Some People Can't Surf

Back in the day, when people read newspapers with some regularity, it was said that only something like 7% of the male population didn't read the sports section. I was part of the 7%. It was around the same time that my junior and senior high classmates began schlepping the sports section to homeroom that I began trolling the art and graphic design sections of bookstores and libraries hungry for some visual stimulation. Uneducated and unfamiliar with the art world, and with no finer appreciation for museums, I loved pulling out something that looked interesting and pouring over the glossy pages at images that inspired.

As a result, I became more aware of the graphic design of everyday life: the covers of alternative newspapers, the flyers for punk bands on the telephone poles, the zine piled in the entry ways of music stores. That love of graphics and the photocopier lead me to create zines and design letterpress books, and foundered a lifelong love of both high and low art. It also taught me that there was gold to be discovered in the bookshelves, if you knew where to look.

For my money, one of the best practitioners of 1990s was Art Chantry. While many (many) amateur graphic designers cut their teeth in the trenches of post-Sex Pistols punk rock show posters, Chantry bent and pushed and burned and mutilated the medium to its extremes. To be fair, what the Sex Pistols were doing was little more than aping the detournement of the French Situationists (who in turn were borrowing the Dadaist approach to found collage) so there is a long-standing tradition of image manipulation within art and politics. Nonetheless, Chantry took the low-budget, high concept approach to word and image and put a stamp on it that was at once sophisticated in it's thievery while appearing completely naive.

Some People Can't Surf: The Graphic Design of Art Chantry is the first survey of Chantry's work and is the sort of thing a teen might find pretty darn inspirational. Based in the Pacific Northwest, one could argue that he was the graphic face of the grunge movement. His work for Sub Pop and Estrus records, among many other small bands and labels, will be readily familiar to fans of music from that era. Unlike other artists who spring from pop culture, like Shepard Fairey and his Obey industries, Chantry has no single iconic image or style yet there is a unique look to all his work that nonetheless feels part of a whole.

"An art book? That counts as reading?" Yes, I admit, it is tempting to pick up a book like this and simply look at the pictures. But I believe that one of the mysteries of the adult world to teens is in the arts where often we only know what's presented to us (or covered in the tabloids). How an artist lives and creates, what inspires them and influences them, tells a younger reader a lot about what it means to follow that path. Outsiders, often living on the margins, artists have to learn how to improvise not only with their art but with survival. Sometimes all it takes is a book like this to ignite the spark in a reader's mind: Oh, yeah, someone had to create that? And how did they do it? And what were their influences? A book that opens the door to questions and perhaps inspires a reader into action counts by me.
An artists' retrospective, like Some People Can't Surf, reads like a biography with documentation. Instead of photos of the subject posing on vacation abroad we see their growth as an artist visually while reading about their struggles to meet deadlines and working with no budgets. They're like a picture book where the words and pictures compliment each other, and provide a window into the world of a working artist.

Chantry has been exhibited in The Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, The Smithsonian, and the Louvre. That's a trifecta in my book.

Some People Can't Surf:
The Graphic Design of Art Chantry
by Julie Lasky
Chronicle Books
2001

GLW Shortlisted for BBAW

Hey, everyone! Guys Lit Wire has been shortlisted for a Book Blogger Appreciation Week award for Best Special Interest Blog. There's a rather dauntingly long list of categories, but if you go check out the post with nominees, you'll have a chance to vote online for GLW and any other favorite blogs that made the cut. And, if you're like me, you'll find a whole slew of intriguing sites about books and reading that you might not have visited before. Check it out!

ETA: Also don't miss that we were nominated for Most Altruistic Blog in recognition of the Book Fair for Boys!

Also, psssst!, don't forget about this year's Cybil Awards, which are kicking into gear with a new 2009 logo and a new crop of panelists--stay tuned to the blog to find out more.

Lighting the fuse on A Bomb Built in Hell

I've just finished reading the bookends of one of my favorite series, the "Burke" novels by Andrew Vachss. After 18 books in 23 years, he completed it with the release of Another Life in 2008. Meanwhile, his website has the free PDF of his first, unpublished novel, a sort of prelude to the Burke series titled, A Bomb Built in Hell.

To call Bomb "disturbing" is an understatement. Written in 1973, it deals with Wesley, a supporting character in the Burke series, one who's so scary even mentioning his name terrifies people. He's an amoral hit man who, weary of his life, decides to take out the next generation of those he blames for making his life what it is. But his judgment, needless to say, is a bit twisted.

What skews it, as in all Vachss' novels, is Wesley's tormented childhood at the hands of the government. Abandoned at age four, he's raised by the state and becomes a petty teen criminal. In the first few pages he refers to reform institutions as "upstate sodomy schools," and thinks no more of going to jail than a normal person would going to Wal-Mart. He's desensitized, an empty vessel waiting to be filled.

His prison mentor Carmine does just that, teaching him the ropes and preparing him for life outside as a hit man. Upon his release, Wesley avenges Carmine on the mobsters who let him rot in prison. When that's accomplished, he decides to seek a more personal revenge, not against individuals but against an entire class of people. I won't give it away here, but what Vachss wrote about in 1973 came to pass in an almost identical event in 1999.

In the author's notes on his website, Vachss says publishers repeatedly told him, "the book was also 'too' hard-boiled, 'too' extreme, 'too' spare and violent. I heard endlessly about how an anti-hero was acceptable, but Wesley was just 'too' much."

And maybe, dare I say it, they were right about that last bit. Burke narrates his own stories; while the other characters see only his carefully-chosen front, we are privy to his thoughts, feelings and motives. Bomb is written in third person, so that the reader sees Wesley the same way the other characters do. There's very little sympathy for him, especially as he closes in on his greatest hit at the climax. In fact, if Bomb were written and published today, the outcry would probably be massive; Vachss might even disappear at the hands of Homeland Security for appearing to advocate (and describing in detail how to accomplish) such extreme acts.

But despite being a period piece in a sense, "Bomb" still resonates with the thing that makes all Vachss' books so powerful: the sense that there's reality in the details, no matter how outlandish the characters or plot might seem. Vachss has spent his life in the trenches, and if he says this is how something should be done, I wouldn't doubt him.

I'm not exactly "recommending" this book to teen boys; it's certainly not written for a YA audience and as I said, it could be misconstrued as advocating what it depicts, although that's truly not the case. But it does show how the juvenile justice "system" often does far more damage to those it's supposed to help. And I'm not saying Bomb is a "scared straight" work, either. I guess what I got from it, and what I hope teen boys would, is the sense of how those deprived of family will always seek one out. It happens in gangs all the time. But maybe here, writ large and in a sense absurd, readers can see the process in such sharp relief they'll be motivated, somehow, to break the chain. Before that same process produces a Wesley for real.

Download A Bomb Built in Hell for free here.

Read Andrew Vachss autobiographical essay here.

The Morgue and Me -- John C. Ford

The Morgue and Me begins:

When you're eighteen years old and you shoot somebody in a public place at two in the morning, of course you expect some attention. Especially when it's the person I shot, and especially when you're found right there on the scene with that person at your feet, gasping away in a pool of blood that seeps around your shoes. Still, I find it really embarrassing.

The summer before his freshman year of college, photography enthusiast and aspiring spy Christopher Newell gets a summer job at the morgue. He was supposed to work at the NWMU astronomy department, but that fell through when... well, it's a long story.

Anyway, the morgue. While snooping (there's really no other word for it) in the coroner's office, he finds $15,000 in cash. Which is weird. But then when he realizes that the coroner falsified his most recent report... well, Christopher Newell is pretty good at math.

He teams up with Tina, a Trans Am driving, fishnet wearing, drinking, smoking, big mouthed (and extremely attractive) young journalist -- he wants to solve the mystery, she wants a big break -- and before the two of them know it, they're up to their ears in an investigation that seems to involve every single powerful person in their Michigan town.

And powerful people do not usually take kindly to being investigated: especially when that investigation is conducted by a couple of nobodies and involves corruption, blackmail and murder.

Christopher's narration definitely brings to mind a hard-boiled detective -- not because he is one (or acts like one), mind you, but because he wants to be one -- and it especially comes out in some of his descriptions of people:

I've heard that lots of movie stars have huge heads. I don't know about his acting skills, but Corbett was qualified in the head department. His giant helmet of black hair was gelled so thick I could almost see a reflection of the clouds in it. On his feet he wore tiny black loafers, equally shiny. In between, there was lots of tailored clothing.

His relationship with Tina is especially well done. He has to remind himself to stop drooling every time he looks at her even though he knows it is SO not going to happen -- and that attraction persists throughout the book, even as their working relationship develops into a genuine friendship. And, very importantly, they're rather hilarious:

"See?" Tina said. "You lurk a little, you get your answers."

"I'm not sure it was the lurking. I think it was more the asking."

"Whatever. We're lurking till I finish this drink."

And while Tina easily could have become a two-dimensional stock character (because it isn't like we haven't met the brash and brassy type many, many times before), she didn't. As the book progressed, as she and Christopher got to know each other, she became more and more real. By the end of the book, I felt like she was as much a main character as he was.

Big thumbs up here -- it's a strong mystery (minus one plot point that felt really, really wrong) that feels both classic and contemporary. It was suspenseful and twisty and funny with strong secondary characters and just good all around. I know I always say it when I find one, but here I go again: I'm so glad that we're starting to see more noir-ish crime novels written for and marketed to the teen audience. __________________________________________________________________

Book source: My local library.
__________________________________________________________________

Cross-posted at Bookshelves of Doom.

A Short History of Guys Lit Wire

Ever wondered how this site came to be? No, it didn't just appear fully-formed like Athena out of Zeus's forehead. There's a whole history behind it, and site mastermind Colleen has shared it with the readers of Crossed Genres magazine. Here's just a small sample of the article:

"The story of Guys Lit Wire and the notion of creating a blog solely to recommend books for teenage boys begins with the NEA Study on Reading released in November 2007. While much of the media focused on reduced reading numbers among adults, in a segment of the lit blogosphere we were fixated on the figures related to teen boys. While younger children show parity between the genders on reading tests, boys begin to noticeably lag behind girls as they grow older. A boisterous conversation ensued online as we discussed what this might mean..."

Read the rest of Colleen's post here, and find out for yourself how we got to where we are today. (And, go, Colleen! W00t!)

The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Stieg Larsson

Visit Stockholm, Sweden and you'll be entranced by cleanliness from the moment you arrive. Brightly-hued flowers mingle with the beauty of Old World brick and stonework while freshly-scrubbed Swedes wind their way to work. Even in this modern metropolis, you cannot but marvel at the effort taken to present such an immaculate, crisp image to the outside world.

But Stieg Larsson knows better.

First published in English a year ago, Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo has garnered considerable praise for its deft characterization in service to a high tension mystery/thriller plot. Yet it's not the usual thriller trappings that enthrall readers entirely. This is no banal police procedural or run-of-the-mill locked room mystery (though elements of both figure prominently in the novel). Instead, there is something simply riveting about what Larsson reveals about his native Sweden - things which, I suppose, most Swedes already know, but which Americans could not even begin to fathom.

Calling Larsson's Sweden "seedy" just isn't the right term. Take the image of a 1970s-era Times Square completely out of your mind. Likewise, drop your noir-driven conceptions of cheesy first-person narrative. These are crimes, criminals and environments of an entirely different nature.

The plot is anything but simple, and readers may be initially put off by the complicated Vanger family tree that greets them inside the front cover. For what it's worth, I never needed to refer to the family tree, and I imagine most except the most retentive readers won't have to. Beyond this superfluous map, the novel begins with quite a paradox of reading conditions. I defy anyone to read the prologue and not be immediately captivated by the vague mystery presented. In contrast, the first few chapters past the prologue are enough to drive away all but the most devoted reader. It's an odd pairing, to be sure, but I encourage tenacity - the layers of this mystery may peel back slowly, but the payoff is worth the wait.

Any attempt at summarizing the novel runs the serious risk of spoiling all the fun, so suffice it to say that troubled journalist Mikael Blomkvist is offered an opportunity to solve a decades-old crime, and along the way teams up with a research assistant who is at once deeply troubled, yet undeniably brilliant. This is oversimplified, of course, but there is no way to effectively communicate the thematic depth of the novel without perverting the reading experience.

The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo's raison d'etre is not only to scrape the white-washed veneer from the surface of Sweden's image, but also to explore the hidden malevolence directed at women from within the nation's bounds. At this, Larsson succeeds superbly by presenting a wide array of female figures. And while some of these may be physically and emotionally weak, most are intellectually and morally empowered to do something about the men who would subjugate them.

Long after the mystery at the heart of the novel had passed, I found myself not wanting to tear myself away from these strangely compelling characters. By deliberately standing aloof from his characters, and by presenting them in an almost simple, journalistic, fashion, Larsson imbues them with a psychological depth and realism they would never have otherwise. The mystery, it seems, has less to do with the enigma Blomkvist is hired to solve and more to do with The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo - or is that The Girl Who Played With Fire?

Get Mechanistic

If you've read this site regularly, you've heard the term "steampunk" used here and there, but here's a little refresher if you need it: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Steampunk

In Mainspring, Jay Lake has gone a bit beyond the typical steampunk world. His book is set in Victorian times, opening in America which here is still under English rule, but that's the least of what's unusual about the world compared to our own. The solar system in this book is purely mechanical, operating like an enormous clock. Each of the planets, including the Earth, rotates by means of gears and orbits the sun on a massive circular brass track hung somehow in space. The sun itself is a massive lamp in the center.


he story opens with Hethor, a clockmaker's apprentice, who is visited one night by a Brass angel calling itself Gabriel. Gabriel tells Hethor that the world's spring is in need of winding, and that he must find the Key Perilous which can wind up the world before everything grinds to a halt. As evidence of his visit Gabriel leaves Hethor with a silver feather. Despite some trouble in getting anyone to believe this tale and instead being accused of theft, Hethor takes it at his mortal duty to accept and carry out the task that God has apparently set before him. He commences a journey that will take him to the ends of his mechanical Earth.

Hethor's world is monumentally strange, full of odd men who form strange societies, bizarre and forgotten inventions, and everywhere, metal--springs and gears and plates and joints. But it is also a familiar one. For help, for instance, he visits the library at Harvard. He struggles with prosaic Victorian religious and sexual guilt. He finds his way often blocked by the simple class issues and politics so common to our world.

Driven on by both his faith in God and his empirical observations (Hethor is especially gifted at picking out the mechanical sounds that this wind-up Earth emits; he can hear its healthy ticking, as well as its painful groaning and grinding) he eventually finds his way aboard an airship, the Bassett, headed for the Wall, a massive structure wrapping the Earth's equator and meshing with the track upon which it circles the sun. On the other side of the Wall is an entirely different kind of world, one in which various humanoid creatures--some ape-like, some bird-like, and some really really tall--live more in tune with nature, both with its bounty and with its violence.

Mainspring is a great adventure. It's hero is anything but flashy, but he is stubbornly determined and you can't help but get behind him as he tries to do God's bidding even in the face of ridicule, imprisonment, mind-bending puzzles and deadly battles. But Mainspring is also an allegory which pits an intellectual, mechanistic, and puritanical view of the world against one which is organic, intuitive and magical. As Hethor negotiates these two extremes, his mind opens up to myriad possibilities of what God might be and how God might work.

It takes a bit of effort to get into Mainspring. The period-specific language is odd, a bit dense and distancing at times, but your effort will be paid off by fantastic imagery and enlightening ideas.

Literary Initials

E.B. White.
C.S. Lewis.
J.K. Rowling.

These and many other authors use "literary initials" in their bylines. You may not have given such names much thought at all, yet you may make fast assumptions when you see them printed on the cover or spine of a book.

The author and/or publisher may choose to use initials or pseudonyms for any number of reasons: to protect the identity of the author, to create mystery and intrigue (and thus boost sales and readership), to make it sound as if the author's gender matches that of the protagnonist when it's really the opposite, etcetera, etcetera.

As a kid, I really enjoyed the film The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, so I tracked down the novel written by R.A. Dick and discovered the name was a pseudonym of Josephine Leslie. (Note: If you like classic ghost-and-human romance stories but you haven't heard of The Ghost and Mrs. Muir, do yourself a favor and read the book, then see the classic 1947 film starring Gene Tierney and Rex Harrison, with a young Natalie Wood. Also watch the TV series if you have the chance.) The book was published in 1945. I'm not certain why the byline is what it is, but I find it somewhat amusing, because the story has true ghostwriting: a living female writing the memoirs of a ghostly sea captain as he dictates them to her.

However, since this is a pseudonym, it's not the same thing as an author who simply hides his or her first and/or middle names behind initials, like the wonderful F. Scott Fitzgerald or the delightful E. Lockhart.

What do you think about literary initials? Here are some things to consider:
Do you regard pseudonyms and pen names differently than initials which just shorten real names?
If you do not know the real name or gender of the author, do you research it before or after you read the book?
If an author's byline has initials for the first name, do you assume the author is male?
Does the gender of the author influence whether or not you pick up the book, or whether or not you trust the protagonist, if the protagonist is the opposite gender of the author? Does it matter to you at all?
Let me know your thoughts in the comments below!

When I posed these questions to my writer pals, well-read friends, co-workers, customers, and the general public, I received a great range of responses. Check them out:

I am not particularly interested in any of the issues that you have raised here - they don't influence my choice of author or book, nor do they affect my enjoyment (or otherwise) of the work. I don't assume that an author is male just because they use their initials; the sex of the author is immaterial, anyway.
- Gail, aged 52

I either assume it's a woman asked by her publishers or agent to use initials in an attempt to make sure that the book doesn't get categorised as 'a book for girls', or that it's a man asked to do so in order to make sure that it's seen as 'chick lit' (and that he is writing this because he thinks it will make him money). Terribly cynical of me, maybe, but I do find initials used in modern publications slightly irritating.

With 'classic' writers, those writing in the 19th or 20th century, I tend to assume that they're male unless I know otherwise - an approach which has always given me the right answer, somewhat depressingly!

The gender of the author is something I'm aware of when reading if their gender is the opposite gender to that of the main protagonist. I tend to pay close attention to how they're portraying ideas about the opposite sex, about friendships, and about anything that's 'traditionally' associated with their sex - to see if the writer has felt the need to either depend too much on gender stereotypes or to use the story as a space for arguing against them. I suppose these things would detract from the text no matter what, though. I'm still aware of gender stereotypes when it's writers writing about their own sex.

I wrote a few chapters from male POVs in my last book, and it was a slightly scary experience - it seems to have worked but I found it a tricky balance, trying to make sure they sounded 'like guys' without becoming complete caricatures of 'teenage guyness'. Interesting though.
- Claire Hennessy, writer

I generally don't make assumptions about or care what an author's gender is. I am, however, so familiar with/jaded by the phenomenon of female authors - especially in fantasy and science fiction - using their initials that I now almost always assume that an author using initials is female. I certainly don't trust the protagonist more or less based on whether or not s/he shares gender with the author.
- Kimberly, library science student

I think that literary initials add more mystery to the book and makes me want to pick it up more than a book that has the author's full name printed upon it.
- Doyin, student

I associate initials with many of my favorite authors, which is why I plan to use them if/when I ever get anything published! I like the sound of "A.M.Weir" and think it just sounds more authorial than Amy, which, since there were like two adults with that name when I was a kid, will always sound like a kid's name to me even though most of us are adults now.

There I go, ousting my secret identity on the Internet.

But I never realized that there WAS a gender-based reason for using initials until years after I decided I would. Many times I knew the author's gender from something else ahead of time anyway-- pictures or bios. If I don't, I tend to assume the author is the gender of the main character in the book, I think! Hmm... the main character in my most-close-to-publication-worthy book is a boy....
- A. M. Weir, bookworm, librarian, and unpublished writer

I'll give the classic lawyer's answer: It depends.

Some names, like mine, are a mouthful. I think tough names can be a turnoff for some readers.

I honestly don't care if a book is written by a man or by a woman. It stinks that women women feel they have to hide behind initials to reach a broader audience, but I don't blame them for it.

I do often wonder why men seem to win more awards. It's too bad there's no way of judging them anonymously. When women started auditioning for orchestras behind curtains, they got more chairs. I bet women would get more writing awards if people didn't know the sex of the author.
- Martha, 39, author

When I was growing up, I always assumed it was a man who used initials because it looked so literary. A throw-back to the 19th century I suppose, although I've never lived during the 19th century, unless I had a previous life.

In the last ten years, I personally think it's because BOTH men and women are attempting to hide their real names because they are writing books that appeal more to the opposite sex and don't want their name - and those assumptions - to hurt potential sales.

It's sort of silly though because it's so easy now to find out an author's actual name, although it's too bad we make assumptions about a book's value or authenticity based on the sex of the author. Authors using initials don't stop me from reading a book, but I DO want to know what gender they are! Pure curiosity. And I usually find out before I read the book, but if the book is getting a lot of buzz and good reviews I will read it no matter who wrote it.
- Kimberley Little, author

I don't mind the use of "literary initials" in bylines. It's a choice authors make for a number of reasons. It can offer a kind of anonymity and can also hide the writer's gender (if he or she wishes to). Woman tended to use initials a lot more in the past to leap beyond sexual stereotypes. I think the literary landscape is freer now. An author's gender does not influence whether I will pick up a book. A good book is a good book. Male authors should be free to write from a female's POV. Female writers need that same freedom. I've enjoyed writing chapters or entire books from a boy's POV and I'd resent being restricted to limit my main characters to a single sex! A good writer needs to get into ANY character's skin. This is particularly true in speculative fiction where an author has to crawl into anothers skin be it alien or animal -- dragons included.
- Janet Lee Carey, author

I don't research initials. I think they prove best for female writers hoping to be read by male readers. I'm not aware of female readers having a bent for female authors.

I am cognizant of an author writing a protag of the opposite sex. I scrutinize the work more and hopefully still find the voice authentic. When I find a male author has failed to portray a female, it seems to show in what's not included. Of course, I can never be sure if the male is true at the same level.

Bottom line, for me, is that full names, initials, and pseudonyms don't matter a bit.
- Lorie Ann Grover, author and cofounder of rgz

I've never thought of it before but a quick browse of my bookshelves reveals no initials other than C.S. Lewis and E.E. "Doc" Smith. If that implies selectivity it's an unconscious one. I don't really think it matters whether the author uses initials or a full name. Nor do I think gender matters as long as the writer can create a believable character and tell a good story.
- Beldin

I do research it. I like to know the author's gender, though I hope that doesn't influence my perception of the story (I'm sure it does). I remember reading my first E. Lockhart book and wondering...I HAD to look her up! I think I'm impressed when someone writes an opposite-gender character well (either way).
- Melissa Walker, author

You know I personally don't really care on pretty much all subjects but I've thought about this a lot in my own writing. The book my agent is shopping around is a memoir about working in Alaska aviation - an incredibly male dominated field (I have never flown commercially - it's about working in ops and the pilots I knew who crashed, etc.) I know from the guys I worked with that a woman writing on aviation is highly suspect just because there are so few women in the industry. So honestly, if/when the book is published I'm not sure I would put my full name on it - I might go with initials just so the book is not dismissed on the shelf. I don't hide my gender in the text, but I figure once they start reading it wouldn't be a problem. While some folks might think this is unnecessary, I do recall the tremendous amount of questions I faced when researching my thesis (on commercial aircraft accidents in AK); a lot of the guys flying up there didn't think I had a clue until I told them where I had worked, that I knew how to fly etc. And in their defense, I only knew a handful of female pilots the entire time I lived in AK - but dozens and dozens of guys.

So yeah, while I don't judge based on author name, I know situations where people would, and I can understand why.
- Colleen Mondor, GLW co-founder and moderator

I'm glad you're bringing this up. I actually hate the mind-set behind "initializing" an author's name. I think it typically comes up when the author is a woman, and the book is not aimed at girls exclusively. It's the idea that Teen boys won't pick up a book if it's written by a woman. Which is just an offshoot of the whole "you can't write outside your own experience," which would have gay authors unable to write straight characters, black authors unable to write white characters, and all other ridiculous myths of who's ALLOWED to write what. Look, ultimately, a good story, compellingly told, is a good story, and I don't care if it's written by a man or a woman - as long as the emotions ring true, and the author's done their homework so the details are correct, I'm there. Now it's interesting, as our culture continues to push the "star-ification" of authors, that when some authors want to write OUTSIDE of their current genre, they feel they need to use a pen-name to do so. They're trying to keep their "brand" and not confuse the audience. I think this is an out-dated way of thinking, and that brands can be broader. The narrow view, I think, is one that our current world of facebook and social networking will replace. Before, it was easy to compartmentalize your efforts in one area with one group of people (i.e., the parents of my daughter's classmates were one social group, the teens who read my blog another, the performance artists I worked with in my 20s a third.) But on facebook, they're ALL mushed together, and they all know me for the multi-dimensional person I am. I think this will become more and more true for other authors as well, and we'll get to a point where we won't have author's identities (and genders) being hidden behind initials. At least, I hope that's where we're going!
- Lee Wind, writer and blogger


For reference: Wikipedia: List of authors who use some form of initials in their names.

Stitches

Graphic novel fans might be interested in visiting Seven Impossible Things Before Breakfast to read about illustrator David Small's new graphic novel memoir for teens and adults, Stitches, to be published by W.W. Norton & Company in early September. I've got the scoop over there, as well as some images from the book. As I wrote over there, I've tried to tell a few folks lately what the experience of reading Stitches was like, and I've found it hard to describe. "Extraordinary. Just....extraordinary" is what I find myself stammering.

Here's an excerpt of that post, which---I should warn readers---includes plot spoilers:

"At the age of eleven, when a growth on David's neck is spotted, it is diagnosed as a cyst by the family doctor, who recommends surgery. Three-and-a-half years after that diagnosis, David goes under, only to awaken with stitches on his neck and no voice. Trying entirely too hard to convince the mute David that everything will be allright, his father informs him there will be a second operation. David eventually goes home with a 'crusted black track of stitches; my smooth young throat slashed and laced back up like a bloody boot.' This is one of the book's many visually-arresting moments, David's stitches morphing---in a series of drawings---into the steps up which his belligerent mother is tromping to write a note. Later, David finds this note: 'Dear Mama, David has been home two weeks now. Of course the boy does not know it was cancer.'

I'm not making this up. I couldn't if I tried. Neither could David.

Psychologically traumatized by this revelation, David begins to fall apart. When confronting his parents with the truth, asking if they have anything to say to him, his parents respond, '...you didn't need to know anything then . . . and you don't need to know about it now. That's FINAL.'"

Again, here is the link to the post.

Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

About a month ago I got my little hands on an advanced reader’s copy of Catching Fire, the sequel to Suzanne Collins’ thrilling dystopian novel, The Hunger Games. I gobbled the book up in a few days and decided to wait a while to review it. Why? Because I needed time, man, to think this over. I mean, how do you match The Hunger Games? You don’t. You can’t. It's darn close to an impossible task. Then how do you review a sequel to it? With patience. An open mind. Some objectivity. Then have someone else read it and get their opinion.

Catching Fire will be released on Tuesday, and fans of the first book should grab it, because you will gobble it up like a hungry piranha. I did. It’s a fast read, and the early reviews I’ve read have raved. After finishing The Hunger Games – and being an avid reader of dystopian fiction (it’s way too easy to get addicted to the stuff) – I had a feeling I knew where Collins was going to take her story. I was wrong with this book, but I think I’ll be right with her direction for the entire series. So, it's been a month and what do I think?


I loved reading the book, but did I love the book? Probably not. I enjoyed the book; I loved certain elements, like introducing the president of Panem, President Snow (nice name, sounds so soft and fluffy, but can also be so cold and deadly). Like The Hunger Games it is exceedingly well written, but I had some pangs of disappointment as I made my way through the book. To explain this I’ll have to give up a key plot element. SPOILER ALERT: The next paragraph gives up the plot element.

As I gripped Catching Fire and was about to dive into it, a thought ran through by brain: How is Collins going to keep that same exhilarating action going in this book without having another hunger games? Well, she solves that by having another hunger games. So, on one hand, I am reading and excited and actually a bit fascinated by the games’ concept she slowly serves up, but on another hand I am feeling… well… been there, done that. I’ve already been to the hunger games; do I want to go back? It’s a different setting for the games to be sure, but I felt like this book needed something new. That, I assume (and hope) will be book three. (Which I will also ravenously devour.)

It’s probably the ending that gave me the biggest disappointment. First, I saw a piece of it coming from a long way off. Second, it did not really end, but more like just stopped. The ending was too easy. So, I gave the book to my niece, Melanie, who is 17 and also could not wait to get her paws on it. I was eager to hear her review. Did she agree with me? Yep, she did, especially about the ending. This is a good book, but when the bar is so high – and The Hunger Games is a very high bar indeed – it is a Herculean task to match it the second time. So, what should a rabid fan of The Hunger Games do? There is no doubt what you should do: read this book! Enjoy it. Run with Katniss. But don’t expect to match The Hunger Games. Is that okay? You decide.