I’ve been knocking down a few of the shorter titles on my prelim including The Sand Child (which I wasn’t a huge fan of) and The Invention of Morel (which I was). The Sand Child exhibits all of the necessary traits for a postmodern, magical realist work in that it has multiple and conflicting layers of narrative, jumps backwards and forwards in time, questions about gender roles, societal values, nature of storytelling, etc. Check, check, and check. As I’ve said, I appreciate what this kind of literature accomplishes but a little bit goes a long way.

On the other hand, I was surprised and delighted by Adolfo Bioy Casares’ The Invention of Morel. Casares was an understudy to Jorge Luis Borges and was writing the same kind of trippy fiction that helped lay the groundwork for “el boom” of Latin Literature that would happen in the middle of the century. The book is quite short and I polished it off in two sittings. To explain too much of the plot would ruin the experience, but the basic situation is that a man has escaped to an island he thought was deserted, but strange visitors show up without any warning. The book is genre-bending brilliance with equal parts science fiction and mystery, and maybe a dash of fantasy. I started getting a little impatient by the midpoint of the novel thinking that I might have solved the mystery, but the big reveal took me in a completely different direction. Totally awesome and unexpected and I’ve been thinking about the ramifications of the book’s ending ever since finishing it.

I’m also knocking down the stories from Conjunctions 39: The New Wave Fabulists that I haven’t already read. John Crowley’s Little, Big has been on my wish list for awhile since it has been so highly recommended from everywhere, and this collection kicks off with his story “The Girlhood of Shakespeare’s Heroines.” Maybe it’s a bit self-centered but the writer in me always seems to be asking whether I could write in a similar style to whatever I’m reading, primarily because I keep a mental inventory of stories I could use as potential models for my own future work. In the case of Crowley (as with other Conjunctions contributors like Kelly Link and Andy Duncan) the answer is an emphatic “no.” This review from Georges T. Dodds nicely sums up why:

Sometimes storytelling is about leaving some mystery, sometimes it is about not driving the plot forward with surprise or cliffhanger events, sometimes it is about developing a rapport with the reader akin to sitting across a table from the author, sipping a beer, and reminiscing about the “good ol’ days,” sometimes it is about — especially in a novella — knowing what details are superfluous, sometimes it about knowing when to leave the story off, knowing when the point has been made.

This is not a plotty story. There are plenty of asides and details that don’t drive the story forward but still add to the overall experience. The story turns out to be about something very different than what you might expect, but Crowley always plays fair with the reader, dropping in the right details at the right time. By the end, you’re left remembering a number of moments and details from the story and trying to tie them to the ending. It’s a magical kind of story that works in very subtle ways, and would be fantastic to teach—although the students would have to be pretty patient and attentive.

And sorry Rushdie fans, I just can’t get into Midnight’s Children. I’ll finish it eventually, but picking up that book makes me feel like I’m putting in another shift at the salt mines.

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Spent a lovely weekend with a number of old friends and their kids. Unfortunately I discovered that you cannot keep pace with people drinking beer when you’re whiskey. You’d think after 35 years on this earth I would have figured this out by now.

Current Mood: Contented |