The Roaring 20s

The Shut-In's Guide to Valentine's Day

Ah yes, it’s that time of year again.  Even those who are in relationships feel the crippling, pink-hued pressure of Valentine’s Day.  Most of the February 14th media blitz involves a barrage of pieces on finding true love despite the odds, cooking the perfect romantic dinner, and uncommon edible aphrodisiacs.    

This post is, instead, dedicated to those who will be sitting at home tonight, plugging up their ears and vowing to never love again.  To that end, here’s some recommended reading.  These books are, I think, as soul-crushing as reruns of The Bachelor but with the added benefit of enriching your life in the long-term.      

Ariel: The Restored Edition by Sylvia Plath.  I don’t have ample space to describe my extravagant love of this book, particularly the restored edition with Plath’s original arrangement and notes.  Suffice it to say, Ariel is a black-hearted masterpiece of intricately-wrought pain. And we, too, had a relationship-/Tight wires between us,/Pegs too deep to uproot, and a mind like a ring/ Sliding shut on some quick thing,/The constriction killing me also.   

The Stranger by Albert Camus.  There’s not much room for conventional love in Camus’ brand of existentialism.  To wit: She was wearing a pair of my pajamas with the sleeves rolled up. When she laughed I wanted her again. A minute later she asked me if I loved her. I told her it didn't mean anything but that I didn't think so.  She looked sad. Odds are high that this scene is currently being replayed in living rooms throughout the tri-state area.  

Revolutionary Road by Richard Yates.  You might’ve seen the film by Sam Mendes, about a suburban couple struggling within the rigid confines of their societal roles as husband and wife.  A meditation on love as much as the expectations of American life, Revolutionary Road is visceral and heart-breaking.

On Chesil Beach by Ian McEwan.  One of the most devastating books I’ve ever read, set on the English coast in 1962.  The narrative unfurls over a couple’s wedding night, both of them virgins and in vastly different states of preparedness.  What follows is deeply upsetting, but ultimately, a transcendent argument for true intimacy.  

As Yeats says, "only an aching heart conceives a changeless work of art." Heartbreak is necessary, but hope is too.  Happy Valentine's Day to you and yours. <3

Patrick deWitt: the Interview

As we get closer to publication, The Sisters Brothers (out this May) is accumulating some heavy buzz in the library community.  A retooled Western full of lust, grit, and blood, The Sisters Brothers is the story of two hired guns, Eli and Charlie Sisters, who are dispatched from Oregon City to a gold mining claim outside Sacramento.  Their aim? To kill Hermann Kermit Warm.  Along the way, Eli, the softer of the two, begins to question what he does, and who he does it for.  The resulting narrative is full of humor, humanity, and tour de force writing.  

Recently, I was lucky enough to interview Patrick via email for his thoughts on brown liquor, the Old West, and alpha male ambition. I hope, after you read it, that you're as excited as I am for The Sisters Brothers to hit shelves!      

KG: How did you first conceptualize Eli?

PD: One day about three years ago I wrote the words sensitive cowboys in a notepad. This was the sum total of the original idea. It sat unused for a while, but when it began to nag at me, I sketched out a peevish conversation between two men riding side by side on horseback. There was no story, and it didn’t really go anywhere, so I put it to the side. Months later, I’d moved from Washington to Oregon and had begun writing full time, or was supposed to be, but was at a loss as far as what to do next. In looking over what I had on my computer I re-read the bickering cowboys scenario and found I liked it, which for me is rare; usually I look at old or half-baked writing and can’t delete the file fast enough. So, I took it back up and fiddled, and over the course of a month or two the characters materialized. The breakthrough came when I realized they were brothers. And then Eli emerged as the gentler and more introspective of the two, which to my mind made him a natural narrator.  All this to say, I didn’t conceptualize Eli so much as figure out who he was over a period of time. 

KG: What was the research like for The Sisters Brothers? Did libraries play a role?

PD: I looked things up occasionally and as I needed them, either at the library or online, and my father loaned or bought me books, and in fact continues in spite of my protests to buy me books about the Gold Rush, but really, the research was minimal. It was more something I resorted to rather than something I immersed myself in. But I knew it wasn’t going to be a history-heavy book from the start, because that’s not the kind of thing that interests me as a reader. 

KG: How did the diction of traditional westerns inform your writing?

PD: Not much at all, because I haven’t read very many westerns. People may have actually talked like this in 1851, but I doubt it. It’s a bit of a fantastic world, really, despite the occasional historical accuracy. 

KG: Charlie likes his whiskey and he likes his brandy.  Do you have a brown liquor of choice?

PD: Yes, ma’am, I do: Irish whiskey. My favorite right now is Redbreast. I like it mixed (blasphemous, I know) with a strong ginger ale, like Reed’s, over ice, with a lemon wedge. 

KG: Are you an Eli or a Charlie?

PD: Oh, Eli, absolutely. I’ve known my share of Charlies, but have never been able to completely fathom that personality, that kind of cutthroat, alpha-male ambition. 
******* 

For more on The Sisters Brothers, check back in the months to come.  Cheers!  

Bangable Dudes in Literature

Recently, I’ve gotten some flack for my peculiar taste in celebrity crushes.  For the most part, people seem to understand Jeff Bridges, Kevin Kline, and Ted Danson, but I’m still waiting for friends to accept my devotion to Alan Rickman. “Who’s next?” they say, “Geoffrey Rush?” 

I digress.  

I’ve found a fantastic, library-bolstered blog that makes my unusual fixations (Simon Schama, anyone?) seem run of the mill.  Bangable Dudes in History: dead man porn for your still-beating heart includes commentary on--and photographic evidence of-- hot men throughout the ages, as well as pie charts which support their inclusion.  The next natural step was to put together a list of bangable dudes in literature.  So pour yourself a glass of wine and slip into something a little more comfortable.  Here’s some literary man candy sure to heat up your Kindle.

William Butler Yeats: Irish poet, known for his decades-long infatuation with Irish nationalist Maude Gonne.  His most famous poem is likely “When You Are Old,” a dreamy meditation on love and the passing of time.  

Lord Byron: English Romantic poet said to be  "mad, bad and dangerous to know."  Sure, he had an affair with his half sister.  But just look at that bone structure! Also, “She Walks in Beauty” still stands up to cynics who hate rhyme and meter.  

 

Anton Chekhov: Russian author and playwright, known for ushering in Modernism in Russian Literature.  His short fiction is heart-breaking and seamless, and plays like “The Seagull” will likely be performed for centuries to come.  If that doesn’t compel you, check out the way he worked a mustache.  

 

Ernest Hemingway: Oh Hemingway, you heartbreaker.  I just read Paula McLain’s excellent The Paris Wife, and found myself under Hem’s misogynistic spell.  I’m in good company—it looks like loads of women were trampled under this larger-than-life tycoon of letters. 

 

 

F. Scott Fitzgerald: I just finished “Bernice Bobs Her Hair,” and was grinning from ear to ear.  An ex-pat Jazz Age writer famous for The Great Gatsby and The Beautiful and the Damned, Fitzgerald’s codependent, alcoholic exploits with his wife Zelda were equally well-known in his time.        

 If I’ve missed anyone, be sure to drop me a line.  One simply can’t get through the long winter without a bit of fanning and swooning.