Friday, February 27, 2009
What on earth is going on
w/ the numbering in Mary Oliver's collection of poems Thirst?! I'm not sure if there's some kind of signif to the misnumbering, or if Beacon Press just messed the thing up (prob not). I'll have to do some research on this. (Yeah right. Let's see if i actually get around to doing it...).
Thursday, February 26, 2009
Finally
rd a Joyce Carol Oates novel-- something i've been meaning to do for such a long time! However, instead of starting with heavy hitters like Black Water or Blonde. What have started me off on my J.C. Oates journey is a, (not good to assume, but i'll do it anyway) i assume, little known Young Adult-- the classification i found it under @ the NYPL-- novel called Sexy.
As my nieces continue to get older at, practically, the speed of light (though close to, and at tween stage now), i've become more & more interested in finding out exactly what kind of hell my sisters will be in for when the teenage yrs hit. This is a new era we're living in. I figure, though things will always be different for each generation, these are interesting times, c'est vrai?
Though Sexy is damn good literature that Oates is writing for the young crowd-- the exploration of the developing male adolescent sexuality (something i'm not too familiar w/ coming fr a family made up of mostly women). The cover drew me in-- a hunched over vulnerable-looking pic of the rawboned protagonist, under such an explosive title!-- but the blurb on the inside jacket was just so misleading. (Misleading blurbs are a problem i come across every so often, so i try to take them in stride. But it gets a bit annoying). I don't know, maybe other people would feel that the story did fulfill its catastrophic account of broken trust. For me it didn't. The novel is so much subtler than that. And i felt that it wasn't so much the adults in his life that the sixteen-year-old Darren Flynn lost trust in-- it's more internal & psychological (not to mention hormonal!) than that.
As my nieces continue to get older at, practically, the speed of light (though close to, and at tween stage now), i've become more & more interested in finding out exactly what kind of hell my sisters will be in for when the teenage yrs hit. This is a new era we're living in. I figure, though things will always be different for each generation, these are interesting times, c'est vrai?
Though Sexy is damn good literature that Oates is writing for the young crowd-- the exploration of the developing male adolescent sexuality (something i'm not too familiar w/ coming fr a family made up of mostly women). The cover drew me in-- a hunched over vulnerable-looking pic of the rawboned protagonist, under such an explosive title!-- but the blurb on the inside jacket was just so misleading. (Misleading blurbs are a problem i come across every so often, so i try to take them in stride. But it gets a bit annoying). I don't know, maybe other people would feel that the story did fulfill its catastrophic account of broken trust. For me it didn't. The novel is so much subtler than that. And i felt that it wasn't so much the adults in his life that the sixteen-year-old Darren Flynn lost trust in-- it's more internal & psychological (not to mention hormonal!) than that.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Hmmmm...
Sometimes you find yourself remembering these little stories that you rd at random in one of those small press lit. journal-- months, even yrs later-- and it triggs such a flood of wonder at how much it had impacted you w/out you really knowing it had packed the powerful punch it did.
It makes you then wonder...what the heck was the name of that writer?... thinking to look him/her up to find out what else they've been up to; if they've been busy racking up the awards & prizes. And that story-- now you come to think of it, was so stunning in it's attn to craft and insight into the infinite complexity of human nature-- did it win its author some of those awards and prizes? A Pushcart maybe? And even though i know you really shouldn't live your life by awards, they're somewhat of a barometer of how much time and effort you're actually putting into this thing you so optimistically call a career choice (something to remember when the malaise of existential despair makes an appearance at the door and settles in for a long visit).
I've noticed that stories about older women stay w/ me the longest-- maybe it's because in a short while i'll be an older woman too. Or maybe these stories that have so impressed me are written by older writers (typically women) who seem to have had quite a bit of time to perfect their art & know their way around a sentence or two. Then it's hard to remember which little journal i actually rd the thing in, since they're so many to wade thru (not to mention which particular issue of the journal it was in). I know i could try googling whatever details i can remember on the off-chance one of these details will snag on an online archive.
But time and, lets face it, motivation isn't big on a lot of people's agenda, so i let nature takes its course: Eventually i find myself rding over issues of journals i'm familiar w/ and Lo! Jackpot. Or rding a new issue of a journal i'll find a mention that a particular story or poem had gone on to some prize and Lo!(again) it was that little unforgettable darling that had so insidiously worked itself into the subconscious-- storing huge chunks of itself in one of those vast memory compartments that had then sprung open out of the blue one day in a quiet moment of completely unrelated reflection.
It makes you then wonder...what the heck was the name of that writer?... thinking to look him/her up to find out what else they've been up to; if they've been busy racking up the awards & prizes. And that story-- now you come to think of it, was so stunning in it's attn to craft and insight into the infinite complexity of human nature-- did it win its author some of those awards and prizes? A Pushcart maybe? And even though i know you really shouldn't live your life by awards, they're somewhat of a barometer of how much time and effort you're actually putting into this thing you so optimistically call a career choice (something to remember when the malaise of existential despair makes an appearance at the door and settles in for a long visit).
I've noticed that stories about older women stay w/ me the longest-- maybe it's because in a short while i'll be an older woman too. Or maybe these stories that have so impressed me are written by older writers (typically women) who seem to have had quite a bit of time to perfect their art & know their way around a sentence or two. Then it's hard to remember which little journal i actually rd the thing in, since they're so many to wade thru (not to mention which particular issue of the journal it was in). I know i could try googling whatever details i can remember on the off-chance one of these details will snag on an online archive.
But time and, lets face it, motivation isn't big on a lot of people's agenda, so i let nature takes its course: Eventually i find myself rding over issues of journals i'm familiar w/ and Lo! Jackpot. Or rding a new issue of a journal i'll find a mention that a particular story or poem had gone on to some prize and Lo!(again) it was that little unforgettable darling that had so insidiously worked itself into the subconscious-- storing huge chunks of itself in one of those vast memory compartments that had then sprung open out of the blue one day in a quiet moment of completely unrelated reflection.
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