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  • Tara Sonin 5:00 pm on 2018/02/09 Permalink
    Tags: 11/22/63, abraham lincoln vampire hunter, all american girl, american queen, american wife, , , , , , , dolley, eighteen acres, ellen feldman, eugene burdock, executive orders, failsafe, frost/nixon, george saunders, harvey wheeler, , it can’t happen here, jailbird, , jenn marie thorne, joe klein, , , leader of the free world, , lucy, , , mount vernon love story, mrs. President, nicole wallace, peter morgan, , primary colors, , seth grahams-smith, sierra simone, sinclair lewis, stephen carter, , , the impeachment of abraham lincoln, , the plot against america, the president is missing, the wrong side of right, , wide awake   

    25 Fictional Presidents 

    President’s Day is around the corner, so we compiled a list of 25 fictional presidents for you to read about! If watching the news bums you out, but political intrigue does not, these books are for you.

    Lincoln in the Bardo, by George Saunders
    This haunting novel centers around the true story of Lincoln’s son, who died during his Presidency. While President Lincoln visits the gravesite of his son, the ghosts who have clung to life narrate a deeply moving, complex thread of tales.

    11/22/63, by Stephen King
    This political sci-fi is about a man who travels back in time with one goal—to prevent the assassination of President John F. Kennedy. While the President does not “officially” appear in the story, the entire plot centers around Jake Epping managing to stop Lee Harvey Oswald…but will his actions have the opposite impact on American history than he hopes?

    American Wife, by Curtis Sittenfeld
    Loosely based on Laura Bush, this novel stars Alice, a small-town girl who grows up to marry a future President. Follow Alice in her courtship by a dazzling Republican man she finds herself unable to stay away from…but once they enter the White House, she realizes she disagrees with in ways they may be unable to reconcile.

    Jailbird, by Kurt Vonnegut
    Watergate gets even more insidious in this story, told from the perspective of a fictional co-conspirator in the Nixon Administration cover-up. Wry and humorous, but also dark and revealing of the jagged edges of human nature, Vonnegut’s anti-hero shares the story from his perspective years later, after serving his time for the crime.

    Dolley, by Rita Mae Brown
    Dolley Madison was the fourth first lady in American history, and this novel explores her fictional diary. Being the wife of one of America’s founders was both glamorous, full of fashion and parties…and horrendous, as her husband ushers the country into war.

    Primary Colors, by Joe Klein
    Originally published anonymously, this novel takes readers behind the political curtain of presidential campaigns. Based on Bill Clinton’s rise to the presidency, told from the perspective of a lower-level aide, every moment is rife with drama on the verge of scandal.

    Eighteen Acres, by Nicolle Wallace
    Nicole Wallace is a former Communications Director of the White House (and current political pundit) and wrote a novel imagining the first woman president as she weathers a re-election campaign, an infidelity scandal, and an international blunder.

    American Queen, by Sierra Simone
    Now for a very different kind of novel, this erotic romance imagines a completely fictional scenario in which a girl finds herself in love with two men: they just happen to be the President of the United States…and the Vice President of the United States. Confused? Once you meet Greer, Embry and Maxen in this reimagining of Camelot, you’ll be in love.

    The President is Missing, by Bill Clinton and James Patterson
    This book isn’t even available yet, but it’s totally pre-order worthy…because it’s the first novel written by a former President! Bill Clinton teamed up with James Patterson to write a political thriller about what happens when a President vanishes without a trace.

    Failsafe, by Eugene Burdick and Harvey Wheeler
    Published in 1962, when tensions between Russia and the US were at an all-time high, this speculative novel imagines a scenario in which American bombers take control of the nuclear weapons and decide to put an end to the conflict once and for all…and the President must act before Russia engages them in all-out war.

    The Dead Zone, by Stephen King
    Stephen King returns to the list with this bestselling speculative novel about a man who wakes up from a coma with the mysterious ability to see people’s futures. But this becomes a problem when he has a vision of a man running for President…and it’s disastrous. Does he intervene to prevent it from coming true?

    Executive Orders, by Tom Clancy
    The worst has occurred: the President, the cabinet, and most of congress is dead. That leaves the VP, Jack Ryan, in charge. President Ryan must govern without a government all the while trying to figure out who is responsible. Riveting and with twists that will leave you breathless, fans of Designated Survivor will love this novel.

    The Inner Circle, by Brad Meltzer
    An adventure of presidential proportions begins when an archivist and his one-time crush find a mysterious dictionary that belonged to the first president, George Washington. They must race against the clock to decipher the meaning of the dictionary, and, once a man ends up dead, hope they don’t end up suffering the same fate.

    The Impeachment of Abraham Lincoln, by Stephen L. Carter
    This fascinating novel imagines a world where Lincoln did not die, and instead lived to face the consequences of the Civil War…namely, an impeachment trial for a breach of executive powers. When one of Lincoln’s lawyers is murdered, a young black woman working for his defense team must unravel the mystery.

    Mount Vernon Love Story, by Mary Higgins Clark
    Mystery master Mary Higgins Clark wrote an historical novel about George Washington! Did you know that many people believe Washington, despite being married to Martha, was in love with someone else? Higgins Clark is not one of them; she writes the love story between America’s FIRST first-couple as one of mutual respect, admiration, and affection.

    Lucy, by Ellen Feldman
    In contrast, this novel is about a president who was in love with someone who wasn’t his wife. Before he was President, Franklin Delano Roosevelt loved Lucy Mercer…Eleanor’s social secretary. Through polio, a world war, and two presidential terms, despite his promises to Eleanor, Franklin and Lucy remain connected. Heartbreaking, romantic, and beautiful.

    Abraham Lincoln, Vampire Hunter, by Seth Grahame-Smith
    Presidents go paranormal in this fun novel that reveals the true story behind our 16th President. Abraham Lincoln was a vampire hunter, hell-bent on vengeance against the creatures responsible for his mother’s death.

    Mr. President, by Katy Evans
    Matt and Charlotte have known one another since they were kids. He was the son of a President, and vowed never to follow in his father’s footsteps…except now he has, bringing Charlotte along for the ride. The problem? Charlotte loves him, but knows she can never love a President. This erotic romance novel sizzles with political steam.

    The Plot Against America, by Philip Roth
    An Alternative history where FDR loses the 1940 election to isolationist Charles Lindbergh…who strikes a deal with Hitler to stay out of his way. But tensions rise, along with anti-Semintism, and the consequences are seen through the eyes of one boy.

    It Can’t Happen Here, by Sinclair Lewis
    This book was written during the Great Depression, but the subject matter is still relevant today. Featuring another character who unseats Franklin Delano Roosevelt from the Presidency, this novel details the dangers of populist rhetoric with a President who halts progress on all fronts and holds his enemies captive.

    Frost/Nixon, by Peter Morgan
    This play dramatizes the epic showdown between journalist David Frost and President Nixon, in which the former tries to get the latter to confess to his crimes. (You can watch the movie, too!)

    Crooked, by Austin Grossman
    Grossman’s reinvention of Tricky Dick as the inheritor of a presidency imbued with magical powers—a man consistently distrusted and marginalized by the people who could have prepared him for the battles to come—is thoroughly enjoyable. Most importantly, it offers up an idea of a president who has more than a veto up his or her sleeves. Certainly a little black magic would be very welcome in today’s unsettled world.

    All American Girl, by Meg Cabot
    One of my favorite YA novels featuring regular-girl Sam Madison, who saves the president from an assassination attempt. Sam is in love with her older sister’s boyfriend, but as she spends more time with the President’s son—the only person who seems to understand the downsides to her newfound fame—she starts to question both her choice, and whether she could love the kid who lives in the White House.

    The Wrong Side of Right, by Jenn Marie Thorne
    Kate has never known her father, but when her mother dies, he reveals himself: a powerful politician vying for the White House. Suddenly, Kate is embroiled in the world of politics, a new family, and a dangerous first-love…all the while grieving for her mom, and the life she once loved.

    Wide Awake, by David Levithan
    This speculative novel stars the first gay, Jewish President…whose election is promptly declared invalid by a governor of a crucial state. Jimmy and Duncan, a teen couple, decide to lend their support by joining the protests to support him.

    What novels featuring fictionalized presidents do you love?

    The post 25 Fictional Presidents appeared first on Barnes & Noble Reads.

     
  • Melissa Albert 1:33 pm on 2017/02/14 Permalink
    Tags: george saunders, , , you've got to be kind   

    Lincoln in the Bardo Author George Saunders on the Book, the Man, and a Writer’s Evolution 

    George Saunders is both a blackly hilarious satirist and our most compassionate writer, who takes as his subject the striving of ordinary (and sub-ordinary) people to be good, to live decently, to do no harm, frequently under extraordinary, near-futuristic circumstances. He’s known first as a short story writer, and his works often culminate in moments of breathless grace, or acts of great heroism from unlikely sources (see: “Victory Lap,” “The Falls“). That they’re also blisteringly beautiful and riotously funny is icing. Or maybe the funny is the meat of the thing: his stories get at something so tremulous and painfully bright at the core of human existence—all the best and worst of us expressed on one unending spectrum—that humor might be our best chance at taking it in.

    Lincoln in the Bardo is Saunders’ first novel, and a masterpiece. It takes place in the days after the death of Abraham Lincoln’s young son, Willie, as the grieving president visits his crypt each night to take the boy’s body in his arms. But the president’s attentions have an unintended consequence: they pin his son’s soul to the Bardo, an in between place populated by ghosts who refuse to accept that they’re dead. Their forms are manifestations of the earthly concerns they haven’t left behind, and they consider death to be a temporary state they can deny their way free of. Their chorus of voices is interwoven with a collage of divergent historical accounts of the night Willie died. It’s a dizzying, experimental, utterly accessible tapestry of lives, culminating in a fireworks display of an ending that I won’t spoil here. The book is astonishing, fresh in form, and an extension of everything that has made Saunders one of our most celebrated short-story writers.

    I spoke with the author last May at Book Expo America, about the novel’s roots, his path as a writer and teacher, and uncanny things.

    B&N Reads: What about Lincoln as a subject first fascinated you?

    George Saunders: The weird truth is that I just heard a story about him when Bill Clinton was president. Our kids were little and we were driving through DC, by Oakfield Cemetery, and my wife’s cousin said, “That’s where Lincoln went into that crypt and held his son’s body in 1862.” And I was like, “What? First of all, Lincoln had a son? I didn’t know.” And she went, “Yeah, it was reported in the papers at the time that he had gone to the crypt several times.” I was like, “Wow.” I had this image of a Pietà meets Lincoln Memorial. At that point, maybe I’d written one book, and I knew I couldn’t do that, materially.

    You weren’t ready?

    Yeah. I knew there would be something you couldn’t approach satirically, and I didn’t feel like I had the chops at that point to do it. So I set it aside, and then right before Tenth of December came out, I was like, “You know, if not now, when?” And it felt like from having kids and going through everything you can do in a life, why couldn’t I approach that material? In a sense, I didn’t want to write about Lincoln. That’s like writing about God or—

    The Beatles.

    Yeah, like “I’m going to write a novel about the Beatles.” So I didn’t want to write about him. But then I thought, “Actually, you’re not. He’s in it, but it’s not him. He’s somebody who’s going to pass through that narrative at certain points and when he gets here, we’ll greet him. But we’re not going to get too tied into writing about him.” But once I got into it, people always talk about how sad he was and how kind he was. And the kindness, I hadn’t picked up on that. But people who met him would always sound like he was the kindest man in the world. “He can’t be harsh. He empathizes so much.” And then you think about that guy having to do Antietam and Gettysburg. It’s intriguing.

    What were some of the more strange or interesting or humanizing details that you learned about him?

    The thing about him that I didn’t realize was how lumpy his progress was. For example, on race. It wasn’t like he was a young man and got it. He really kind of did, kind of didn’t. What was really inspiring was that in that five-year period, he covered several generations’ worth of wisdom in the way he progressed toward the right idea—but not smoothly. You can almost see him as you read his speeches, you can see him bumpily getting there. Which is inspiring, because I always thought a person would be either a visionary or not. But he both was and wasn’t. He did really stupid things like right before—not long before he died—maybe before the “Emancipation Proclamation”—he had a bunch of African American leaders to the White House to persuade them to go to Africa and they were so angry with him. And my theory is he was so humiliated by that, that the true-telling part of himself was so sickened by what he had done that suddenly his mind crystalized and he became the Lincoln that we know today.

    And if it was today, we’d be like, “Flip-flopper!”

    Oh yeah, he was very comfortable with that. He flip-flopped in a day. He’s easy to fall in love with, and he’s dangerous. You could spend the rest of your life—there was a time about a year ago where I was like, “I never want to know anything else except about Lincoln. I’m going to become him, I’m going to start dressing like him.” But then you wean yourself off. That, and also he was a great writer of course. There was one critical moment when he was trying to figure out slavery and race, and he wrote—there’s a little scrap, and I don’t remember what it said, but it was a beautiful, syllogistic piece of logic. Just to himself, he never published it. Almost like a mathematician thinking about race and equality. And he wrote it and he put it away.

    So he was a man who’s actually wrestling with these things, not even in the abstract. He was like, “I need to see what I believe.”

    Oh, he had a lawyer’s mind, a kind of logical mind. I mean, I do it. When I’m really confused, I go, “Let me make a chart.” And just look at it. And it gets into your mind and starts easing your logic. So it was cool to see that he was not perfect. And you know, the first part of the war was a fiasco. And he had to feel like a big dope, and people were dying because of his decisions—or lack thereof. So that was the interesting thing: as always with these leaders, the perceived wisdom is glossy. You start looking behind and you go, “Oh, my god, he was a guy. He told dirty jokes.”

    How did the novel’s experimental form evolve? Did it start with a short story?

    You know, I think what happened was—okay. I knew, for me—you write fiction also? Okay. So I think part of fiction is, you’re hoping to run into a problem. Because that’s when your plan has to be set aside and the story’s plan starts to talk to you. So in this case, I loved the idea. But in reality, there’s nothing there, it’s just a guy. One guy: Lincoln. He’s the only living person in the thing. He goes into the crypt, he holds the body, and he leaves. So pretty early it struck me that I needed other presences there to push against him and at least just to be there. And then, then the next problem was ghosts are gauzy. Literally. I mean, that dream sequence is—Tobias Wolff told me once that in your career you’re allowed two dream sequences, because there’s no substance to them. Likewise with ghosts, you start doing ghosts and anything happens. So then I needed a ballast in the historical stuff. So at one point I had decided to use those historical nuggets as ballast and just quote them directly. Just visual things, seeing that, the text and the attribution. I thought, “Oh, that’s what I’ll do with the ghost.” Before, I’d had the ghost identifier at the top. But I thought, wouldn’t it be cool to have the whole book be just monologue, attribution. And then that moment when you go from historical to ghost. So it’s kind of like that. It’s feeling your way through.

    Early on, I started with a soldier who was alive and writing letters to his wife. And the indicator was those attributions have capital letters in them, and when they die they become lowercase. So at one point I had him going into battle, and then the next letter was lowercase. Which is when he’s dead. So that was a cool thing, but then eventually I had to reverse that. From writing, you know, after the fact, you’d like to simplify the answer, but so much happens incrementally as you go. You think of a problem for yourself and then you try to think of a cool way to solve it. So one day I just looked up and I went, “That form’s kind of cool.” Because you can have a classic seven-page monologue and then it can devolve into the theatrical, from which someone can turn to the camera. So that’s kind of a fun form. It was just iterations, four years of messing around.

    Something I love about all of your work is the way you focus on writing average characters who have so much dignity and they struggle so hard to be good. And that’s not a focus I see a lot of in fiction. There’s usually something more extraordinary at stake than goodness.

    That’s a really acute reading, thank you. I’m going to take a guess. When I look at myself, I don’t feel that I’ve done anything that exceptional in life. I’m not a person to whom cool things happen. Some writers, they tell these stories, and I’m like—oh my god, Joseph Conrad. My life never lands that way. It never has. To me, things are interesting from a perceptual standpoint, so that’s where your emphasis has to as a narrator. So if I wrote a story in which the point was how amazing this event was, I don’t actually have that experience. But I have the experience of being in an unremarkable environment, an unremarkable mind, but noticing it. Flannery O’Connor says, “The writer can choose what he writes about but he cannot choose what he is able to make live.” It means that a lot of these craft questions come down to I do this because in that mode I can suck the least often. It’s kind of like you’re going to your own power as a person. And just as in personality, when you’re 12, you don’t really know what your best mode is. You’re finding it out. And then you find it out, and there’s usually a time when you deny it. You’re trying to be somebody else. But that power of saying, “Well, for whatever complicated reason, this is where my power is.” I think that’s what revising is. You write so many things and you say, “I’m going to be the next Virginia Woolf.” Well, your neurology says, “No, I don’t want to be that.” So it’s a humbling process of trying out a lot of things and different costumes and going, “Oh, I guess I’m going to have to be myself.”

    You’re a teacher at Syracuse, and I’m so interested in the teaching process. First day stuff, how would you kick off a semester?

    The big class I teach is a six-person workshop. And I teach our third-year grads, so they’ve already been through a lot and they’re almost leaving. And I know that for me, if I’m working with a young writer, what I’m doing is a bunch of line edits. With not too much explanation. So part of what I want to do the first day is establish a kind of trust. So what I do is say, “I’m going to edit the hell out of your work. It certainly won’t be the case that every edit is going to be to your liking, but try it. Let’s assume that you could learn something from cutting and some of the stuff about narrative logic.” But basically, put parentheses around the semester. I’m going to do a boot-camp kind of thing. At the end of it, I’m going to say, “Release.” It puts us in a kind of intimate space where I’m confessing that I have a particular way of doing it which might not be right, they’re sort of submitting to that, and for those three months we’re working really closely together with this mutual intent of making their work better. But that had to do with the intimacy that says, “I’m going to pretend like I know everything and you’re going to push back.” So the first meeting is really important to say it’s not class, you don’t need a class. I don’t know any answers; I only know them for me. It’s almost like a breaking down of certain expectations that would make the class lame. So that’s the main thing. Then, after that, I’ll do a lot of edits, and you can see what’s landing and what isn’t. And we have meetings, and I’ll say, “Did those edits help?” “Yes and no.” “Okay, where?” And then I can customize it. It’s mostly line-to-line stuff.

    The thing that’s really beautiful about that job—and I remember this so well from being a young writer myself—you come in with your defenses up. It’s such a subjective profession and you’re nervous you’re not going to be good enough, so you come in with a lot of ideas and projections. And part of my job is to get those to come down a little bit, because the projections often involve a kind of falsification about the imitation of somebody else or the embrace of certain conceptual ideas. What we tend to do is over those three years, those walls come down and the young writer is face to face with herself. Which is so exciting because you can get there. So part of it is developing an intuitive sense of what your defenses and avoidances might be. Now, it’s just intuitive, but it’s lovely when I’m right. And every so often, you go, “Ah-hah, this guy is imitating David Foster Wallace out of pure insecurity.” Now, I can’t say that. But I can start editing.

    You’ve said that in your own grad school experience, you came in clean and then proceeded to bury yourself under writing the way you thought you should for the next few years, and then dug your way back out. How did you begin that process? Had you read the right things?

    I hadn’t read anything. I hadn’t read much, and I was very anxious to be under the tent of the approved. I wasn’t very well read, and when all that literature came in on me, I had a pretty good verbal ability, so I could imitate everybody. So I thought it became, “Well, which of these people should I choose to imitate?” That was kind of the feeling. Of course, I wouldn’t say imitate—I was going to continue the lineage.

    Right, you’d be the heir to.

    Who should I agree to be the heir to? So I think it was necessary, but I just got overloaded with shouldn’ts and shoulds that I was supplying myself—nobody else was doing that. Then it was just, I remember that feeling of being full of knowledge and devoid of intuition. And then what happened was we had our first daughter and we moved, and I finished the program and started to work for a living. And that clutter started to ease and a kind of desperation energy started to rise up.

    And that ended up being productive?

    Yeah, that was the first book. I bet it was essential that the clutter got in because I didn’t know enough. It was a sorting through of that and a kind of lonely moment where you go, “I don’t know that much. The only way to is to go with what I actually do know.” I always tell the story of Hemingway and the mountain. Hemingway—or whoever your idol is—sits on a mountain and you’re plodding up it to be like him or her. And at some point your real life experiences become vivid enough and undeniable enough that you feel sick that you’re betraying them with the falsification of taking on someone else’s voice. It actually gets physically sickening. You try to do something in someone else’s voice and you’re like, “Ugh.” For me, at about 30, with my own daughters and everything, it just became unacceptable to be a second-rate imitator of somebody else. The hard thing is, it’s such a big drop to go from being the third-best Hemingway imitator to being yourself. I always say, “Hemingway mountain and then Saunders downhill.” Very beautiful and also very liberating to go, “I don’t know much but maybe I can work with it to make it something substantial and energetic.” I’m not a big fan of myself except in that one moment when I was in my early thirties and I took that right road. That, I think, showed some good character. To go, all right, I’ll take this chance of writing something weird and new and a little sub the work of my idols because that’s the only way I can really survive.”

    When was it you feel you achieved your new aesthetic?

    I had done it briefly before grad school and then abandoned it. But the story after that was called “The Wavemaker Falters.” What I actually did was imitated the story I’d done before that I felt had some life in it, I just did a knockoff of that. I used the same voice and even some of the plot elements just to get that voice back in my head. And I remember that feeling of going, “Well.” If you were in a situation where somebody dragged you into an alley and was beating you up and you fought back awkwardly and drove them away, you’d be like, “Well, I’m glad I don’t have a video of that but I’m glad I won.” The story was modest, but I felt, yeah, that’s kind of me. I felt something in there. And also, certain kinds of truths that were so central to me that I’d been avoiding all my life, about the working life and about money, they were in that story undeniably, even though that wasn’t my intention. So that was an exciting moment. And your job is to be kind of naked-ish. To approach your process so that something uncontrolled happens, almost like a blurt. Whereas before I’d been very controlled about the whole thing, I thought you could just do it through intellectual control.

    You were a working man before going to Syracuse. What made you decide to get organized about your writing practice?

    I was about 27 and I’d actually published two stories the previous month; I’d had some good luck. And I was at a party—it was a wild party, actually. It was a little bit of a drunken brawl. And I went over to a table and there was a People magazine and it had an article about Raymond Carver and Syracuse and I didn’t actually know there was such a thing as creative writing programs. And I think I was wanting to be where things were happening faster. I only knew one other writer and I think I could intuit a little bit of a plateau. I’d written two stories, but I was like, “Well, I don’t know what else to do.” But also, Jay MacInerney just walked by, he was one of the guys that worked at Syracuse and he was in that magazine. And I think I just wanted to be where the real writers were.

    So that hunger just kind of came on you?

    I was very ambitious. In some ways, I had just figured out—I hadn’t read much contemporary literature, and I thought “Okay, even if it makes you uncomfortable, you have to go toward the heat.” And that was the other part of the experience—to go where all these talented people were was kind of terrible. But it burned away your lazy ideas about yourself. I was in Texas with no other writers and I was always the best writer in the room. And suddenly you’re in there with 15 great writers your age who have better work practices than you do, and you’re like, “Oh, I’d better speed up.” And also you start to see what you might have to offer that they don’t.

    I’ve seen that great video you made about storytelling, right down to the sentence level. And I’m curious if you have any sentences in mind from other people’s work that are perfect sentences to you.

    I don’t have them memorized, but I always go back to Isaac Babel, the Russian writer. He’s an incredible sentence writer. I think there’s something in one’s mind—it might be like hearing great music. If you’re going to go do a show, you’d better listen to some great music before just to get your bar up. For me, Babel always does that, and Orwell. The very, very high ambient intelligence manifested in every single choice—not only word choice but sentence choices and all that. You read that stuff and it just gets your bar raised. Babel has a book called Red Cavalry that’s just full of incredible moments, even in translation, where you’re just like, how in the world could two sentences have done so much work? Taking me from here to Russia in 1921 in a particular house with a particular smell.

    Do you have a story of your own that you feel is a distillation of what you’re trying to say? A story you feel the most strongly about?

    You always think it’s the next one. The story “Sea Oak” is one that I like because it really did come out of nowhere. I got about halfway through it and was stuck for years. I couldn’t figure it out and I gave up, and then, in the way that your subconscious will, it kept working on it. And at some point it gave me an answer in the weirdest, most intuitive way. So I’m fond of that because I have no idea how it happened, and I would love for it to happen again. This book I just finished, I love that book so much.  I loved the experience of working on it and the stretching that it involved. And I know my job right now is to transition to going, “Yeah, it’s pretty good.” Because that’s the job, to get to your 180th birthday thinking, “Tomorrow, tomorrow’s the day I really do it.”

    While reading Lincoln in the Bardo (where deceased characters’ appearances are altered to reflect their concerns on earth), it’s impossible not to imagine how I myself might appear in the Bardo—did you have a perception of how you would appear?

    Yes, I’ve had dreams about that. That’s the scary thing, the idea is in the Bardo—or heaven, or purgatory—you’re you, but unleashed. And I always think I know what that is, because I’m a nice guy, and I’m pretty cool. But I think in fact, it’s probably more like you in an emergency. Like, me in a car wreck. Am I cool and nice then? No, I don’t know what I am. I have a feeling it’s not quite as cushy as I think. I think that’s why some people do such energetic spiritual practice. Because although it’s totally related to who we are now, it’s not linear—you can’t posit it yourself right now. I think that’s what meditation is a bit. You see your mind at rest—now what will it do under duress. I feel like there are ways to improve your equanimity, and I’m not doing them right now. The book was scary in that way. Sometimes you’d be writing it, and you’d get a little bit removed from, “Oh, those poor dead people.” And I had an idea but I didn’t do it of putting myself in as a character. There’s me. And I guess in a sense, I did—I’m the one doing all the yapping.

    Have you read this Patricia Pearson book? I can’t remember the name of it, but it’s an incredible book about how common moment-of-death communication is. She’s a reporter for the Times so she went at this in a very scientific, investigative journalism kind of way. And she said something like 51% of Americans have reported this phenomenon. In her case, it was her sister was very sick with cancer and was going to die. And the sister had this dream not long after the diagnosis in which her father, who was alive, came to her in this long, beautiful, rich dream of comfort. “Everything’s going to be good, here’s what’s going to happen to your kids, your legacy is one of love, don’t worry.” And she woke up so happy and her father had died that night. And he wasn’t sick, it was sudden. And Patricia Pearson thought that was kind of weird and she started looking into it as she would any other reported story and she found all kinds of things like that. Her thing is, what if the Enlightenment went too far? What if our usual way of being is way too rational? If 50% of us have had some kind of experience with this, why are we acting as if it’s not real? And one of the things she said that freaked the shit out of me actually was they compiled years of studies of cases where someone has been in a vegetative state for a long time, years. And then the family decides to take them off of life support and they agree to do a brain scan at the moment of death. So here’s how it goes. Their brain function is way down. They take them off of life support and it goes to zero, then it goes way up. From three to twenty minutes they would have above normal brain activity, and then they would recede.

    That’s enough time to make a whole novel out of, right?

    I think I did. It’s that idea that that could be what we call the afterlife. Because your perceptual apparatus could feel that twenty minutes as ten thousand years. And what’s making that—here I’m just guessing—is just [whoosh]. And it’s unmoored. There’s no physical body to slow it down. So I don’t know if that’s true, and it’s a little too materialist for me. I don’t actually think that’s true, but it’s still intriguing.

    Do you feel like in your own life you’ve ever had one of those sort of numinous moments?

    Sometimes in meditation you get one of those. I’m not very advanced, but I’ve had a certain quietness that was weird. And I’ve had some strange dream experiences where it felt more meaningful than an actual dream. But I think I’m actually a little bit of a dullard in that way. I’m not particularly adept. Have you had one of those experiences?

    Once my brother spoke to me when he wasn’t actually at the house. He called out, “Hey, Mimi.” I responded, and we talked a little. And when I went to find him I learned he was in a different state—he was in Wisconsin and I was in Illinois.

    Did he have any recognition of that experience?

    No. And my mom immediately feared he had died. He had not.

    There are all sorts of things like that in her book, where someone is in danger of death and somebody picks up on that from a distance.

    That’s what we were both worrying about, but I guess it was just like a blurt of presence.

    Well, you know—I shouldn’t be talking about this because I don’t know, but in physics now they have demonstrated there’s such a thing as action at a distance without contact. You can look it up, but there are these particles that have been in a certain relation in the physical world, and they separate them, and they’re still communicating at a distance. And as far as I know, there’s no actual physical mode of transmission. So it’s kind of an idea that ESP is not just a fiction, but there’s actual ways of communicating that aren’t necessarily physical. And now I sound like, “And actually, witches can actually turn you into a troll, that’s for sure.”

    Speaking of, my husband and I still joke about the time-traveling warlock joke you made like 10 years ago in a Guardian column. It comes up a lot.

    As a teacher, do you find yourself going back and teaching particular short stories over and over again?

    Yes. I teach—actually, I’m doing it this fall and I’m so looking forward to it—I teach the Russians in translation. Gogol, Dostoyevsky, Tolstoy, Chekhov, Isaac Babel, and that’s great. It’s great partially because their style is not new, especially in translation. The style almost goes away and then you get structure and cause and effect. I’ve taught them for many years. So there’s a little more sense of what the story can teach. I know what it is, and that gives you the freedom to let them come to it themselves. I let them take it apart for half an hour, and I know just where each story has its rewards. And a lot of these kids haven’t read those people, so showing somebody Chekhov for the first time is really fun, especially if they resist it.

    That realization that the classics are alive, and you’re like, “Oooh.”

    It’s almost like a beautiful person with a little dust on her. Chekhov is such vital stuff. And between the diction and the 19th-century social conventions, it gets lost. But then you get past that, and see the depth of that man’s view of humanity. The one I love to teach is a story called “Gooseberries.” There are like seven huge writing lessons you can get from that story. It’s a masterpiece. There’s nothing like it in literature. It presents very conversationally, kind of funny. That’s the one that’s got the line in it about, “Every happy man should have an unhappy man in his closet with a hammer, to remind him by his constant tapping that not everyone is happy.” It’s a good line.

    Are you exciting about anyone who’s writing now?

    Actually, right now I’ve got a gap because of this Lincoln book, I did so much reading in that time period—not only what showed up in the book. I had a weird thing happen where I wasn’t reading any fiction, not any new fiction for sure. I kind of lost interest in the contemporary world.So now I can feel myself getting re-interested in the contemporary world a little bit. I know Don Delillo’s got a new book out, and everything he writes thrills me so I’ve got that at home and I’m looking forward to it. Dana Spiotta’s last book was really good—she’s a colleague of mine and I love her. Anything by Dave Eggers I love, Ben Marcus is another one. I’m a very selfish reader so I only just read what I know will inspire me—like Zadie Smith’s new book is coming out, and every time I read her I just want to write something beautiful.

    So that’s the kind of book for you, the ones that make you want to run to your typewriter?

    Yeah. They have to be great and daunting and leave you a little room. Like, “Great, I could never do that, but maybe I can do this other thing over here.” At this point, I read a lot for inspiration. It’s funny, as you get later in your career, you kind of know something about your ability. You have a pretty good road map, which is scary, because you know when you’re going backward. So you have to keep pushing out, and the only two ways to do that is one, by reading the work of people who inspire you. And the second is to live. To keep pushing yourself into situations that are uncomfortable or new so that those parts of your mind will reengage. And paradoxically as you get older, it takes a little more effort to do that than it does when you’re younger. So I just went to four Trump rallies to write about it, and that was really—

    Where can I read that? (Ed. note: This interview took place in May 2016.)

    That was for the New Yorker. This is so current and kind of vital, and I loved doing that just because it makes me uncomfortable.

    Did you feel like you were chasing the heart of what he’s about and that you found it?

    The first part yeah, the second part no. The idea was to try to understand that campaign from the point of view of the average. Not the fanatic, and not the puncher. There are a lot of people supporting him who aren’t crazy, so I wanted to get a feeling for what that’s about. And I have some idea, but it’s so complicated. What’s funny, for liberals, you’re kind of seeing the world change. If some 40% of Americans support him, it destabilizes orthodoxy all of a sudden. Things that might seem terribly offensive to me, you might go, “Wow, so half of my country doesn’t find that weird.” It’s a very scary moment, hard to write about. It was easy when I started, it didn’t seem like he would get the nomination, and in fact like he was burning out a little bit. So then it’s like, “Oh, what’s that strange thing?”

    It like was this little thing over here and now—

    Now it’s front and center. So that’s really confusing. And also confusing because there are all kinds of people for him. So you can go in and cherry pick the people who say the most silly things, but that’s not really right. So then it becomes about finding the most reasonable version. So anyway, no, I haven’t figured it out. Maybe next week.

    So when I ask, “What are you working on next?” is that the answer?

    That’s for the next couple weeks at least, maybe a month. And I’ve got a TV pilot I wrote for “Sea Oak” that I’m messing around with. But really what I’m doing is waiting for the next big thing to present. There’s a certain feeling I get, and I got it with this Lincoln book, where I’m all in. And I’m just waiting to see what that is. And then after that, I’m going to abandon everything else and just do that for the next five years.

    I’m going to ask you one more question, and thank you for letting me have double the time I was promised. You talked a little bit about the fear of not knowing where you’re going with what you’re writing and how exciting that is, or how good that is for you at any rate. So is that generally how you work? And what are the strangest origin stories for things you’ve worked on?

    Lincoln in the Bardo might be the strangest, because it’s so traditional: that one image that came to mind. Here’s my operating assumption: the things we do as fiction writers, who knows what’s true? You’re just trying to find what helps you do your work. So for me, what helps me, the idea doesn’t matter. If you gave me an idea, my assumption is my creative process will take it and transform it into something intimate for me. That’s liberating because so many writers have idea anxiety, like, “Oh my god, I need an idea.” That is such a buzzkill. I’m like, “No, the idea doesn’t make a bit of difference.” It has to be interesting enough to pursue, and the assumption is if I get working on it, my work ethic and the subconscious process will transform it into this absolute perfect story for me at that point. Is that true? I don’t know. But if I believe that, it makes it easier for me to work harder. Like this Lincoln thing, at first it felt like, “Oh god, this is all wrong.” And then I thought, “Well, all right. Maybe it is right now, but why? What is it that’s bothering you?” And you keep turning your attention to that and soon the thing has transformed into exactly the story you should be writing. So I think it’s a matter of putting certain assumptions in your mind that ease your way, whether they’re true or not. So I’m not looking for an idea for the next book; that would be the worst. I’m looking for a voice. A riff. A little mood. I wrote a story called “The 400-Pound CEO” many years ago, and for me what started it out was I drove by a real standard circa-1985 corporate building, all black glass, plopped down in this upstate New York cornfield. What’s going on in there? So it’s more of a non-idea space. I don’t want an idea, because my ideas are generally pretty lame. But I want something—a little mood or a sentence even. That story “Sea Oak” that I keep mentioning, I was in this mall in upstate New York, and I heard these two teenage girls ahead of me and they were talking back and forth in this crazy central New York argot. And I just followed them around and having that voice in my head was so interesting. And I went home to, not imitate it, but try to use that energy, and that gradually grew out into a story. For me, that’s a nice starting place because it takes the pressure off. You know, that feeling of, “I don’t have a good idea, my book will be no good.” But if you say, “Eh, ideas.” The idea is what comes out of the finished product maybe, and the finished product comes by thousands of iterative decisions that you make at speed, to taste, and then it takes the pressure off.

    Lincoln in the Bardo is on sale now and must not be missed.

    The post Lincoln in the Bardo Author George Saunders on the Book, the Man, and a Writer’s Evolution appeared first on Barnes & Noble Reads.

     
  • Kathryn Williams 3:00 pm on 2015/05/19 Permalink
    Tags: bill murray, , , george saunders, inspired casting, jill mccorkle, kevin wilson, , tenth of december, the family fang,   

    4 Book-to-Film Roles Made for Bill Murray 

    Bill Murray: acting legend, comedy legend, urban legend. How do we love him? Let us count the ways. It’s his deadpan delivery, his everyman approachability, his sense of spontaneity, his Christmas cards, and the feeling you get that in real life he’s just a many-splendored version of all his best roles mashed into one. Word on the town is that Murray’s latest project is a Netflix Christmas special directed by Sofia Coppola, featuring George Clooney and Paul Shaffer and something about Miley Cyrus being pulled in a sleigh. When he’s done with that gift to the world, we’d like to present for his careful consideration these four book-to-film roles tailor-made for him.

    Caleb Fang (The Family Fang, by Kevin Wilson)
    Since its 2011 publication, Kevin Wilson’s odd little novel about the delightfully dysfunctional and tragically eccentric Fang family has garnered many comparisons to a Wes Anderson film. Annie Fang (“Child A”) and Buster Fang (“Child B”) are now the grown children of their narcissistic performance artist parents, who tortured their offspring for years by placing them at the center of their bizarre public “events.” Shortly after Annie and Buster, now a flailing starlet and a flailing writer, respectively, return home, their parents disappear, though whether the crisis is real or constructed, Annie and Buster can’t be sure. Christopher Walken has already been cast in the role of Fang patriarch Caleb, opposite Nicole Kidman as Annie and Jason Bateman (also directing) as Buster, but should a conflict arise, we know exactly whom we’d like to see step in.

    Murray Jay Siskind (White Noise, by Don DeLillo)
    It would be so tempting to cast Bill Murray as DeLillo’s protagonist, Jack Gladney, founder and chairman of the Department of Hitler Studies at picturesque, midwestern College-on-the-Hill. The actor has a talent essential to pulling off Gladney’s postmodernist professor with a fear of death: the ability to splash about in absurdity without devolving into ridiculousness. Yet I keep coming back to another character in DeLillo’s classic, and one who shares the actor’s name no less: Murray Jay Siskind, cultural critic and supermarket fetishist. It’s this Murray’s half-oblivious, half-enlightened one-liners (“He is now your Hitler, Gladney’s Hitler. It must be deeply satisfying for you”) and farcical intellectual digressions that make Murray perfect for…Murray.

    Stanley Stone (Life After Life, by Jill McCorkle)
    Stanley Stone is a resident at McCorkle’s Pine Haven Retirement Center in fictional small town Fulton, North Carolina. A former lawyer obsessed with professional wrestling, widowed, unkempt, crass, unpredictable, and prone to profanity, he’s the wild card of this ensemble story with a secret that’s both unsettling and endearing. By his own account a hard man, terrible father, and crummy husband, Stanley nevertheless has his cracks, and that’s where Murray would no doubt let the light shine through. Even when obnoxious, he’s charming.

    Don Eber (Tenth of December, by George Saunders)
    Murray can do the loud and the brash. He nails the absurd and owns the quirky, but it’s when he tones it down and walks the line between tragedy and comedy, as he did in 2003’s Lost in Translation, that he truly surprises us. The title story of Saunders’s latest collection of short fiction follows the unexpected intersection in the lives, and possibly deaths, of Don Eber, terminally ill husband and father intent on commanding his own exit from this world, and Robin, a precocious, chivalrous, spastic, and wildly imaginative pubescent boy with poor reasoning skills, on one freezing cold day in December. Both characters are vividly drawn, and we know from St. Vincent that Murray plays well with kids. Besides, the un-Hollywood Hollywood celebrity starring in a short story adaptation by a surrealist satirist just sounds like the kind of story Saunders might tell.

    What fictional characters would you like to see Bill Murray bring to the big screen?

     
  • Joel Cunningham 6:00 pm on 2014/06/12 Permalink
    Tags: china dolls, congratulations by the way: some thoughts on kindness, dresden files, , frog music, george saunders, here we stand: 600 inspiring messages from the world's best commencement addresses, hounded, , iron druid chroniclaes, , , , , , side effects may very, skin game, , , , , ,   

    What to Read Next if You Liked The Fault in Our Stars, Skin Game, Mr. Mercedes, China Dolls,or Congratulations, By the Way 

    IMG_6440What’s that? You’ve cried your eyes sandpaper dry and rent all your garments reading John Green’s The Fault in Our Stars then watching the movie and then reading it again and filling a bathtub with your tears, and you’re still looking for a book that will give you all the feels? Try Side Effects May Vary, by Julie Murphy. It doesn’t reproduce the exact cocktail of love, angst, and bittersweet parting of Green’s beloved book, but it’s a worthy readalike: a 16-year-old girl discovers she’s dying and creates a bucket list of revenge, enlisting her lovesick friendzoned pal to help her carry it out, but is thrown for a loop (and forced to reevaluate her unexpectedly continuing life) when her cancer goes into remission.

    If Charlaine Harris is the queen of urban fantasy, then Jim Butcher is king: his mega-popular Dresden Files series just hit the top spot on the best-seller lists again with book 15, Skin Game. If you’re all caught up on the adventures of that supernatural detective from Chicago, take a look at Kevin Hearne’s Iron Druid Chronicles, starting with Hounded. The series is a fast-moving blend of fantasy tropes and Irish folklore starring Atticus O’Sullivan, a 2,000-year-old druid living on the down low as a bookshop owner (swoon!) and occasionally running afoul of one grumpy deity or another.

    With Mr. Mercedes, Stephen King ramps down his penchant for the supernatural to focus on a more mundane evil, resulting in a detective novel that is all the more terrifying for the plausible banality of the murderous fiend at its center. If you’re looking for another great read that takes you much too far inside the mind of a killer, The Shining Girls, by Lauren Beukes, should fit the bill; King himself praised it for its clever prose and spunky heroine in The Times U.K., and not just because he hoped it would increase accidental sales of The Shining.

    China Dolls, by Lisa See, takes readers behind the curtain at Forbidden City, an all-Chinese cabaret operating in San Francisco in the 1930s, and tells the story of three of its desirable dancing girls, each with her own troubled, fascinating history. Though at its core a much bleaker story of murder and revenge, Frog Music, by Emma Donoghue, offers a similarly engrossing journey into the past, with another strong female character at its center—Blanche Buenon, a French burlesque dancer determined to bring her friend’s killers to justice.

    In the brief Congratulations, By the Way: Some Thoughts on Kindness, award-winning author George Saunders offers a few reflections on how living a better life means living a kinder life. His remarks, originally delivered in a graduation address at Syracuse University, were published in the New York Times and went viral. If you’re looking for more nuggets of wisdom from some great speakers for the recent grad in your life, Here We Stand: 600 Inspiring Messages from the World’s Best Commencement Addresses has you covered, with speeches by everyone from J.K. Rowling to Dr. Ruth.

     
  • Joel Cunningham 7:30 pm on 2014/06/06 Permalink
    Tags: chipotle, george saunders, , , , portable fiction, ,   

    Chipotle Bags and 6 More Places We Want to Read Short Stories 

    Photo Credit: Instagram User masonjarsandsweettea

    Photo Credit: masonjarsandsweettea

    In olden times, you had to look to the pages of The New Yorker for your daily dose of highbrow short fiction. Soon, you won’t even have to put down your football-sized burrito, and after lunch, you’ll have more than just three pounds of carnitas to digest: Chipotle recently announced that it has partnered with Jonathan Safran Foer (who by now has no doubt eaten his weight in vegan burrito bowls) to bring short stories by the likes of Foer, George Saunders, Toni Morrison, and Malcolm Gladwell to its bags and cups.

    No more will there be grains of rice stuck in between the pages of that paperback. No more will green chile sauce leak into the speaker of your smartphone. No more will your e-reader be crusted with dried guacamole.

    This highly visible new outlet for fiction got us thinking—what other potentially valuable literary real estate is going undeveloped? Here are 6 more places we’d love to discover our new favorite author:

    Elevator doors
    I don’t know about you, but there are few more awkward spaces for this introvert than a crowded elevator. And by “crowded,” I mean “an elevator occupied by anyone other than me alone.” You can’t even play with your phone, because no one’s going to believe you get a signal in there. My usual M.O. is to stare straight ahead and pretend my peripheral vision isn’t working, so why not give me something to read while I’m doing it?

    Otherwise useless receipts
    I think we can all agree that the purchase of a donut doesn’t need to be an ink-and-paper transaction, but that’s not the way the modern world works, and my wallet remains stuffed with shamefully stashed receipts for impulse junk food transactions I’d sooner forget. Might as well give me something to read in the 15 seconds it takes to eat an entire jumbo Snickers.

    Popsicle sticks
    It’s finally warm in Chicagoland, which means the brigade of ice-cream trucks is out in force. Remember when you were a kid and you got those popsicles with a riddle on one end and the punchline on the other, and you had to eat the whole thing to uncover it? Let’s bring back the O. Henry–style twist ending, and enjoy a Dove bar while we’re at it.

    Toilet paper
    I’m not trying to be crude here, but we all have to use the bathroom, and we’ve all read that our phones are dirtier than a toilet seat, so you do the math. Keep that thing in your pocket and read “the paper” instead.

    Those annoying stickers on a piece of fruit
    I hate those things with the white-hot fire of an Andy Rooney diatribe. So why not give me something very short to read while I try in vain to scrape all the adhesive residue off of my increasingly bruised apple?

    Our phones
    Speaking of phones, my most pressing first-world problem is usually that I’ve left my charger at home, which means I’ll keep pulling my phone out only to remember I’ve got nothing more to stare at than a darkened screen. So why not invent some sort of technology that will fill it with text that can be read when the power’s off? Get on it, smartphone makers of the world—if you can manage to invent a new charging cable with every updated phone, you can handle this.

    Where would you like to read a short story?

     
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