Friday's Forgotten Books: "Thank You for Not Reading"

One great thing about getting back out in the blogosphere is that I've reconnected with Patti Abbott, whose blog features weekly "Forgotten Friday books," a great place to discover – or rediscover – great, but not best-selling reads.

Maybe it's my mood. Maybe it's the latest rejection for my Dogs Don't Lie (a good rejection, but still...). Maybe it's Mercury still being retrograde. Whatever the reason, I found myself looking through my bookshelf for Dubravka Ugresic's spot-on skewering of the publishing industry, Thank You for Not Reading, and choosing it for my Forgotten Friday book.

Now, TYFNR isn't that old - it was first translated into English in 2003 and I found it as a Dalkey Archive paperback the year later. But it never received the attention it deserved. I guess that's what happens to small press authors without a country (Ugresic writes about feeling at loose ends ever since the dissolution of Yugoslavia) unless they fall into one of two recognized categories: the Gloomy Writer (an Eastern European we welcome, because he confirms our stereotypes) or the self-styled Great Man (as in "The Great Bulli"), one of those self-important, macho types (think Saul Bellows, I did) whose existence depends on subservient women. Ugresic herself is not at all gloomy. Despite the depressing subject matter, this is a laugh-out loud book, at least for those who have lived through the rejections, the silent (or missing) agents, and the general foolishiness of this industry ... and still keep on writing. What kind of world is it where Joan Collins can open a book fair? A very dark and silly one. "Come back, cynics!" Ugresic concludes one particularly sharp essay. "All is forgiven."

This is a great book for days like today, when you get a rejection and are able to think, "Well, at least it's a good rejection." You know who you are.

On a serious note: "The literary market does not tolerate the old-fashioned idea of a work of art as a unique, unrepeatable, deeply individual artistic act. In the literary industry, writers are obedient workers, just a link in the chain of production..." Yup, what more needs be said?

Friday's Forgotten Books: "Those Who Hunt the Night"

Picking up the thread started by Patti Abbott a few months back, I'd like to use today to draw attention to a really fun book, Barbara Hambly's "Those Who Hunt the Night."

I first became aware of Hambly's work through her Benjamin January series, a wonderful mystery series set in New Orleans before the Civil War. Her hero, Benjamin January, is a free person of color whose mother is a placeé and whose sister is a voodoienne. Trained as a physician in Paris, Benjamin has returned to his native city to find an influx of Americans, who don't understand the complex race relations in a city where African American citizens may own slaves. It's a great series, and I recommend it highly.

But while I was on vacation, I stumbled across another Hambly title in a used bookstore. I'd heard that Hambly had written fantasy before she turned to mysteries, but this lovely, fun adventure/mystery is well grounded in historical reality. Well, sort of... The period is early 1900, the dawning of a new "modern" age. Her hero, James Asher, is an Oxford professor, and his wife, Lydia, is a researcher. They are both so well grounded in science that you can imagine their skepticism when they are confronted by a vampire who claims to have been "turned" in the 16th Century. He needs their help to find out who is killing his undead colleagues – and he's willing to hold humanity hostage. By the time Ysidro wins over James and Lydia, I was totally won over as well. I'm not usually a reader of fantasy or "woo woo," but this engaging novel worked. Let's revive it from the dead!

PS. Check out Patti's blog for more forgotten books.

Forgotten Books

Have you heard about Patti Abbott's Friday Forgotten Books project? Death Was the Other Woman author Linda L. Richards has tagged me to write up this week's "Forgotten Book," and I'm thrilled to participate. In brief, Patti started this project stating: I'm worried great books of the recent past are sliding out of print and out of our consciousness. Not the first-tier classics we all can name, but the books that come next. And authors and bloggers have been diligent about digging up some wonderful reads. (For some of them, check out Patti's blog.)

For my turn, I'm picking Hilary Mantel's A Place of Greater Safety, a book I find myself re-reading regularly. It's historical fiction, but like all Mantel's work, defiantly unsentimental. Instead, as it follows the fathers of the French Revolution Camille Desmoulins, Jacques Danton, and Maximilien Robbespierre and their colleagues from their bourgeois upbringing through to their end, in the Terror of their own creating, it celebrates the blood lust in all of us, as enthusiasm begets cruelty and passion consumes itself. Along the way, it also gives very plausible reasons for things turning out as they do, in the great dance with Mme Guillotine, shifting in view point between the characters and a cool historical ominpotence, noting in little historical asides: Under the bridges, by dim and precarious fires, the destitute wait for death. A loaf of bread is fourteen sous, for the New Year. I love it.

As you can probably tell, Mantel is a writer of extremes. She tends toward either short, dark novels, like Fludd and The Giant O'Brien, or oversize ones like this and the recent, and also very lovely, Beyond Black. The emotions and themes in all her books, even the tiny ones, are intense, set off by writing so dry it verges on cryptic, a quality I noticed recently in a very short essay she'd authored for Granta on finding an icon in a Jiddah souk. I now look for her everywhere. In between novels, she shows up regularly in the pages of the New York Review of Books and other journals. But A Place of Greater Safety is the one I come back to. I was given this book by my husband, who received a review copy and brought it home to me because of its size (748 pp.) He knows I'm a fast reader and figured this would last me a while. It has.

(I've chosen to show this 1998 edition, which is the one I have, rather than the 2006 paperback because of its cover. Same book, but this cool paperback features a detail of a portrait of Desmoulins by Bole.)

And for next week, I tag Caroline Leavitt.