The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time

   This book by Mark Haddon is so unique and fresh. I can see that it may be confusing if someone didn’t know this book was written from the point of view of a boy with autism. But, I’d been fore-warned. It was very convincing. It was a real insight into an autistic brain ... not that I’ve had anything to compare it to, so how authentic is it, really?

   Christopher is a teenage boy with autism, attending a special school and living with his single father. His father is very patient, and seems to do very well with Christopher. He allows Christopher to be who he is, and doesn’t expect anything. 

   I really sympathise with Christopher’s father, too. He was really hurt by his wife, and wanted to protect his son. He didn’t know what affect his mother leaving would have on Christopher - he is such an unknown quantity. He started the lie because he was hurting, and he continued it because he didn’t know how to do anything else. He didn’t want his life to be any more difficult than it was. I’m glad that Christopher and his father have started to heal by the end of the book. The
ending was satisfying, because the book has a lovely afterlife. You can imagine Christopher’s parents working closer together, and Christopher’s relationship with his father continuing to improve, and then Christopher going off to university with one or both of his parents.

   Christopher’s mother doesn’t cope very well. She’s not patient. She doesn’t understand Christopher, and she doesn’t seem to try to. She runs away, because it’s all too hard. I find her weak and frustrating. It’s easier for me to forgive his father than his mother. I think she’s unworthy. Her son is very special, and she couldn’t put in the time.

   The tangents in the book were really refreshing. They were well timed, and the topics were brilliant. They gave another dimension to Christopher and his thoughts and intelligence.

   This book is going to have a long-lasting effect on me.

The Alchemist

Wow! I read The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, and I don't know why I haven't come across it before. This was more of a fable then a novel, and it was so uplifting. I've vowed to read it each year.
   Do you think that books find us when we most need to read them? It certainly felt that way whilst I was reading The Alchemist.
   I was a bit let down by the ending, because it wasn't the 'happily ever after' ending that I wanted. It was a bit unexpected, but it was still the right ending, I think.
   This is a coming of age story. It is a story about wisdom. It is a story about nature, love and humanity.

   In the prologue, the alchemist reads a version of the story of the death of Narcissus, where the lake mourns his death because she can no longer see herself in the reflection of his eyes. What a brilliant beginning! Is there an element of narcissism in pursuing our own dreams and goals?
   The Alchemist suggests that those who truly love you will support you in search of your dreams and goals, regardless of the guilt that you might feel for being selfish. Is it even selfish, if ultimately you and everyone around you are happier? Or is this one case where the end justifies the means: if you are successfully in pursuing your dreams then everyone is happy, but if your dreams waste away your life and savings it is resented.
   This simple little story is a lesson in the intimacy between the spiritual and material worlds, evolution and love.
   Read it!

Cold Comfort Farm

This is another book that the First Tuesday Book Club put me onto. I picked it up as a Penguin classic, by Stella Gibbson. This is a gem!
   It is a take-off of rural novels being written at its time (1930s). This woman can write comedy, but her language is still so full of imagery and the characters are very well developed. I was laughing out loud in so many places. And, I was always searching for a pen to underline tiny pieces of brilliant writing!
   The heroine, Flora Poste, finds herself orphaned at 19 years old, and broke. But she's not too concerned, because she hardly knew her parents who were always travelling, and she was off getting the best education that money could buy. Instead of getting a job, she decides to impose upon distant family members, and takes up an offer from her cousin Judith Starkadder to come and stay at Cold Comfort Farm. Intrigued by Judith's letter which speaks of 'her rights' and the promise that she will 'atone' for the wrong done to Flora's father, Flora, armed with a copy of the Higher Common Self, makes her way to Howling, Sussex.

  

 Flora meets her distant family of country hicks, determined to improve everyone's life. Her cousin Judith is depressed and manic, her God fearing husband is gruff, there is jealous Rueben, and over-sexed son Seth, and young lovesick dryad Elfine. All of whom are ruled over by the reclusive matriarch Aunt Ada Doom, who saw something nasty in the woodshed and holds her family at bay with the threat of her insanity.
   It is a hilarious tale of Flora optimistically taking each family member, approaching their problems calmly and without fuss, and changing their lives. She is always commenting on how people are portrayed in novels, and how people who lead 'rich emotional lives' react in certain circumstances - 'they read all kinds of meanings into comparatively simple actions, especially the actions of other people, who do not live intensely and with a wild poetry. Thus you may find them weeping passionately on their bed, and be told that you - you alone - are the cause because you said that awful thing to them at lunch.'
   The cows are called Graceless, Pointless, Feckless and Aimless, and the bull is called Big Business. The elderly farm hand 'cletters' the dishes with a thorn twig, rather than wash them. When Flora buys him a mop on a stick to wash the dishes, he loves the mop so much, and thinks it is so pretty, that he hangs it on the wall never to be used!
   Flora never finds out what Aunt Ada Doom saw in the woodshed, she never finds out what wrong was done to her father, and she never finds out what her rights are. But, she achieves so much that she leaves satisfied and exhausted, with everyone's life fixed.
   Highly recommended.

Braiding Time

It's been a while, but I've done another writing exercise to post. Again, this is from the Now Write! collection. This exercise is helpful in deepening and authenticating character, exploring in particular how a character thinks. It can also be useful in learning to weave exposition deftly into a story.
   We all live within a complex weave of three strands of time: the present, the past, and the future. At any given moment our minds are shifting from the focus of the moment to what we anticipate might come next, to incidents from the recent or deep past that still preoccupy us. It is the unraveling of a character's relationship to all three elements of time, the writer becomes more deeply acquainted with his or her character.
   So, the exercise involves choosing a character to work with, and write four paragraphs. The first paragraph, the character must be involved in some present ongoing action. In the second paragraph, keeping the character still engaged in the ongoing activity, the character is imaging what s/he will do in the future. In the third paragraph, still using the present activity as a starting point, write about something from the past that the ongoing action is prompting the character to remember. Finally, the fourth and final paragraph, use the elements of forward-looking and backward-looking as the character continues with, or completes, the action. Working on making the transitions between time frames feel continuous and smooth.
   Here's my attempt:
The sun dropped below the rolling peaks of the hills as they descended into the valley. Relieved to no longer be squinting into the blinding globe, Harry began to take in the familiar surrounds. The drooping gums, the dry rocky creekbed, and the narrow track over which he had rode many times. His dog jogged along behind, mindful of rocks flicked up by hooves, ears flickering backwards and forwards alert for all sounds in the bush.
   Bill shifting in his saddle, easing himself into a new position, and allowing for the effects of his weight on his horse's progress down hill. He lead a second horse, carrying basic provisions and the mail that he had collected from Talbotville that morning. He was visiting the new manager of Wonangatta before heading to his own hut the following day. He had met Jim before, at various cattle and horse sales, but hoped this visit would cement an understand between the neighbouring properties.
   As the open plains of the valley spread out before him, he restrained himself from arching to look for the homestead. Many times had he descended this path, longing to catch a glimpse of Margaret before she knew he was there. Her natural, unobserved movements about the farm had caused him to yearn for her in those quiet moments. As soon as she knew he was present, or as soon as her family members were around, her self-conscious, brusque behaviour returned, determined to keep everyone at arm's length.
   But the family had left the homestead, the original settlers, his own father included, all long dead. Wonangatta had stood empty these last months, the furniture all covered in linen, until the rights had been sold to men from Mansfield. Jim's appointment as manager was the first news uttered from anyone's mouth, after appropriate greetings, in Talbotville that morning. Harry hoped that he was the first to call on the new manager, so that he could convey to Jim just how things should be.

Welcome September - Welcome Spring

I missed the last Book Blogger Hop, but I'm going to participate in the current one.



The questions to answer is: “What are you most looking forward to this fall/autumn season – A particular book release? Halloween? The leaves changing color? Cooler temperatures? A vacation? (If your next season is other than fall/autumn, tell us about it and what you are most looking forward to in your part of the world!)”

Well, for me it's not autumn - I've just escaped winter and am enjoying the warmer days and looking forward to a long, hot summer. September brings spring in Australia, along with the growth  in my vegetable garden, and longer days. I can't wait until daylight savings starts. That's what I'm looking forward to the most: longer days. I hope that I will get home before it's dark each night, and I can walk my dogs and start to feel more alive again.

The Bell Jar

I read Syliva Plath's "The Bell Jar" this week. I picked it up because I had been watching back-episodes of the First Tuesday Book Club (or more specifically, their episode on Cult Reads), and two of the five panelists had said that they considered "The Bell Jar" to be a cult novel.
   It's not a book that I will keep in my bookshelf and cherish forever. I'm not even sure that it affected me in the way that a cult novel should. So, I can't agree that it's a cult novel, for me.
   The ‘bell jar’ is how nineteen-year-old Esther describes her insanity. She describes the feeling of being stuck in her bell jar, breathing her own stale air. Then, as she recovers, she considers the bell jar to be hovering above her, ready to descend at any time.

   It was surprisingly easy to read, although I admit I skimmed over a lot of the paragraphs about her crazy thoughts. It is also very honest, especially now that I am aware that the story is based on Sylvia Plath’s own life. She apparently originally published it under an alias, but it has been published under her own name since she killed herself. The bell jar must have descended again.

   This would be an ideal novel to have studied in school. There are lots of relevant themes: growing up and coming of age, mental illness, gender issues, sexuality, societal expectations, etc.

   I don’t think anything ‘triggered’ Esther’s slow slide into madness, as many other websites suggest. Depression is a mental illness - it wasn’t circumstantial, and there probably wasn’t anything Esther could have done differently to stay sane. Her weeks not sleeping, eating or showering were a clear sign of depression - she wasn’t motivated to do anything, when she had previously been a very motivated girl.

   She is a highly intelligent young woman who is extremely tough on herself. She feels slightly on the outer with everyone, and leans towards more edgy individuals. She has set high standards for herself - they are not placed on her by her single working-class mother. Her expectations of herself are high, and she never seems to live up to herself.

   It would be interesting for someone to write a book about a girl going through a similar situation now, 50 years after Sylvia Plath wrote The Bell Jar. The mental health system is very different now, and I feel that she would have fallen through the cracks of society, if she were modern. There is no acceptance for asylums any more - it’s all about community treatment. Without the care she got, Esther could have ended up a dual-diagnosis patient, with a drug addiction.

   To be honest, some of the thoughts that Esther has, are not all that dissimilar from my own. Does that make me depressed or crazy or suicidal? No.

The Queen's Fool

I have been reading a few books at once, as I mentioned in my last post. This weekend, I knuckled down to finish one. Philippa Gregory's books are always so easy to read. She gives historical females modern feelings and views, and makes them very memorable.

   The start of the novel sets up Elizabeth’s character as somewhat different from what she has been portrayed as in other modern accounts, particularly the movies directed by Shekhar Kapur. In those movies, she is not portrayed as calculating, or particularly interested in the politics or court life of England. In those movies, she seems like she is thrown in the deep end by her supporters, when in fact, as the third heir of Henry VIII, she never expected to take the thrown. In this novel, she is set up as a manipulator from the start. She is portrayed as a girl and woman who knows how to use her beauty and sex to manipulate men and have people love her, whilst she does the most despicable things. It will be interesting to see whether Philippa Gregory maintains this interpretation of Elizabeth in her next Tudor novel, where Elizabeth is queen.

   Hannah is the fool that is begged to the dying King Edward, and later passed over to Queen Mary. For Mary, she has found someone innocent, devote, and honest. Hannah also had the advantage of being employed to say exactly what was on her mind, rather than behave as a normal courtier and watch everything she says. In Mary, Hannah has found a mother figure, and a woman she admires for her courage and capacity for love and forgiveness. Early on, Hannah aspires to be like Mary, because she does not know how to be a woman - she has been hiding as a boy for so long. Later, however, Hannah realises that she pities Mary and wants to ensure that she doesn’t have the same fate in love that Mary had.

   Haunted by the burning of her mother by the Spanish Inquisition, Hannah describes her Judaism as “some sickness that we pass on”, claiming that Jews are condemned to “a lifetime of fear, not Chosen so much as cursed”. Her view of her religion changes depending on the political and religious view in England. When Mary is fairly tolerant and forgiving, Hannah hides her Judaism in her heart, but doesn’t condemn her faith. As Mary becomes more extreme, and Hannah is arrested her heresy (though she is released), she comes to fear her religion more and more. She is born into a religion that she didn’t choose, that she is not proud of, and that puts her in mortal danger. However, as she grows to adulthood, and princess Elizabeth is only months away from the thrown, Hannah again embraces her religion and realises that tradition is important and she will be proudly Jewish, in her heart, knowing that she will be safe from a heresy charge. I think her view of her religion depended very much on the danger she perceived herself to be in.

   Hannah idolised Lord Dudley, and lusted after him. She realised her feelings for what they were once she finally fell in love with Daniel, her betrothed. Lord Dudley was not a true friend to Hannah. He used her. He put her in danger and took advantage of her loyalty. He did save her in Calais, but that was out of his sense of duty, as he would save his soldiers. He did not care for Hannah, but he also lusted after her once she was grown into a woman. I’m surprised that he didn’t rape her when she refused him, because he would have thought she was his property and he had a right to take what he wanted.

   Daniel and Hannah’s romance followed a lovely little Mills and Boon plot - they initially butted heads but were forced into a relationship, they came to desire each other after writing to each other, then Hannah left him once they were married because he had slept with another woman some months ago and had an illegitimate child. I was frustrated that she left Daniel, but there were more factors at play than just deceit. Ultimately, however, they both grew up and learned more over their years apart and ended up loving each other still and resuming their marriage. As I often wonder with ‘happily ever after’ endings, I’d like to know how their relationship was travelling even a month later.

Book Blogger Hop!

This is a special entry, so that I can get linked in with other book bloggers. The whole concept has been set up by Crazy For Books, another book-blogger blog! Find it here: http://crazy-for-books.com/2011/08/book-blogger-hop-819-822.html



The question that I need to answer is: what is the longest book I've ever read?

It's a hard question, because I've read many books over 1000 pages long. I'm currently reading Les Miserables, which is about 1000 pages. I've obviously read Lord of the Rings, which is over three volumes but well over 1000 pages. I've read Gone with the Wind. I've read Shogun by James Clavell, which is over 1100 pages. I've read most of Wilbur Smith's sagas. I've read a few of Stephan King's long novels in my teens.

I've recently slipped back into an old habit of reading numerous things at once, and not finishing anything! I will post another book review soon ...

I'm also writing pretty solidly, so I should write a writing exercise post soon as well ...

The Roving Party

It hasn't taken me this long since reading Catch-22 to read my next novel ... I've been really busy studying and working, and taking a quick trip to Brisbane, and then another quick trip to Wangaratta. So, please forgive me for not absorbing books at my usual rate.
   This year's winner of the Vogel Literary Award was 'The Roving Party' by Rohan Wilson. It was a worthy recipient.
   The language is quite simple, the dialogue is limited, and so is the character development. The punctuation is also not what I usually like - I like to know when someone is talking, not have to reread a sentence half-way through when I realise that what I'm reading is someone's voice. The description is not what most modern novels use, yet the images were vivid in my mind.

   The story itself is quite a gruesome theme, though the roving party didn't kill as many aboriginals as I anticipated. The attitude of that error is also quite starkly portrayed on a number of occasions, as it should be to make it shockingly realistic, with statements such as 'you can't murder a black any more than you can murder a cat'.
   I began by wondering why Black Bill was hunting his own kind. There were mentions of justice, but it's not clear what the aboriginal witch/headman did to Bill. Towards the end of the novel, Bill clearly blames his newborn son's malformation and death on a curse of the headman. Although it's not apparent what started Bill's hatred for his kinsman.
   Bill was brought up in a white household, with white ways, but was never fully accepted as a whiteman because of his colour. He seems to have had to work that much harder, and be that much more tough and ruthless to prove himself. By the time we come across him, as a member of the roving party, he has formed himself a formidable reputation. But he is an outcast of both races.
   When I gave up trying to figure Bill out, I took a step back and realised that the story is more about what lengths men will go to. It's about the good and bad in men, and how ugly men can be to each other. Ultimately, Bill and the headman respected each other and understood each. They could have killed each other, but they didn't. Bill could have shot the headman, but he fought him. The headman could have killed Bill, but he saw Bill for the grieving father that he was.
   The end of the novel moved away from the roving party, and Bill took up his own vendetta. We never return to the roving party, and Bill seems to have isolated himself even more from both races by the end of the story. He is further away from the white man, yet he has killed so many aboriginals that they won't accept him.
   He can hopefully find some kind of peace.

Catch-22

I have just finished reading Catch-22 by Joseph Heller. I didn't read it in school - my school made us read 'modern literacy'. I wish we had read more true classics. This piece of writing really is brilliant. It's incredibly unique.
   I think the TV show MASH! is based on this book, although based on the wrong war. It has the same warped sense of humour. It's the ironic and bitter kind of of a man that has served in an ineffectual army with superiors that should never have been promoted.
   The bitter humour does very well to alleviate some of the horror depicted throughout the story. A young boy getting cut in half by a show-off pilot, then that pilot killing himself by flying the plane into a hill; a man mistakenly thought dead, who couldn't stop the paperwork and then his family believing he was really dead; and the police brutality and senseless killing. The stupidity of the superior officers, the games they play, and the mindless decisions they make that result in many deaths. Sometimes humour is 

the only way that we can face the ugly truth. Maybe it's how Joseph Heller could cope with it without going crazy like his characters.
   Yossarian is the main character. He's an anti-hero. He's unlikeable, difficult, crazy, and you never get a really good sense of who he is. One moment he's moral, the next moment he's an anarchist. One moment he's a breaking up fights, the next moment he's causing them. One moment he's falling in love, the next moment he's hurting people and planning to kill them. Despite all this, he still attracts a small loyal group of other officers, and you do start to find yourself empathising with him.
   The few female characters in the book are either used for sex by the officers, or they are whores seeking officers out. They are trying to survive in the ways they know how, in a country that has been under a dictatorship for years and who have just been liberated. Other than the American army men, there are no healthy young men left, and there seem to be few jobs and lots of orphans. The Italy portrayed by Joseph Heller was not healthy at the end of WWII.
   It's a difficult book to read. The first half of the novel doesn't move forward in time - it keeps circling back on itself and twisting story lines, linking various characters. There are lots of character, but each are so unique that it's not hard to keep track of who's who. Joseph Heller does not portray his characters nicely, nor are they handsome or particularly talented. They all have a lot of issues, increased by the war,  but most were already neurotic and selfish.
   Catch-22 is some made up policy that the officials use to justify their decisions. 'They have the right to do anything that we can't stop them from doing', and you can't get out of the army for being crazy because by wanting to get out the the army you prove that you're sane.
   Everyone should read this.

The Five Second Shortcut to Writing in the Lyric Register

The writing exercise that I took on this week was one suggested by Steve Almond. He suggests that many young writers believe that if they throw enough beauty at the page, the results will be truth. In fact, he says, just the opposite is true. The effort to express complex emotional truths with precision is what leads language to rise into beauty. Steve goes on to say that writers need to slow down when their emotions are running their highest.
   The exercise is to write a scene that captures an intense moment in your life. The bulk of the scene must be no longer than 5 seconds in real time. Rather than moving the action forward, the aim is to concentrate on slowing down and moving inward.
   I chose to write about my first kiss. This is not really the most emotional piece ... almost comical. Here it goes:

His thigh was pressed against mine. He was so close. I hoped he wouldn't feel me shaking. I was shaking all over - involuntary muscle spasms, like I was shivering. But the air was so hot that my skin was covered in a fine film of sweat - or was that from nerves as well? I placed my sweaty palm flat on the concrete floor, trying to cool my body down through my hand. In doing so, I also lean closer to him, seemingly casually.
   We were supposed to be a couple. Thirteen years old, and not having spoken much to each other before, our friends all decided that we were supposed to be an item. He was shorter than me, slightly fat around the waist, albino looking, and for some reason, quite popular.
   Maybe he thought that I was quivering with desire, and that I was panting with lust. But it was the complete opposite. My breath was coming in short, sharp gasps, none of which brought the air to my lungs. I was gulping air, and in my mind I was puffing up like a balloon: ready to burst.
   It came so suddenly. I wasn't even looking at him - I was fixated on my best friend engaged in a passionate kiss across the room with another boy. Somehow his face is suddenly on mine: his lips are suddenly all over my mouth. My eyes stay open and I see his ice-blue irises looking straight back at me. This embarrasses me, that I'm caught with my eyes open (aren't you supposed to kiss with your eyes closed, like in the movies?), but I'm too shocked to close my eyes.
   There is a fat tongue in my mouth, and so much saliva. It is forcing itself in and out through my lips, filling my mouth with fluid. It tastes like vegemite toast. His cheeks seem to puff in and out, like a fish.
   This must be the worst kiss in the world, I thought at the time. I don't think I helped make it any better. I was so shocked, I'm not sure I did anything in response to the sucking fish on my face. I probably just hung my mouth open, and stiffened my tongue, trying to force his out.
   I was instantly disgusted. There was no rising desire, which I have felt with many subsequent kisses with other people. There was no touching, other than than the sucker fish on my lips. There was nothing but vegemite saliva.
   I kept my eyes open the whole time, not engaging in the kiss, just a passive receiver. All I could see was the ice-blue eyes staring straight at me, which I started to feel was a very aggressive stare. The false confidence of a boy who had been told in the past that he was a good kisser.
   I'm not sure if it was as bad for him as it was for me, because he broke away and gave me a dopey smile. I don't know what my face showed in response to that dopey smile (shock, disgust, amusement?), but he must have got the hint that I never wanted that kiss repeated. Because after I struggled up from the concrete floor, trying to keep my mini skirt as far down my legs as possible, he never tried to speak to me again!

The White Queen

I really like Philippa Gregory's style. She makes these historical women in to powerful, present and unforgettable characters.
   I recently finished reading 'The White Queen', which is the first in the series that Philippa is currently writing on the Plantagenant line of the English royal family. The next book is 'The Red Queen', which I have bought and the book is sitting in my shelf to read soon.
   Since I didn't learn much history in school (history is virtually non-existent in Australian schools these days), I absorb as many historical novels as I can. Even if they are just broadly based around an historical theme, I feel like I'm learning something, and I'm gradually piecing history together through the various novels that I have read based on various times and countries.

   This was a true love story. Elizabeth Woodville was an older widow with no fortune or connections to benefit the new, young king Edward. The marriage must have been for love: what else? Edward defied his advisors, and ultimately plunged the country into years of war, because he wanted to marry Elizabeth. Edward didn't have to honour their secret marriage, because there were no proper witnesses for a royal wedding. But he did. In this story, Edward is portrayed as a very honourable man (except for the fact that he had high sexual needs and slept with lots of other women).
   I don't think Elizabeth was very adept at the political game. She was a generous women to those she liked. She didn't try to foster relationships and alliances that may have assisted her. She didn't seem to do anything for the people of England, except parade around and show off their wealth. The political game seemed to drive her crazy. She wasn't making logical decisions, and she was paranoid. She is obsessed with controlling as far into the future, and as far down his line of heirs, as possible. Too bad if the plans she has for her children now, is not what they want for themselves when they are old enough to choose.
   Some of her decisions, while they may not be considered moral today, were probably moral in her time and in her position (like sending an innocent page boy to his death in the position of her youngest son - the life of that page boy would have been worth nothing compared with a potential heir to the thrown).
   Elizabeth also believed strongly in her ancestor being a water goddess, and that she had magical powers by calling on her ancestor. She was playing with fire, and somehow avoided not being openly accused as a witch. Her mother was killed as a witch, though.
   The book ends with somewhat of a cliffhanger. The missing heir returns. Elizabeth's oldest daughter is about to be the new queen - to either the current king (or hedging their bets) even to the potential new king, Henry Tudor. War is coming: I know enough history to know that Henry Tudor does come and win ... but when?
   I can't wait to read and review The Red Queen.

Writer's Block

How slack am I? I haven't done a writing task for a few weeks. I could use the common excuse: I'm busy. But, I know that when it comes down to writing, the Nike slogan says it all: just do it.

Back to the excuse: I am busy. And I really am. I'm out of the house for more than twelves hours each weekday, working and commuting. Work is really busy. I'm also finished a degree - I'm doing one subject at the moment, by correspondence. I also have to nurture my relationship with my husband, and give him the attention that he needs. Aren't all these proper excuses for not writing?

It's not like I haven't been writing - just not for pleasure. I've written a chapter in a legal handbook for young property lawyers. I've written affidavits, reports, audits, management strategies, and tonnes of emails! But none of this writing is for myself - it's all for someone else.

I know that if I make time, I can sit down and write. The words will flow. So 'writer's block' isn't an accurate description of my problem.

My mine problem: procrastination.

Why am I always reluctant to further my writing career? Why can't I do something that will benefit me? Why can't I achieve my ultimate goal? What am I scared of? Am I scared that I will succeed? Isn't success the point? So, what's holding me back?

If anyone can answer any of these questions, I'd love to know.

Bright and Distant Shores

Over the last two weeks, I have been reading 'Bright and Distant Shores' by Dominic Smith. It is a new novel by an Australian author, though he now lives in the USA, I understand. I won the book in a competition, from the publisher Allen and Unwin. With all the rain we have had in Sydney this long weekend, it was a perfect opportunity to sit and read, and do nothing else - so I finally finished this book.
   About a young man who gets commissioned to take a ship through the pacific islands to acquire weaponry and artefacts for a rich insurance magnate who wanted to add something special to the new building that he had built (briefly the world's tallest building).

   It is very well researched, and the writing flows very well. However, I'm left feeling unsatisfied. What was the plot? There wasn't really one - there were no peaks of the classic three-act structure. There was no building to a climax, and there was no resolution. Or if there were plot points, they were too subtle. Maybe Dominic Smith was aiming for a picaresque structure, since the novel mainly followed Owen Graves through his trip on the Lady Cullion. There were some episodes, though none of them really peaked. Owen's position moved from poor to rich, and from having itchy feet to happily settling into family life. I'm just not sure that I understand the point of the story, other than learning some historical information.
   Although the reader follows Own Graves through 500 pages of novel, his character still isn't clear. He's a rather flat character, and I'm not sure that his personality is strong enough that the reader would know what he would do in any particular situation. He's portrayed as a loner, but then he has some kind of natural authority amoung the sailors and other working-class men. He is a fairly poor negotiator, and yet the captain of the ship is convinced by his arguments on a number of occasions. He doesn't seem to fit in with anyone, and he also has some sense of protecting those weaker than him (although I consider him to be relatively weak himself). The reader doesn't get much insight through his thoughts, except about his fiancee, Adelaide.
   The redeeming character in this story is the native islander, Argus. Although there were some discrepancies in his character as well (he was very effeminate, though could lead a group of native warriors to kill the English pirates terrorising their island), he was far more substantial. I felt that Argus should have had a good ending, whilst I didn't care so much about the other characters who did get the good ending.
   Jethro, the 'foppish' son of the magnate who comes on the expedition, was unconvincing. He was always erratic, and I couldn't see his behaviour getting worse throughout the novel, except that the other characters seemed to be noticing that he was going crazy.
   Otherwise, the pace was good, the writing was very smooth and easy to read. There wasn't too much jumping around between character view points - whole chapters tended to be from a particular point of view. The historical information was also great - I enjoy learning something when I read, and I certainly did learn about Chicago in the 1890s, about seafaring in the same period, and also a fair bit information about how science was approached at the time.
   Should I start rating what I read? In this case, I would give this book three our of five stars.

You-Me-I-You in the Cafeteria

I did another writing exercise this week, to get the creative juices following. This exercise was suggested by Clyde Edgerton, in my 'Now Write!' book. The exercise is designed to get me thinking from a point of view that is not as easy for me. It's very easy to write from a point of view that is similar to your own - or is your own. In this exercise, Clyde suggests to think of someone you dislike, then imagine that you walk into a cafeteria for lunch and that persons is there. After writing from your own point of view, then turn it around and write from the other person's point of view - get into their head. Here's what I came up with:

My point of view:
   I stretched out my stride as I made my way up the hill. My heels clicked on the concrete footpath and my skirt swished around my knees. It was lunch time, and I was looking forward to a large plate of pesto fettucini at Bella's cafe.
   Reaching the antique green door, I pressed my shoulder against the wood to open the heavy weight. As usual, Bella's was toasty warm, with a wood fire blazing in the heater.
   As I uncoiled my scarf from my neck, I glanced around at the other customers. A couple of middle-aged women sat to the left of the doorway, their elbows on the table as they leaned towards each other. An older man sat at the bench set in the front window, a magazine spread out beside his bowl of soup. A young couple sat far down the back of the dining area. They were quietly smiling at each other, holding hands on the table as they waited for their meals. The final person sat his his back against the double brick wall, nestled behind a small table beside the heater. He had a newspaper spread out in front of him, and his toasted sandwich on a chair beside him, to make space for the broadsheet. It was Simon Wagstaff. 
   My breath caught in my chest, and I nearly groaned and rolled my eyes. Now I wouldn't be able to just relax and enjoy my lunch. I was already tense, just from seeing him, and I practically tiptoed to the counter to order my pesto fettucini, in the hope that Simon wouldn't notice me.
   He was the most arrogant, misogynistic, asshole that I had ever met.
   After I ordered, I chose a table near the young couple, so the direct line of sight to Simon was partially obstructed by the barista's coffee machine.
   When my meal came, I forgot for a while that Simon was in the room, I was enjoying the pasta that much. Then Simon approached the register to pay, just as I was slowing down from shovelling the food into my mouth to savouring each mouthful. He briefly smiled and nodded in my direction, acknowledging me.
   Don't come over, don't come over, don't come over, I prayed as he received his change from the waitress. He turned and walked out of the cafe, the bell jingling happily behind him.

Simon's point of view:
   I really didn't want to go back to work, so I was taking a long lunch break at Bella's, reading The Age and eating my toastie slowly. The place was practically empty, and so warm that I was soon drowsy. 
   The bell on the door jingled, and I briefly glanced up to see Jacqui standing in the doorway, unwinding her scarf. The wife of one of my colleagues, I had come across this confident professional young woman a few times before. She was younger than me, but she made me feel like a child. She was unlike most of the women that I usually dealt with, and she didn't react to my charm like other woman did. In fact, I thought she was attracted to me, and hated it.
   I pretended to keep reading my paper, ignoring her. I sensed her go rigid when she noticed me, and then listened to her clipped walk across the tiles to the counter.
   I almost grinned to myself at her discomfort. I knew she wasn't up-herself, because I had seen her interact with all sorts of people. She fascinated me, and I watched her surreptitiously whenever I had the chance.
   She chose a table where she wouldn't have to look at me, and I was extremely conscious that she hadn't at least said 'hello'. If she had said 'hello', I might have decided immediately to leave her alone. But as it was, for the rest of my lunch I thought about going over and sitting with her, just to annoy her. I knew she would already be sitting and hoping that I wouldn't say or do anything.
   In the end, I decided to leave her in peace. I paid and left with barely a nod in her direction. She gave me a faint smile, and I couldn't wait to see and torment her again.