LUCY PICK BOOKS

I am breaking my long blog silence (permanently — there will be many more posts in the next few days and weeks) for a very good cause, to celebrate the release today of Sheramy Bundrick’s debut novel, Sunflowers, published by Avon, about the story of Vincent van Gogh. I met Sheramy at the Historical Novel Society conference in June, and have been eagerly awaiting for this release.

You can go here to enter a contest to win a copy of Sheramy’s book. Julianne has a review of the novel up there on her site today as well.

I felt like the last part of my childhood died today.

I know a lot of people have said that by now, but that’s because sometimes a cliche is true. To my son, Michael Jackson is nothing more than a set up line in a joke about pedophilia, but like so many others, I grew up with him. For me, he was in the background, not centre stage, but always present, from the Saturday morning cartoon show to the explosion of “Off the Wall” — which made a much greater impact on me than “Thriller.” I’ve always loved his dancing more than his music, though some of his songs are still iconic for me. “Billie Jean” was high school graduation. I still have an old cassette tape somewhere that has Yaz’s first album on the A side and then Altered Images, ABC “The Look of Love,” Men Without Hats “Safety Dance,” and “Billie Jean” on the flip side.

My relationship with Farrah is far more complicated. She hit on the very cusp of my homely adolescence and what that poster said to me and to a generation of young women was, “You will never, ever be good enough. You will never be who someone wants.” When we played “Charlie’s Angels” in the playground, I knew instinctively that the most I could attempt was Kate. And that’s sad, because, given her choice of roles in later life, intimidating a crowd of teenage girls was probably the last thing Farrah ever wanted to do.

I think this video is as good as any to close with because it shows Michael at one of his most admirable moments, and also encapsulates the era I’m saying goodbye to as well as anything could.

I have to laugh at the status-consciousness of some (very few) of the people in my field sometimes. For the four or five of us who haven’t figured this out yet, fifteen minutes away from the Medieval Academy Meeting, to paraphrase Pierre Trudeau, you could be the most published, beloved, reprinted, honorary degreed, endowed medieval historian in the world, and nobody will know your name.

What I didn’t realize until this week, was that much the same can be true in the fiction publishing world. I met Diana Gabaldon on the weekend, and I have spent much of the week trying to impress my friends with the coolness of this and being met with “Who’s she?” or “I *think* I’ve heard that name.” And this is from people who read, and who read fiction at that. It goes to show that you can be a New York Times best-selling writer whose books normally make that list with a publishing career that has spanned decades, and still people will say, “Ummm…”

Anyway, I met Diana Gabaldon on the weekend, and she was lovely. Friendly and warm, and not in a “I will tolerate you while you gush all over me” way, but in an “I will join you and your friends on the couch and we can talk about how to write sex scenes” kind of way. Very impressive.

I spent last weekend in Schaumburg at the Historical Novel Society conference meeting old friends and new, and thinking hard about what it takes to write a compelling historical novel. I was going to write a full post about the conference but all my procrastination has meant that Julianne Douglas got there before me, and I must concur with everything she said. She even went to most of the panels I attended, so go on over there if you want to see what I thought!

I was tagged in this reading meme over on Facebook ages ago, and I never answered. I’ll post my answers over there too, but my blog seemed like a better place for it.

1. What author do you own the most books by?
Well, I own all the Dorothy Dunnetts, including one of the mysteries so she probably wins. Also close would be Mary Wesley and Carol Shields. I can see Alice Hoffman creeping up behind them in the next few years.

2. What book do you own the most copies of?
I own two copies of Carol Shields’s Republic of Love — a paperback, because it has the perfect cover and I can’t let it go (Mum? You know that copy you’re missing,well, erm…heh.) and a hardcover that I bought at the coop used book sale and found it was signed by the author once I got it home.

3. Did it bother you that both those questions ended with a preposition?
Didn’t notice. If they had confused “fewer” with “less” I would have been really upset, however.

4. What fictional character are you secretly in love with?
Is it too utterly wet to admit I have kind of a crush on the hero of the first novel I wrote? And does it count when they are a figment of your imagination, not someone else’s? Apart from that I fear I am a bit of a literary flirt. I can fall madly in love with a character for the length of a novel, and then forget his name once I am finished with the book.

5. What book have you read the most times in your life (excluding children’s picture books)?
Probably either A Tangled Web, The Blue Castle, or Rliia of Ingleside, all by L.M. Montgomery. I am a re-reader though. I read all my favourites many times over.

6. What was your favorite book when you were ten years old?
See the answer to number 5. I’ll also add Eloise Jarvis McGraw’s Greensleeves. I still get something out of that book when I reread it.

7. What is the worst book you’ve read in the past year?
Heh. A certain nameless novel about Barcelona. (Not Shadow of the Wind, which I loved). I learned a lot from it though.

8. What is the best book you’ve read in the last year?
This has been a good twelve months for reading, but I’m going to pick Diane Setterfield’s The Thirteenth Tale for sheer satisfaction.

9. If you could force everyone to read one book, what would it be?
J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Hah. And I’d make them read the poetry out loud. Aren’t you all glad I don’t run the world?

10. Who deserves to win the next Nobel Prize for literature?
Difficult, because Doris Lessing just won. I’ll say A.S. Byatt.

11. What book would you most like to see made into a movie?
Vikram Chandra’s Sacred Games

12. What book would you least like to see made into a movie?
I wish I could unsee Possession.

13. Describe your weirdest dream involving a writer, book, or literary character.
I don’t think I’ve ever dreamed about any of these things.

14. What is the most lowbrow book you read as an adult?
I skimmed the Da Vinci Code.

15. What is the most difficult book you’ve ever read?
Derrida’s Of Grammatology. I haven’t got past the Spivak introduction yet. Oh, you mean fiction? Fiction’s not difficult.

16. What is the most obscure Shakespeare play you’ve ever seen?
Probably one of the Henry’s, and I don’t even remember which one…

17. Do you prefer the French or the Russians?
The Russians, of course!

18. Roth or Updike?
Um, I read Witches of Eastwick, and it was fine and all, but…

19. David Sedaris or Dave Eggers?
Oh, please.

20. Shakespeare, Milton, or Chaucer?
Shakespeare. yes, i know I’m a medievalist, but Chaucer isn’t even close.

21. Austin [sic] or Eliot?
Can I trust a literary meme that can’t even spell Jane Austen’s name correctly? I’ve read one Eliot (Middlemarch) and every single Austen that has a beginning, middle, and end, and I’m still going to pick Eliot.

22. What is the biggest or most embarrassing gap in your reading?
Nineteenth and twentieth century fiction from the United States. I’ve read almost none.

23. What is your favorite novel?
Doris Lessing’s The Golden Notebook

24. Favorite play?
Macbeth. And everything of Tom Stoppard’s that I’ve read or seen.

25. Favorite poem?
John Donne is my favourite poet, but my favourite poem of his depends on my mood.

26. Favorite Essay?
Laurie Colwin’s food writing.

27. Favorite short story?
While she’s on my mind, Colwin’s “St. Anthony of the Desert.” Or any of hers, really. I also like Melissa Bank.

28. Favorite work of nonfiction?
I’m going to pick Barbara Tuchman’s A Distant Mirror

29. Favorite writers?
See above.

30. Who is the most overrated writer alive today?
Quoting Julianne: “If you can’t say something nice…”

31. What is your desert island book?
Why wouldn’t I take my favourite book to a desert island? Besides, The Golden Notebook is nice and long.

32. What are you reading now?
Jasper Fforde’s The Eyre Affair. Fun.

Any question you find especially interesting? Answer it in the comments!

(No, I’m not going to talk about The Hug) When I saw this photo on the newspapers this morning, it reminded me of when I was a little girl. Whenever the table manners of my sister and I left anything to be desired (which was often), my mother would chide us by asking how we thought the queen would respond to our disgusting habits. “Would you eat like that if the queen were here?” she’d ask when we switched our fork from hand to hand. “What if the queen came to tea?” she’d say when we buttered and jammed a whole piece of bread in one go, instead of just the part that was about to go into our mouths. And the worst threat of all: “What if you get invited to Buckingham Palace some day? Will you behave like this there?”

I always thought this was just a special little behavioural modification strategy of our family, maybe shared with a few other British ex-pats with a longing for the good order of the home country. But to my great surprise, when I was working my way through the Yarn Harlot’s archive, I found the following quotation (you’ll have to scroll down a fair way through the link I provided, just past the photo of the —erm— sock photographed in front of the monument to Queen Victoria to find the bit Im citing):

The flag was flying, so I know the Queen was home, but I didn’t see her, but I stood there in the rain, thinking about all the times [my grandfather] reminded me of my manners, saying “Careful now, or you’ll never be invited to the palace” and I remembered how as a little girl, I thought that was an entirely possible thing.

So it wasn’t just my mother! Because I thought being invited to the palace was an entirely possible thing for me too. Is this perhaps a broader Canadian phenomenon? I started to wonder.

And then I began to wonder about Americans. Whom do their parents hold up as paragons of good behaviour? Presidents? Somehow I can’t quite picture it (“Eat your broccoli! Ronald Reagan loves broccoli!”), and that difference may explain a lot about a lot of things.

But who knows? I think back to a conversation I had with my son a week or so ago, when I drove him and some of his friends to an academic olympics competition at a school in Englewood. “We’re going to be the only white kids there,” my son said worriedly, though I don’t know exactly what he was worried about. “That’s okay,” I said, “It might be a good experience for you to see what it feels like to be in the minority.”

“Besides,” I continued, “Think of what it must have been like for Barack Obama at Harvard Law School.”

Bonus Joke Content, also from the Yarn Harlot: How do you get 50 drunk and rowdy Canadians to get out of your pool.”
Say, “Would you please get out of my pool?”

Or, I suppose, tell them that the queen is turning up.

Spotted today in Publisher’s Marketplace:

Alison Pick’s THURSDAY’S CHILD, a story about love, hope and betrayal within an affluent Jewish family in Prague during the lead-up to Hitler’s invasion of Czechoslovakia, to Lynn Henry of House of Anansi, in a pre-empt, by Anne McDermid Associates.

That’s my cousin! Check out her website in my links. I’ve read this novel and it is wonderful. There are many novels about the war and the Holocaust, but this one is very different, about a place and a moment that is seldom described. To me, she gets the feel of Czechoslovakia as it fell to Hitler absolutely perfectly and the story is gripping and beautifully written. Her publisher is going to be very happy they picked up this book.

Maybe I’ll do a blog interview of Alison when her book is released. Hmm. *plots*

You’ve all read Romeo and Juliet. But did you ever wonder just how that famous feud between the Capulets and the Montagues got started? Blixt did, and his answer to that question is just one of the threads that makes up his spectacular debut novel, The Master of Verona

It’s not Shakespeare who is at the centre of this book, however. It is Dante Alighieri, or Alaghieri, and especially his eldest son Pietro through whom we witness the desperate battles between the Guelfs and Ghibellines and the slow-motion tragedy that is the beginning of Verona’s fall. Pietro is an enormously engaging and sympathetic hero whom we follow as he strives to come out behind the shadow of his famous father and make his own way in the world.

And what a world it is. It isn’t fair to compare any author to another, and Blixt’s contribution is wholly original, but I couldn’t help be reminded of the work of Dorothy Dunnett when I read this novel. Like Dunnett’s, Blixt’s characters are larger than life — in a good way — and his battles have real consequences. No one escapes unscathed, either in body or in mind. Astrologers, diviners, illegitimate children, mysterious foreigners, and shrewd teenage girls crowd the page. It is a wild and completely satisfying ride.

Amy Kelly’s engaging and evocative biography of Eleanor of Aquitaine, Eleanor of Aquitaine and the Four Kings says about Eleanor’s participation in the Second Crusade, citing Michaud’s History of the Crusades as her source:

With the queen came “many other ladies of quality,” Sybille , Countess of Flanders, whose half brother was King of Jerusalem, Mamille of Roucy, Florine of Bourgogne, Torqueri of Bouillon, Faydide of Toulouse, and scores of others whom the chroniclers could not afford the parchment to enumerate.

Do a google search for a few of those names. Go ahead, I’ll wait. You’ll find that scores of other writers, both in published non-fiction and fiction, as well as web-based sources have taken those words as gospel truth and have published that list of names almost word for word — Allison Weir, Norman Cantor, Antonia Fraser, etc.
Problem. Not one name on that list actually accompanied Eleanor to the Holy Land — and as it happens, Michaud mentions none of them. Let’s take a look at them one by one:

• Sybille of Anjou, countess of Flanders: She did eventually make it to the Holy Land, travelling with her husband on his third pilgrimage there, at which point she refused to return home and spent the rest of her days as a nun in the convent of Bethany. But during the Second Crusade she stayed in Flanders to run the county, leaving her husband to go to Jerusalem alone.
• Mamille of Roucy: Died around 1122.  The Second Crusade began in 1147
• Florine of Bourgogne: There is a Florine of Bourgogne who was married to Prince Sweyn of Denmark and apparently they both went on the First Crusade where both of them died in 1097.  One source suggests she remarried and died in the Holy Land in 1102.
• Faydide of Toulouse:  She, at first, seemed the most promising because her husband, Alfonso Jordan of Toulouse did go on the Second Crusade.  But it seems Faydide died long enough before the crusade that Alfonso was able to marry and then separate from Ermengard of Narbonne before he left for the east.
• Torqueri of Bouillon:  Not only can I find no evidence of anyone of this name, “Torqueri” does not even seem to be a woman’s name.  Or a man’s name.

So, frankly, shame on all these authors for simply accepting Kelly’s words as fact, especially the ones who claim to be writing non-fiction. But the lie has been repeated so many times, it has become a commonplace. Faced with that, what does the historical novelist do? Work the myth into the story — or change it?

Last April I wrote a post on what makes a good cover, and I mentioned that I especially liked the cover for Laurie Groff’s The Monsters of Templeton

Turns out I was not the only one. My friend Tamara alerted me to a fascinating article called 30 Books Worth Buying for their Covers Alone, and I was delighted to see that Ms Groff’s book made the cut. The other 29 covers are worth checking out as well. I own Heaney’s Beowulf and Cooley’s The Archivist and have been drawn to many of the others. It is interesting to note that, with the eexception of the Heaney, the Cooley, and the cover for Murakami’s South of the Border, West of the Sun, all the books on the list use illustrations rather than photographs for their cover art. Which was kind of the point of my original post.

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