Category Archives: Fiction

3 Experimental Novels That Inspired Me!

Today I’d like to highlight three novels I read that challenged the accepted definitions of what exactly a novel is. During my life I’ve gone through several reading phases. I had my Star Wars phase, my Science Fiction & Fantasy phase, my Bohemian phase, my Gothic phase and my American phase, but during my early college years I became interested in Experimental Fiction. I was drawn to Modernism and the Avant-Garde, because these books focused not so much on the story itself than on the way it was told. I was also excited by the challenge of reading novels that were considered difficult to read.

Each of the three novels I’m going to list today helped both my reading and my writing. I think every writer can benefit from reading experimental fiction- even if it is not their chosen genre- because what experimental fiction does is it examines the craft of storytelling- the techniques of how a story is told. It takes a step back and investigates the basic workings of narrative exposition, and finds new ways to tell a story. I picked the novels listed below because each one innovates in a way that relates to the theme its narrative explores. Enjoy!


La Jalousie


Author: Alain Robbe-Grillet

First Published: 1957, Les Éditions de Minuit

Opening Line: “Now the shadow of the column- the column which supports the south-west corner of the roof- divides the corresponding corner of the veranda into two equal parts.”

Synopsis: On a tropical banana plantation, a jealous husband spies on his wife through Venetian blinds, convinced that she is having an affair.

How It Innovates: According to Vladimir Nabokov, Jealousy is “the finest novel about love since Proust,” and far be it my place to criticize one of 20th century’s most iconic literary figures, but I’m not sure it’s got anything to do with “love” as such. I can’t get his comment out of my head, because I want to see what he saw when he was reading it. I remember there being a lot of jealousy- and plenty of connotations of lust and sexual tension- but not too much love. More so than anything else, the dominant theme of this short novel is the nature of reality- which is Robbe-Grillet’s favorite theme to work with (see Les Gommes and Le Voyeur). I remember being confused while reading this novel- because it seemed like I was reading the same events over and over again. I then learned that what was happening was that the narrator was constantly replaying the same moments over and over again in his mind to the point that it becomes impossible to distinguish between his observations and his suspicions. It’s this aspect of the novel that reminds me of A Sport and a Pastime; both feature jealous narrators and it’s never revealed whether the events of the book actually happened or if they are the creations of those jealous narrators. The difference Jealousy has with A Sport and a Pastime however, is that unlike the latter it is not a conventional novel, and cannot be approached as such. Robbe-Grillet wrote Jealousy as a novel with what he referred to as an “absent third-person narrator”. The husband is never once referred to in the book, never speaks, never acts, never named. The idea of the jealous husband is one that is inferred by the reader, once they realize that the events of the book are framed as though being observed by someone. There are subtle clues as to the narrator’s existence- such as the number of deck chairs on the veranda or the number of places at the table. This is a book that will make you a creative reader, because a creative reader is what the book requires. On the surface it is merely a sequence of repeated scenes, each of them written with a meticulous and exact sense of geometry. There’s something very mathematical about the book. The smallest angles and dimensions create a sense of perspective, and provide evidence that there is indeed a narrator. And the green landscape of banana trees that enclose the house represent the jealousy of this view, since green is the color of jealousy.


The Sound and the Fury


Author: William Faulkner

First Published: 1929, Jonathan Cape & Harrison Smith

Opening Line: “Through the fence, between the curling flower spaces, I could see them hitting.”

Synopsis: The fall from grace of a Southern aristocratic family is chronicled over 30 years through the memories of three brothers obsessed with their sister.

How It Innovates: The novel is divided into four parts. The first three sections detail the memories and thoughts of the three brothers Benjy, Quentin, and Jason- each of whom has a different relationship with their sister Caddy that consumes them in various ways. The fourth section of the novel is written from a third-person omniscient point of view, and Caddy- the heroine, the central figure of the book- has no narrative voice at all. And yet this only makes her presence seem all the more powerful, as our image of her is filtered through the views of her brothers. And ultimately that is what the book is about; not Caddy herself so much as what she means to her brothers. It is the first two sections of the novel that are the most interesting to scholars because they are unlike anything else in fiction. Benjy, the voice of the first section, is cognitively disabled and non-verbal. His passage is so interesting because he is trapped in the past, going over various events in his life linked by visceral sensations. It makes for challenging reading, because the time shifts abruptly every couple paragraphs or so, and we are presented with this splintered, kaleidoscopic mélange of scenes. I got the hang of it when I realized that the temporal shifts are indicated by italicized lines (Faulkner originally wanted to have different colors of font to mark the alternating time periods) but it still makes for very challenging reading. It’s not the sort of book you wanna rush, or take to the beach and unwind with in the sun. It’s the sort of thing you have to methodically work through and re-read again and again. The second section though, is even more difficult. It’s narrated by Quentin as he slowly loses his mind. He is tortured by his father’s nihilistic world view and his sister’s sexual promiscuity. Benjy’s section, when you get used to the temporal shifts, is more or less a series of physical sensations and images. He’s non-verbal, so there is no voice to speak of. Whereas with Quentin, we are given a rush of pained emotions and neuroticisms. I honestly marvel at Faulkner’s genius here, because the psychology of the narrators are as interesting as you will find- it is as though he wants to get to the very heart of the human soul and its agonies. As Quentin’s mental state rapidly deteriorates, all sense of grammatical structure and punctuation is thrown out the window. And that’s what I meant in my opening paragraph about experimental fiction reinventing narrative techniques to reflect the themes of a story. Faulkner does not subvert convention for its own sake, but because it serves the book’s themes. Quentin is one of the most fascinating characters in American literature- in some way representing the chivalric, “white knight” psyche of all Southern men- and Faulkner’s abandonment of form makes for an unforgettable account of the man’s depressive state. I’m not sure if I have a favorite novel, but The Sound and the Fury is definitely a contender for the title. Although it’s ball-bustingly difficult, it’s actually a very entertaining story with plenty of cinematic scenes in its more straightforward final two sections.


Rayuela (Hopscotch)


Author: Julio Cortázar

First Published: 1963, Editorial Sudamericana Sociedad Anonima

Opening Line: “Would I find La Maga?” or “Yes, but who will cure us of the dull fire, the colorless fire that at nightfall runs along the Rue de la Huchette, emerging from the crumbling doorways, from the little entranceways, of the imageless fire that licks the stones and lies in wait in doorways, how shall we cleanse ourselves of the sweet burning that comes after, that nests in us forever allied with time and memory, with sticky things that hold us here on this side, and which will burn sweetly in us until we have been left in ashes.” (depending on where you start the novel)

Synopsis: An Argentine writer living in Paris searches for his mistress La Maga, before going home to his native Buenos Aires and seeing her everywhere he looks.

How It Innovates: Hopscotch is described by its author as a “counter-novel”. As you may have noticed above, I put two opening lines for the book. How can a book have two opening lines, you ask? Well that’s because it was written as being “many books”, although it is two above all. If you want you can read it from the first page in a straightforward manner like you would any other novel, and the book ends at chapter 56. There are 155 chapters in total, but the last 99 are considered “expendable”. Thinking that I would not read this again for many years, if at all, I decided to read it the second way, where you “hopscotch” from chapter to chapter using a code indicated at the front of the book. This way, you read all of the chapters, starting with chapter 73, and using the code to figure out which chapter comes next. It was super-interesting and completely unlike anything else I’ve ever read. The expendable chapters provide deeper insights into the characters as well as random musings that serve to fill in the gaps of the main narrative that runs through chapters 1-56. It’s been a few years since I read the novel, but it’s an interesting read and the protagonist makes for an intriguing, isolated tumbleweed that goes from place to place without really finding a sense of belonging.


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A Sad Affair by Wolfgang Koeppen

Last night I finished reading Wolfgang Koeppen’s 1934 novel Eine unglückliche Liebe (A Sad Affair). This year I’ve resolved to read more fiction from non-English language writers. This one is actually a book that’s been sat on my shelf for so many years that I can’t even remember how I got it. I know I didn’t buy it. I’m pretty sure that it was given to me as a gift by my mom when I was going through my artsy fartsy Bohemian phase. It certainly seems at home when placed in the company of the books I was reading at the time; Quiet Days in Clichy, On the Road, and Women to name a few. All of these books had something in common- they were fictionalized memoirs that focused on a particular time or place, they covered universal aspects of the human condition such as poverty and sex, and they all spoke to a kind of masculine sensitivity- an anguish even. They were all slow-paced and introspective, with philosophical ambitions. They weren’t written as page-turners and they rejected the accepted forms of how a plot ought to be structured.

In addition to committing to reading more non-English language writers, I’m also ticking off so many old books. Why not read Koeppen? The book itself is only 172 pages. Before I started reading, I did something I’ve been trying to do more recently- I checked out the introduction. It was actually super-interesting and it definitely enhanced my reading experience. I can see the appeal in wanting to go in fresh and not know anything about the author’s life, but in this instance it increased my interest in the novel. The introduction is written by the book’s translator- Michael Hofmann. In it he discusses how, despite being regarded by German critics as a quintessentially German book, the book is in many ways remarkably “un-German”. You would expect a book written in Germany in the mid-1930s to reflect in some way life under Nazi rule, but this book is completely apolitical. There’s no mention of world events at all (in fact, I don’t think the words “Germany” or “German” are used at all), and in some way that’s what makes it so interesting- how out of time it is. The focus of the book is entirely on the narrator’s sexual obsession with an actress named Sibylle.

Now I’ve read several books that deal with sexual obsession in my time, but this one is by far the most desperate. And the fact that it all happened (which I learned in the introduction) made the book all the more fascinating. Every moment of pain, anguish and heartache that the narrator goes through is authentic. Koeppen is completely forthcoming and lays himself bare. The object of his desire, Sibylle, is based on the real-life actress Sibylle Schloss- and it’s one of her nude photographs that appear on the front cover. The Sibylle of the novel is portrayed as extremely promiscuous, but also fiercely independent. She is someone that has complete ownership over her sexuality. She is described as falling into bed with almost any man on the street- but it has to be her idea; she has to be the one in control. And therein lies the tragedy for the narrator, who is utterly devoted to her. He worships the very ground she walks on, and witnesses Sibylle give herself to men so easily, and yet despite his infatuation (or rather, because of it) she does not permit him the slightest physical contact. He obsesses over what her lips feel like. He believes wholeheartedly that she is his “destiny”. Sibylle, on the other hand, gets angry at the very idea of them so much as kissing, let alone becoming lovers.

What I liked about this book was that there were several funny lines where the narrator’s observations, neuroticisms, and anxieties felt so relatable. It’s somehow comforting to think that people were awkward back then too. The real strength of the novel, however, is found in its memorable stream-of-consciousness passages. Lines such as “Her lips seemed to him the font of life, the source of all joys, the world offered no drink to set beside the kiss of her lips and never, never once, had he been allowed to breathe on them, to feel them, their redness, their flesh, their moist gleam that shone to his faint spirit, a craving, a signal, a finishing line in a gauntlet race through an infernal landscape, to the scornful laughter of the happy, the contented, the sated, the living; he was without anyone to pity him, the compassion of the world denied itself to him with these same lips” remind me of the lyrical, poetic writing of Koeppen’s contemporary Modernists such as William Faulkner and Virginia Woolf, as well as the later works of the Beat Generation. The protagonist may be pitiful and unheroic, but there’s something so human about him. He wants to be a good person. He has so much love to give, but he is so desperately lonely. Sibylle is unwilling to give him what he wants, but she also seems like the only person that even knows he is alive. Now I can’t speak for anyone else, but I know I’ve fallen into the trap a few times down the years of idealizing a girl I’m attracted to, and I just think it’s such a quintessential flaw in the male psyche. That’s why I’m sympathetic to the protagonist. I think a lot of young men have similarly ascribed higher qualities to the women of their desire that those women cannot possibly live up to. To the narrator, Sibylle is an angel, and no man is worthy of her.

Some readers consider the book to be a self-deprecating satire, because the narrator’s obsession reaches almost absurd limits. There are darker passages in the book that I found interesting (albeit in a morbidly-curious way) such as the scene where they are walking on the harbor in Zurich and the protagonist suddenly starts thinking about pushing her off the edge. I’ve always been interested in why people do terrible things, so the idea that a seemingly normal person might just snap and do something awful on an impulse is quite compelling to me.

This was a good read- and an excellent translation by Hofmann. In many ways, it was a return to the kind of books I read a lot of during my collegiate years.

3 Short Stories I Can’t Get Out Of My Head

Today I’m doing a little short story roundup. I’ve recently submitted a few short stories to magazines and competitions, and I thought it might be interesting to share with you three of my favorite stories that I’ve been reading of late. In no particular order, here are three different short stories by three different authors, all of which have inspired my recent writing.

#1 “Hoeing the Beet” – Endre Ady


Publication Date: 1907

Collected in: Neighbors of the Night (1994, Corvina Books, Ltd)

Summary: On an estate in rural Hungary, a group of women work for 30 krajcárs a day (a paltry amount of money) hoeing beet. Two of the girls are gypsies (magyar cigányok) and all of them are desperately impoverished, living off of “bread and a slice of stale bacon”. Despite their economic equality, the Magyar women cling to a strong sense of racial superiority and refuse to drink from the same jug of water as the Roma women. The owner of the estate tries to resolve the issue by giving the Roma their own jug. However, the Roma women refuse to drink it, believing that they are entitled to the same water as the Magyar. This results in them nearly dying of thirst and the other women laughing at them. One night, however, as all the women sleep in the field, the two Roma women get up and search for the jug of water the Magyar women have hidden in a nearby grove. They find it and drink all of it in long, hearty gulps. In the morning, all the women get back to work and the Roma women are happy for once. Ady ends the story with the ironic line “This, then, is the way beet is hoed in our glorious Hungary”.

Why I LOVE this story: Endre Ady is one of the most respected figures in Hungarian literature, and considered the country’s most important and most-imitated poet of the 20th century. I’m going to resolve to read some of his poetry- for which he is primarily known- since I loved this short story of his. I like to think of Ady as being to poetry what Thomas Wolfe was to fiction, Kurt Cobain was to music, and Pistol Pete was to basketball; a brilliant comet of pure genius and raw talent, an indomitable soul whose legacy we can’t separate from his tragic end. When we look back on their creative fire we almost assume it was fated to happen. Ady passed away on January 27th 1919 after complications from Syphilis. I think his story “Hoeing the Beet” is a real testament to his character as a sensitive, fearless progressive. In many ways, the owner of the estate in the story, who is sympathetic to the Roma girls, represents the government of Hungary over the years and how it has approached what was once known as “The Gypsy Problem”. He is well-meaning but ineffectual. In the story we see a Hungary in which a certain amount of integration has been reached between the Magyar and the Romani, in that they are both equally exploited in an economic sense- and yet the lingering racism of centuries past still lives in the hearts of the women our protagonists work with. The sad conclusion from the story is that the racial hatred does persist- but that’s kind of why it strikes a chord with me. I don’t want stories that cheer me up and make me comfortable. As Debra Wilson, the actress of Wolfenstein 2’s Grace Walker, recently said “We don’t learn by being comfortable”.

#2 “The Half-Skinned Steer” – Annie Proulx


Publication Date: November 1997 (Atlantic Monthly)

Collected in: Close Range: Wyoming Stories (May 10th 1999, Scribner)

Summary: In Massachusetts, an 83-year old Mero gets a call from a woman saying that his brother Rollo has died. Mero, who left his family’s Wyoming ranch at the age of 23, and who has attempted in a variety of ways to bury the past, finally decides to head home and attend Rollo’s funeral. The story sees his physical and psychological deterioration as he drives across the country to Wyoming, in which many repressed memories from his childhood and why he left the ranch come back to him. Chief among them is a story his father’s girlfriend once told about a rancher named Tin Head, who has a galvanized metal plate sewn in his cranium that severely affects his brain functions. Supposedly, Tin Head was butchering a steer outside when he decided to take a break, eating lunch and taking a nap. When he comes back outside, he finds the steer gone. It then comes back, half-skinned and mutilated, fixing him with a hateful stare that he believes is the steer setting a curse on him. This story gives Mero a nightmare and he leaves home. After a problematic journey across country, Mero finds the Wyoming landscape much the way he remembers it- despite all his years trying to forget it. It’s night and snowing hard, and thinking he knows the way to the ranch, Mero ends up crashing the car and wrecking the engine. He attempts to find another ranch on foot he believes is nearby, before ultimately perishing in the cold. As he dies, he thinks he sees the half-skinned steer from the story glaring at him with a red eye.

Why I LOVE this story: Reading this short story gave me a classic case of “I wish I had written this”. I was just so completely in awe of it that I even felt a little jealous and disheartened. How could I possibly write anything ever again? I can’t believe Proulx’s genius has eluded me for so long as a reader. For those of you who don’t know her, the film Brokeback Mountain is an adaptation of a story from the same collection as “The Half-Skinned Steer”. She also won a Pulitzer Prize for her novel The Shipping News, which I also believe was made into a film. I’m not sure “The Half-Skinned Steer” has the same cinematic potential as “Brokeback Mountain”, as it is less of a straightforward narrative and more a haze of flashbacks and stories-within-stories. I think it would probably have to be a loose adaptation, with an expanded narrative. The characters and their conflicts are great film material however, and it’s probably the reason I love this story so much. It’s a dark, psychological narrative that explores themes of memory, death and sex.

#3 “Car Crash While Hitchhiking” – Denis Johnson


Publication Date: Spring 1989 (Issue 110, The Paris Review)

Collected in: Jesus’ Son (1992, Picador)

Summary: The story is narrated in the first person by a hitchhiker who claims to be prescient. Reporting the events of a single night as if outside of time, the hitchhiker recalls traveling with a Cherokee, a salesman, and a college student. Each of them share large quantities of drugs and alcohol with him, until eventually he falls asleep in a puddle on the side of the road. He is then picked up by a family and falls asleep in their car. The car later crashes headlong into a vehicle driven by a man who is apparently asleep at the wheel. The hitchhiker grabs the baby and tries to seek help from a reluctant truck driver. The police arrive and insist that he come with them to the hospital. There, the hitchhiker watches as it is revealed that the man in the family is dead. His wife screams, and the hitchhiker narrates “What a pair of lungs! She shrieked as I imagined an eagle would shriek. It felt wonderful to be alive to hear it! I’ve gone looking for that feeling everywhere”. The narrative then jumps forward a few years where the hitchhiker is now being admitted to a clinic for substance abuse. As the nurse injects him with vitamins, he hallucinates being in an idyllic, pastoral setting and claims that he cannot be of any help to anyone.

Why I LOVE this story: I was assigned Jesus’ Son in 2012 during my student exchange to the University of Wisconsin- Eau Claire. During a Creative Writing workshop class, we analyzed this story and Johnson’s distinctive writing style. What is so striking about this story in particular is how the fleeting, minimalist narrative is made large by the voice that underpins it. Johnson captures the altered mental state of a drug addict in such an unforgettable and fascinating way. The opening paragraph in particular made a huge impression on me, and influenced the way I wrote stories for years afterwards. I loved the crazy sentences that didn’t make logical sense, yet whose interesting word choices seemed to resonate somehow. Famed author Jeffrey Eugenides sums up the narrator (whose name is Fuckhead, by the way) thus “Fuckhead isn’t Jesus. He’s Jesus’s son, which is a different thing entirely. He’s a person graced with an intuition of heaven who still lives in hell on earth”.

Thank you so much for reading! These are the short stories that have particularly influenced me of late. What are your favorite short stories? Let me know in the comments!

Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant by Anne Tyler

My 2017 reading schedule has seen me go back and forth not only between genres of fiction, but between old books and new. I’ve made a sizable dent in the stack of second-hand novels I brought home from Texas this summer, but I have also committed myself to reading those books that have suffered on my shelves for years. Some of them I always intended to read but just never got around to, others I had completely abandoned, forgetting why I wanted to read them in the first place. The great Anne Tyler and her inimitable body of work most certainly occupy the former category. She’s an author that I was very much predisposed to liking; whose work I seemed to know without having ever read. I knew I’d like her but I never got around to sitting down and losing myself in Tyler’s Baltimore.

I discovered Anne Tyler in the fall semester of 2013, during a meeting with my creative writing professor regarding my dissertation. I couldn’t decide what story I wanted to write for my “extended creative project” or “ECP” as it was known. At the time I was struggling with this idea I had about a high school basketball star in Western Wisconsin, and taking my influences from a variety of American male authors such as John Updike and Raymond Carver. I was interested in the mundane- American suburbia- but also drawn every now and then to the sensational, to plots involving earth-shattering revelations and high emotions. I wasn’t quite sure what I wanted to write, and only followed a vague idea of where I wanted to go, trying to advance a plot that wasn’t quite moving all on its own. I had a meeting with a professor who was acting as the supervisor for my dissertation and tried to convey some of the difficulties I was having. It was then that he gave me a list of books I ought to read. The first items on the list were Breathing Lessons and Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant, both by Anne Tyler. I was intrigued by the titles alone.

My professor said that it sounded like I was trying to emulate these writers, and that if I read from them myself, I might get the help I needed to write the kinds of stories I wanted to write. I never did read them; I was far too wayward, too impatient, too anxious to simply settle down on anything- but I remembered Anne Tyler especially. I ended up buying her magnum opus- Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant– for my mother. I knew she would like it even though I hadn’t read a single sentence of her work before. My mom and I share a lot of books and have a lot of the same tastes. She loves American fiction and always has. This book was supposedly the kind that I wanted to write. So I bought it for my mom and Anne Tyler became her favorite author of all time. No one else comes close, except maybe Steinbeck. Over the years she’s collected every single Anne Tyler novel and read them all. It seemed these books had the same life expectancy around my mom as Double-Stuf Oreos do around me. She tore through them, and it’s hard to discuss it and not come up with metaphors relating to thirst and hunger. I was going to say she just as quickly consumed and disposed of them as a relapsed alcoholic does the contents of a hotel minibar. I always intended to join her, but I never got around to it. However, after months of intensifying nagging on her part, I finally decided that the time was right and picked up this book whose title I had for so long been entranced by.

Like most of her novels, Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant is set in Tyler’s native Baltimore. In fact, I’d argue that she stands as the greatest and most iconic author of the city and perhaps the state of Maryland as a whole. Yes, I know that the Baltimore Ravens are named after that one Edgar Allen Poe poem, but honestly you’d be hard pressed to find a fitting name for a football team in an Anne Tyler book. The Baltimore Single Mothers? The fact that Tyler is so strongly associated with the city of Baltimore was a real draw for me. Maryland has always seemed like such a strange place. It’s too southern to be considered a part of the North, and yet too north to be considered truly Southern. It occupies this narrow stretch of no-man’s land between two vastly different cultural and geographic regions, and it has the strangest shape of any country subdivision you’ve ever seen. However there’s little physical description of all this in the novel. What lines are devoted to the setting are sparse and fleeting. Tyler’s Baltimore is a world of sun-splashed sidewalks and brick row houses, streets either full of children at play or no one at all, strip malls, street cats and an endless maze of roads full of parked cars, with only occasional references to the smog of the more industrial parts of town. It’s thoroughly urban, and in some ways that atmosphere comes across in the sheer lack of description of the setting. Tyler is more interested in people and their relationships. Very careful and deep attention is given to the minutiae of domestic life. Tyler’s philosophy is that through the examination of small, mundane things, larger truths are revealed.

In some ways, her obsession with the small aspects of family life reminds me of Raymond Carver, but in truth she reads a lot more like John Updike or William Maxwell. Her vibrant characterizations are much like that of Liane Moriarty, though the pace and themes of her work could not be more different. To my mind, the crowning achievement of Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant– and the main aspect that I take away from the novel- is how rich and interesting the characters are. They are all so kooky and eccentric, and represent universal truths of the psychology of family life- such as sibling rivalries, the passing down of traits to descendants, and the nature of pride. The novel is about three siblings: Cody, Ezra and Jenny, and details their life after their father abandons their mother Pearl, leaving her to raise them herself. Each of the siblings fail to detach themselves from the event of their father’s leaving, allowing it to determine the rest of their lives. As the novel spans many years, we see how each of them are shaped by this one event, and how none of them- including Pearl- fully get over it.

I was especially drawn to the oldest child Cody, because in some ways he reminded me of myself during my childhood. During my school days I often caused a lot of trouble and mayhem. I was guilty of not only being a hyperactive little shit, but also being mean to other kids on a few occasions. I remember teasing a girl when I was nine years old, and the class teacher assistant came over and said icily “He doesn’t care about people’s feelings. He just doesn’t care”. I felt a little sympathy for the character of Cody, who everyone assumes is just cold-hearted and without empathy, because it reminded me of those days. I felt like I could relate on some level to his desire to cause more trouble, to accept his “devil” status to spite those that had given it to him.

To conclude, this is a wonderful book, and my reading of it was long overdue. Perhaps the most fascinating element of Tyler’s characterization is the way each sibling remembers the same childhood events differently, and how these competing memories clash throughout the book in a series of poetic repetitions of family dinners always going unfinished. I urge you all to give Anne Tyler a read. She’s one of America’s most perceptive and intelligent writers. And there’s no better place to start than the novel she herself considers her best: Dinner at the Homesick Restaurant!

10 Books That Defined My Teenage Years

A week later and my bookcase is starting to take its new shape. The back rows are filled with old, second-hand tomes on the “Social Contract” and “Marxism After Marx”. The back row is two rows high; its upper layer filling out the entire height of the shelf with horizontal stacks of Japanese verse and old copies of the writings of the Beat Generation. I like this mixture of Bashō and Ginsberg, and its literary mélange is visible because the first row of each shelf is only one row high. That’s where I keep the novels I have finished and the ones I have yet to read. Despite unmaking my bookcase and building it anew, I still haven’t hunted down The Edge Chronicles. What I have been able to do though is locate every other book from my childhood, and so the timeline of my reading has been revealed. After giving an overview of The Books Of My Childhood last week, following it up on Tuesday with a post on my reading of the books of other peoples’ childhoods, I am today writing about the books of my teenage years.

As I stated in last week’s post, the emergence of reading as a hobby culminated in me devoting all my time to reading the books of the Expanded Universe of the Star Wars franchise, whose stories I came to love more than the movies themselves. My reading choices shifted during a parent-teacher conference, when my English teacher- a giant of a man who often slung his tie over his shoulder- said that whilst I was showing promise, I really ought to be shifting away from Star Wars books and onto the classics. Time to grow up. And just like that, one era of reading ended and another began. If I was going to be a writer I had to learn from the best in the business. I feel like this is a critical period in my reading history, because I was no longer reading just for pleasure. Now I was examining everything carefully, and it’s probably a big part of why I have been a slow reader since. I completely missed out on teen fiction, because I spent my teenage years trying so hard to be an adult. If it sounds like there’s a tone of regret in my voice, it’s because there is. Whilst a lot of the books listed here were very enjoyable, I do wish I could go back in time and make the transition less sudden, and say to my younger self “There’ll be plenty of time for Le Morte D’Arthur; just relax and be a teenager because that’s what you are”. I look now with envy upon the bookcases of my roommates; both Anne-Marie and her fiancée Aaron are voracious readers, and much better at it than I. My sense of having missed out is a large part of the reason why I was so keen to read The Giver, and why classics of the Young Adult genre such as The Maze Runner are included in my list of books to read.

Don Quixote


Author: Miguel de Cervantes

First Published: 1615

Opening Sentence: “In a village of La Mancha the name of which I have no desire to recall, there lived not so long ago one of those gentlemen who always have a lance in the rack, an ancient buckler, a skinny nag, and a greyhound for the chase.”

One-Line Summary: A Spanish hidalgo reads so many medieval romances he loses his mind and thinks he’s a knight.

Trivia: El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha as it was originally titled, is the best-selling single-volume book of ALL TIME. I picked it out from my dad’s collection of hardback classics at the age of 14 and figured this was the place to start my little renaissance. It wasn’t too hard to read, not compared to other classics, and some passages were actually quite funny.


House Corrino


Author: Kevin J. Anderson & Brian Herbert

First Published: October 2nd 2001

Opening Sentence: “Under the light of two moons in a dusty sky, the Fremen raiders flitted across the desert rocks.”

One-Line Summary: In the far, far, FAR future, a Ned Stark-type plans a risky military campaign to free a planet of tinkers and machinists from their Splicer overlords.

Trivia: There used to be a bookstore in Bristol, England that was literally the size of a department store. Borders, it was called. My uncle took me there one time and pointed out that he had read the Dune novels. I was curious about the giant sandworms on the front covers, but at the time I was still in my Star Wars phase. I went back there a year later having remembered his words, and sought out the books with these majestic behemoths on front. Of course, I didn’t realize until after I finished House Corrino that it was part 3 of a prequel trilogy to the original novels.


The Earthsea Quartet


Author: Ursula Le Guin

First Published: 1968, 1971, 1972, 1990

Opening Sentence: “The island of Gont, a single mountain that lifts its peak a mile above the storm-racked Northeast Sea, is a land famous for wizards.”

One-Line Summary: A young mage with anger-management issues accidentally releases a shadow creature that stalks him throughout an archipelago with a high population-density of dragons and warlocks.

Trivia: I adore this book, and it stands as perhaps the entry on this list that I am most keen to re-read. I loved the first novella, thought the second was ok, enjoyed the third, and gave up on the fourth after a classmate in English looked over my shoulder and remarked “Your book is so boring”.


The Ghost


Author: Robert Harris

First Published: 2007

Opening Sentence: “The moment I heard how McAra died I should have walked away.”

One-Line Summary: A ghostwriter jumps at the chance to write the memoirs of a former prime minister with enough skeletons in his closet to shame an Underwood.

Trivia: This one was recommended to me by my mother and I remember reading it quite quickly. Three years later they made it into a film starring Obi-Wan Kenobi.




Author: Frank Herbert

First Published: August 1st 1965

Opening Sentence: “In the week before their departure to Arrakis, when all the final scurrying about had reached a nearly unbearable frenzy, an old crone came to visit the mother of the boy, Paul.”

One-Line Summary: On a desert planet with a mysterious resource upon which galactic society depends, the heir of a ruined feudal dukedom sets out avenge his father.

Trivia: So yeah, I read House Corrino, loved it, and went online to find out more about the Dune novels. I read the first three, but never finished God Emperor of Dune, despite restarting it several times. This series has the most interesting and intriguing cover art I’ve ever seen, and I love looking up all the different editions to see how varying artists have tried to realize this bizarre sci-fi epic. I loved this series so much that for my birthday one year (most likely my 14th), my mom made me a cake with sandworms made of icing on the top.


The Third Man


Author: Graham Greene

First Published: 1950

Opening Sentence: “One never knows when the blow may fall.”

One-Line Summary: An American writer arrives in post-WW2 Vienna to investigate the suspicious death of his friend.

Trivia: I read this after my mom told me how good the film was. I still haven’t seen the film, but apparently it’s one of the greatest ever made. I remember being very impressed by the book. The city of Vienna is split into quarters, each controlled by world powers- the Americans, British, French and Soviets- and personally I can’t think of a more interesting setting for a crime novel.


A Princess of Mars


Author: Edgar Rice Burroughs

First Published: Serialized February-July 1912

Opening Sentence: “I am a very old man; how old I do not know.”

One-Line Summary: An ex-Confederate prospector gets transported from Arizona to Mars, where he runs afoul of giant, six-limbed aliens with green skin.

Trivia: I’ve always loved retro-futurism, and to this day I still collect pulp sci-fi artwork. During my teens I became fascinated with antiquated visions of the future, and seeing that the Barsoom series was an inspiration for Star Wars, I began to read these swashbuckling adventures. Bringing this book to school was a mistake however, because everyone took one look at the naked, large-breasted woman on the cover and started yelling “Mike’s reading porn!”. I tried to explain that there was no such thing as clothes on Mars, and that actually these were the most innocent books ever, but my protestations fell on deaf ears.


Brave New World


Author: Aldous Huxley

First Published: 1932

Opening Sentence: “A squat grey building of only thirty-four storeys.”

One-Line Summary: In a Dystopian future where people are genetically engineered and brainwashed, a psychologist heads to a reservation of “savages” who live a natural life in order to escape.

Trivia: I was probably too young to appreciate the complexity of this novel. I remember liking the ending, which has always stuck with me. It’s another book that gets routinely censored and challenged by those religious, parental groups- which is enough reason for me to sing loudly about how great it is.


The Children of Hurin


Author: J. R. R. Tolkien

First Published: April 16th 2007

Opening Sentence: “Hador Goldenhead was a lord of the Edain and well-beloved by the Eldar.”

One-Line Summary: A cursed man sets out with a band of outlaws to defeat a wingless dragon and the army of sadistic goblins at its command.

Trivia: The artwork for this book is gorgeous, and the novel features many illustrations by Alan Lee of Tolkien’s world. My younger self was quite enthralled by the sylvan homelands of wood elves and such. I know, what a dork, right? Tolkien wrote the original version of this book in the late 1910s, and revised it several times during his life but never completed a definitive version. His son Christopher then edited it into something resembling a coherent narrative and voila, it was published in 2007.


Animal Farm


Author: George Orwell

First Published: August 17th 1945

Opening Sentence: “Mr Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the pop-holes.”

One-Line Summary: Sentient pigs with Stalinist tendencies overthrow their human masters and form an animal society on the farm in which they live.

Trivia: This was one of my absolute favorites as a teenager. I read it when I was 14 and the ending had me more than a bit freaked out. At the time there was a girl I was sweet on- probably the prettiest and most popular in the class- and I remember telling her I read it, thinking that reading from an author of Orwell’s caliber would impress her.

The Giver & Nostalgic Reading

What I straight-facedly refer to as the organized mess of my room has reached its zenith. There are so many stacks of books on the floor I can no longer reach my closet. As I stated in The Books Of My Childhood post, I’m completely reorganizing my bookshelves at the moment. But the real reason I’m undertaking this with such zeal is that I’m trying to unearth certain books from my youth. Last time I managed to uncover the novels that really made me want to read outside of school. But initially I had intended to look for something far more ancient, far more elusive. What the hell happened to the books my parents read to me in my early childhood? I’m talking about All the Mowgli Stories by Rudyard Kipling and Fantastic Mr Fox by Roald Dahl. I have a distinct memory as a child reading Dahl’s The Enormous Crocodile to my younger brother at his bedside. It’s my earliest memory of getting someone a birthday present, and my parents thought it would be real swell if I read it to him myself. But there’s one book in particular I’m hunting- or series of books rather. Since my return from Texas I’ve been trying to locate The Edge Chronicles by Paul Stewart and Chris Riddell. They’re a series of Steampunk/High Fantasy adventure novels made in beautiful hardbacks. They’re fantastic to look at, let alone read. The artwork and world maps stand out as the most imaginative I think I have ever seen in fiction.

But why am I searching for The Edge Chronicles? They don’t just represent a bridge to my own childhood- something lost in the haze of memory- but they represent a bridge to the childhood of my roommate Aaron. It’s an endless source of interest to me that my friends from the USA, growing up in a small, Midwestern town halfway across the world, seem to have enjoyed many of the same things I did as a kid. Aaron, Anne-Marie, and their siblings are all familiar with The Series of Unfortunate Events which I detailed as being so significant to my childhood in last week’s post. They played the Spyro games on Playstation 1 and the Pokemon games on Gameboy Color. Aaron, in particular, is chasing after his own nostalgia. This summer we made many trips to our local second-hand bookstore where he sought after any Edge books he didn’t yet have. I can’t think of a more beautiful set of books to collect.

Regular readers of TumbleweedWrites will know by now that nostalgia is something of an obsession for me. Not just my own nostalgia, but that of others. Whenever I’m at Aaron or Anne-Marie’s parents’ houses I’m always after yearbooks, family photos, senior photos, family trees. I like the idea that the books we read tell us something about ourselves, and that by reading the childhood favorites of my roommates, I can form a deeper connection to them. Earlier this year I finally got around to reading Our Only May Amelia– a treasured book from Elizabeth’s childhood. But that was actually not the first childhood book of my Americans that I have read. It’s been a long time coming, but I’m finally ready to blog about my amazing experience reading Lois Lowry’s The Giver.

In the summer of 2015 my roommates and I were living in Eau Claire, Wisconsin. I was obsessed with post-apocalyptic settings; I’d just watched the film adaptation of The Road, and played the video game Fallout: New Vegas. Knowing that it was in vogue with me, Anne-Marie asked if I had ever read The Giver. I hadn’t. She went on to tell me that it was one of her favorite childhood books, and I was intrigued by the reverence in her voice. Months later, Aaron was showing me his and Anne-Marie’s bookcase and encouraged me to borrow a book. I liked the idea of sharing books with friends and discussing them. Before I flew home, I asked if I could borrow The Giver. Aaron said yes, but that “if you fail to return it, Anne-Marie will slit your throat”. I tried not to focus on the image of my bloody demise and instead marveled at the book’s importance to them.

I took it home and read it. It’s an important book in my expanding literary tastes, and perhaps the one I point to as the novel that has made me less selective as a reader. It was my first real foray into the genre of Young Adult Fiction. After years of reading slow, meditative modern classics and experimental fiction, this was the first time in years I got to read a real page-turner. I fell in love with Lowry’s writing style. I found that I was thinking about the book when I was not reading it. It was such an intriguing concept- this society starved of emotional depth. The experience of reading it was exhilarating and electrifying- as opposed to studious. It is a novel that echoes the philosophical depth of Fahrenheit 451, but which is accessible for younger readers, and with the mystery and pace of The Chamber of Secrets (my favorite Potter book).

In short, the novel is about a dystopian society founded on the elimination of suffering. When kids reach the age of 12, they are assigned a role in the community at a special ceremony. The book’s protagonist is Jonas, a curious lad who gets chosen for a unique position within the society- The Receiver of Memory. From there, he is tutored by an old man known as The Giver, who is responsible for all the memories of society before it converted to Sameness. It reminded me a lot of Bran’s relationship with the Three-Eyed Raven in Game of Thrones, so just imagine a whole book based around that. It’s definitely darker than something like Harry Potter, but the darker aspects are more suggested and secretive than outright gory. Sure, there are themes of infanticide, but if this was Our Only May Amelia the mothers would be throttling the babies with their own disembodied intestines. Probably.

I definitely recommend this book for all those who haven’t read it. It seems to be a Middle School classic in the United States, but so far I haven’t found anyone in the U.K who has heard of it. I know there’s a movie out but I haven’t seen it yet. Should I? Is it a good watch or is it a complete turkey? Let me know in the comments, because I’m curious.

So there we have it, my long-awaited post on The Giver. I felt the time was right, given that I had just blogged about the books of my own childhood, that now I would explore the childhood of my friends. Thanks for reading!

The Books Of My Childhood

At the moment I’m in the middle of reorganizing my bookshelves. I’ve got too many books and too little space, as evidenced by the tall stacks that have formed across my bedroom floor. My main bookshelf is two rows deep, and for the first time in a decade I’ve been able to get my hands on the books at the back. This provided an ample opportunity for me to do a little post about the books of my childhood- or more specifically, those books that established me as an independent reader. I always enjoyed English at school and my parents read to me before bed from an early age, but I would say I discovered my love for reading around the age of 10 and 11. That’s when reading became a habit, something I would do on my own time for my own enjoyment.

It all started about a month before my eleventh birthday. I was in my last year of primary school here in the U.K and our teacher that year was a Utah native by way of Canada. She introduced to us this series of American children’s books called A Series of Unfortunate Events, and as a class we read the first of those books- The Bad Beginning. I enjoyed it so much that I asked my mom to get it for me so I could read the novel myself, in its entirety, at my leisure. I got hooked on them and ended up reading the first ten books in the series in the space of a month. That really signaled the start of my independent reading. From thereafter it became not only a hobby, but a lifestyle, and one that was undertaken with the utmost seriousness.

Looking at these old books now, I can trace my evolution as both a reader and a writer to three pillars of reading. Of course, the first pillar was…

A Series of Unfortunate Events


Author: Lemony Snicket

Publication Dates: September 30th 1999-October 14th 2006

Opening Sentence: “If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other book”.

Trivia: These books served as the foundation for almost everything for me. As the years passed however, I began to forget where it all started- my love of literature and my love of writing. It wasn’t until the Fall of 2013 that I thought about them again. I was out grocery shopping in Winchester with my housemates when I saw a jar of Puttanesca sauce. It triggered such a strong sense of déjà vu that I had to buy it. I still had no idea why it was so affecting, so I called my brother and asked him if we ever had Puttanesca as kids, or some memory associated with it. I wanted to know why it was so damn important. He had no idea, so I called my mom. She somehow remembered that I had read The Bad Beginning as a kid and had mentioned to her that the Baudelaire orphans make Puttanesca for Count Olaf.


Harry Potter


Author: J.K Rowling

Publication Dates: June 26th 1997-July 21st 2007

Opening Sentence: “Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much”.

Trivia: I would say the audio books narrated by Stephen Fry were as significant to my development as the books themselves. We used to listen to them on cassette tapes on long car journeys. They were a real life-saver because I was the kind of kid that’d be saying “Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?” every five miles. I’d say these books were the basis for a lot of my early writing techniques. I remember emulating Rowling a lot in stories I wrote for English class in school, imitating the tone of her prose, the kinds of phrases she used, the way she described characters. My favorite of the series is The Chamber of Secrets, closely followed by The Prisoner of Azkaban. I don’t really like them after The Goblet of Fire, and I stopped after I read The Half-Blood Prince. However I know how it ends because my American roommates and I did a marathon of all the movies!


The Star Wars Expanded Universe Books



Author: Various. I always liked Kevin J. Anderson the best; his style made a particular impression on my writing.

Publication Dates: November 12th 1976-x

Opening sentence (The Unifying Force): “Selvaris, faintly green against a sweep of white-hot stars, and with only a tiny moon for companionship, looked like the loneliest of planets”.

Trivia: Once I had gotten into the habit of reading, it wasn’t long before I started to think about what books I really wanted to discover. And there was nothing more dear to my heart during my childhood than Star Wars. It was in late 2004, after my 12th birthday, that my love of Star Wars reached an absolute fever pitch and I started picking up the books. These novels will always be special to me, because I have such fond memories of reading them. The first one I got was Dark Apprentice by Kevin J. Anderson. I adored it. I began to write self-insert fan fiction, depicting myself as the heroic Jedi Padawan on an epic journey. It was a fun time, and for a couple years I had no ambition beyond reading Star Wars and writing Star Wars. I later read The Unifying Force by James Luceno, and it stands as a significant book in my reading history. It was the first time I felt proud of having read a book, and it was also the first long book that I had ever read. I got it because I was intrigued by the cover, even though I had never read the others in the series. After starting the book two times and giving up after each attempt, I figured I would never read it and it just couldn’t be done. But I gave it a third shot and surprised myself by sticking with it. It might not seem like a great achievement compared to reading The Sound and the Fury, but I actually consider The Unifying Force the bigger hurdle in my reading history.


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