There's nothing groundbreaking here, and the prose is good but not amazing, but the story caught me from the first chapter and never let go.
In the Q&A at the back of the version I read, author Sara Gruen says she meticulously researched the world of the traveling circus before writing the first word and I believe her. The world in these pages is alive, every detail is vibrant, and proves to be an elegant wrapper for the gritty mystery that unfolds.
Water for Elephants is a simple, fun read that is mysterious enough to make it interesting all the way through.
Christmas this year comes with a little guilt, and a lesson learned. Shopping for gifts for distant relatives has made me realize just how distant they are, and how out of touch with them I've grown.
Sadie and I bit the bullet last weekend and headed to the mall to shop for gifts. We're shopping primarily for our parents, brothers and sisters, and the associated in-laws. We wandered from one store to the next, bleary-eyed and empty handed. Nothing stood out. Nothing screamed "Buy Me! They'll love it!" After two hours we left the mall with one gift, and the feeling that it will be mediocre at best.
Everyone on our shopping lists is 800 miles away in Louisiana. This Christmas is the fourth since we've moved, and in this year we've seen our family the least since moving away. Our families have almost become strangers, and it's nobody's fault but our own. Without asking them for a list of things they want, scratching everyone off our list will prove difficult. Simply picking something off a list is so impersonal.
I'm unsure of what the solution for this year will be, but next year I'm going to attempt staying in touch more. I hope to go beyond email and Facebook too. I'm going to try phone calls, and letters. If it takes scheduling that time into iCal to do it regularly then that's what I'll do. I'm very anti-phone call. Talking to my mother once a week is a chore, but feeling this way about my family is worse. A few extra hours a month on the phone will be worth it if the next time a birthday or Christmas rolls around and I'll instinctively know what they want.
I miss these people, and I don't want the distance between us to loom so large. I want to buy gifts for dear friends and relatives, not strangers.
Gary Shteyngart's prose describes the most outlandish behavior in the most deadpan way possible. This is not blunt force comedy, there aren't verbal arrows pointing out every single joke, there aren't any arrows at all.
Much like Tina Fey's 30 Rock, or Arrested Development, TRDH's world only looks absurd to those on the outside. For that reason, the book is hard to describe or recommend. There will be those who get it and those who don't, but it's worth a shot at least to figure out which category you'll fall into.
Sadie outdid herself again this year with the amazing menu
Oven Roasted Turkey with Garlic Herb Butter
Cheesemonger's Mac and Cheese
Scalloped Sweet Potatoes with Sausage and Thyme
Jalapeño Cornbread Muffins
I really like this photo of the Mac and Cheese on the plate with the other foods. I was using the macro setting on all of these and was really impressed with the turn out.
This sweet potato dish was my favorite. I like when sweet potatoes are served savory instead of sweet. I pity any of you who had to choke down that gooey, marshmallow casserole that is a holiday staple of many American tables.
The show was also a request show, with the audience screaming out songs and Mike and accompanist Andrew "Scrap" Livingston playing them all in stride. Some songs Mike hadn't played for years. Many of the fans wanted to hear Soul Coughing songs, but there are very few that can be done in a duet setting so Mike refused. And kept refusing as the same drunk guy continued to yell out "4 out of 5" at every opportunity. The only problem with the all request format is that we were treated to only one new song. I was hoping for more, but did get to hear a lot of my favorites, including "Looks," and "Rising Sign."
I'm not supposed to be on Vox right now. Instead I should be in my other space working on a short story, or a novel, or really just some piece of creative writing. But I can't.
The Expired-Tired-Wired graph from the October 2007 issue of Wired sums up my current state nicely.
Wired -- Staying Creative
Tired -- Becoming Happier
Expired -- Getting Smarter.
Lately it's been a battle to stay creative. I'm not fortunate enough that all of my time and energy can be put into my writing life. I have a 40+ hour daytime job as an assistant branch manager for a super-regional bank.
I once read an article about Jim Lehrer. Known primarily for his news work on PBS, Lehrer is also an author with 21 works of fiction and non-fiction under his belt. In the article he said he goes into work early each morning and writes a little bit before preparations for that day's newscast begins. I've tried a similar approach, waking early in the morning to write before getting ready for work. My mind just isn't ready to write that early. I try to put aside the time to write in the evenings, but often that clashes with time spent with my wife, exercising, and the daily chore of maintaining a clean household.
The result of not writing seriously for several months is my creative juices have dried up. I'm on vacation this week and decided to take advantage of the extra time to write something, anything, but nothing will come. I can't even remember the last time I had an idea for a story.
All of this leads me to two things: making the time to write, and staying creative.
Surely there are those of you out there who manage to write within the same lifestyle confines as mine. So, how do you do it?
This book begins with great promise. The prose is flawless, the plot intriguing and the characters real, honest.
The story centers around the young Dr. Jemma Claflin, a third-year medical student, and the strange events that, after a monster storm, take place entirely inside the hospital that floats ark-like in the miles-deep ocean that now covers the earth.
The flood, what the inhabitants of the hospital refer to as Thing One, is the first in a series of fantastic events (Things Two and Three follow), and sets the tone for the entire book.
As promising as the beginning sounds I barely finished this book. I enjoy long reads, and at 600 + pages this one certainly counts, but by the halfway point it felt more like work than leisure.
The prose never suffers, and the story remains intriguing--I finished only because I had to know what happens--but I've been reading this book for two months. Adrian, who is a doctor as well as a writer, and is now studying at the Harvard Divinity school, simply packs to much into this book. It just goes on an on.
The ending is wonderful and fits perfectly the tone of the novel, but I'm still unsure if it was worth the effort. At this point I don't think I'd recommend The Children's Hospital to anyone, but only offer a "Read at your own risk," warning if anyone asks.
Stephen King edited this year's edition of The Best American Short Stories, and came away with an interesting take on writers of short fiction and their audience.
What’s not so good is that writers write for whateveraudience is left. In too many cases, that audience happens to consist of other writers and would-be writers who are reading the various literary magazines (and The New Yorker, of course, the holy grail of the young fiction writer) not to be entertained but to get an idea of what sells there. And this kind of reading isn’t real reading, the kind where you just can’t wait to find out what happens next (think “Youth,” by Joseph Conrad, or “Big Blonde,” by Dorothy Parker). It’s more like copping-a-feel reading. There’s something yucky about it.
I've tried my hand a short fiction, with some success at publication, and I think King is on to something here. The short fiction found in the smattering of lit-mags at my local bookstore feel weird. They feel as though the story isn't being told for the sake of the story, but only to impress the editor. Pick up any lit-mag and you'll soon notice that the stories all exhibit a sameness, the editor(s) like a certain style. The writer's pick up on it and format themselves into that style. I know I've been guilty of that. It's not because I'm a lesser writer than others, it's that no matter what I say about writing for writing's sake, publication feels damn good. Getting published today nearly almost involves some trickery on the writer's part, and the work suffers, which means readers suffer.
So — American short story alive? Check. American short story well? Sorry, no, can’t say so. Current condition stable, but apt to deteriorate in the years ahead. Measures to be taken? I would suggest you start by reading this year’s “Best American Short Stories.” They show how vital short stories can be when they are done with heart, mind and soul by people who care about them and think they still matter. They do still matter, and here they are, liberated from the bottom shelf.
