Jim Crace at the Artists Club, Gramercy Park South, New York City.
The Carleton Book Club was hosted by Karen Kukowski and David Diamond (members of the Artists Club) for a talk by Jim Crace on Thursday May 29, 2008.
Jim Crace had arrived in this Time Zone just hours before from a Great Britain that consumes large quantities of American culture: magazines, movies, music, electoral politics. Even in remote villages of Cambodia, where he traveled recently there were posters for Nike and photos of a pop music star. American culture has a global persona. This village lacked basic amenities including education. This love hate relationship with the US is the foundation for the book he reads from tonight Pesthole.
He began writing as a journalist. Quickly he learned that an editors’ response to ‘writers block’ was not 'submit it whenever you can.' More likely this response was "You are sacked." He described disciplined work habits that might include sitting in his garden all day. He said that he has always completed his novels on time.
The title of his most recent novel Pesthole is chiseled on a building on the Isle of Sicily. The Isle of Sicily is located thirty miles from the main land; for immigrants of the past a destination for a new life. The events on this island have the mood of dashed hope:"the fodder of great fiction." A family vacation spot is near, the Isle of Marettimo. He told us the history of the island where immigrants were quarantined and ignored for a mere rosaceous complexion presumed to be a contagious disease.
He told us so many things; perhaps we didn't expect to hear:
About the three languages: King's English; Oxford; BBC
Why he wrote the book Being Dead.
What were the funeral arrangements for his father.
His opinion of the America political candidates
What he thought of On The Road, McCarthy
He creatively presented the Gestalt of his persona as a writer and as a citizen. He is a citizen of the world concerned about how our awareness of nature has waned as we manufacture goods for our consumer driven culture. What will the "medival future" think of the many objects of modern technology? He touched the lecturn's lamp and the microphone. He holds up a shiny six inch bolt with a washer that smoothly spins on its’ threads. Then in his left hand a similar bolt found in his garden demonstrating years of rust, useless. From Pesthole he read of the shaven female character, Margaret who cherished a nickel and a penny. Did she really have the "flux?"
Jim Crace suggests that readers make an erroneous coupling of author with book. He came to America to tell us that he is really a nice, likeable guy who just happens to scribe novels such as Quarantine and Being Dead. (Both of which have been recently read by the Carleton College Book Club) He gardens, plays tennis and spends time with family and friends. He writes about death but he is quite an optimistic chap. He is quoted describing Pesthole as "an unambiguously optimistic book." http://www.jim-crace.com/ He doesn’t consider these subjects morbid but simply a depiction of the natural world that all the other millions of species clearly comprehend. What a surprise if our species is the conscious one; why do we not acknowledge that the natural world is what is controlling our lives. The perspective that the subject is morbid perhaps comes from the readers' pessimism; it is not the author's. Any scholar or observer of natural history reminds us that death is all around us; the very compost of the earth. His writing combines the informative with the hideous.
For many in the audience who had read Being Dead the recollection of the couple lying of the beach, bodies disintegrating lacked lightness. Yet listening to Jim Crace it was easy to recall the other parts of the story: the earlier carefree life of the couple studying the elusive stickler moth; the daughter going on as she incorporated the tragedy into her life. In China the published title was "Love on the Beach."
His mother and father did not yell at each other; his childhood does not make for marketable fiction.
Jim Crace comes from generations of atheists. His father gave very strict instructions for the family on his internment. The family complied: no hymns, no words and no spreading of his ashes. The last is the only task Jim Crace regrets ignoring. As a citizen of the world he understands the frivolity and function of religion. If there was a reason for writing Being Dead he suggests this was his attempt to compose a narrative to comfort the atheists in the style that religion wraps a compelling story around the exigencies of life and death. A member in the audience asked if he thought most readers would appreciate this intent? He sighed, "no.”
Thursday, December 24, 2009
Professor Gordon-Reed and the Heminges
Book Club Review February 18, 2009
At 7pm we all rode up the elevator with James, who produced this Carleton College Book Club event. The author, Annette Gordon-Reed’s braids frame her face. She was dressed simply. I had studied her photo on the book’s jacket and the Internet images of her and husband, Judge Reed. The CNN interview with Charlie Rose was the most recent image; so I spoke. Off the elevator we entered Frances Spangler’s apartment overlooking the Manhattan Bridge.The joy was as subdued as Professor Gordon. For three years members have traveled monthly via subway, PATH train or driving to attend our Book Club.We come from as far away as Little Ferry, New Jersey. We all bring a dish to share. This Wednesday, February 18th, 2009 we all also brought the book The Heminges of Monticello for signing. Some of us brought two books! My guest, the poet Jacqueline Johnson pulled the sales tag from my discounted copy--$28.75 from Strand bookstore on 13th Street.
We pulled chairs and a stool around Professor Gordon seated on the couch. Frances served white and red wine; we nibbled on falafel tidbits, Chinese beef dumplings, sushi, several varieties of cheese, the local Brooklyn specialty:mozzarella pizza from down the block, raw veges for a spinach sour cream dip and cookies.
We have had other authors attend our meetings so we know to tread lightly when we long to speak frankly. Who suggested this book? Who is to start? We were quiet, longer than usual imitating Professor Gordon’s mood. Were we reflecting on the neglected history of Sally Hemings? When we started to speak it was uncharacteristically one at a time. The conversation went on past 9:30pm.
My great surprise was that this 600 page non-fiction book contained so many diverse topics that I shuddered to choose one to query. Would I ask about the history, The Revolutionary War, The French Revolution; politics; the culture, slavery, feminism; medicine, deaths in motherhood, typhoid fever, whooping cough and what urogenital pathology did Thomas Jefferson suffer; genealogy, family names so repetitious; inheritances; the scholarly research of over ten years, her critics and disbelievers; the law that changed over the years, its philosophy, its psychology that perpetuates the myth of race. One Carl alumn remarked that the writing spoke to several audiences; Professor Gordon responded her intent. Lastly can we discuss the families post-Monticello. Who are they? Where are they today? That is her next book.
Eleven Carls politely tossed questions and comments. Which were met with verbose answers that recaped Professor Gordon’s evidentiary text while admitting historic gaps. We queried the parodox—Jefferson’s public writing did not sufficiently describe his private life style. Or did it? When Professor Gordon presented her conclusions her voice sourced a thorough comprehension of ALL of the above mentioned topics. And more importantly was sourced in an understanding of Thomas Jerrerson as he saw himself. She reminded us as she repeatedly does in The Heminges of Monticello (some have reviewed her writing as a ‘brief’) that these times and this culture may not be respected by the modern thinking feminists in attendance. This research is meticulously footnoted showing how readings of multiple letters and historic documents require deductions. How would you describe a thirty-eight year relationship between Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings at Monticello? MyrnaWilliams
At 7pm we all rode up the elevator with James, who produced this Carleton College Book Club event. The author, Annette Gordon-Reed’s braids frame her face. She was dressed simply. I had studied her photo on the book’s jacket and the Internet images of her and husband, Judge Reed. The CNN interview with Charlie Rose was the most recent image; so I spoke. Off the elevator we entered Frances Spangler’s apartment overlooking the Manhattan Bridge.The joy was as subdued as Professor Gordon. For three years members have traveled monthly via subway, PATH train or driving to attend our Book Club.We come from as far away as Little Ferry, New Jersey. We all bring a dish to share. This Wednesday, February 18th, 2009 we all also brought the book The Heminges of Monticello for signing. Some of us brought two books! My guest, the poet Jacqueline Johnson pulled the sales tag from my discounted copy--$28.75 from Strand bookstore on 13th Street.
We pulled chairs and a stool around Professor Gordon seated on the couch. Frances served white and red wine; we nibbled on falafel tidbits, Chinese beef dumplings, sushi, several varieties of cheese, the local Brooklyn specialty:mozzarella pizza from down the block, raw veges for a spinach sour cream dip and cookies.
We have had other authors attend our meetings so we know to tread lightly when we long to speak frankly. Who suggested this book? Who is to start? We were quiet, longer than usual imitating Professor Gordon’s mood. Were we reflecting on the neglected history of Sally Hemings? When we started to speak it was uncharacteristically one at a time. The conversation went on past 9:30pm.
My great surprise was that this 600 page non-fiction book contained so many diverse topics that I shuddered to choose one to query. Would I ask about the history, The Revolutionary War, The French Revolution; politics; the culture, slavery, feminism; medicine, deaths in motherhood, typhoid fever, whooping cough and what urogenital pathology did Thomas Jefferson suffer; genealogy, family names so repetitious; inheritances; the scholarly research of over ten years, her critics and disbelievers; the law that changed over the years, its philosophy, its psychology that perpetuates the myth of race. One Carl alumn remarked that the writing spoke to several audiences; Professor Gordon responded her intent. Lastly can we discuss the families post-Monticello. Who are they? Where are they today? That is her next book.
Eleven Carls politely tossed questions and comments. Which were met with verbose answers that recaped Professor Gordon’s evidentiary text while admitting historic gaps. We queried the parodox—Jefferson’s public writing did not sufficiently describe his private life style. Or did it? When Professor Gordon presented her conclusions her voice sourced a thorough comprehension of ALL of the above mentioned topics. And more importantly was sourced in an understanding of Thomas Jerrerson as he saw himself. She reminded us as she repeatedly does in The Heminges of Monticello (some have reviewed her writing as a ‘brief’) that these times and this culture may not be respected by the modern thinking feminists in attendance. This research is meticulously footnoted showing how readings of multiple letters and historic documents require deductions. How would you describe a thirty-eight year relationship between Thomas Jefferson and Sally Hemings at Monticello? MyrnaWilliams
Thursday, December 3, 2009
Letter from Charles Dickens
Poet’s Corner
Westminister Abbey
November 1, 2009
All Saints Day
Dear Miss Williams,
Thank you for your recent communiqué which finds me well under the circumstance. What a surprise that your Carleton College book Club is reading the novel Little Dorrit! This novel format, 859 pages is unlike the original serialization in monthly magazines. These episodes were later published in small booklets then published as a novel. How kind of you to notice my well-drawn characters. Each episode required colorful descriptions; you call that “verbose.” How else could a precise illustration be secured from those lazy illustrators. My writing was published in series thus guaranteeing my continuing family income. There were ten mouths to feed not including my wife’s dear sister, Mary. If your Carleton College book Club planned on reading Nicholas Nickleby you would be meeting twice a year. Did you find that my satirical character names provided you with a hint of their role in advancing the plot?
Little Dorrit written in 1851 is a bit too personal for me to muse over in this century. But you must know that Little Dorrit’s dad was based on my dad, John. Father lost his position as a clerk in the navy pay office thanks to reforms and cutbacks in the British Admiralty. My working at Warren’s Blacking factory long hours left little time for formal schooling. Our family was impecunious. Even I was dreaming of Karl Marx. The imprisoned Mr. Dorrit in the (read as a novel), Little Dorrit was sent to debtors prison called the Marshalsea; so was my father. Mother lived with him. Perhaps your modern day psychotherapists can analyze my limited emotional development. This was the legal system during the Victorian Era. The condition at Marshalsea was a psychological punishment that went well beyond any humane considerations. My distaste for this system was increased while manually copying documents at the Solicitor’s office. The real story in Little Dorrit is a painful contemplation that imprisoning the body also diminishes the spirit. Marshalsea was the first home that Amy Dorrit knew and she never truly left did she?
As a young reporter my travels around the country to ferret out stories for True Son, Mirror of Parliament, Morning Chronicle, Monthly Magazine and The Evening Chronicle paid only in the experience it gave me. My later writings benefited from seeing people, observing human behavior and mannerisms. Eventually money came in for “Dinner at Poplar Walk” and “Sketches by Boz.” Once the publisher of the The Evening Chronicle paid me 150pounds. And this was not because I married his daughter.
While traveling and lecturing in the United States my observations of the cruelty of slavery left me wordless. And now you have that pot boiler of mine A Christmas Carol all over the IMAX. That fella Walt really knows a “tentpole” when he sees one. His block buster is simply pulp fiction written for cash, cash, cash. You would call me a hack writer! Does Mr. Disney mention my lovely bronze statue in Clark Park, Spruce Hill, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. To think some historians call me a philanderer; my preference ---a philanthropist.
Sincerely,
Boz
Westminister Abbey
November 1, 2009
All Saints Day
Dear Miss Williams,
Thank you for your recent communiqué which finds me well under the circumstance. What a surprise that your Carleton College book Club is reading the novel Little Dorrit! This novel format, 859 pages is unlike the original serialization in monthly magazines. These episodes were later published in small booklets then published as a novel. How kind of you to notice my well-drawn characters. Each episode required colorful descriptions; you call that “verbose.” How else could a precise illustration be secured from those lazy illustrators. My writing was published in series thus guaranteeing my continuing family income. There were ten mouths to feed not including my wife’s dear sister, Mary. If your Carleton College book Club planned on reading Nicholas Nickleby you would be meeting twice a year. Did you find that my satirical character names provided you with a hint of their role in advancing the plot?
Little Dorrit written in 1851 is a bit too personal for me to muse over in this century. But you must know that Little Dorrit’s dad was based on my dad, John. Father lost his position as a clerk in the navy pay office thanks to reforms and cutbacks in the British Admiralty. My working at Warren’s Blacking factory long hours left little time for formal schooling. Our family was impecunious. Even I was dreaming of Karl Marx. The imprisoned Mr. Dorrit in the (read as a novel), Little Dorrit was sent to debtors prison called the Marshalsea; so was my father. Mother lived with him. Perhaps your modern day psychotherapists can analyze my limited emotional development. This was the legal system during the Victorian Era. The condition at Marshalsea was a psychological punishment that went well beyond any humane considerations. My distaste for this system was increased while manually copying documents at the Solicitor’s office. The real story in Little Dorrit is a painful contemplation that imprisoning the body also diminishes the spirit. Marshalsea was the first home that Amy Dorrit knew and she never truly left did she?
As a young reporter my travels around the country to ferret out stories for True Son, Mirror of Parliament, Morning Chronicle, Monthly Magazine and The Evening Chronicle paid only in the experience it gave me. My later writings benefited from seeing people, observing human behavior and mannerisms. Eventually money came in for “Dinner at Poplar Walk” and “Sketches by Boz.” Once the publisher of the The Evening Chronicle paid me 150pounds. And this was not because I married his daughter.
While traveling and lecturing in the United States my observations of the cruelty of slavery left me wordless. And now you have that pot boiler of mine A Christmas Carol all over the IMAX. That fella Walt really knows a “tentpole” when he sees one. His block buster is simply pulp fiction written for cash, cash, cash. You would call me a hack writer! Does Mr. Disney mention my lovely bronze statue in Clark Park, Spruce Hill, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. To think some historians call me a philanderer; my preference ---a philanthropist.
Sincerely,
Boz
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