The Magus by John Fowles

After reading Fowles's French Lieutenant's Woman, I decided to revisit his The Magus, last read probably thirty or forty years ago. It had left an indelible impression on me as a work of marvelous descriptions and intriguing characters, plus a twisting plot with more questions than answers.

I sought out an unabridged audio version and was not disappointed--the narrator Nicolas Boulton does an excellent job with the diverse characters and accents. It's a feast of over 26 hoursa of listening.

The surprise for me was how much I grew to dislike the main character--who is pretty much an anti-hero--and how disappointed I was at the ambiguous ending, despite a earlier warning from the author. (This novel, like The French Lieutenant's Woman, is metafiction in which the author occasionally addresses the reader, reminding them of the essential fiction of the telling.)

I very much enjoyed the hours of listening--even as I grew increasingly annoyed with the protagonist--something I don't remember from previous readings. 

I wonder if it's my age or the times in which we live that changed my attitude.

Not Entirely Faded

 

Not Dead Yet

 Back in June, I bought three impatiens plants in three small pots. Two were pink and one a deep fuchsia. From these three plants, I've rooted any number of additions to my porch garden. The pink one grows quite tall, taller than I've known impatiens to get. And in this big pot in the shelter of our porch, they have outdone themselves. 

The temps are dropping. We haven't had a frost yet but who knows if they'll make it through the night. 

Darkness is closing in, so we light a fire and switch on lamps. The seasons roll on in their implacable way.

Fading Glory

 

Choosing a Title (Re-post)

 

The title of a book, along with its cover, is the writer's first chance to grab a reader's attention and tempt him to pick up the book. As I've mentioned before, the cover is pretty much out of my hands -- the Art Department and the Marketing Department at Random House deal with that. As for the title, I send in my idea for a title and so far, except in one case which I'll talk about later, the titles have been accepted.

In choosing a title, I look for something a bit tantalizing that, in some ways, reflects the content and tone of the book. And I usually check on Amazon to make sure that title hasn't been used recently.  Titles can't be copyrighted so I'm free, if I want, to call a book Gone with the Wind or The House at Pooh Corner. But instead, I rack my brains, trying to come up with something semi-original. 

It's not easy.

People often ask what me a particular title of mine "means." In the case of my first novel, Signs in the Blood, the answer is that I'm not exactly sure. I usually ask what they think it means and have gotten some terrific explanations, often involving horoscopes and/or planting by the signs as recommended by The Old Farmers' Almanac.

Alas, it's nothing that clever. As I recall, while I was writing Signs, I was researching the snake-handling Holiness religion that plays a large part in this novel and came across the phrase 'signs in the blood.' That sounds like a good title, I thought and made a note of it.


Unfortunately, I neglected to make a note of what it meant. And though I've looked, I've never found that passage again.  But what I think it means comes from the fact that folks of the Holiness church call themselves "signs-following believers." (These aren't horoscope signs but the signs mentioned in the Bible  -- "And these signs shall follow them that believe; In my name shall they cast out devils; they shall speak with new tongues; They shall take up serpents; and if they drink any deadly thing, it shall not hurt them; they shall lay hands on the sick, and they shall recover," (Mark 16:17-18).)

So I suspect that 'signs in the blood,'  refers to the fact that these beliefs tend to be passed down in families.  Really, not much at all to do with the story I was telling. But nonetheless a mysterious sounding title.

 

Art's Blood was a mistake. I had the idea that I might try to use the word 'blood' in all my titles and, since this book had to do with art and artists, I came up with this rather lame pun -- art's blood -- heart's blood. It was meant as a working title, something to be replaced when I thought of a better one but my editor liked it so there it is.   I don't like it because punning titles tend to suggest a cozy, humorous mystery -- which this isn't. Ah, well . . .

By my third book, I'd abandoned the idea of always having  the word blood in the title. For one thing, a friend told me that the titles suggested slasher-type stories and for another thing, when I made a list of titles including blood, everyone of them had already been used recently, sometimes several times.

Besides, for once I had a great idea! I wanted to call this book The Booger Dance. That's the name of a Cherokee dance that plays an important part in this book, both actually and symbolically. And it's certainly memorable.

Unfortunately, both my agent and my editor reacted with horror to this proposal, feeling that such a title would have buyers hurrying away with averted eyes.

So, since my editor had suggested that this might be a good time to explore Elizabeth's past and perhaps uncover some old wounds . . .

In a Dark Season is pretty straightforward. It's set in November and a pivotal scene is on the Winter Solstice -- a dark season for sure. And the tone is rather dark as well. 

The Day of Small Things came from a Bible verse -- I was skimming through Bartlett's Quotations, looking for inspiration  and came across it.  Not the most inspired choice but I liked the sound.

Next year's book, Under the Skin,  deals with Elizabeth and her very different sister. The title comes from a poem by Kipling which contains the lines, "But the colonel's lady an' Judy O'Brady are sisters under the skin."

Here's an article about the original titles of ten famous novels. 

Trimalchio on West Egg ? Really?

A Blessed Sunday to You

 Release the Epstein Files and Impeach Trump!

Josie's School for Dogs

I made a school for the dogs to teach them how to read and other important stuff. Bailey was the best student. Bob was good for a little while, then he wanted to go find Grumpy. Jenny and Otter were Not Good--they just wanted to go out for recess.

I started with the alphabet posted where they could study it.

G is for goose.

D is for dog. (This was their favorite.)

E is for elephant.

F is for feather and C is for cat. 

I wonder if Cory and Angeline would like to learn to read.

Probably not.

 

Dear Sirs

Where are the adults in the GOP? The president is acting up like a demented toddler--bombing foreign boats without ascertaining their status--before or after the deadly strikes. Where is the evidence of narco-trafficking? The toddler-in-chief is--without any formal review--bulldozing the East Wing of the White House--the Peoples' House, in case you'd forgotten. And now, while government is at a standstill, he prioritizes a giant, gaudy ballroom, paid for by bribes, no doubt in the form of tax breaks, lucrative contracts, and/ or easing of regulations.

There's money to bail out Argentina (where his cronies have investments;) there's money to buy jets for Kristi Noem--while much of NC is waiting for disaster aid a year later. 

The toddler disregards law and the GOP Congress is allowing him free rein--or should that be reign?

I absolutely can't wait to vote against every GOP candidate on the upcoming ballots.

Your disgusted constituent

 

Misty Autumn

 

Wandering in the Victorian Age

                                         

After I finished listening to the very excellent Vanity Fair, I was looking for another nice lengthy book to listen to and decided to get the Audible recording of Possession--a longtime favorite of mine, full of poetry and gorgeous writing--both of which I have been wont to skim over in pursuit of what is a rather gripping academic mystery. 

Listening forced me to slow down and really appreciate the writing--I gained a new understanding of a novel I've read multiple times.

It's a bit of of love story--two, actually--and an academic puzzle in which a struggling young scholar studying a Victorian poet discovers letters that lead him to believe this married and famous poet may have had a romantic involvement with a less famous poetess, long believed to have been a lesbian. 

The young scholar seeks out a daunting but beautiful woman who is an authority on the long dead poetess and together they begin to unravel the tangled mystery.

The story unfolds in the present day and in the Victorian past as the relationship between the two poets develops. It's riveting, and ultimately, satisfying.

I listen to books before I go to sleep and when I am waiting for Josie. But I have to have a reading book on the go as well, so I pulled down my battered copy of The French Lieutenant's Woman--which is set in roughly the same time period. 

A proper young Victorian gentleman is engaged to a lovely (and rich) young woman when he meets the mysterious (and beautiful) creature the censorious society calls the French lieutenant's whore. Her sad story and her beautiful eyes intrigue him, entangle him, and . . .

But that would be telling.

There were so many similarities between these two books that I found myself checking to see which was published first. (TFLW was.) In both books, the author occasionally speaks directly to the reader, revealing, at times, their role as puppet master. 

And both novels deal with obsessive love, betrayal, and, a kind of redemption. And both are compelling reads. 

Her Father's Daughter

 Today, after ice cream and some reading and decorating a canvas bag with fabric markers, Josie asked if it was time for videos.

Five o' clock is the ordained time and it was 4:49. I told her that and the battle began.

"That's almost 5. Why can't I watch now?"

"Because the rule says five."

"It's just a few minutes. Why not now?"

"Because if I let you watch today at 4:49. the next time, it'll be maybe 4:39 and you'll say 'Oh, it's just a few minutes to 4:49; why can't I watch now?' and then next time-"

"That's a logical fallacy," she said, fixing me with the look her father often used to good effect. He too was a consummate arguer.

"Where did you learn about logical fallacies?" I asked, feeling weak.

"A podcast," she replied. "And my dad."

"Go on and get the tablet. I surrender." 

On a Day in Autumn

 

Hope

            

Looking at pictures of the multitudes at the NO KINGS rallies yesterday fills me with hope. Hope for the preservation of our democracy. Hope for a return to civility. And hope for a new day for this sadly divided country.

It Starts Small

                                      

It begins with those mostly unregarded local offices--board of education, county clerk, board of elections, etc.And for many years it didn't seem to matter what party a candidate belonged to and things rocked along fairly smoothly.

But now that politics has been thoroughly weaponized on the state level (gerrymandering, for just one example) and not least of all on the national, I shouldn't have been surprised to see that the effort to suppress voting is right here in Madison County. Our Board of Elections --3 (R) 2(D) -- voted along party lines to cut the number of early voting sites from three to one. The vote was taken before citizen comments were heard. When they were heard, opposition was all too evident.

Ours is a very large rural county with one main highway that is often very congested when I-40 is closed--an event that happens all too often. For those wishing to vote early, this imposes a significant burden.

Since the vote was not unanimous, the decision will go to the state BOE. I encourage my MadCo friends to email your opinions to them and to the local BOE.

And a reminder to all to pay attention to those small local races when it comes election time.

Here are their email addresses:

elections.sboe@ncsbe.gov

madison.boe@madisoncountync.gov

The Old Hay Rake

                                          

For many years it's been just a nostalgic and photogenic piece of outmoded farm equipment, gently rusting away by our driveway. But there was a time--forty-some years ago, it was actually in use.

John and Pete and Molly (the mules) had mowed a small steep pasture and the next step was to rake the hay. It's an elegant process to watch as the curved rake drags along then gracefully lifts to discharge its harvest and slowly lowers to resume the work. 

If memory serves, my friend Eleanor (visiting from Tampa) and I were watching this bucolic ballet, fully caught up in the moment when the mules bolted--probably because one had stepped in a yellow jacket nest-- and took off at a gallop with John trying to pull them to a halt and, more importantly, trying not to fall off. We'd heard stories of fellas caught and rolled over and over in a runaway hay rake and they never ended well.

Fortunately, this ended quickly when the mules reached the fence at the edge of the field and stopped. But talk about adrenaline!

We went on to finish the hay and pile it into an old-timey haystack--an art in itself.

But I think that was the last time we used the hay rake. Too much excitement. 

Some years later we owned a farm in Tennessee where it was much flatter and John could make hay--with ease and with a tractor. The mules had become pasture ornaments--like the old hay rake.

 

Tick Bite--Lyme Disease?

After almost a month of no ticks on the dogs, I woke up Tuesday morning to discover a small tick, embedded in my thigh. Pulled it off and reminded myself to check for the dread bulls-eye rash that accompanies Lyme disease. By that evening, the red surrounding the bite had spread and after a hot shower, there seemed to be a white ring around the perimeter. Drat!

Checking out symptoms online, I found that the bulls-eye rash was not always consistent and that other symptoms included chills, fever, stiff neck, sore joints, poor balance, etc., etc.

Well, hell--I pretty much live with stiff neck, sore joints, and poor balance. I didn't have the chills and fever but, wanting to play it safe, called the clinic where I was on hold for half an hour after which I hung up and took myself there in person.

Only to find a locked door. And a sign saying they were closed till 2. 

At 2 I returned--knowing that as a walk-in I'd have a goodly wait. Not a problem as long as I have a book.

About 2 hours later the doctor told me I probably didn't have Lyme but as it was endemic in our county, he'd prescribe the meds anyway.

Better safe than sorry, says I, feeling a tad silly.

 

 

Stereotypes? (a Re-post)

 

 

Q:Many readers come to your books with preconceived notions of what life/people are like in the south.  Do you feel you have to spend more time with character development to move away from these stereotypes, especially those held about Appalachia? Or do you feel you must include characters that meet these stereotypes, such as Cletus and Miss Birdie or the snake-handlers?

A: First of all, I think most stereotypes exist because there really are people like that.  My job as a writer is to make sure that I am faithful to all of the people and places I'm depicting and that I help the reader to see the person beyond the stereotype.

I include characters like Cletus because there are people like Cletus (and people named Cletus, and Odus and Philetus and Plato and his daughter Treasure and would you believe I've known two people named Cleophas?) Birdie, as I've mentioned before, is an amalgam of many women I've known here in the mountains (the Birdie of the first four books, anyway -- the Birdie in The Day of Small Things has some things going on that are the products of my imagination.)

In the course of my books, I'm trying to make it clear that there are all sorts of folks in Appalachia and very few meet the stereotype of the lazy, illiterate, ignorant, moonshine-stillin' mountaineer. Cletus, for example, may be "simple" but he's a hard worker and a genius in the woods.

But here's the insidious thing: In writing minor characters, stereotypes are an easy shortcut for the writer and offer a comforting familiarity to the reader.  Sweet little old lady . . . corrupt politician . . . bigoted bully of a small town sheriff . . . effeminate homosexual . . . sulky teen . . . dumb blonde . . . the list is endless. Just say that small town sheriff has a belly hanging over his gunbelt and has piggy eyes behind his mirrored sunglasses and we all have an idea of who he is. But he's basically a stereotype.

The fun thing is to play with the stereotypes by giving that character an unexpected trait. Maybe this sheriff stops to take a box turtle out of the road and put it safely in the grass at the side of the road. Maybe he hums arias from grand opera. Maybe, in the dead of night, he leaves a bag of groceries for a poor black family. Now that sheriff is no longer a stereotype.

I do try to develop even minor characters beyond stereotypes -- and the bigger a part the character plays in the book, the more I try to show various sides of their personality. Look what happened to Birdie when she had a book all to herself! There was a lot more to her than meets the eye. I suspect that the same could be true for any of my so-called minor characters. 

Stories waiting to be told . . .

Morning Light

 

Honoring the Indigenous Peoples

                                                               

The decision to reinstate Columbus Day, honoring the man who blundered into a land already occupied and claimed it for Spain, is not surprising for our current regime that longs to go back to the 'good old days.'

That 'discovery' was a disaster for the indigenous peoples who were swiftly enslaved, dispossessed, murdered, or wiped out by disease. 

I guess I'm just too woke to want to celebrate that.

Break

Back tomorrow, if nothing don't happen.

This and That