Nonfiction

A shameful admission from a professed story writer: The idea of actually reading novels and short stories, most of the time, bores me. There, I said it. Most (again, most) modern fiction does not interest me, and hasn’t for years. It’s not me, it’s them. Lately, I can hardly get past even the jacket blurbs; it’s like driving across the Plains, the monotony. One book or collection sounds so much like the last, or the next. I find myself in general agreement with Stephen King’s stance on the American short story. Agreeing with King annoys me on a bone-deep level, and for reasons you needn’t hear today.

Anyway: I know that there are indeed unread present-day fiction writers I whose work would make me feel differently. I will continue (a bit grudgingly, maybe) to seek them out. It’s just a fact, however, that more often than not I’ve had better luck - obtained greater transportive pleasure, which is all I really care about when it comes to reading - with the books in the other aisle, the nonfiction stuff.

All of that is by way of saying that The Morning News has a piece up on new and interesting nonfiction that you might consider for your personal library should you happen to have one, as I imagine is the case for most of you.

Setting and time have an advocate!

In response to my recent remarks on the elements of fiction, faithful commenter Bitty (who knows some stuff about writing) makes a case for giving bigger props to setting and time:

“A Family Supper” by Kazuo Ishiguro takes place in the span of time from afternoon through the early evening, as a family has what well may be their last supper. If it weren’t set in Japan, if it weren’t in the family home, if it weren’t ending as the sun goes down, the other elements of the story would be as useful as an apple stem is to a starving man. It’s one of the most cleverly crafted stories I’ve ever read. If I were teaching creative writing, I’d assign students to dismantle that one and learn from it. (That and Mona Simpson’s “Lawns.”)

Kate Chopin’s “Story of an Hour.” Nuff said.

The present action of “Personal Testimony” by Lynna Williams takes place at a Bible camp during the time it takes to conduct the evening worship service. Significant, significant, significant. More particularly, the action takes place in a tent on the grounds, a tent that used to be a circus tent. What eventually becomes obvious is that this Bible camp is one big circus. It ends with father and daughter kneeling at the altar, although not explicitly in worship. The adept reader makes connections, however. I could go on with this one, but it’s partially meaningless if you don’t know the story. However, without the Bible camp, the tent, the altar, there is no story.

In Virginia Woolf’s To the Lighthouse, the house is literally a character.

An adept writer doesn’t just stick the protagonist in a Starbucks — unless perhaps the protagonist’s mother was gunned down while drinking coffee there.

Sometimes setting and time are less important than some other elements, but I always start with setting/time (yes, they’re Siamese twins), and narration when I begin a class discussion. Get that part straight and the other things fall into place.

Cat, fish, recipe

You’d smile too if you were on the payroll of the Catfish Institute

So I was reading an issue of Eating Well and ran across a full-page ad featuring celeb chef Cat Cora and touting her new spokespersonship for something called the Catfish Institute. I paid attention to the ad because Cora is teh cute, but eventually I noticed that there was also an actual catfish recipe involved. I love catfish, its second-class reputation notwithstanding (as do other smart people), and so scooted right over to get the goods on Cat Cora’s Catfish Lettuce Tacos.

In a word, friends: awesome. We’ve had it twice now, most recently last night. As always with recipes, things get changed in the translation from outline to actual meal. First, ignore the call for oregano in the cooking instructions; it’s not listed in the ingredient list and is a typo (should say “black beans” instead, I think). Also, rinse the black beans beforehand if you’re using the canned variety.

With my usual heavy-handedness in the kitchen, the dish turns out to be more of a catfish salad than a “lettuce taco,” but we don’t mind that. Radicchio is nice but not required; crispy romaine pairs well with the butter lettuce. The marinade with chili powder, cumin, and cayenne pepper gives the fish a redder hue in real life than in the image above. I pre-heated the oven with a cast-iron skillet inside, used the skillet to sear the marinated fish atop the stove over high heat, and then popped the pan back into the 400 degree oven for 12 minutes.

The fish is indeed spicy, but the lettuce, tomato salad mix, and (optional) sour cream provide cooling balance.

It occurs to me that this would make a nice casual dish for visiting friends. Of course, that means you have to clean the place up. Small price to pay for this recipe, though.

Addendum: I do think you can skip the radicchio; it’s got a bite to it that’s really not needed, given the spices at work here.

Also: Sour cream is recommended. Aside from cold cereal, what isn’t improved by adding sour cream?

One more thing: With the diced tomatoes, you can accumulate a lot of liquid in this dish; it can get kind of soupy. Try to keep things crisp by draining away the liquid and seeds in the tomatoes, making sure you’ve spun your lettuce dry, and that there’s not excess water in the rinsed beans.

The space race, continued

You have China to thank for America’s impending, inevitable, and doubtless panicked resurgence of interest in space exploration. The idea of a successful Chinese lunar probe mission will make some people here very upset.

Elemental

I mentioned earlier that in On Writing Short Stories, author Tom Bailey divides fiction into these familiar and basic elements:

character, plot, setting & time, metaphor, and voice

You could make a case for letting setting and time stand alone like the others, I suppose, but they seem rather fundamentally entwined, bonded since birth, the Castor and Pollux of fictional building blocks. Also, they’re somewhat minor-league compared to heavy hitters like character and plot, aren’t they? We have to let them slip past the velvet rope, sure, but they’re definitely B-listers.

Anyway.

In The New Rules of Lifting, authors Lou Schuler and Alwyn Cosgrove divide weight training into six basic elements or movements:

squat, deadlift, lunge, push, pull, and twist

Schuler and Cosgrove don’t claim to have invented this concept - the book credits Paul Chek - but they certainly recognize the value of reducing a daunting activity to its basics.

I rather like that approach in weight training, and in fiction writing - the reductive, stripped-down-ness of it all.

In daydreams begin responsibilities

A recent exchange at home, prompted by images of Ford Mustangs and Pontiac Trans Ams on the teevee:

M: The cool kids all had Trans Ams when I was growing up.

Me: I wanted one really badly. I wound up getting a Ford Pinto instead.

M: And I got a Bobcat.

M: I guess I’ll have to work until I’m eighty to get a Mustang. (laughs)

M: Not one of those wimpy fake ones. It’d have to be a real ’60s Mustang.

Me: Which car would you rather have if you could afford it - a vintage Mustang or a Honda Element?

M: Hmm…I want to know what kind of mileage the Mustang gets…

Me: Mileage? (Laughs) Sweetie, it’s a fantasy! You’re worried about mileage?

M: (Laughs) I know, I know!

Change a gonna come

It’s well past time for a makeover of the ol’ blogspace.

Just sayin’.

Standoff

So M and I are motoring along our street, heading for home after work. As we approach our drive, we note that the street is barricaded two blocks away by a police cruiser and a couple of orange cones. A car that tries to pass is redirected by an officer.

“What’s going on up there?” wonders M.

A tiny voice inside my head whispers “armed standoff,” but I disregard it, as I watch entirely too much television. “Beats me,” I reply. We turn into the driveway and think no more about it.

So the tiny voice is right, of course. It generally is.

Police cordoned off several blocks near Tamm Avenue in the Dogtown neighborhood for several hours Wednesday as they as they negotiated by phone with a disturbed 42-year-old man barricaded in a home.

The standoff ended peacefully about 7:30 p.m.

The man’s family had called for help about 1 p.m., saying the man has a history of mental illness and was threatening to harm himself. Police were told he had a number of weapons in the four-family flat in the 6400 block of Nashville Avenue.

Students at nearby St. James the Greater Catholic Elementary School, 1350 Tamm Avenue, were evacuated as a precaution, Harris said.

Breathless news coverage (with tortured aspect ratio) from NBC affiliate KSDK available.

Glad that no one was hurt.

Pols at the fitness debate

I am so totally ripping off this post from Lou Schuler’s blog, Male Pattern Fitness, and can only hope Lou doesn’t mind. The thesis is fitness and weight control and such as debated, hypothetically, by the presidential contenders.

Romney: Clearly, the answer to the obesity epidemic is to cut exercise. When I was governor of Massachusetts, I signed bills that reduced exercise every single year.

Clinton: Focusing on exercise is the wrong approach. We need to make sure every American has the freedom to choose the food-insurance plan that’s best for them. My comprehensive nutrition plan gives Americans the choice of getting their food insurance from McDonald’s, Burger King, Wendy’s, KFC, or any other private food provider. It’s really about choosing, about choice, and about having chosen.

Obama: Back in 2002, when nobody had ever heard of me, I stood up and opposed obesity. My opponents had the same opportunity, but because people had actually heard of them and they had ambitions for higher office, they voted to give the president a blank check to increase obesity wherever and however he chose. My solution is to have a more civil discussion of the obesity epidemic.

Giuliani: When I took over as mayor of New York City, the average New Yorker weighed 162 pounds. I cut obesity 23 times in my eight years as mayor. We put 12,000 more nutritionists and personal trainers on the streets. By the time I left office, the average citizen in New York had lost 165 pounds. The entire island of Manhattan is now five more feet above sea level because of my success in reducing obesity.

Edwards: There are two Americas, fat and thin, separate and unequal. My campaign is about the people vs. the flavorful. I vow to pursue diplomacy with all the enemies of our waistlines, with the petty lipids as well as the powerful carbohydrate lobby. I will talk to the makers of high fructose corn syrup as well as the purveyors of soybean oil.

Thompson: I worry about obesity when I’m in Tennessee. We’re in Virginia now. I think the obesity epidemic is more symbolic than anything else. I support President Bush’s policies on obesity. I would keep the good things and let go of the bad things. I support lethal injection for the most seriously obese. Can I get a round of applause? Now let’s talk about what you want to talk about. Anybody got an answer?

The pundits would be unanimous in their assessments: Former Mayor Rudy Giuliani won the debate, they would say, because his fabrications were more convincing than anyone else’s. But, they’ll concede, Hillary Clinton will nonetheless become our next president, because Americans remember that her husband lost weight while in office.

Awesome. I love Thompson’s opening, but the rest are dead-on as well.

Whose story is it, anyway?

As I have mentioned before on this blog, I loves me some Gawker. The gossip about New Yorkers of whom I know little, the on-the-fly creativity of the commenters, the unadulterated wickedness that makes me smile since it’s directed at people other than myself. But even though the NY-based publishing world is well within the website’s purview, I have to say that Gawker isn’t the first resource I think of when it comes to serious literary questions.

Imagine my surprise, then, to see the site bring up the seldom-discussed relationship between authors, editors, and the work that they jointly produce. Okay, so Gawker probably wouldn’t have bothered had the people involved not been named Carver, Gallagher, and Lish, but still:

You know how all Raymond Carver’s short stories are like, “We sat in the kitchen. It was raining. I poured another scotch. I drank it. She sat on the chair, drinking. We drank together a while”? Apparently they weren’t always so minimalist. In fact, according to Raymond’s widow Tess Gallagher, they were downright “expansive” before his editor Gordon Lish got hold of them, radically cutting them and in some instances changing their titles and endings. And in a recently-unearthed letter, Raymond seems to plead for Gordon to stop publication of the altered book. So Tess wants to bring out an alternate edition of “What We Talk About When We Talk About Love” that contains the unedited stories. Is this a terrible, terrible idea?

As the adjunct professor in your Seldom Read American Writers (Eng 250) class used to say: Discuss.

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