Liberty: A Lake Wobegone Novel

Having been raised in the Midwest by a Lutheran family, I've always found that Garrison Keillor's tales of his created Lutheran town, Lake Wobegone, can really get under my skin and tickle. Keillor is willing to point out the contradictions and faults of his characters with gentle affection and, of course, humor. I also enjoy Keillor's skill in world building. Lake Wobegone is a town whose geography, history, and population are consistent, and become pleasantly familiar the more stories I hear. I was thrilled to learn that the protagonist of Liberty bought his house from the woman who had a giant snake living under her porch. I remember listening to her story on the radio, years ago. This kind of self-referential history makes Lake Wobegone feel convincingly real.

It has been some time since I listened to Keillor's "News From Lake Wobegon." I remember the Lake Wobegon stories as something I could sit down and listen to with a parent or grandparent- funny family entertainment I would not hesitate to leave playing if a kid came into the room. So when I began the audiobook of Keillor's most recent Lake Wobegon novel (hearing Keillor narrate is half the fun), I was shocked to discover that Lake Wobegon had become a darker, more adult town. Lutherans meet up online to talk dirty, and adultery is not only central to the plot, but described in anatomical detail.

Once the blood drained back out of my cheeks, and I got over the surprise of hearing Garrison Keillor read: "my nipples are getting hard for some reason," I really began to appreciate this modern-day, grown-up Lake Wobegone. There is an endearing honesty to Keillor's portrayal of his characters. Yes, they now cheat on their husbands and wives, vie for air time on CNN, and have DNA tests done to determine their heredity- but they also make mounds of potato salad, bake rhubarb pie, and march an ocarina band in the Fourth of July parade.

In Liberty, Keillor asks, what happens to small town folk who never leave the place where they were born? Their geographical situation may never change, but time still passes, the Internet and the television connect them to a larger world. Something in their individual character and social structure must shift, and Keillor paints this shift with the small details and little stories that make up our lives.

I was also extremely impressed by how Keillor treated the theme of his book. Liberty is the title of the novel, and key to the libertarian character of the protagonist. Liberty is the setting of the novel (A Fourth of July parade), and the conflict (will the protagonist ever get free of Lake Wobegone?). Miss Liberty also plays a crucial role in the story. I have rarely read a book so tightly and delightfully tied to one central concept- in this case, liberty.

Liberty ranks around #22,300 in Kindle books. On Amazon the hardcover is selling at about #153,300.

The Women

Growing up in the Midwest, the highlight of our third grade school year was a trip to Spring Green, Wisconsin. We traveled hours by bus to tour the dwarven homes of Welsh miners and eat delicious pasties. We also took a tour of Taliesin, the home and studio of architect, Frank Lloyd Wright. Little did I imagine, on that third grade tour, that Taliesin and its beautiful organic architecture had a history of scandal and brutal murder.

Appropriate to its subject of a great architect, The Women has a beautiful and unusual structure. The novel is divided into three sections, each describing the residence of Frank and one of his wives/mistresses at Taliesin. The reader encounters these sections in reverse historical order, first learning the tale of Olgiavanna, the woman of Wright's senior years, then moving back in time to learn of Miriam's reign at Taliesin, then going back to when Wright bought the property for, designed, and built Taliesin for its first mistress, Mamhah. The effect of the backwards storytelling is to form a portrait of Frank Lloyd Wright using negative space, defining the man through the progression of his love interests. As in an epic poem or tragic opera, the reader knows most of the plot before it unfolds. The interest isn't so much in what will happen next, as it is how it will take place, and why.

As I neared the end of the first section (Olgiavanna's section), I was eager to read the second (Miriam's) section, to learn what Wright could have done to twist Miriam so, to make her into the monster of their older age. Yet the first paragraph of Miriam's section, written at a time when Miriam and Frank had not yet met, makes it clear that Miriam was twisted from the very start. Her relationship with Wright did not change her even a little bit- for better or worse. So the question then became, what could have happened to Wright to bring him to a point where Miriam seemed a fit companion? And this question drew me into the third section.

In an interview with the New York Times, Boyle discusses why he was drawn to Frank Lloyd Wright (Boyle lives in Wright's first Californian house) and why he is drawn to similar historical figures. Boyle discusses the magnetism of men such as Wright, the way they draw a community of people around them, and the way they draft their own utopias founded on personal ideals. Taliesin, the builders, apprentice architects, house staff, and the women and family Wright gathered to his home, created just such a little utopia. The ideal upon which Wright founded the Taliesin community was this: that convention was for small men, with small minds, and that great men with great minds required a different set of rules, especially in the realm of love and marriage (and also in debt repayment). Throughout the book, Boyle seems to question this ideal, showing that not even Wright's beautiful retreat, or convenient way of ignoring abandoned wives and creditors, could shield him from the consequences of shedding convention.

My only (small) disappointment was with the end of the book, in which the deep probing of this question ceases, abruptly, and the focus of the novel shifts to tell the shocking and gruesome story of the murders at Taliesin. Boyle does give the murderer the motive of his conventional views of women and marriage clashing with the free love ideas of Taliesin. But the murderer is clearly insane, his violence not a consequence of differing world views, but of personal mental imbalance. The murders at Taliesin do not read like justice, or moral consequence, but as brutal and almost random acts of violence. Boyle's decision to end with the murders makes sense- they are the most sensational and exciting events in Wright's life story. And it could be argued that the ending paints the consequence of living in a closed, Utopian community, flaunting the rules of convention. But for me the sheer brutality and personal emotional imbalance of the murderer erases all sense, lets the important and difficult question of the book slide, and instead of concluding the discussion, abandons it to shock and horror.

Regardless, The Women was a pleasure to read. Boyle raised very poignant questions about men of greatness, and about what makes them large, and what makes them small. I had a fantastic time learning more about Frank Lloyd Wright and the home and studio I toured as a child. And I was thrilled by the way in which Boyle chose to write his story. His previous book, Talk Talk, used reference to explore the theme of communication. The Women used structure as its primary narrative device because it was a story about grand ideas, and the difficult reality of bringing those ideas into the world through structure. It is very exciting to follow a writer who has the skill set and flexibility to use the just the right tool to tell each new story.

The Women ranks #539 in Amazon's bestselling paper books, and #422 in Kindle books.

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium

Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium is one of those films whose title gives an accurate description of what the viewer is about to experience. Whimsy abounds in this fantasy- from the quaint cartoon opening, to the unique credits at the end. The 2007 film boasts a cast of well-known actors: Dustin Hoffman, Natalie Portman, even Kermit the Frog, and was written and directed by Zach Helm.

I'm used to fantasy films that take place in fantasy worlds, leaving the audience to connect the vital points between the fantasy experience and their own lives. But Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium expresses its theme quite explicitly- proposing to prove that the successful adult carries childlike wonder with him throughout his life. Mr. Magorium's Wonder Emporium is all about maintaining that childhood sense of wonder in adulthood, and even into old age and approaching death. The film isn't very subtle in making its point. The plot, the toy store setting, the candy-colored palette, and the typical, hard-nosed accountant foil, all constantly echo the theme- and for extra emphasis, the film's dialog and narration also underline the point. The explicit statement of theme doesn't detract from the fun, the story, or the sense of wonder which Helm invokes. It creates an open-hearted, direct dialog with the viewer, asking the audience to remain wide-eyed and childlike, in keeping with its theme.

The Dressmaker's Child

For the second post in a row I'll be discussing a knighted author. Previously I wrote about Englishman, (Sir) Terry Pratchett, and his first Discworld book. Today I'll be discussing a haunting short story by the Irish (Sir) William Trevor.

I wonder what it would be like to live in a country where authors were knighted for service to literature...

Far from the glory of knighthood, "The Dressmaker's Child" is a story about ordinary folks . It is, in fact, the very ordinariness of Trevor's characters that makes the story so honest and strangely beautiful.

Just like The Story of Edgar Sawtelle, "The Dressmaker's Child" is mainstream literary fiction that takes on some speculative overtones. The child in the story is not a ghost, yet she haunts like one. The mother is an outcast woman, not a witch- yet her spell entrances, just the same. The story is not really supernatural fiction, but it certainly owes much of its ambiance to the ghost story genre.

I loved the way Trevor established the concrete, the familiar, the real, then blended it with subtle mysticism. "The Dressmaker's Child" makes the reader feel as though magic might brush past at any moment- particularly when it's least expected.

The story is part of a collection, Cheating at Canasta, which ranks at #34,288 in the Kindle store and #228,971 in Amazon's Bestselling Books.

The Colour of Magic

I just had a great time reading the first book of Terry Pratchett's Discworld series, The Colour of Magic. The Discworld series is an astounding 36 books long and still running. The most recent novel in the series is available for pre-order in the US and the UK, and will be released in October 2009. On amazon.com this pre-order ranks #84 in comic literature and fiction, and around #17,000 in books, overall. Not bad sales for a book buyers can't even read until October! According to Wikipedia, as of 2006 Pratchett was the #2 bestselling author in the UK and the #7 non-US bestselling author in America.

Discworld began its impressive and popular career in 1983 with The Colour of Magic. The story is charming, its cosmology enchanting. As in many successful firsts of fantasy series, The Colour of Magic introduces the reader to its magical world through the arrival of a newcomer- although Pratchett turns this convention on its head, because the protagonist is not the newcomer, but his seasoned guide.

A lot of the pleasure of reading The Colour of Magic comes from its not-so-subtle parallels to our real world experience. The characters in the book grub for money, lie, cheat, steal, go on vacation, take photographs, and worry about their luggage- but it's all incredibly fun and clever while they do it.

The Colour of Magic is a bird's-eye-view narrative, the camera zooming in and then zooming very far out. We see the story from many angles, aware not just of the main characters' struggles, but of the interplay of the gods, of the cosmology of the universe (four elephants atop a giant turtle), and even of the multiverse. As a result of this constant panning in and out, the reader gains the emotional distance from the story needed to make it funny. The trade-off is that the reader (at least this reader) cares very little whether protagonist Rincewind lives or dies- and the story's entire dramatic structure is built on the question- will Rincewind live or die? Fortunately I was having so much fun sight-seeing in Discworld, that I didn't need any genuine concern for the characters or deep involvement with the plot in order to enjoy the book.

Dollhouse- The Mythical Episode 13

Over the weekend I heard that Fox was going to cancel Joss Whedon's sci-fi drama series, Dollhouse. Reports of Dollhouse's demise were apparently exaggerated. The fate of the series for next year is still unknown. The only thing fans know for sure is that Fox has decided not to air what Producer, Tim Minear, termed the "mythical" 13th, and final episode of the season (You can read his explanation here).

As a huge Joss Whedon fan, I'd normally be up in arms about this sort of thing. But I don't know if I want Dollhouse to air next year, or not- because I haven't been watching it.

In Angel goes out with the old, which I posted in January of this year, I talked about how much I love Whedon's work, and how sitting down to watch episodes of BTvS as they aired was a special event in my life, a fun and rewarding treat that I looked forward to all week long. In Dollhouse: Thoughts after the First Three Episodes posted in early March, I came to terms with the fact that, although I didn't feel the same way about Dollhouse that I do about BTvS, the series still had potential.

Then, somewhere in the middle of March, episodes of Dollhouse began to pile up, unwatched, on my DVR. Two Fridays ago I forgot to record an episode.

I'll say that again, just to let it sink in: I am so little attached to the series, that I forgot to record the show.

I have a lot of respect for Joss Whedon, and I sincerely hope that there is something in one of the episodes waiting on the hard drive of my DVR that not just grabs me, but holds me so tight that I become addicted to the characters and the world. In the first month or so of airing, Dollhouse did plenty of grabbing, but very little holding. I was usually more excited by the preview for the next episode, than I was about the show that had just aired. Perhaps Dollhouse just didn't get going fast enough. Maybe it dithered with introductions too long, and didn't get right to the heart of making friends.

But my fear is that Dollhouse lacks a fully developed speculative fiction world with consistent rules where it's fun to play, fun to create and imagine. I also worry that without the smart sense of humor that has always been a Whedon hallmark, Dollhouse is simply a well-crafted drama, lacking that special Whedonesque sparkle.

Gunnerkrigg Court

Gunnerkrigg Court is a free, serialized, online graphic novel updated page by page on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. It took me awhile to warm to Tom Siddell's heroine, Antimony, and her strange school. But once I did, I found myself really looking forward to spending time in Gunnerkrigg Court.

At first glance, Gunnerkrigg Court is a Harry Potter wanna-be: a young girl, practically an orphan, enrolls in the magical school where her parents and their friends (now teachers at the school) were once students, only to find she has special talents critical to the fate of her community. Despite sharing this basic premise with the Harry Potter series, Gunnerkrigg Court has its own well-developed speculative world, its own vast cast of charming characters, and an interesting theme quite different from that in J.K. Rowling's books. Gunnerkrigg Court is decidedly a fun story in its own right.

From the opening pages of the graphic novel, Siddell sets up the main conflict of the story: science and technology vs. magic and nature. Gunnerkrigg Court is a place where advanced scientists and magical creatures meet, mingle...and sometimes kill each other. Besides creating an interesting story, this theme is very relevant to a world in which people are going hiking, using the compass application on their iPhone, a world interested in combining and reconciling our "magical" sense of wonder and our connection to nature, with the fruit of scientific reason and technological advancement.

The Meaning of Everything

I was really excited to read Simon Winchester's account of the making of the Oxford English Dictionary. As a linguistics buff, I was hoping Winchester would delve more deeply into the process of unearthing etymologies through the use of specific, juicy examples. Although some lists of words and their geographical origins were included, they were far from meaty or detailed, and I did not feel as though I got to experience the thrill of ferreting out any especially interesting etymologies. There were a few small inaccuracies when wandering outside the author's expertise in the English language (such as the influence of the Florentine Academy of the Italian Language- which, quite unlike the Academie Française, does nothing whatsoever to defend the Italian language from the encroachment of English language words, and does little more than give exams for Italian language learners). Further, Winchester made a lot of remarks about the fact that English is the dominant world language now (agreed) and will continue to be forever...a fortune telling whose likelihood would be fun to discuss, but is certainly not 100% guaranteed.

The most joy I got from reading the book was its trivia. Did you know that J.R.R. Tolkien labored on much of the W section of the dictionary- and loved every minute of it? That editor Murray paid his eleven children pocket money for sorting quotation slips- rates based, not on productivity, but on age? That the famous Scriptorium in which much of the work was done was a prefab garden shed erected in Murray's yard? That the dictionary was originally released in fascicles (small, periodical releases of a larger work) that generally did not even encompass an entire letter? That the standard English-language dictionary before the OED was the American Webster's Dictionary?

More interesting still was learning about the scores of volunteers who made the project possible. Although I would hardly compare the OED to Wikipedia, there is no doubt the OED was a precursor to popular volunteerism aimed at collecting, preserving, and distributing knowledge. The OED project began with a call to readers to collect words, and quotations which accurately illustrated their meaning, from a set reading list. Thousands of volunteer readers from around the world responded, flooding the editors with millions and millions of quotation slips. Among these volunteer quotation-gatherers, certain volunteers were chosen to help with editing and proofing tasks- and these volunteers were far from English professors. One of the most prolific volunteer contributors lived in an asylum for the criminally insane, and only stopped his long and diligent work on the OED after cutting off his own manhood in a fit of madness. Even John Murray, editor through the bulk of the hard-working years of the dictionary, was not a traditional scholar. Murray left school at the age of fourteen, went to work at a bank, and only received honorary college degrees well into his work on the dictionary. The OED was a labor of love for the people by the people, a truly great achievement.

I have the two-volume Compact Edition of the OED, complete with magnifying glass (this edition was supposedly very popular in America). It's out in the garage, now. My Kindle has an OED search function (I used it yesterday to look up the word "purlieu"). I wonder what John Murray would have thought if he could see his Scriptorium full of quotations living in a small device I can hold in the palm of my hand.

Magic for Beginners

My husband wanted to reread one of his all-time favorite short stories- speculative, or otherwise- "Magic for Beginners" by Kelly Link. What appeals to my husband about the story is its spirited mix of danger and fun.

Since it had been some time since I'd read the story, we decided to read it together, out loud. The pacing of the story was much different than I'd remembered- much more of the action takes place before the road trip portion, which I had remembered, erroneously, as the bulk of the story. The other thing I had failed to remember was just how funny the story is. We had to halt the narrative over and over to accommodate my fits of laughter.

I love the characters in the story- especially the protagonist's father. His quirks seem so real, both because elements of his personality remind me of people I've known, and because these distinctive elements of his character organically meld character to situation, situation to plot.

I also love the way Link turns the mundane into fantasy. What could be more everyday than a bunch of kids obsessed with their favorite TV show? Yet Link takes their show, their burgeoning hormones, mixes in discarded sofas and a phone booth- and manages to make magic.

"Magic for Beginners" is available in a short story collection by the same name (which includes another of my favorite Kelly Link tales, "The Faery Handbag"). Amazon ranks Magic for Beginners #44 in best selling paper science fiction and fantasy anthologies. The Kindle edition ranks in the top 10% of sales in Kindle books .

The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou

This weekend we watched an especially fun film by Wes Anderson. The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou was the immediate predecessor to his better-known The Darjeeling Limited.

There's a lot to love about The Life Aquatic- the stop motion animation depicting fantasy marine life, Brazilian singer/songwriter, Seu Jorge, strumming the guitar and singing David Bowie songs in Portuguese- and, of course, lots of comedy and wacky, high-seas adventure. Fans of The Darjeeling Limited will find some familiar Wes Anderson themes in The Life Aquatic, such as adult children searching for absent parents, and a quite unusual twist on the "road trip" movie.

What I particularly liked about The Life Aquatic was the way it treated the spirit of adventure. The film seemed to ask why we bother to live, to love, to hope and dream, when so often life treats us to sickness, the death of those we love, and failure. Tripping and falling, laughing and crying, Steve Zissou and his rag-tag band of marine adventurers leaves the viewer feeling that, yes, the journey of life is worthwhile, after all.

The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell

Several nights ago I had a nightmare. I was moving, but could only carry an armful of possessions if I meant to make it out of the apartment alive- because the apartment kept morphing as did the house in the House of Leaves. The part of the nightmare I found most interesting was that, on several occasions, my husband tried to telephone me. As I attempted to slide the bar on my iPhone to answer his call, the slider began to swirl and wriggle around on the screen. No matter how my finger chased it, the sliding bar kept eluding me, and I could not make contact with him.

If he were still alive, I think Joseph Campbell would have gotten a kick out of the way my subconscious brought together my modern, daily experience and mythic archetype.

The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell is a collection of interviews conducted toward the end of Campbell's life by Michael Toms. As Campbell, himself, points out, Toms does an excellent job of asking questions, of providing a springboard from which Campbell can really get to the essence of what he'd learned during a lifetime of studying mythology.

During the interviews Campbell explains why humans need mythology- that is, to provide a way to connect to the spiritual, to bring the spiritual in accord with nature, to bring the spiritual in accord with society, and to guide the individual through the stages of his life.

Campbell posits that the mythic link between the spiritual and society has been broken. Myths were once culture-specific, geographic-specific stories that defined an in-group and the way the individual related to his in-group. In our modern world in which the in-group is becoming the entire world, there is no universal mythology which binds all of humanity together- at least, not yet.

So the individual is left with two problems. First, he has to find some way to relate to his in-group. This identification can be accomplished by the old-fashioned method of defining an "us" and a "them," or it can be accomplished by a realization of spiritual unity, the idea that all of humanity is in the same boat. Campbell obviously believes that the latter method is the healthier, more indicative of maturity in human evolution. Even if the individual manages to identify with the vast and overwhelming everything and everyone, he is still left with the problem of finding a mythology- a symbolic link to the spiritual- that has meaning to him, personally, and can help guide him through the stages of his own life.

Much of Campbell's life work consisted of comparing and contrasting the different forms which different cultures assign to the same myths. During one interview, he discussed a Buddhist myth in which the future Buddha has an encounter with a monster called "Sticky Hair." As Campbell proceeds to tell the tale, it becomes clear that this ancient, oriental story is quite similar to Br'er Rabbit and the Tar Baby. Through study we can learn that the myths of many cultures tell one story, that they address the spiritual needs we all share. But if the individual is no longer tied to the stories of his tribe, his country, or his local religion, where will he find the symbols and stories that link him to the spiritual?

Campbell notes that occasionally an artist, such as Picasso, James Joyce, or T.S. Eliot can help the individual begin to forge those connections. Yet Campbell insists that the ultimate solution to finding a symbolic system of links to the spiritual, is for each individual to create a personal mythology, appropriate to himself, alone.

I find the juxtaposition of these seemingly disparate ideas- the need to identify with humanity as one community, one spirit- and at the same time, for each individual to create his own, unique mythology- a problem as sticky as the Tar Baby.

Campbell also mentions that, when established mythic symbols fail to define a connection to spirituality for the individual, and that individual has not yet built a link of his own, the result is frequently nightmares. In dream the subconscious tries to construct a mythology of its own.

This insight brought me back to my dream involving the slider bar on the iPhone. In the nightmare my subconscious started with mythic symbols established in the book House of Leaves (morphing architecture), then went on to feverishly invent its own version of a chasing myth using the iPhone.

There are lots of chasing myths involving lovers, in which a man smitten by love begins a fruitless chase for a woman. The most obvious example is Daphne's flight from Apollo. Countless other cultures have personified astronomical bodies, so that man chases woman, wronged, eternally across the sky. Even the story of Pecos Bill and Slue-foot Sue addresses this idea of one lover chasing the other (hopelessly) when Slue-foot Sue bounces endlessly from the earth to the moon, and back again. The fact that my subconscious recreated this myth, referencing iPhone touch screen technology instead of the natural world, indicates one way in which I might attempt to build my own, personal link to the spiritual.

Just as Michael Toms knew exactly what questions to ask Joseph Campbell during the interviews, Joseph Campbell knows just the questions to bring up in his listener's mind. Do you belong to a group? Who are they- what defines them? Do you have some way to connect to something greater than yourself? How do you forge that connection? What has influenced your symbolic links to the spiritual, and what can you do to make those symbolic links really mean something to you?

If any of these questions interest you, I highly recommend listening to "The Wisdom of Joseph Campbell."