How I Came to Write this Book

I'm hosted over at Patti Abbott's blog where I reveal:

"How I Came To Write This Book"

How I Came to Write this Book, K. A. Laity

THE MANGROVE LEGACY

Kit Marlowe, Tease Publishing, Dec 2010, ISBN 9781607671275, $5.99

In 2002, I moved to Houston, Texas with my husband. I hadn't quite got around to finishing my dissertation, but I had finished a novel, which came out the following year months prior to my dissertation defence. Nonetheless I had managed to get that pearl of academic ambitions, a tenure-track job in my field, as had my husband. Reason to celebrate, surely. People told us, "You can never leave these jobs. Lightning will not strike twice."

My apologies to those who love Texas, but we hated it with a passion. First there was the humidity. I thought 100% humidity meant it was raining, but it just means you wish you would die. The whole of Houston seems to be paved from one end to the other, the better to facilitate the flooding that happens every time it rains, let alone in hurricanes. Enron, far from being an anomaly, is just "the way we do things here" I was told. In no time I had my fill of Texas chauvinism: apparently they invented everything first, then made it bigger and better than everyone else. I've never seen anyone with a Connecticut tattoo.

In all fairness, I must admit the food was good, so was the theatre and opera. We made some terrific friends, too.

But we were miserable.... [read the rest]


I'm in my office today, working on syllabuses. The price of my neglect. Truthfully, I've been daydreaming that there's some way for me to look more like Tilda Swinton...

Friday's Forgotten Books: Bend Sinister

It's a bit cheeky suggesting that a Nabokov book could be "forgotten" but I think I can make a case here. After all, Amazon lists the most recent edition as the one from 1990. But first let me mention this fabulous design by Carol Carson for the Nabokov Specimen Box Project, a fantastic design project: check out the slides.

I chose this of course because of the overlap with another obsession, The Fall, who have an album also called Bend Sinister. I haven't seen much to suggest any lyrical overlap with the novel, but since MES reads both Gogol and Dostoevsky, it's not much of a stretch to think he'd find Nabokov appealing -- though it may just be the heraldry term.

I was actually reading Pale Fire when I decided to switch to Bend Sinister, mostly because I decided I would probably have to buy my own copy of Pale Fire because I was making too many notes and it would be easier to just put them in the book and that wouldn't be good to do with the library's copy.

I learn all my new words from Nabokov.

I had already written down tons of new words from Pale Fire, but I found myself writing quotes from Bend Sinister instead. I alluded in my Hamlet review to Ember's theory about the play: fascinating and fun. The playfulness is what makes Nabokov's work attractive. Krug's observation of Ember's engravings sets the scene visually but also working toward the revelations. The legend on one: "Ink, a Drug." Followed by pencil marks which "numbered the letters so as to spell Grudinka which means 'bacon' in several Slavic languages." Ham-let, as he points out.

Mmmm, bacon.

Bend Sinister focuses on the dislocation of grief; initially it's Krug's grief for his wife, observed by the self-conscious "I" of the author who soon disappears, though reappearing in time for the end. Nabokov uses structure and authorial voice to explore the limits of empathy: "The square root of I is I" (7). All writers know the observer within us: "In every mask I tried on, there were slits for his eyes."

I have a nub of an idea comparing Ekwilism (the philosophical movement of the new fascist regime in the book) and Vonnegut's world in "Harrison Bergeron" -- but that's too ambitious for here. You can read a summary anywhere. I'm going to give you some bon mots:

"Curiosity is insubordination in its purest form" (46).

"Devices which in some curious new way imitate nature are attractive to simple minds" (69) -- a key to phenomenal wealth if you know how to employ it, I suspect.

"We live in a stocking which is in the process of being turned inside out, without our ever knowing for sure to what phase of the process our moment of consciousness corresponds" (193).

"To each, or about each, of his colleagues he had said at one time or other, something... something impossible to recall in this or that case and difficult to define in general terms -- some careless bright and harsh trifle that had grazed a stretch of raw flesh" (48).

"I esteem my colleagues as I do my own self, I esteem them for two things: because they are able to find perfect felicity in specialized knowledge and because they are not apt to commit physical murder" (58).

Yeah.

See the round up of Friday's Forgotten Books over at Patti Abbott's blog.

BitchBuzz: Take a Letter

Today's column owes a tip of the pen to Miss Wendy, my pen pal:

Why Not Write a Handwritten Letter?

By K.A. Laity

In the rush of post-holiday depression and intense workouts, whether required by your resolutions or the amount of snow piling up around your home, you're bound to need a bit of a break. Some sort of Zen-like activity would be perfect, wouldn't it? Even if you’re not in the midst of a country beset by madmen and flying bullets, you probably want something peaceful to take your mind off those things about now.

Write a letter.

No, not an email: a real letter. There's bound to be someone you know who would appreciate a real honest-to-goodness letter or at least a card in the mail. It doesn't take that long and it's surprisingly satisfying...

Read more: http://life.bitchbuzz.com/why-not-write-a-handwritten-letter.html#ixzz1AyELXBFz

So when's the last time you wrote a letter? Holiday cards don't count.

Oh, and as I parked the car tonight, I looked down and saw this:

Jane Quiet RETURNS!

Go to our web jam now for the news! Whoo hoo -- I can't tell you how happy this makes me :-)

Review: Hamlet

I am eternally grateful for the NT Live broadcasts; they bring a little bit of the London theatre experience to the (currently) frozen north, which seems so far from the city of my heart. Thank you, Spectrum 8 for hosting the broadcasts, even if Monday night's show seemed to have its share of technical difficulties, including some on-screen monkeying with the display. Hard not to call out, "No, not resolution! position!"

I'd heard great things about this production of Hamlet from the start. I'd seen Rory Kinnear in other productions at the NT and had been impressed with him, but hadn't really thought of him as a Hamlet. He fits perfectly into Hytner's vision of Denmark as police state where everyone's under constant surveillance. Hamlet, far from being a pampered prince, seems to be a confused young man mourning a father he admired and idealised. Patrick Malahide plays his uncle/stepfather as a cold and calculating bureaucrat; Clare Higgins plays his mother as a weak woman with a drink always to hand. When Hamlet speaks of how her first husband cossetted her, we see that weakness and a fear of being alone. I loved how Polonius (David Calder) is not the buffoon he's usually played to be: there's something almost chilling about him, though sometimes he pauses as if realising all at once what he's doing to his own children. His cruelty to Ophelia in particular is sharp here.

Ruth Negga, who was so lovely as Aricia in Phèdre, plays Ophelia with affecting vulnerability, goofing with her brother while their father reels off his advice, then naïvely meeting with Hamlet and guiltily giving the game away (the bible she reads has a hidden mic inside). When mad, she pushes a shopping cart across the stage like a street person though tracked yet by two of her father's staff. In an exquisitely chilling moment, Hytner has her pushed out the door by the security guys. She's become too embarrassing, so she gets bumped off.

David Calder doubles as the gravedigger, a good choice to show him as affable as Polonius was creepy. James Laurensen doubles as the Ghost and the Player King, also a nice pairing. Giles Terera's Horatio didn't seem to be quite the confidante the character normally is, though his regard for Hamlet came across clearly. The atmosphere of paranoia affects all the relationships, which gives a new reading to the dialogue -- which is everything you hope for with Shakespeare. It helped bring out the machinations of Fortinbras better as well, which is seldom done well.

But Kinnear really was a wonder. The first few lines, his delivery seemed almost too clipped and arch, but it worked. In the first speech he's conveying his anger and betrayal. Throughout Kinnear presents the lines as if they were thoughts arising from his head, not "speeches" written down. It's hard: even people who've never seen a Shakespeare play know "To be, or not to be." I get impatient with actorly excesses: Kinnear gave an utterly natural performance -- especially so when Hamlet is conscious of performing as he puts that "antic disposition" on and overplays. Hamlet is trying to figure out what's real and what's not, and like so many people, sometimes it's the loss of things that makes him realise what matters most. It's a wonderful process of discovery in this production.

The only real disappointment -- it's a stellar cast, the sets wonderful, everything really moved along despite the three and a half hour length -- was Patrick Malahide. At times it looked like he might have been reading off a prompter as he stared too fixedly in the same direction. I know he can be fantastic. I saw him with Jeremy Irons in Embers, where he spends most of the play listening to Irons' character, yet he seemed every bit as present as Irons. Maybe it was an off night. I loved this. I wish I could see it again. Maybe they'll put it out on DVD. I hope so.

And yes, you can buy the t-shirt :-)

Horrified

Rep. Gabrielle Giffords, D-Ariz., Others, Reportedly Shot And Killed

Well, Sarah Palin, I guess your target map worked. Don't fool yourself that it's just Arizona: that complacency has brought this country to the edge of a terrible abyss.

Friday's Forgotten Films: What a Carve Up!

Bending the rules a bit (do you expect any less from me?), I offer not a neglected tome but an overlooked bit of celluloid. In my defence, I just learned about it last night -- thanks to the lovely Caroline Gold -- and watched it right then thanks to YouTube. The film was not only inspired by a book but also inspired a further book. I suppose that makes it sound rather more literary than it is. I had thought it was going to something like Carry On Screaming! (yes, everything has exclamation marks today) but it's more like the Abbot & Costello horror movies but not so goofy. Funny though! Besides, I'm a sucker for Sid James thanks to Tony Hancock.

WHAT A CARVE UP!
AKA No Place like Homicide!
Dir. Pat Jackson
Based on Frank King's novel The Ghoul
Writers: Ray Cooney and Tony Hilton 

Cast:  
Sid James ... Sid Butler
Kenneth Connor ... Ernie Broughton
Shirley Eaton ... Linda Dickson
Donald Pleasence ... Everett Sloane
Dennis Price ... Guy Broughton
Michael Gough ... Fisk - the Butler
Valerie Taylor ... Janet Broughton
Esma Cannon ... Aunt Emily
George Woodbridge ... Dr. Edward Broughton
Michael Gwynn ... Malcolm Broughton
Philip O'Flynn ... Arkwright / Gabriel Broughton

Connor's Ernie, a timid copy editor (very Dudley-esque), receives a visit from creepy lawyer Sloane, played effectively without too much showboating from Pleasence. His uncle has died so he must head up to Yorkshire for the reading of the will with his much sharper pal, Sid. Cue bad Northern accents and "primitive" conditions (for those unfamiliar with it, the north of England tends to be portrayed like the southern States -- and about as accurately). Ernie's meeting his relatives for the first time and finds they're mostly all mad. Then the murders begin.

There are some good spooky moments and some good-hearted humor. Price and Gough are brilliant of course, Esma Cannon really shines as the dotty auntie who's a little unstuck in time, promising to introduce her "literary" nephew to this Shaw fellow who ought to be helpful. There are the usual old dark house elements and surely most of the plot will be predictable to a 21st century audience, but nonetheless amusing. There's even a surprise cameo at the end that will please early rock-n-roll fans.

So, if you've got some time on your hands and enjoy mild horror and classic humor, make the most of YouTube or pick up the DVD (region 2 only).

Publications: Plea, Professor and Provocateur

I thought I would have Bend Sinister read by today so I could write it up for Friday's Forgotten Books (maybe I will later today), but at present I don't and somehow I have decided that today is finally "Send out Queries for the Non-Fiction Project" Day, so there's that.

In case you missed it, my piece "A Plea on Behalf of the Small Hat League" is up in the inaugural issue of State of Imagination. Do drop by and leave a comment. Some very entertaining pieces in the collection; I really like the cover, too.

I'm happy to announce that my faux Lear "There was  a Professor of English" will appear in an upcoming issue of Asinine Poetry. And I just got word from Beth Virtanen that my story "Provocateur" will appear in the forthcoming edition of the literary journal Kippis!, so hurrah.

UPDATE: My humorous piece, "Resolutions for Better Sex in 2011" went up on Thursday at Polite Company Magazine, but they neglected to tell me. So drop by and share.

I'm going to get the queries ready and listen to the Punk Rock Jukebox, so if you need entertainment, consider watching Sir Michael Caine do his impression of Dud:

BitchBuzz: Get Unstuffed

Endeavouring to make it so in my life, I of course advise others on how to do it.

6 Ways to Unclutter Your Home & Life

By K.A. Laity

 Every January you think about a personal make-over, sometimes one that lasts past the 31st, but isn't it about time you dealt with that other problem?
I ignore all the resolution making, diet fads and gym invitations of January. Habits taken up in the middle of winter seldom stick. There's too little distraction and too much of a temptation to sit at home, eat carbs, and blame your already too low self-esteem for making you such a failure when you should be laughing with a salad.

A much better use of your time would be un-cluttering your place and your life.

It always seems a gargantuan task: the whole of our western culture is weighted toward making you want to BUY STUFF (those words ought to be written in neon, because that's how your brain sees them anyway). Lose your job? Buy chocolate. Lose your house? Splurge on a spa. Break up with someone? Buy ice cream, chocolate and a some kind of kitchen gadget you will never use because a) it reminds you of that person and b) you pretty much live on chocolate, ice cream and brie.

Read more: http://life.bitchbuzz.com/6-ways-to-unclutter-your-home-life.html#ixzz1AHgPi4Ie

Thanks to Peg for linking to the women-laughing-with-salad meme on Facebook. Yes, I am back in Albany again, facing a lot of work that cries for prioritizing. News round-up later, I think, as I have publications and appearances to highlight.

The Oxford Odyssey, Part 3

I will be traveling today, so here are some cute pictures of Pumpkin rolling around on my bed. It's been very lovely visiting Miss Wendy, Pumpkin and Boo.

And don't forget --

The Oxford Odyssey, Part 2

Our visit to Rowan Oak today, Faulkner's home -- a very comfortable and soothing home.

Then we went off to the Clear Creek Recreation Center to do a little strolling and bird watching. Anyone know what those grapefruit-sized things are? Some kind of nut?

The Oxford Odyssey, Part 1

Arrived in Memphis Friday, spoiled by getting free wifi on both legs of my journey. Despite a nervous few minutes at Albany, I did get on the overbooked flight and got to Memphis ahead of a rather nasty storm, which we could see from the plane. Miss Wendy picked me up and we headed to Oxford.

[Here's where I notice that if you upload pictures via HTML they default to a different size than if you do them through the other editor. Whatever -- I'm on holiday and have the unfortunate luck to be sick today, so I will get around to adjusting them later (or not).]

Here's the welcome center: it's still disconcerting for me to see stars and bars on state flags. But people are attached to their histories.

And their hometown heroes: here's the statue of Faulkner in the Square, home of Square Books, Off the Square Books, and Square Books Jr (a great bunch of indy bookstores).

Miss Wendy shares the local gossip with Bill.

I love this plaque: the power of imagination. People of Oxford happy to call themselves dwellers in Yoknapatawpha, Faulkner's fictional region.

They also like to give a nod to their equally famous sister city with this traditional British phone box.

Wendy's bank is the same one where Faulkner worked as a clerk.

The old courthouse forms the center of the square. It was a blisteringly bright but cold day Sunday.

We decided to see what "Faulkner Alley" was: turns out, it's just, um, an alley. But there was this one bit of graffiti that amused me.

After idling some time in the bookstore, we decided to head over to see Faulkner's grave and pay our respects.

It's a respectably swank site, with relatives along side the writer.

There were -- in addition to the more usual offerings -- two red aprons. If anyone knows there to be a significance to this, I'd be grateful. Otherwise I assume some clerks, fresh from work, decided to share a drink with the native son and then quit their jobs in a fit of inspiration, declaring they would dedicate their lives to the arts instead.

Faulkner's thirst was legendary, so fans continue to slake it to this day. May he never thirst, wherever he may be.

Quite a lovely old cemetery, still very much in use. We found it necessary to double back at one point to avoid interrupting grieving folks. Since Faulkner casts a long shadow over American literature, this shot seemed appropriate. It gives a little context, too. There was a wind chime in a tree nearby which gave a little live music to the location.

The U Miss campus is quite pretty: I love the nineteenth century observatories. This statue of James Meredith provides a beautiful reminder of how recent civil rights changes have been and offers a place for people to sit and talk and find inspiration.

Speaking of inspiration, I highly recommend the fabulous repast at Big Bad Breakfast -- another Oxford landmark. You just can't get biscuits this good in the north. And oh, the sausage! Mmmm.