I wish this novel would stop being so f#cking relevant :/

I wrote my second novel in the mid-1990s, a young mom in the crucible of chemo and recovery: swamped with pharmaceuticals, living in immune-compromised isolation, and immersed in the sort of books you read when you think you’re dying. 

Till We Have Faces by C. S. Lewis, a philosophical retelling of the Psyche and Eros myth, blew my mind and prompted a Bullfinch reading binge. A dark dramedy took shape in my head as I thought about how the complicated story of Psyche and her extended family might play if I dropped it into my world—a working class suburb in Houston, Texas—with full advantage of melodic Southern dialect and over-the-top Southern family dynamics. 

With brilliant editing from Joan Drury, Sugarland was published in 1999 by Spinsters Ink, a feisty little feminist press based in Duluth, Minnesota, and later by Bertelsmann, the parent company of Random House, in Europe. It did well, won a few awards, and got good reviews. The German translation, Fast wei im Paradies, was a bestseller and generated hundreds of letters, which was trippy, even though I had no idea if they were fan or hate mail. 

Best of all, Sugarland had a nice run with book clubs all over the United States; I was lucky enough to sit in on more than a hundred robust, wine-fueled discussions at bookstores, bars, and in readers’ homes—an eye-opening privilege I’ve not had with any other book. Even in 2001, when I was touring to promote my memoir, Bald in the Land of Big Hair, many book clubs I visited wanted to go back and rehash their previous year’s conversation about Sugarland. The story of Kit and Kiki turned out to be a vehicle for polarized, revealing conversations about how endemic sexism and misogyny haven’t changed that much over the past three thousand years, particularly when it comes to casual language and shaming qualifiers attached to sexual assault and domestic violence.

Lord, I wish this book would stop being so fucking relevant.

Kit and Kiki are caught up in the type of dreams and frustrations quickly understood by most young mothers. Kit’s husband Mel is a gentle salt-of-the-earth working man; Kiki’s husband Wayne is the golden son of a privileged family—a man whose good looks and charm mask a terrifying mean streak. The complex arc of the story arises from an incident revealed in succinct emotional and physical detail close to the beginning of the book: Kit is raped by Wayne. Later in the book, Wayne violently beats and rapes his wife, and the language purposely echoes the rape of Kit, which is less physically violent but no less monstrous. Both assaults are clearly about power, not sex.

The damage done to Kit as her children and her sister's children are sleeping on the floor just a few feet away takes her into Psyche’s perilous realm. She loses herself to shame and denial and methodically destroys her own life. In the midst of that desperate downward spiral, Kit has a comforting sexual encounter with Ander, her longtime friend and employer. Again, the language was carefully constructed to demonstrate the difference between the rape and this situation in which Kit is a willing participant.

From the Library Journal review (emphasis mine): “When both sisters become pregnant for the third time, suffering ensues: cataclysmic loss for Kiki and overwhelming guilt for Kit, unsure of her unborn child's paternity after a virtual assault by Wayne and a spontaneous tumble with her boss.”

Ponder with me the problematic false equivalence of “virtual assault” and “spontaneous tumble”—or the problematic notion that “virtual assault” is even a thing.

From Publisher's Weekly: “Meanwhile, Kit has two quickie flings, resulting in a pregnancy of questionable paternity. Readers with true equality of the sexes on their minds may object that Kiki's husband’s cheating is treated as an actionable offense while Kit's marital excursions are permitted the luxury of mitigating circumstances.”

Quickie.

Fling.

I physically cough-barked when I saw that. At least the “marital excursion” enjoyed the “luxury of mitigating circumstances.” Because getting raped is a luxury, you see. ‘Cause then you have a good excuse when you explain yourself to the satisfaction of—gah! Whatever. These are two reviews among many that had high praise for the book itself but proved the book’s point with semantic bet-hedging over whether it really counts as rape if a woman wasn’t adequately beaten before, during, or after she was forcibly penetrated. The assumption is that Kit—unhappy in her tepid marriage—was consciously or subconsciously asking for it. And what a feminazi I was for treating poor Wayne’s “cheating” as an “actionable offense”! 

Note to anyone doing jury duty: IT IS. 

When I visited book clubs, which were populated overwhelmingly by women readers, I was astounded to find that discussions often centered, at least in part, on what Kit could have and should have done to prevent the rape from happening. 

And we wonder why 90% of sexual assaults go unreported.

When I told Joan Drury about these book club conversations, she said, “Now you know why this book is important. They’re having the conversation. They’re talking about it. That’s a victory.”

Two decades later, the #MeToo movement sparked some hope. Feminists of my daughter’s generation—girls who came of age with women gynecologists, harassment laws, and access (for the moment) to safe, legal abortion—are not shy about raining down internet outrage on someone like Rep. Todd Aiken (R-Missouri), who claimed in 2012 that rape could not result in pregnancy, because “if it’s a legitimate rape, the female body has ways to try to shut the whole thing down.” 

Aiken promptly got shut down his own self, but let’s face it, no dumbass is an island. This was not one guy’s political faux pas; this is an agenda embraced by a lot of people to justify private judgements and public policies that degrade and harm women on several levels. And that’s why we have to keep the conversation going. Women need to go there—with each other, with our daughters, and with the people who represent us in Congress. It would be nice to think that the good fight fought by Joanie Drury and her sisters would be sufficient to secure safety, health, civil rights, equal pay, and mutual respect for future generations of women.

Note to my daughter: It wasn’t. 

Apparently, it never will be. The good fight goes on, but I remain hopeful. Someday, we—the body female—will spread our wings and shut that whole thing down.

Sugarland is out of the vault, available in paperback and on all ebook platforms.

When a Part of You Goes Missing: Twin: A Memoir, by Allen Shawn

Like so many singletons, I've long wondered what it might mean to share the bonds of twinship. I've been equally fascinated by the workings of the autistic mind (especially since seeing last year's fantastic HBO first-person biopic, TEMPLE GRANDIN,about a woman who would be nine kinds of amazing, even if she hadn't found a way to articulate her perceptual differences to the rest of us.) Thanks to those two interests, I jumped to snag a review copy of Allen Shawn's new memoir, TWIN, which describes the impact in his life, growing up in the 1950's, of the removal of his eight-year-old autistic twin, Mary, from his family, where she would never again live.

Though in appearance heartbreakingly "normal," Mary always lagged behind her articulate (and musically gifted, as it turned out) brother. The children of a New Yorker editor and his equally high-strung wife, the siblings were quickly separated, and Allen soon learned to think of Mary less as a twin than as a very "different" (and frequently very difficult) sister. In accordance with the wisdom of the day, the Shawns were advised by doctors to focus on their two sons and the future of their marriage by sending Mary to a setting where she could be cared for by experts.

It had to have been a heartbreaking choice, as I'm sure it was for many other families given similar advice regarding their disabled children, and I can't imagine how terrifying and confusing it must have been for little Mary to be uprooted from the only home she'd ever known. For better or worse, however, the book's focus remains on Allen Shaw (after all, it is his memoir) and the lasting effects of an absence he was encouraged to suppress on his rocky adolescence.

Well written and chock full of interesting tidbits on twin development, autism, treatment of the disabled in the Fifties, and the Shawns' non-traditional family arrangement, TWIN: A MEMOIR makes for an absorbing read. As with his previous memoir, WISH I COULD BE THERE, in which composer, music professor, and skilled pianist Allen Shawn examined the origins of his often-crippling anxieties, the author proves himself adept at exploring the factors that have made him the man he is.

A great choice for book clubs or the curious reader, Allen Shawn's TWIN comes highly recommended.Check out this terrific New York Times interview with Shawn on the factors that convinced him to write the book.

Buy This Book: A Writer's Eye: Collected Book Reviews by Eudora Welty

From the University Press of Mississippi, a collection of Eudora Welty's book reviews which I whipped onto my Kindle recently in hopes of educating myself on how to review books. Welty's intelligent, compassionate, funny, and insightful reviews appeared in the NYT Review of Books, the NY Post, Sewanee Review, and other publications between 1942 and 1984. Just thinking about the tectonic shifts in literature and American culture during those four decades is kind of mind-boggling. Virginia Woolf, William Faulkner, Colette, Isak Dinesen, E. B. White, E. M. Forster, J. D. Salinger, Annie Dillard -- the list goes on. Check it out.

Note to Book Editors: Call arse-kicking machine repairman!

From the always insightful David Hewson's "Why does a popular press hate popular books?":

The best selling book in Britain last year was Linwood Barclay’s No Time for Goodbye. I checked The Times archives to see if they reviewed it. Yes, they did, favourably. But only after it got to number one. When I was a general reporter and that kind of thing happened with news stories there was always an inquest, and usually someone was invited into the room that contained what one executive liked to call ‘the arse-kicking machine’. With good reason too.

I’ve picked on my own paper here because it’s the one I still take at home. This is a little unfair. Snobbery on the literary pages is rife, and not just a British affair. The American prints often behave much the same way. Many of those are steadily killing book review space too on ‘economic grounds’.

Read the rest here.

Consider yourself duly cautioned as to our lack of objectivity

I was vaguely aware that the Federal Trade Commission had recently introduced some new rules designed to stem blog payola (another echo from radio days past), but wasn't quite sure how those rules pertained to us, here at Box~Octo. (I actually typed "to us Octopussies" just now, but then madly backspaced in shame when I had this vision of Colleen's eyebrows flying off her head.) Essentially, they want bloggers to expose freebies they're getting in exchange for product reviews, which I don't think is a bad thing, but it's a little murky how they're going to levy citations or fines -- and they're threatening some fairly chunky dollar amounts for the fines.

Anyway, I loved literary agent Janet Reid's approach. Her disclaimer in part:

For the purposes of FTC compliance it's just best to assume I'm a bought and paid for pawn of the publishing industry.

It's best to just assume I have a vested financial interest in any and every book and product mentioned on this blog, particularly the ones I don't identify as written by my clients.

Consider yourself duly notified of my lack of objectivity, and of course thank the FTC for watching out for you.

I'm going to follow her lead and cover our collective octo-fanny with a blanket disclaimer, but with the addition of this woo woo thought for the day:

Publishing is a community. We all have a vested interest in each other's success -- or failure. Every book is our book. Every time you help a neighbor, you benefit. Every time you tear someone else down, you lose something. Karmic payola, my friends.

For the record, Collen and I do receive a lot of free books from publishers, authors, and PR folk. We don't always plug the book or interview the author, but that's because Colleen and I are both under deadline pretty much all the time. We try hard to do as many as we can. We've fallen down a bit lately. Super busy summer. (I have a dozen people waiting very patiently for me right now, so let me add an official apology for my neglect. I'm getting there.)

I have friends at various large and small presses, and if they ask me for a favor, I do what I can to help out. I don't lie and say I like a book I hate, but I'm predisposed to like most books, especially those written or published by my friends, who tend to be nerdy types, and I will try hard to find something positive to say about any book or author. I will not trash a book or author in this space. If I really had to hold my nose while reading, I'll opt to say nothing at all.

Colleen has strong ties to the RWA and the Houston romance writing community, where she is revered as a bit of a goddess, but she's pretty much the same way I am with reviews. If you can't say something nice, say nothing at all, just like Mom always told you. While books are being given to her, she's not getting paid, and no authors are stopping by her house to do her laundry or anything. (I've actually stopped by her house to do MY laundry, but that's another story.)

Bottom lining it, we are strongly biased in favor of a healthy publishing industry in general and our friends in particular. We like free books! If you want to send us a published book (no self-published books, please) or a bound galley, we will embrace it with all the love in our hearts, review it if we can, interview the author if at all possible, or at the very least wish you well.

(Above "Rules for Living in Misery" are from Twelve Guaranteed Ways to Stay Miserable (or Change) by Patricia L. Zerman and Beverly J. Wolf. Full disclosure: I have not read this book, but it seems like she's onto something. This list is intensely applicable to writer/moms. Click graphic to enlarge.)

An Open Letter to Houston Chronicle President/Publisher Jack Sweeney (upon the whacking of their book editor)

Wednesday night, I was up late, crafting a scathing post on how I’ve been alternately irked and bored hypnagogic by the Houston Chronicle’s coverage of books over the last fifteen years. A send-up of Jonathan Swift’s “Modest Proposal,” it suggested that half the working writers in Houston should be processed into packing peanuts so the remaining few could be shipped anywhere they wouldn’t be prophets in their own country. My rant was derailed when a friend emailed me a link to a Wall Street Journal article reporting that Jack Sweeney, president and publisher of the Houston Chronicle, had announced the layoff of 12% of its staff. Among the fallen was book editor Fritz Lanham.

My heart sank. How would it impact Houston authors if the Chron’s book coverage got even worse? Oh, wait. That’s not possible, unless they’re planning to actually set local authors on fire.

In 2006, Mr. Lanham was interviewed on “Critical Mass,” the National Book Critics Circle board of directors’ blog.

And I quote:

Q: I don't think most people think Houston when they think literary life, but I get the impression there's a lot going on there. What makes it a lively book town?

A: The University of Houston's Creative Writing Program, one of the largest and best in the country...We also have two first-rate independent bookstores -- Brazos Bookstore, which brings literary writers to town, and Murder by the Book, one of the best mystery bookstores in the country (EVERY major crime novelist comes through here on a regular basis).

Without these two bookstores and the UH program, the books scene in Houston would be pretty grim.

When I saw that, I wanted to slap some yes ma'am right upside his pointy head. There are dozens of talented, hard-working, well-published authors of all genres living in the Houston metroplex. Two indies? There are many! Book clubs buzz in every subdivision, coffee shop, and country club. Houston is the birthplace and headquarters of the RWA, one of the leading professional organizations in the publishing industry worldwide. The Winter Gathering of Authors at the Barnes & Noble flagship store was routinely jammed to the rafters. Nuestra Palabra "gives Latino writers their say." The New Yorker was right; we live in a lively book town. I don’t know where Eeyore gets off calling it “grim” because no one was in a better position to appreciate, facilitate, and preach the gospel of Houston’s literary scene.

Our man Fritz’s nose for book news was chronically stuffed up. Week after week, the Chronicle farted forth dry-as-dog-biscuit fare typified by last Sunday’s ponderous condemnation of a John Cheever biography. (In light of recent events, it’s likely Lanham was already asking for whom the bell tolls, but it's still a fair example of his taste.) There's value in throwing a critic’s well-written two-cents into the cultural conversation on John Cheever, but that’s why God created literary journals.

And why did God create newspaper book pages?

“They inform readers about new books readers might want to pick up -- a consumer-guide function,” Lanham said in that “Critical Mass” interview. “And they tell readers interesting things they didn't know -- they enlighten, teach, unnerve.”

I’m completely on the bus with that, but with the economy suffering, the book industry suffering, the newspaper industry suffering, and dozens of worthy, widely appealing books daily lobbed over his transom, Lanham could have better implemented that philosophy by devoting precious column inches to positive, engaging reviews instead of hurling himself between We the Readers and our potentially disastrous purchase of an eighty-pound Cheever bio.

Asked if local bookstores followed Chron book coverage, Lanham said, “Local bookstores are aware of our coverage, but as a rule I don't hear that our reviews move a bunch of copies. But come to think of it I don't think I've put the question directly to them.”

If he had, he would have been told that in order to be of use as a “consumer guide” (not to mention an advertising space), book pages need to feature timely reviews of books during their excruciatingly brief shelf life. Preferably books that people without elbow patches might actually want to read. Market appeal and artistic merit are not mutually exclusive. Shakespeare wrote his plays for the rabble. Dickens was directed at the mass audience. The book industry won't thrive – how can it even survive? -- if the most visible book coverage inculcates the widest market demographics with the belief that they are not smart enough to read. Somehow chortling academics have stretched this Grand Canyon of elitism and inefficacy between hungry readers and the intelligent, artsy, totally happening "let's do lunch" vibe of the book industry.

If the book business is dying of lung cancer, pasty little pedants like Fritz Lanham are the Marlboro Men. I'm sorry to be blunt. I don't want to kick the guy when he's down. (I wanted to kick him when he was up, but I missed my chance.) Mr. Lanham is an excellent writer. I hope he’ll carpe diem, grow a pair, and write a book of his own. I’d definitely buy it. Meanwhile, I hope the powers that be at the Chronicle will take this moment to reinvent the form and function of its book coverage, understanding that (hello!) encouraging reading is good for the newspaper business.

We get the culture we beget, Mr. Sweeney. The culture we carve, decision by decision. Books and newspapers are a vital, dynamic, and undeniably symbiotic aspect of American life. Well-crafted, hilarious, sexy, thought-provoking, educational, enormously entertaining books are being published every day, and there's an intelligent audience wanting to know about them. Ding dong the Fritz is dead, but where will the Chronicle go from here? Will future book coverage be a dynamic, relevant thread that appeals to an untapped audience, attracts advertisers, pumps people into bookstores, and lights a fire under the Houston literary scene? Or will we be yawning over wire service rip 'n' read reviews penned by circle-jerking academics and laid-off book editors?

Jack. Darling. I'm begging you. For the love of words on paper. Let's do lunch.