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April 02, 2008

Comments

Steven Augustine

"We need to work hard, pretty much all the time, to achieve moments of presence and wakefulness."

This is far too close to therapyspeak in its Zententious Noun-ing. I always considered Graham somewhat of a Hairpoet. Note the difference between the humor in Berryman's "thinky death" riff and the humorlessness of Graham's fuzzy dictum, "Find the strange—not the weird, but the mysterious."

Berryman was definitely "weird", lady.

Cheryl

But her basic advice--read and live--is pretty undeniable. One thing I like about being a writer is that no matter how lame or frustrating your day is, you can make the excuse, "Well, I lived, and that's research." It's the best and possibly only way to stomach those trips to the DMV.

BradyDale

I've been finding myself strangely drawn to poetry lately. My old complete Anne Sexton has been lifting itself off the bookshelf at me and I've been finding a weird comfort for a midwestern boy in her pages. I just bought a collection of contemporary Russian poetry. Garrison Keillor's "Good Poems" is also calling to me. I trust Garrison in almost all things. Is that silly?

BradyDale

P.S. I have to say that the try to stay awake idea sounds pretty good. Maybe she is spacey, but she's a poet: forgive her. The whole notion of using your senses and just paying attention is advice anyone should follow. It changes your day.

Kate

Thanks for the poetry inclusion, Mark!

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."