Shades of Glenn Beck: There was a frightening (as it should be) review in the NYT about a book setting off the immigration debate in Germany.  According to reviewer Michael Slackman, Germany Does Away With Itself “laments the growing number of Muslim immigrants, contending that they are “dumbing down” society, was released Monday and is already in its fourth printing, with sales expected to exceed 150,000 copies, according to his publisher.”

Author Thilo Sarrazin “a German banker and former government official spoke publicly about a unique “Jewish gene,” when he attacked Islam as a source of violence and stunted development and when he espoused genetic theories that evoked the fright of the Nazi past.”

More frightening than Sarrazin saying these hateful words, are the many listening to them.

Yes folks, once again, if we do not learn from the past, we are condemned to repeat it.

And then, there is a review by Dwight Garner of the biography: Simon Wiesenthal The Life and Legends by Tom Segev, translated by Ronnie Hope that sounds fascinating: “Simon Wiesenthal, the legendary Nazi hunter, was in many ways a smaller-than-life character. Balding, mustached, the wearer of frumpy suits and neckties, possessed of an old-world Yiddish accent and a distracted air, he often seemed to be stooped, one observer said, “as if permanently looking for a mislaid piece of paper.

I am entranced by ‘on the campaign trail’ books and after reading The Washington Post review by Steven Livingston of Meghan McCain’s Dirty Sexy Politics, I’ll be reading the book. Hands across the divide.

Along with my love of campaign trail books, I am an armchair mountain climber and Rob Merrill’s AP review of The Last Man on the Mountain: The Death of an American Adventurer on K2 by Jennifer Jordan is certain to make me add to the mountain climbing pile.

After reading Chuck Leddy’s Boston Globe review of Shaking The Family Tree by Buzzy Jackson, it seems that genealogy could be a new interest for me.

Not sure how I missed The Girl Who Fell From The Sky by Heidi W. Durrow (2008 Winner of the Bellwether Prize,) but after reading this review, it’s on my nightstand.

An excellent visual post on the crazy injustice of shelving books by color (and I don’t mean book jacket) by Lauren Leto.

If you’ve not seen any of the video book reviews by Ron Charles of the Washington Post, you can start with this review of Freedom by Jonathan Franzen.

And in the Denver Post you can read Christian Toto’s  review of Jennifer Weiner’s Fly Away Home which “focuses on the family caught in the klieg lights, a group already suffused in pain before the adultery hit the 2 4/7 news cycle.”

AS King’s post on how not correct downloading ‘free’ books is, should, at the very least, convince parents to watch out for their children’s web habits.

The evolving role of literary agents is discussed at Jungle Red in this interview between Hallie Ephron and Jane Friedman.

I tried to resist writing this—especially after my plea against categorizing authors.  Plus, so many of us hide our age in this world of never-get-old, unearthing this information, even in our Googlized world, was difficult.

But, recently, along with the plethora of lists of writers under 40, I was faced with the declaration that, as headlined in a Guardian UK article about writers, ‘Let’s Face It, After 40 You’re Past It.”

Then I read Sam Tanenhaus opine in the New York Times that there was “an essential truth about fiction writers: They often compose their best and most lasting work when they are young. “There’s something very misleading about the literary culture that looks at writers in their 30s and calls them ‘budding’ or ‘promising,’ when in fact they’re peaking.”

Thus, in the interest not of division, but of keeping up the flagging spirits of those who don’t want to be pushed out on the ice floe until after publishing all those words jangling in their head, I present 40 0ver 40:

Paul Harding, author of Tinkers, won the 2010 Pulitzer Prize with his debut novel, published when he was 42. Robin Black, author of If I Loved You I Would Tell you this, was 48 when she debuted this year. Holly LeCraw published her debut novel The Swimming Pool at 43. Julia Glass was in her early 40s when she published Three Junes. Charles Bukowski’s first novel, Post Office, was published at 49.  James Michner’s first book, Tales of the South Pacific was published when he was forty—he went on to publish over 40 titles. Sherwood Anderson, author of Winesburg, Ohio published his first novel at the age of 40. Amy Mackinnon debuted Tethered in her 4o’s.

Henry Miller’s first published book, Tropic of Capricorn, was released when he was over forty. Tillie Olsen published Tell Me A Riddle just shy of 50. Edward P Jones was 41 when his first book Lost In The City came out. Claire Cook published her first novel at age 45. Chris Abouzied published his first novel Anatopsis at 46. Kyle Ladd was 41 when her debut, After The Fall, was published.

Lynne Griffin published her first novel, Life Without Summer at 49. Elizabeth Strout’s first novel Amy & Isabel debuted when she was 42.  MJ Rose first novel came out when she was in her mid forties. Melanie Benjamin was 42 when she debuted. Therese Fowler was forty exactly when Souvenir debuted.

Margaret Walker wrote Jubilee, her only novel at 51. Raymond Chandler debuted at 51 with The Big Sleep. Belva Plain published her first novel, Evergreen, at 50. Alex Haley published his debut novel Roots when he was 55. (His first book, the nonfiction The Autobiography of Malcolm X was published when he was in his mid-forties.) Jon Clinch debuted with Finn at age 52. In 2010 his wife Wendy Clinch published Double Black.

Also in 2010 Iris Gomez published Try To Remember in her fifties, as did Joseph Wallace with Diamond Ruby, and I published The Murderer’s Daughters at 57. Sue Monk Kidd was 54 when she debuted The Secret Life of Bees. Annie Proulx’s first novel, Postcards, was published when she was 57. Jeanne Ray published debut, Julie and Romeo in her fifties.

George Elliot’s first novel, Adam Bede, debuted when Elliot turned 50.  Isak Dineson’s first, Seven Gothic Tales came out when she turned 50.  Hallie Ephron author of Never Tell A Lie began publishing fiction after fifty. Jackie Mitchard was past 50 when The Deep End of the Ocean debuted. Richard Adams debuted with Watership Down at 52.

Laura Ingalls Wilder published her first novel (beginning the Little House series) at 65. Harriet Doerr won the National Book Award, for Stones for Ibarra, written when she was 74. Katherine Anne Porter published her only novel, Ship of Fools, at age 72. EJ Knapp just debuted Stealing The Marbles, saying “I’m so far past forty I can’t remember it anymore.” Norman McLean wrote A River Runs Through It at age 74.

When compiling this list, Ellen Meeropol asked: “Do I count? My first novel, House Arrest, will come out in February, two months before my 65th birthday.” Karen LaFreya Simpson will be 55 when her first novel Act of Grace debuts next year and Nichole Bernier will be over 44 when The Unfinished Live of Elizabeth D is published in 2012. Yes, that’s my answer, Ellen. We all count.

This is only a list of first novels. Compiling lists of bestselling, Pulitzer Prize winning, Orange Prize winning, etc. books written after the age of 40—that will take several essays.

About when I turned ten I began crafting my library checkouts, hoping I’d look smart. I’d balance my Nancy Drew with a biography of Abraham Lincoln so the librarian thought well of me. (It seems my self-esteem problem enacted early.)

Jodi Picoult, following the NYT doubled coverage of Jonathan Franzen’s Freedom, recently weighed in on the Times overwhelming coverage of white male authors. Men telling domestic stories are writing art, while women covering similar ground are crafting women’s fiction. Jennifer Weiner agreed and twitterized the issue with the hashtag #franzenfreude.

Weiner’s directness started a new frenzy, and the issue veered from Picoult’s premise to the age-old battle of literary fiction being weighed against (more…)

Books, books, books!! Libraries in danger, great reviews of perhaps great books, cartoons and contests:

The library system in Camden New Jersey may shut down. This is an awful harbinger that should force us to speak out and offer support. One suggestion I offer authors is joining the “Authors for Libraries” program of the Association of Library Trustees by offering a small amount of financial support and a quote. (Your book title and cover will be featured.)

So, on the topic of reading, books, and libraries: a compendium of book reviews which could topple my already over piled ‘to read’ pile”

In the Boston Globe, Caroline Leavitt’s review of Color Blind: A Memoir by Precious Williams starts:

“To understand “Color Blind,’’ you must first wrap your mind around the (more…)

I read a post on author Tayari Jones’ blog earlier this month, that hasn’t left my mind. She asks why books by black writers aren’t considered universal, starting her post with these words:

“In the last few years, black writers have been speaking out about double standards in the world of publishing. Among these are Martha Southgate’s NYT essay, “Writers Like Me” and more recently, Bernice’s MacFadden’s Black Writers in A Ghetto of the Publishing Industry’s Making. In these articles, both writers (who also are novelists) put into a public conversation the issues that black writers have been complaining about for years– like why is that stories about black folks that are written by white folks get so much traction. (The Help, The Secret Lives of Bees, Little Bee, etc.) How come books about us by us are not thought to be “universal”? Why are black faces on the cover of a book thought to be so alienating? At this point in the gripe session, I break out my favorite oh-no-he-didn’t moment– when someone asked me what percentage of my work is “black” and what percentage is “human.””

It’s not only a great post, it’s an important question for all readers and writers. For readers: you/we are missing a vast store of great books by staying within one’s cultural boundaries. We’re missing great reads, and as (more…)

“I was born twice: first, as a baby girl, on a remarkably smogless Detroit day in January of 1960; and then again, as a teenage boy, in an emergency room near Petoskey, Michigan, in August of 1974.” Opening to Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides

I read that sentence and I immediately want to re-read Middlesex.

Sometimes I think I can write an entire  book in the time it takes me to revise the first paragraphs of a novel. At the very least, I can write 3 chapters in that time. Lately, as I’ve been lost in the world of revision, when I read, I find myself studying the first paragraph.

What do I want from that introduction? Set up. Intrigue. A gotta-keep-going.

“After my brother went missing, my parents let me use their car whenever I wanted, even though I only have a learner’s permit. The didn’t enforce my curfew. I didn’t have to be excused from the dinner table. The dinner table, in fact, had all but disappeared, covered with posters of Danny, a box of the yellow ribbons that our whole neighborhood had tied around trees and mailboxes and car antennas, and piles of the letters we’d gotten from people praying for Danny’s safe return or who thought they saw him hitchhiking along a highway a couple states away. I didn’t have to do any more chores.” Opening to The Local News by Miriam Gershow.

It’s impossible for me not to continue reading a book with that beginning.

Each time I try convincing myself that I don’t have to spend hours, weeks, days on the opening, I remember my own book buying habits:

Go to bookstore. Pick book up (based on some inexplicable reaction to the title, recognizing the author’s name, or perhaps the color of the jacket?)  Open book. Read first paragraph.

Read book flap. Glance at blurbs. Briefly. Neither of those will make or break a purchase for me, but the next step will. I open the book and read the first (more…)

The only thing I didn’t love about Diamond Ruby by Joseph Wallace was finishing it, because then it was over and I had to leave her world. Lucky you, you can still look forward to it.

If you want the perfect book to read while you lie in your hammock this summer, even if it’s only the summer hammock of your mind, get Diamond Ruby. (And then you’re going to want to pass it on, so you may want to buy an extra.)

I don’t want to give much away, but I’ll say this: Joseph Wallace’s inspiration for his book was Jackie Mitchell, who was signed (in 1931) to an all male-team in an all male baseball league in Tennessee. She struck out Babe Ruth and Lou Gehrig. A few days later, the baseball commissioner banned her (and all women) from the league on the grounds that the sport was “too strenuous” for women.

Diamond Ruby begins in 1913 Brooklyn, when Ruby Thomas is seven, and then shoots us into 1920’s New York in a manner which, for me, captured the danger and wildness of that era in a way I’ve never experienced. Ruby’s story is half fairy-tale, and half knuckle-biting suspense (there were times towards (more…)

While readying to write about Professor Cromer Learns to Read, I searched for a quote or statistic that would put in perspective the overwhelming job families have caring for brain-injured loved ones, words that said how much we are failing brain injured soldiers returning from war, athletes cast aside after they’ve suffered irreparable damage to their brain, those who’ve fallen, those who’ve been in car accidents—all our mothers, fathers, wives, husbands, friends, partners, and children who struggle to make it back and most of whom will never be the same.

As Cromer says about many things, “all the above is true”, but instead, I’ll offer the words Janet Cromer said to her brain-injured husband each night:

“Alan, the joy of my life is waking up with you each morning. The joy of my life is going to sleep with you each night.”

Before his acquired brain injury, anoxic brain damage (and later dementia (more…)

Readers all have favorite books—book we re-read, books that encouraged us, inspired us, challenged us, and soothed us. However, I wonder, is there a difference between most memorable books, and the individual characters who stay with us far after we finish the last page?

I think so.

I’m not an academic scholar who can deconstruct the ‘why,’ but perhaps these are the characters who (as well as having a role in a favorite book) represent the best or worst of who we think we are, who we may become, or maybe they have the qualities we want or fear the most.

Could they be a litmus test for our personalities? Do they have a role in forming who we are?

If you are a person in constant “Word Love,” all the above could be true.

Caroline, Ben, Judith, and Jacob Reiser, the family from Before and After by Rosellen Brown, showed me how a family can remain loyal to their love for each other, even as their own versions of the truth lead them in opposite directions.

Anne Frank. Of course, the book, The Diary of Anne Frank was incredible (please insert this sentence all the way down the list, and help me not be repetitive!) But Anne, a character I met when I was so very young, moved into my head and never left. Despite her tragic end, she provided a ruler for open-eyed (very different from wide-eyed) optimism, which became a measure I attempt to emulate, even if I can only hope for the tiniest fraction of her ability.

Karen Killea, the main character of a memoir Karen, written by her mother, Marie Killiea, Karen and her parents overcame the conventional wisdom of what a child with cerebral palsy could achieve. From Karen I learned grit.

Francie Nolan lives in all my favorite book categories. Brave Francie of A Tree Grows in Brooklyn taught me that a frightening childhood plagued many girls.

Calliope, later Cal, Stephanides, the narrator of Middlesex, by Jeffrey Eugenides will forever stand out as an example of how a character suffering from the narrowest of problems (in Cal’s case, being inter-sexed) can become the most universal of role models in courage and significance.

Sissy Sullivan, the main character of Tin Wife, a novel by Joe Flaherty I read years and years ago, a worn paperback which still has a place of honor on my shelf of long-ago favorites, will forever represent an ordinary woman facing down a city wanting to bury her with lies.

This is just the tip of my particular iceberg of characters who will always live with me. Who’s living with you?

(from the re-run Word Love collection)

Where I finish this installment of “this is where our money goes, honey.”

10) The Lotus Eaters by Tatjana Soli: What they don’t want are any witnesses to what happens next.” Billed as a story of an American photojournalist in Vietnam, torn between passion, duty, and ambition, Tim O’Brien calls it a “haunting world of war, betrayal, courage, obsession and war.” And who would know better?

11) as it was written by Sujatha Hampton: Gita rose from her table at the Au Bon Pain and carefully wiped away the crumbs. Another book I discovered through a twitter friendship, Hampton’s book is described thusly: “Dr. Raman Nair lives a life of abounding satisfaction with his tiny wife, Jaya, and his harem of enormous and beautiful daughters. He has lived so far from his native Kerala, India, for so long, that he has forgotten the ancient Brahmin curse that follows his family like a deadly black cloud, one girl dying for love in every generation.”

12) In Her Wake by Nancy Rappaport: The day my mother killed herself, she had just finished preparing her house on Marlborough Street for the anticipated return of her children after a fierce custody battle with my father. Wow. This book was a gift and this is the first time I’ve read that sentence. Wow. Top of the pile worthy, this is the story of a woman (and a child psychiatrist) investigating her mother’s life and the mysteries surrounding her death.

13) Innocent by Scott Turow: From the elevated walnut bench a dozen feet above the lawyers’ podium, I bang the gavel and call the last case of the morning for oral argument. Because I loved Presumed Innocent, and read it twice. And saw the movie. Twice.

And, below are the books I am planning to buy and plunk onto my pile:

The Stormchasers by Jenna Blum (the moment is releases!)

If I Loved You I Would Tell You This by Robin Black

The Embers by Hyatt Bass