions to this rule. — Stephen King

A lot of writers treat King’s advice on writing like a bible and, like a lot of Bible carriers, they often take things over-literally and take quotes completely out of context.

This is an example of both.

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Okay. Now I’m pissed off.

All weekend, the news was filled with tweets and squawks about the verdict in the George Zimmerman trial, about how “the system had failed,” and how the jurors, now released from their sequestration, were receiving threats and messages of a most vicious nature. The public seemed to want to blame the jurors, and not the laws or the prosecution.

Being on a jury is a completely thankless job. We put jurors down for not being clever enough to get out of their civic responsibility, and then we pillory them for complying with their oath of office. Thus, yesterday, I posted my support of the jury. They had a difficult job, did it conscientiously, and were being punished for it.

But by the end of the day, the Twitterverse blew up again. This time they were outraged by the news that Juror B37 had signed with a literary agent and intended to write a book about her experience. No book deal had been made. She and her agent were just talking about the possibility of writing a book. That didn’t matter to the Twitterati, though, and they went ballistic, got nasty, and started a petition, and stopped the “outrage” in its tracks.

But the Twitterverse got it wrong.

The outrage is not that this woman, Juror B37, was thinking about writing a book of her experience in the trial. Juror B37 is by all reports a quiet, middle-class, middle-aged worker. She has committed no crime. She has performed a civic duty that most of the Twitterati try to shirk. She and five other jurors were sequestered, hidden from their families and the public during the course of a highly publicized trial. She and her co-jurors sat and listened and weighed the evidence, and then rendered a considered verdict which was–by all legal analysis of the trial that I’ve read–the only verdict they could have returned.

No. That’s not the outrage.

The outrage is that the Twitterati, led by people like the anonymous @MoreAndAgain (aka Cocky McSwagsalot) have applied their prejudice to Juror B37. They have disparaged her, libeled her, imputed the failure of the prosecution’s case to her, accused her of dereliction of her duty as a juror, and have successfully bullied her into dropping all plans to write a book on the subject of her experience.

Yes. Bullied.

The Twitterverse has ganged up on Juror B37, eliminated for her a chance to relay her experience to an obviously ignorant public, closed an avenue whereby we might have further discussion of the ridiculous laws that went into this case, and also eliminated for her a way to build some extra income for her retirement.

And these bullies did all this without any facts, without any empathy, and without any shame.

That is outrageous.

I’m disgusted by it.

k

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