Me, I’m halfway through a book that I’m finding a lot more interesting than I expected. Netherland, by Joseph O’Neill. Although the subject matter sounded pretty dreary, I could not resist when I heard that President Obama was reading it.

Dreary, indeed. The first-person protagonist is a lonely, clinically-depressed financial analyst living in post-9/11 NYC. His marriage is falling apart, he lives in a seedy hotel, his work is meaningless, and he is adrift in the world. The one thing that seems to keep Hans anchored is cricket, which takes him back to his childhood in Holland. He has made friends with a strange guy named Chuck Ramkissoon — a businessman who’s full of get-rich-quick schemes like turning cricket into a mainstream American sport.

Dreary stuff, but strangely compelling. I am loving this book, and I’m not even sure why. I think because the writing is superb, first of all. And second, we get so much inside the narrator’s head, he is so human and real, that despite the fact that he’s a depressed cricket-playing financial analyst I can completely identify with him. Here’s a passage that I particularly loved:

Although I glanced at them, I didn’t respond to Chuck’s communications. My instinct was to keep him at a distance, at that distance, certainly, that we introduce between ourselves and those we suspect of neediness. I was wondering, for example, when he was going to ask me for money for his cricket scheme. But I was also drawn to Chuck. I had him down as a lover of contingencies and hypotheses, a man cheerfully operating in the subjunctive mood. The business world is densely margined by dreamers, men, almost invariably, whose longing selves willingly submit to the enchantment of projections and pie charts and crisply totted numbers, who toy and toy for years, like novelists, with the same sheaf of documents, who slip out of bed in the middle of the night to pitch to a pajama’d reflection in a windowpane.

Hans goes on to reflect that although he himself lacks “entrepreneurial wistfulness” he is no stranger to daydreams and fantasies, such as being a world-famous cricket player.

How many of us are completely free of such scenarios? Who hasn’t known, a little shamefully, the joys they bring? I suspect that what keeps us harmless from them is not, as many seem to believe, the maintenance of a strict frontier between the kingdoms of the fanciful and the actual, but the contrary: the permitting of a benign annexation of the latter by the former, so that our daily motions always cast a secondary otherworldly shadow and, at those moments when we feel inclined to turn from the more plausible and hurtful meanings of things, we soothingly find ourselves attached to a companion far-fetched sense of the world and our place in it. It’s the incompleteness of reverie that brings trouble — that, one might argue, brought Chuck Ramkissoon the worst trouble of all. His head wasn’t sufficiently in the clouds. He had a clear enough view of the gap between where he stood and where he wished to be, and he was determined to find a way across.

Isn’t that great? I mean, doesn’t “cheerfully operating in the subjunctive mood” just say it all? And isn’t the businessman-novelist comparison just too poignant? And finally, if you (like me) are someone whose head is quite sufficiently in the clouds, isn’t it comforting to think that it’s “the incompleteness of reverie” that causes trouble?

The descriptions of his failing marriage and the mood in NYC during the first few years after 9/11 are equally nuanced and fresh. This novel is almost entirely character-driven — not much plot in the first half, anyway — but it is absolutely riveting and I would just love to know what Obama thinks of it. Or you, if you’ve read it.

I’m afraid I must start off with a SPOILER WARNING: this post does contain a big one. So if you are planning to read Watery Grave, the third book in Bruce Alexander’s Sir John Fielding mystery series, don’t read this. However, I’ll tell ya right now, the book was pretty annoying and I don’t recommend it.

In Watery Grave, an officer of the Royal Navy has been charged with the murder of his captain. There is no question that the captain drowned — the only issue is whether the lieutenant actually pushed him overboard, or is he being framed. In fact, it becomes obvious early on in the book that he is being framed, and we even know why: to prevent him from testifying that the successor captain is a pederast. Furthermore, the admiral, who is the lieutenant’s own uncle, not only withholds material evidence and otherwise interferes with the carriage of justice, but actually allows his nephew to be hanged as a murderer rather than let the name of the Royal Navy be so sullied. Yes, that’s how the book ends: the lieutenant is hanged for a crime he didn’t commit.

Ok, that just doesn’t feel real to me. No, I am not an expert on the Royal Navy of the 1760s, but I just can’t believe that one pederast captain would ruin the reputation of the world’s most powerful fighting force. Based on my total immersion in the world of Patrick O’Brian (granted, those books are fiction also, and take place about fifty years later, but oh! they feel so authentic) I think it’s much more likely that the acting captain would have been quietly court-martialed and dishonourably discharged — or not! If Patrick O’Brian is correct (of course he is!) homosexuality and even pederasty would probably have been tolerated in an otherwise-competent officer. All for the good of the service.

My thoughts on this book were influenced not only by my love of Patrick O’Brian, but also by this terrific post from Jessica of Both Eyes Book Blog, where she rips apart historical fiction about Vikings after doing some actual research. So, for all you lovers of historical fiction, I am curious: do you have certain periods that you are drawn to? Do you feel like you know something about the “real” history of that time because you’ve read novels that take place in it? Have you ever done research to check?

Hello, Saloners! I hope you had a great week. I’ve been miserable with a virus that went through the entire family. I have a feeling it was swine flu, but whatever.

Anyway, I’ve been continuing to think about reading series. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure any of my favorite books aren’t in a series! Childhood favorites, certainly (as Kate pointed out in her comment). And adult favorites, too. But I can also think of many examples of series that just peter out, where later books don’t fulfill the promise of earlier ones. Movies, too. It’s a rare sequel that’s as good as the original, and an even rarer sequel that’s better. (Can anyone think of an example besides Aliens?)

I’m sad to say the Sir John Fielding mysteries are starting to peter out that way. I was really excited about Watery Grave, especially because it has Age of Sail stuff in it (the murder victim was a captain), but it’s starting to get on my nerves and I probably won’t finish it. The problem is, now that the orphan-typesetter-narrator has a secure place in Sir John’s household there isn’t that overarching “what will happen to Jeremy” question to keep me going. And since that suspense isn’t there, I’m better able to read critically and notice anachronisms (especially, I think, with regard to attitudes about sex) and dubious plot twists. Furthermore, the characters aren’t really changing or growing that much. There needs to be some kind of forward movement, some kind of growth, something more than just another murder to solve.

So, extrapolating from that, let’s say that for a series to be sustainable it has to have plot arcs and/or character developments that continue beyond the individual books. Otherwise it just becomes formulaic and boring. For example…

• Narnia books: The main character, really, is Narnia (or Aslan). In fact, I’m not sure I’d even call the books a series. More like a big novel broken up into seven volumes. I know C.S. Lewis didn’t anticipate that there would be sequels when he wrote the first one, but you’d never guess that, would you?
• The Dark is Rising: Like the Narnia books, the protagonists vary from book to book. The main “character” really is the good vs. evil theme, the Arthurian legends, and the idea of Old Ones. It too feels like a single plot broken up into five volumes.
• Lord of the Rings, Harry Potter: I’m not a huge fan of either of these, but the principle holds. Both series have one overarching goal (destroy ring/Voldemort) and it just takes a few volumes to get there.
• Laura Ingalls: Well, in some ways these are a series within a series since most of the books are so episodic (i.e. individual chapters read like short stories instead of part of a larger plot) — in fact, this is why I never caught on to them as a kid. However, there is plenty of character growth, and I think that’s at the root of their appeal. Same with Anne of Green Gables, Betsy-Tacy, etc.
• The best mystery series have overarching plotlines too. I mean, the Lord Peter Wimsey books don’t really get good until Harriet Vane gets introduced. And admit it, you keep reading No. 1 Ladies because you want to know if she’s ever gonna actually marry Mr. Whatshisname, right?
• I can’t write a post about series fiction without mentioning my beloved Aubrey-Maturin books. They have overarching plotlines galore (Ledward & Wray, Capt. A’s financial difficulties, Dr. M’s love for Diana Villiers, just to name a few), and plenty of character growth as well.

What do you think? Can you think of examples one way or the other?

In the midst of all this, I did, somehow, manage to go live with a new website. This one was a first for me: a high-end beauty salon. I must confess I was a little shy at first about taking on this project, just because I am so NOT their target audience. :-) But it went completely smoothly, the salon owner was great to work with, and the result is a tidy little website that I like very much.

Query: does it make any difference if the designer herself is a member of the client’s target audience? Should it make a difference?

A couple of weeks ago I posted about the book Blind Justice, by Bruce Alexander. It had been quite a while since I read a murder mystery. I don’t know why; I used to read mysteries all the time. But after a while I guess I got bored with solving the mystery, and now I only read them if there’s something else intriguing about them besides the whodunit aspect — such as, in the case of Blind Justice, the historical setting and the real-life characters. I was so intrigued, in fact, that I went on to read the second in the series, Murder in Grub Street.

Well! If it’s been a long time since I read a mystery, it’s been even longer since I read a series! I forgot how fun it can be to have that mix of old and new: characters you already know, but in a new situation. The one big drawback to continuing in a series is when authors feel the need to give a recap of everything, to provide too much exposition and explanation and background. Murder in Grub Street did have a fair amount of recapping, which I pretty much skipped. But that was its only flaw. The highlights were:

• Lots more about the publishing industry — the 13yo orphan narrator’s typesetting ability was actually important to the plot
• A colorful character, a little too-obviously inspired by the Artful Dodger, who speaks in Thieves’ Cant
• A very gory murder
• A weird religious cult
• An orthodox rabbi who tells parables
• A possible love interest for Sir John
• A glimpse inside Bethlem Royal Hospital, aka Bedlam

Yes indeed! The next book in the series is called Watery Grave, and I have it on hold already.

How do you feel about reading a series? Do you get bored with the same old characters after a while? Do you have a favorite series?

I must admit that I have never felt as comfortable with short stories as I do with novels. The problem with short stories, it eventually occurred to me, is that they are always presented in an anthology or magazine. With that format, it’s hard to appreciate the structure of an individual story. When you’re reading a novel, you simply can’t help sensing when you are halfway through, or getting close to the end, just by the thickness of the stack of remaining pages. I would argue that this sense of “where we are” affects our understanding and appreciation of stories more than we may realize. In fact, I always feel disgruntled when a novel ends before I think it’s going to, for example, when the publisher includes the first chapter of the author’s next book as a teaser. Man, I hate that.

Anyway, once I realized this, I started wishing that I could read stand-alone short stories. I had this little fantasy in the back of my mind for a long time before I learned that such a thing actually exists. It’s called One Story. You subscribe and every three weeks they send you a single short story. It’s printed like a pamphlet, and you can totally gauge “where you are” by the thickness of the remaining pages. Problem solved.

I love reading these. Not only has their unique format totally confirmed my theory, but there is a lot of variety and interest in the stories themselves. They never repeat an author, and they are always good. Plus, and this is the best of all, these little pamphlets fit neatly in your purse or pocket. You can carry one with you at all times because you never know when you might want to whip one out and start reading. Dentist’s office, playground, auto mechanic… they’re perfect!

What about you? What are your thoughts on novels versus short stories?

1. Unconscious incompetence. You don’t know, and you don’t know that you don’t know.
2. Conscious incompetence. Whoops. You discover you don’t know, and start exploring to see what works.
3. Conscious competence. Now you’ve figured out what works, but it still requires intense concentration. So you do it over and over until it gets easy.
4. Unconscious competence. The holy grail. You’re so good at it now, you don’t even have to think about it; you just do it automatically.

This makes so much sense. It is very helpful to realize “where you are” in the hierarchy when you’re learning something new. I think actually the most important step is #2, exploration, and it’s also the hardest. Experimenting to see what works is almost intolerable for Lena, who likes to do things perfectly or not at all. Being able to discuss it in these terms has helped a ton. Oh, she still gets frustrated, but she has a much better understanding of the learning process and she knows she will get to the next level eventually.

I just wish this paradigm applied to parenting. Before I had kids I thought I knew what I was getting into. I had done tons of babysitting; I was a psych major; and my first job out of college was working with kids. I had no idea of how much I didn’t know.

When I beheld my newborn child for the first time, I had an almost physical sensation of my brain being rearranged somehow. Instantly I realized a lot of things, including the fact that until that moment I had been blissfully ignorant. Suddenly I was oh so conscious of my incompetence. And I started exploring to see what works.

Thirteen years later, I still feel consciously incompetent, and I’m still exploring. I doubt that I’ll ever make it to conscious competence, let alone the holy grail.

So, um, that’s cute, but what’s the big deal?

First and most important, I think it helps with accessibility. Links that jump to another section of the page you’re already on can be confusing, especially when the new section is far enough down that you can’t see the header any more. When you see the page scroll, it’s obvious where you are: on the same page, just farther down.

Second, I really didn’t want the search box at the top of the page. My goal for this design was to make it as clean and uncluttered as I possibly could. And yet, people expect to find a search box in the top right corner (at least, I do). This way, the link is still where you would expect to find it, but the box itself is neatly tucked away in the footer. Not to toot my own horn too much, but I’m very happy with this solution.

And third, ok, yes, it’s cute. I find myself idly clicking back and forth between Search and Back to Top… a lot.

The plugin is called Smooth Scrolling Links. It’s super-easy to install, and it worked perfectly on the first try. Two thumbs up.

My recent interest in Sir John Fielding is the result of a book I just read, Blind Justice by Bruce Alexander. I saw a brief review of the series on the Ann Arbor District Library blog and was immediately intrigued. I’m not generally a fan of mysteries as a genre, but I will read them if there is some value added, e.g. an interesting setting or a heartthrob of a detective. What piqued my curiosity about this one is, of course, the historical context. I may not be a huge fan of mysteries but I am always in the mood for a good historical novel!

There are two things I look for in a good historical novel in addition to the usual stuff. First, exposition. How does the author clue me in to the background, customs, culture, etc., of a historical period I’m not familiar with? I want it to be done imperceptibly, if at all. Please don’t give me big long paragraphs of explanation. Give me instead, say, a wide-eyed innocent narrator who’s new in town. As the character learns, so do I, and the author doesn’t have to be pedantic. Blind Justice accomplishes this very nicely with a first person narrator who happens to be a charming thirteen-year-old orphan newly arrived in London Town. A charming thirteen-year-old orphan, moreover, who knows how to set type. Dude!

And second, the language. Does the writing feel authentic for the period? Does it give a good flavor? I am no expert on Georgian England. I’ve never read Tom Jones or Pamela and I have no idea if the writing style is accurate. All I can say is, it felt pretty good. Flowery and ornate enough to be believable, but still quite easy to read. I found a couple of solecisms (e.g. hung instead of hanged) but I suppose they could have been deliberate.

As a historical novel, this book succeeds quite well. As a mystery… well, it wasn’t bad. The final solution was a possibility I’d considered, and I suspect it would have been even more obvious to someone who reads a lot of mysteries. But it didn’t detract from my enjoyment of the book at all. In fact I am very eager to continue following the fortunes of Sir John Fielding and his thirteen-year-old orphan typesetter assistant. The second book is called Murder in Grub Street and I’ve got it on hold already.