NaNoWriMo, over

I hesitate to brag about something like writing a novel in a month. I don't think art is created like that, necessarily. I ended up writing more than 45,000 words this month, which is quite a bit. It's the first draft of a novel, and I'm proud I wrote those words only because in November I have written differently than I have in the recent past. Usually I agonize and end up losing my nerve or my faith in my story. Not to say that hasn't happened here, but I'm already embarked on the third act of my story, and it's all downhill from here on my way to what will probably be another 10,000 words or so in the first draft. There are obvious charms to writing the first draft of a novel--there is great excitement in creating characters and discovering who these people are. But for me, the great joy of writing is rewriting.

Tennessee Williams wrote in his journals somewhere, as a pep talk to himself, "Don't maul, don't suffer, don't groan--until the first draft is finished. Then--Calvary--but not till then. Doubt and be lost--until the first draft is finished." I love that so much it's up on my wall and I have it memorized. I need that advice in my head, and November's exercise in uncrucified composition has shown me something I have always known and not practiced.

Crash Pt. 2

Okay, now this is just cool. It seems to be a commercial for some German American-Inventor-Idol thing, but who knows?

via wastered

Smart Car, 70 mph to 0 mph

What happens when you slam one of those tiny Smart Cars into a concrete wall at 70 miles per hour. Spectacular.

via kottke

Thanksgiving Weekend Consumption

The wife and I went out to the Oregon Coast for a couple of days, sans child, which meant long uninterrupted hours. We spent a lot of time reading and watching movies on television, some bad, some good. Most memorably, we watched Cocoon, Ron Howard's 1985 film about aliens and senior citizens. The movie holds up after 22 years, though time has proven Steve Guttenberg to be a sincerely awful actor and Wilford Brimley to be a grandfatherly good actor.

I found myself obsessing about Cocoon, and luckily I live in the age of the Internet. We had no Internet access on the coast, but when we got back I looked up the IMdB entry for the movie and discovered several things: first, Wilford Brimley was only 50 years old during the shoot. He wasn't even a senior citizen. Also, the woman who played the beautiful woman alien, Tahnee Welch, is Raquel Welch's daughter.

All the usual elements of a Ron Howard movie are here, especially a willingness to yank at our emotions. I'm usually annoyed by this tendency of Ron Howard's because he does it so well and so blatantly. But I was not as annoyed this time, perhaps because the acting is so good (except Guttenberg, who is here for so-called comic relief). Also, this movie is about a bunch of people actually cheating death, which I think appeals to people at such a primal level that it's hard to lose.

We also watched 13 Going on 30, Elf, the Battlestar Galactica movie Razor, and several other diversions. I kept some high/low tension by continuing to read Ernest Becker's The Denial of Death, which dovetailed nicely with Cocoon.

Building a Bridge to the Nineteenth Century

I just finished Emily Barton's most recent novel Brookland. This is the story of Prudence Winship, born in Brooklyn in the late 1700s to a family that distills gin. The frame story for Prue's life story is that Prue's somewhat estranged daughter Recompense writes asking about the "bridge works." We don't know what she's talking about, but Prue starts writing letters to Recompense. We read some of these letters and we hear Prue's thoughts about her history and about the letter-writing, and so the story jumps from first to third person.

Prue is a remarkable character in that, as has been noted, independent woman character in historical novels are rare. Prue is talented at rectifying gin (that is, giving gin its various tastes from herbs and berries), and her stewardship of the distillery, which she inherits, is a large part of the story, as is her long relationship with Ben Horsefield, but the real story of the book is her building of a bridge across the East River. This counterfactual story is the marvelous narrative peg of the book: will this bridge be built? We know, of course, that the bridge is a historical fiction. The first bridge across the East River (the Brooklyn Bridge) was actually opened in 1883. The suspense to know both whether Prue will pull off the bridge and how Barton is going to handle this historical discrepancy is great.

The stories that hang on this narrative peg, however, I found to be simplistic. The prose is assured and often beautiful. Barton is an ambitious writer, and here she tackles love, loss, and other huge topics. At the beginning of the book, we hear that Prue had as a young girl of 5 "cursed" her newborn sister, Pearl, who subsequently turns out to be mute and thus is trapped, as a woman, with none of the freedoms granted to her sisters as proprietors of a business. This crime shadows Prue's relationship with her sister, and Barton does a great job of handling Prue's conflicted feelings of guilt and love. The building and the destroying of that relationship mirrors the bridge's construction, and what Barton does her is nifty. What I felt was lacking was the grandeur the story needed. I'm not sure why that is, but I suspect it's because we read about every single loss Prue suffers: her mother, then her father, a member of the community, and so on and so on, and she describes, in great detail, every ceremony the community of Brooklyn goes through, from funeral to wedding to retirement to funeral to funeral and so on and so on. And yes, while life is punctuated by ceremony, after we hear one stiff speech we can likely imagine some of the next one. Barton creates a bygone world so well, but sometimes I felt dragged around. The reason the book feels simplistic despite its ambition is that finally the book's message seem too explicit--we have to come to terms with our own pettiness, hubris is bad, we must persevere through loss.

A Fresh Start

After almost three years on Wordpress, I'm starting a new blog here on Blogger because I love Google. I think my relationship with Google is much like the relationship between the subject of a kingdom and a benevolent dictator: they can hurt me terribly, but I trust they won't. I have so much of my life on Google. Please don't hurt me, Google.