It starts with a plane crash and is as compelling of a fifty-page beginning to a novel as I've read in a while. Emotionally rich. Human and complicated. The plane crash serves as a catalyst for a handful of characters to start dealing with their own repressed problems.
But then it sort of unravels. Long, kind of dry stretches of internal monologue and thoughts and feelings with the occasional compelling node. A few scenes near the middle that sort of pop up out of nowhere and make very little sense. And then, eventually, these repressed problems the characters are dealing with get resolved....because they, meaning the characters, say so. The characters do something or say something that triggers them to believe that they've resolved their problems.
This may very well be J. Robert Lennon's point. A statement on the human condition...or whatever. Saying, basically, humans are shitty at dealing with things. Once a problem is brought to the surface, there's some grappling, and eventually, it's rationalized away. Shoved under the carpet. A haircut, or a new apartment, and the belief that everything is going to be all better. But no real progress is made.
As an aside: lately I've realized that I don't much care for internal monologue in a book. There are a few writers who do it well, but I think a lot more can be found out about a person by observing what they do, rather than listening to what they think -- and this, to a certain extent, is the case with real people. For example, when people talk to each other, they present themselves how they want to be seen, which isn't exactly how they really are -- this is something everybody has noticed at one point or another. If you really want to get to know someone, observe them when they don't know they're being watched (you know, in a non-creepy, legal way).
Another aside, this time about the book. Lennon makes Montana feel surprisingly urban. With bustling down towns and basement apartments, corner delis. There's no mention of strips of fast-food joints and big box retail that populate every town in the West. It was an interesting choice, to portray the town this way.
Anyway. Back to the point. Everything considered, it was a good book. An enjoyable read. Not as tight as it could be, but still pretty good. Worth a read
Monday, January 9, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
What We're Reading Now - The Zero by Jess Walter
by Carolyn, editor
I used to be anti-genre fiction, which is to say that I used to be a Serious English Student.
Then it turned out that my favorite movies were thrillers. As in I noticed a pattern of "What kind of movie do you want to watch?" preceding "Thriller!" and I guess that's how I started gravitating to the book jackets with blurbs like "keep you guessing in this race against time" and "a roller-coaster ride" and "a psycho-sexual thriller".
Okay, that last one was the tagline that drew me to see Black Swan (but regardless of how traumatized you were by seeing Natalie Portman get nasty on herself, you've got to admit that was a must-see movie for making conversation with people you don't really feel like talking to)
The point is that in my staid old age of responsibility and sobriety, a really compelling thriller is peak excitement - right up there with ordering uni and spotting the neighborhood Newfoundland. And, in case you thought I had totally lost the thread: The Zero is a fantastic thriller with enough substance for even the most Serious of English Students to have a good chaw.
[Enter comment here about how refreshing it is for an author with literary talent to wade unapologetically into genre fiction, to write something that can confound bookstore clerks by being genre-proof. Of course Jess Walter performed the same trick in his previous novel Citizen Vince, which I read, sadly, before the birth of this blog, but also recommend.]
I'm assuming that - if you cared - Amazon would tell you that The Zero is a fictional story of a cop after the September 11th attacks, who wakes up in the first scene after trying to shoot himself in the head (the bullet grazes his head - just stitches. This isn't a post-suicide in the hospital sort of deal.)
Beyond the 9/11 premise, The Zero is too dark and unforgiving to feel like propaganda. Instead, it's told in sharp flashes as the cop becomes part of the confusing aftermath of clean-up, intelligence rivalries, and coping. It works partly because of a complete lack of name-dropping - the words "September 11th" never appear, nor do "World Trade Center" or even "NYPD" - and partly because Walter's writing is so fluid and his characters so flawed that they feel real enough to touch.
The line that keeps you guessing (and reading) is that our protagonist cop is having "gaps" in his memory, so that the story is told not in chapters, but in fragments of consciousness. I think there is an obligatory reference to Fight Club that needs to be made here, but rather than feeling tricked at the end, the reader sees the careful orchestration of story lines that read as a whole, over and above the fragments.
That wasn't a spoiler, so sit back down. I always find my eyes trying to skip down a page when I want to know what happens - it takes discipline to read a good thriller line-by-line. (Sidenote: did you see that article about how you enjoy a book more when you know the ending? Such bullshit.)
So here is my attempt to tie this back neatly to the reason we're all here:
If it's possible to write a genre-proof novel with the intrigue of a thriller, the grit of noir, and the human frailty of literary fiction, can you create a genre-less fragment of it on a 4x6" card? Better yet: can you write a story in 250 words that builds so much tension that the reader must train his or her eyes to read line-by-line, and not skip to the bottom?
Note: Brian has informed me that the tie-back-to-kindling is not necessary. What a waste.
I used to be anti-genre fiction, which is to say that I used to be a Serious English Student.
Then it turned out that my favorite movies were thrillers. As in I noticed a pattern of "What kind of movie do you want to watch?" preceding "Thriller!" and I guess that's how I started gravitating to the book jackets with blurbs like "keep you guessing in this race against time" and "a roller-coaster ride" and "a psycho-sexual thriller".
Okay, that last one was the tagline that drew me to see Black Swan (but regardless of how traumatized you were by seeing Natalie Portman get nasty on herself, you've got to admit that was a must-see movie for making conversation with people you don't really feel like talking to)
The point is that in my staid old age of responsibility and sobriety, a really compelling thriller is peak excitement - right up there with ordering uni and spotting the neighborhood Newfoundland. And, in case you thought I had totally lost the thread: The Zero is a fantastic thriller with enough substance for even the most Serious of English Students to have a good chaw.
[Enter comment here about how refreshing it is for an author with literary talent to wade unapologetically into genre fiction, to write something that can confound bookstore clerks by being genre-proof. Of course Jess Walter performed the same trick in his previous novel Citizen Vince, which I read, sadly, before the birth of this blog, but also recommend.]
I'm assuming that - if you cared - Amazon would tell you that The Zero is a fictional story of a cop after the September 11th attacks, who wakes up in the first scene after trying to shoot himself in the head (the bullet grazes his head - just stitches. This isn't a post-suicide in the hospital sort of deal.)
Beyond the 9/11 premise, The Zero is too dark and unforgiving to feel like propaganda. Instead, it's told in sharp flashes as the cop becomes part of the confusing aftermath of clean-up, intelligence rivalries, and coping. It works partly because of a complete lack of name-dropping - the words "September 11th" never appear, nor do "World Trade Center" or even "NYPD" - and partly because Walter's writing is so fluid and his characters so flawed that they feel real enough to touch.
The line that keeps you guessing (and reading) is that our protagonist cop is having "gaps" in his memory, so that the story is told not in chapters, but in fragments of consciousness. I think there is an obligatory reference to Fight Club that needs to be made here, but rather than feeling tricked at the end, the reader sees the careful orchestration of story lines that read as a whole, over and above the fragments.
That wasn't a spoiler, so sit back down. I always find my eyes trying to skip down a page when I want to know what happens - it takes discipline to read a good thriller line-by-line. (Sidenote: did you see that article about how you enjoy a book more when you know the ending? Such bullshit.)
So here is my attempt to tie this back neatly to the reason we're all here:
If it's possible to write a genre-proof novel with the intrigue of a thriller, the grit of noir, and the human frailty of literary fiction, can you create a genre-less fragment of it on a 4x6" card? Better yet: can you write a story in 250 words that builds so much tension that the reader must train his or her eyes to read line-by-line, and not skip to the bottom?
Note: Brian has informed me that the tie-back-to-kindling is not necessary. What a waste.
Sunday, January 1, 2012
THE WOODPILE: Centaur Love
We figure you're probably getting a bit tired of all of this kindling talk in the online world, when you can't see any of it here. That's part of the whole kindling shtick though - "real words on real paper" - and we've already had a few purists ridicule us for offering an electronic subscription.
But as readers ourselves, we also thought it'd be helpful to show samples of published kindling pieces online, along with a bit of commentary from the editors and the writer. We want to know what you think too, so leave a comment at the bottom if you have something interesting to say.
The point: we're going to start posting a single piece of published kindling here - in "THE WOODPILE" - every few weeks.
It was the first piece written for kindling, so it seemed like a fitting inaugural feature for THE WOODPILE. Of course Brian is also one of the editors (the other one is writing this) so it was an easy choice. She's a little biased.
Let me clear up one rumor right now: penis references are NOT a prerequisite to publication in kindling. Do they help? Sometimes. We do like funny, and penises are some of the funniest organs out there. (NOTE: we do not advocate bestiality)
So, what do we like about an off-beat freakshow like Centaur Love? For me, it's all about the voice: it's honest, it's conversational, and it has personality.
I asked Brian for some insight into the piece, but he was being all opaque and artistic about it - that is to say, he gave me nothing. Scratch that, he said it was autobiographical.
So, what do we like about an off-beat freakshow like Centaur Love? For me, it's all about the voice: it's honest, it's conversational, and it has personality.
I asked Brian for some insight into the piece, but he was being all opaque and artistic about it - that is to say, he gave me nothing. Scratch that, he said it was autobiographical.
Saturday, December 31, 2011
New Years and What We're Reading Now
Today is the last day of 2011 (it may be the beginning of the last year ever and isn't Mayan Apocalypse super exciting). Approximately mid-morning on the east coast, but I'm sure some of our readers, writers and all around fans are drunk already. And why not...mimosas and bloody maries are delicious. So, enjoy the eve. Have a riotous time. Just as a word of caution: don't kill anyone. Prison life is no life at all.
At any rate, I'd like to take this time to introduce a new feature to our blog. It's called the What We're Reading Now section. We being the editors, and what we're reading being books. If this goes according to plan, there will be discussion of the books we're reading after we finish them, or while we're reading them...or whatever.
So, without further ado....Brian is reading -- Light of Falling Stars by J Robert Lennon. Carolyn is reading The Zero by Jess Walter. Updates to follow.
At any rate, I'd like to take this time to introduce a new feature to our blog. It's called the What We're Reading Now section. We being the editors, and what we're reading being books. If this goes according to plan, there will be discussion of the books we're reading after we finish them, or while we're reading them...or whatever.
So, without further ado....Brian is reading -- Light of Falling Stars by J Robert Lennon. Carolyn is reading The Zero by Jess Walter. Updates to follow.
Sunday, November 20, 2011
a pithy description
Since the idea for kindling was conceived (over mango margaritas at Alero to be specific), we have been struggling to come up with a concise way to describe what, exactly, kindling is.
We started with "It's a magazine that's not a magazine" but that seems to lead to more confusion.
Then we got a bit long-winded "You see it's like a literary magazine except it's not pretentious and it's more light-hearted, and it's all short-form and it comes in an envelope." [puzzled look] "You see each piece is on a 4x6 card - and there are 20 cards in each issue - and each one has it's own piece on it and the artist's information on the back. So the whole thing is this unbound stack of 4x6 cards in an envelope."
We talked to our friend Paul at Idle Time Books about our need for a pithy way to describe it. The brain-trust brainstorm went something like this:
"It's a new literature delivery system"
"That doesn't tell people anything"
"It's like a new literature vehicle. Vehicle... vesicle."
"Too anatomical"
"How about envelope lit"
"Pouch lit"
"Too marsupial"
"Let's see...it's an envelope....a pouch...a sheath. Sheath literature."
"But what does that really tell people? It sounds like a weapon, or wheat."
"Envelope....pocket?"
"Pocket rocket!"
[a customer who was probably trying to block us out as he read from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, peers around a bookshelf "You probably want to stay away from pocket rocket."] Wise words.
"Pocket literature!"
"Pocket lit!"
"Yes, because it's in a pocket, and it also fits in your pocket--" [begins doodling on a piece of paper] "See? It's a jeans pocket, but it's also an envelope--"
"Did you just draw an envelope on a butt?"
"Well....yes."
Exactly.
We started with "It's a magazine that's not a magazine" but that seems to lead to more confusion.
Then we got a bit long-winded "You see it's like a literary magazine except it's not pretentious and it's more light-hearted, and it's all short-form and it comes in an envelope." [puzzled look] "You see each piece is on a 4x6 card - and there are 20 cards in each issue - and each one has it's own piece on it and the artist's information on the back. So the whole thing is this unbound stack of 4x6 cards in an envelope."
We talked to our friend Paul at Idle Time Books about our need for a pithy way to describe it. The brain-trust brainstorm went something like this:
"It's a new literature delivery system"
"That doesn't tell people anything"
"It's like a new literature vehicle. Vehicle... vesicle."
"Too anatomical"
"How about envelope lit"
"Pouch lit"
"Too marsupial"
"Let's see...it's an envelope....a pouch...a sheath. Sheath literature."
"But what does that really tell people? It sounds like a weapon, or wheat."
"Envelope....pocket?"
"Pocket rocket!"
[a customer who was probably trying to block us out as he read from the Tibetan Book of Living and Dying, peers around a bookshelf "You probably want to stay away from pocket rocket."] Wise words.
"Pocket literature!"
"Pocket lit!"
"Yes, because it's in a pocket, and it also fits in your pocket--" [begins doodling on a piece of paper] "See? It's a jeans pocket, but it's also an envelope--"
"Did you just draw an envelope on a butt?"
"Well....yes."
Exactly.
Monday, November 7, 2011
A Parable
There were once two young people: a woman and a man. They were both of average intelligence, average looks, and had an average net wealth. In fact, the only way they were not mediocre was in their love of literature.
It was autumn, nearing the holidays, and because these two were of only average intelligence, they were having trouble coming up with new ideas for gifts. They loved their family and friends, but were stuck firmly in a cycle of cliched gift ideas (sweaters, socks, Starbucks gift cards, more sweaters, DVDs).
One day, within seconds of each other -- these two lived on other sides of the country and had no interaction with or relation to each other -- they decided they were going to think outside the box and come up with the most amazing Christmas gift for their significant other (They chose one, thinking that getting amazing gifts for others might prove to be too much -- mom and dad would have to just live with another sweater).
The man decided to go somewhere he'd never been: the red light district. He searched high and low for lingerie and sex gifts, something to make his girlfriend love him more than she loved breathing. No, another gift card for a day at the spa would not suffice. Through the dark alleys and dens of vice he went looking for something, anything, to get for the love of his life. Then he found it, he found the most lewd, sexy, lascivious gift in the entire world, and was sure his honey would love it.
The woman wanted a gift for her husband. He'd asked for a flat screen and a three way, but she could not afford the former, and was repulsed by the latter. So she thought, and thought, and thought, and thought, until finally she decided to open up her computer and check her email. She got to surfing the internet, stopping here to look at videos, dawdling there to look at necklaces and jewelry for herself. And then she came across www.gatherkindling.com. And she saw that Kindling had gift subscriptions. For $24 dollars she could give her husband an amazing Christmas gift. But there was more, because at that rate she could afford subscriptions for everybody! EVERYONE WOULD GET KINDLING FOR CHRISTMAS!! She was so happy, she could barely contain herself; she did not know how she would keep it a secret until Christmas.
Eventually Christmas came. The man took his wife, sat her down on the sofa and brought out the gifts. He was so happy, so proud. He'd placed the gift in a large box, and wrapped it with gold paper and a red ribbon. He was trembling with excitement as she opened it.
But when she opened it, she was trembling with a different emotion: rage. Her heart felt like it had been turned inside out. She grabbed a bronzed ornamental pear from their coffee table and hucked it at his head, striking him on the bridge of the nose and rendering him bleeding and unconscious. She then dragged him out into the street, stripped him naked, and wrote pervert all over his body with her lipstick. His gift was placed next to him on the lawn.
Later, he was still unconscious. He was carried away by some meth cooks looking for a little extra score -- they left the gift he'd gotten for his wife. They kept him in their trailer, tied to the toilet, while they schemed in the living room about how they could demand a ransom. It was difficult, as neither of them knew how to write, let alone craft a ransom note. As they were arguing, with large hand gestures about the importance of a few words, a batch of meth that they had left unattended exploded, killing the both of them as well as their hostage.
The woman on the other hand, was thrown a parade by her neighborhood. She got gift subscriptions to Kindling for everybody and was given the key to the city.
Moral? We'll let you decide the moral. And when you figure it out head on over to our subscriptions page, and make yourself right with the world.
It was autumn, nearing the holidays, and because these two were of only average intelligence, they were having trouble coming up with new ideas for gifts. They loved their family and friends, but were stuck firmly in a cycle of cliched gift ideas (sweaters, socks, Starbucks gift cards, more sweaters, DVDs).
One day, within seconds of each other -- these two lived on other sides of the country and had no interaction with or relation to each other -- they decided they were going to think outside the box and come up with the most amazing Christmas gift for their significant other (They chose one, thinking that getting amazing gifts for others might prove to be too much -- mom and dad would have to just live with another sweater).
The man decided to go somewhere he'd never been: the red light district. He searched high and low for lingerie and sex gifts, something to make his girlfriend love him more than she loved breathing. No, another gift card for a day at the spa would not suffice. Through the dark alleys and dens of vice he went looking for something, anything, to get for the love of his life. Then he found it, he found the most lewd, sexy, lascivious gift in the entire world, and was sure his honey would love it.
The woman wanted a gift for her husband. He'd asked for a flat screen and a three way, but she could not afford the former, and was repulsed by the latter. So she thought, and thought, and thought, and thought, until finally she decided to open up her computer and check her email. She got to surfing the internet, stopping here to look at videos, dawdling there to look at necklaces and jewelry for herself. And then she came across www.gatherkindling.com. And she saw that Kindling had gift subscriptions. For $24 dollars she could give her husband an amazing Christmas gift. But there was more, because at that rate she could afford subscriptions for everybody! EVERYONE WOULD GET KINDLING FOR CHRISTMAS!! She was so happy, she could barely contain herself; she did not know how she would keep it a secret until Christmas.
Eventually Christmas came. The man took his wife, sat her down on the sofa and brought out the gifts. He was so happy, so proud. He'd placed the gift in a large box, and wrapped it with gold paper and a red ribbon. He was trembling with excitement as she opened it.
But when she opened it, she was trembling with a different emotion: rage. Her heart felt like it had been turned inside out. She grabbed a bronzed ornamental pear from their coffee table and hucked it at his head, striking him on the bridge of the nose and rendering him bleeding and unconscious. She then dragged him out into the street, stripped him naked, and wrote pervert all over his body with her lipstick. His gift was placed next to him on the lawn.
Later, he was still unconscious. He was carried away by some meth cooks looking for a little extra score -- they left the gift he'd gotten for his wife. They kept him in their trailer, tied to the toilet, while they schemed in the living room about how they could demand a ransom. It was difficult, as neither of them knew how to write, let alone craft a ransom note. As they were arguing, with large hand gestures about the importance of a few words, a batch of meth that they had left unattended exploded, killing the both of them as well as their hostage.
The woman on the other hand, was thrown a parade by her neighborhood. She got gift subscriptions to Kindling for everybody and was given the key to the city.
Moral? We'll let you decide the moral. And when you figure it out head on over to our subscriptions page, and make yourself right with the world.
Friday, November 4, 2011
Kindling: Retail Version
There was a time, and that time was not that long ago, when Kindling was only available for purchase on the world wide web. It was a fine time, but we always knew we would be moving up, to bigger things, to better things. And that time for us is now. We're officially in a store. Yes, we're still available for purchase through our website, but we're also available for purchase at Smash Records in Adams Morgan.
For some of you out there, this might be a bummer. You're all the way in Chicago, or Portland, or Texas, or India, and your record stores and coffee shops and magazine stands do not currently carry Kindling. Be cool, we're working on that.
Now, for the rest of you. That means you have a job to do. If you're in the District, get over to Adams Morgan and buy the hell out of some Kindling. If Smash Records is out of Kindling, demand they call us to bring over some more. The higher the demand, the more Kindling will be provided, until it's all over the place. Literally, we want to be everywhere. Starbucks, McDonalds, Ruths Chris, Jaleo, Powells in Portland, Billy Bobs in Fort Worth. Does Lennox Lewis own a restaurant or a club somewhere? We want to be there.
(Also, check us out at DC Week, maybe)
For some of you out there, this might be a bummer. You're all the way in Chicago, or Portland, or Texas, or India, and your record stores and coffee shops and magazine stands do not currently carry Kindling. Be cool, we're working on that.
Now, for the rest of you. That means you have a job to do. If you're in the District, get over to Adams Morgan and buy the hell out of some Kindling. If Smash Records is out of Kindling, demand they call us to bring over some more. The higher the demand, the more Kindling will be provided, until it's all over the place. Literally, we want to be everywhere. Starbucks, McDonalds, Ruths Chris, Jaleo, Powells in Portland, Billy Bobs in Fort Worth. Does Lennox Lewis own a restaurant or a club somewhere? We want to be there.
(Also, check us out at DC Week, maybe)
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)