Debut wins Fred Kerner Award!

I’m very happy to announce that my debut novel, Dreaming Home (Biblioasis, 2023), is the winner of the 2024 Fred Kerner Book Award.

This annual prize from the Canadian Authors Association honours the best book published by one of its members in the previous calendar year. Founded in 1921, the Canadian Authors Association is Canada’s oldest professional association for writers.

Judges comments for Dreaming Home:

“From the opening sentence we know we’re in the hands of a master craftsman. This novel opens up through multiple, connected points of view into a landscape that’s deeply problematic: from the damaged father, through the gay son who refuses to accept the deal he’s been dealt, to the sister who propelled them into this abyss. Trauma impacts them all in unexpected and illuminating ways. Challenging and poignant, but ultimately joyful.”

“A poignant and sensitively written story of the profound repercussions of a forced outage of a young boy by his sibling and the decades-long fallout that ensues for him, his family members, and his lovers. Told from multiple perspectives, the narrative is compelling and heartbreaking, with a gentle hint of humour.”

The awards ceremony was held on October 19 and featured readings by all of the finalists. I’m very honoured to be in the company of these wonderful writers.

Lara Jean Okihiro, Toronto, ON, and Janis Bridger, Vancouver, BC
Obaasan’s Boots (Second Story Press)

Caroline Vu, Montreal, QC
Catinat Boulevard (Guernica Editions)

Ifeoma Chinwuba, Ottawa, ON
Sons of the East (Griots Lounge Canada)

Kathryn Mockler, Victoria, BC
Anecdotes (Book*hug Press)

Takeaways from TIFF 2024

EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER RIDES

On Swift Horses - Queer studio offering starring Daisy Edgar-Jones and Jacob Elordi.

Queer - Luca Guadagnino’s visual feast featuring a career best and awards buzz-worthy performance from Daniel Craig.

Emilia Pérez - This Cannes winning musical centers on four women striving for agency and justice. Runner-up for TIFF 24 People’s Choice Award.

TRIPS TO ANOTHER PLACE AND TIME

The Damned - Total immersion into the experience of Civil War soldiers is both a feature and a bug, at times boring and revelatory.

Conclave - Ralph Fiennes heads the archbishops in electing a new pope. Based on Robert Harris’s high-stakes drama.

The Return - A muscular Ralph Fiennes as Odysseus in a retelling of the conclusion of The Odyssey.

Harbin - This old-fashioned movie epic recounts Korea’s independence struggle against its Japanese conquerors.

INVENTIVE FILMS THAT ENTERTAIN OR CHALLENGE

Rich Flu - Smart script elevates clever conceit: a pandemic that wipes out the rich.

The Brutalist - This nearly 4-hour throwback to epic filmmaking tracks the life of an immigrant architect. Expect awards buzz for its lead, Adrian Brody.

Presence - Steven Soderbergh’s latest home movie is an upside down ghost story.

Pedro Páramo - Cinematographer Rodrigo Prieto’s debut challenges with its braided storytelling of a magical realist classic.

ONES THAT MISSED THE MARK

Hold Your Breath - Committed performances by Sarah Paulson, Ebon Moss-Bachrach and a strong ensemble, plus a script that subverts horror genre tropes, can’t elevate this paint-by-numbers offering.

The Life of Chuck - As nearly every year, the People's Choice awardee was sentimental and on the nose. Still, this movie’s linked story structure was more interesting than most.

Went Up the Hill - An examination of grief and loss marred by kludgy genre trappings.

JUST PLAIN BAD

Nutcrackers - Even Ben Stiller can’t redeem what is essentially a bad Hallmark-type Christmas movie.

Emerging Writer Prize shortlist

I’m thrilled to have my debut novel, Dreaming Home, shortlisted for the Rakuten Kobo Emerging Writer Prize in Literary Fiction. The shortlisting is quite an honour in itself, as the other titles in this category have achieved high acclaim.

Chrysalis by Anuja Varghese won both the 2023 Governor General's Literary Award and the Writers Trust Dayne Ogilvie Prize for LGBTQ2+ Emerging Writers and was long listed for the Carol Shields Prize for Fiction.

In the Upper Country by Kai Thomas won the 2023 Writers' Trust Atwood Gibson Prize and was shortlisted for both the Governor General's Award for Fiction and the Amazon Canada First Novel Award.

Bad Cree by Jessica Johns was a 2024 Canada Reads selection, a CBC Books Best Book of the Year, an ALA Alex Award Winner and was shortlisted for the Amazon Canada First Novel Award.

Denison Avenue by Christina Wong, with illustrations by Daniel Innes, was also a 2024 Canada Reads selection, as well as a finalist for the 2024 ALA Carnegie Medals for Excellence.

Jamaluddin Aram, author of Nothing Good Happens in Wazirabad on Wednesday, was a finalist for the 2020 RBC Bronwen Wallace Award for Emerging Writers.

The Kobo Emerging Writer Prize is a Canadian literary award presented since 2015 by online e-book and audiobook retailer and eReader manufacturer Rakuten Kobo. The award recognizes exceptional debut books in three categories: Literary Fiction, Nonfiction, and one of three rotating types of genre fiction: Romance, Speculative Fiction, or Mystery. The 2024 genre is Mystery.

With the goal of raising the profiles of debut authors, the winners are provided with support in marketing their books, as well as awarded a $10,000 prize.

My TIFF 2023 Top Five Films

No. 1 – SOLO 
Québécoise filmmaker Sophie Dupuis stunned in the world premiere of “Solo”—which won the Best Canadian Feature award. This movie has it all: extravagant song and dance numbers set in Montreal’s drag community, a poignant family drama, all driven by the toxic love story at the film’s core. The two leads, Théodore Pellerin and Félix Maritaud, exhibit pathos, heat and menace in equal proportions. A must-see.

No. 2 — RUSTIN
Mark this one down on your Oscars list. Directed by George C. Wolfe, it features a star performance by Colman Domingo with a script by Oscar winner Dustin Lance Black. This forgotten story of gay civil rights titan Bayard Rustin is an adrenaline rush, tracing the highlights of the ’60 Civil Rights movement, while zeroing in on the March on Washington and the powerbrokers’ uneasiness with Rustin’s openly gay lifestyle.

No. 3 — ORIGIN
It’s tough to make an engaging movie about the act of writing a book—especially a book of ideas, such as Isabel Wilkerson’s “Caste.” Though the film drags a little in its back half, Ava DuVernay largely manages to pull off this impossible task. The film is also a travelogue, of sorts, with stunningly-shot segments in the American South, Berlin and India. Expect acting noms for the lead, Aunjanue Ellis-Taylor.

No. 4 – SEVEN VEILS
Think “Black Swan,” only more psychological, less gothic. Atom Egoyan tells a story on an operatic scale, literally. Incorporating his production of Canadian Opera Company’s Salome, the film tells the twisty story of childhood abuse and professional ambition. Amanda Seyfried excels at portraying the wounded director tasked with remounting a much-loved production of one of her abusers. Visually and aurally stunning. 

No. 5 — ANATOMY OF A FALL
This year’s Palme d’Or winner by director Justine Triet is more easily admired than loved. It employs a dissection of the aftermath of one fatal accident to question the unknowability of truth. Played in a bravura turn by German actress Sandra Hüller, the protagonist is the classic unlikeable character. This is not a film where you have people to root for, which makes it an enthralling, but somewhat chilly affair

Other notable films: “The Boy and the Heron,” “Wicked Little Letters,” “Hit Man,” “El Rapto,” “The Dead Don’t Hurt” and “The Convert.” 

Major disappointment: “Fingernails,” “Next Goal Wins” and “American Fiction.” The latter won the People’s Choice Award, so go figure…

Fine but nothing to write home about: “Wildcat,” “The Critic” and “Snow Leopard.”

Until next year, we wave a fond farewell to the Q & As, the lineups, the great conversations with seatmates and line buddies.

Surviving Kenyon: the prompts

Summer 2010, I began another leg of my journey to become a fiction writer. I attended my first workshop ever, the Kenyon Review Writers Workshop.

After I was accepted, I read the work of all of that year’s fiction instructors. The stories by Nancy Zafris deeply resonated. When I asked be included in her section, I was warned that I should be prepared to work hard, that she was tough.

Kenyon is a generative workshop: you write to prompts, each morning blearily workshopping new work. That first day I was terrified. Not so much because of Nancy’s intensity, which she leavened with healthy dollops of dry humor, but because I didn’t even know what a prompt was.

Read about my experience that summer at this 49 Writers blog post.

Mention The Fish to any of Nancy’s students and you’ll illicit a smile. It’s her concept of the interplay between “top” story (sequenced actions) and “bottom or back” story (character aspiration and impediment).

A rite of passage for all her students is the Postcard Story. In five short sections, each representing a postcard to the same addressee, we had to reveal our bottom story as it slowly overtook the action.  

As an example, I offer my Postcard Story from my final workshop with Nancy, the summer I was her fellow. I hope it will give you an idea how the interplay between top and bottom story can work.

* * *

LETTERS FROM HIS WIFE REGARDING THE PROGRESS OF HER ENLIGHTENMENT

1.
How are the girls? How do you like schlepping them around for a change? Here it’s no picnic either. Bells, service, work period, tea ceremonies. Meditation ten times a day. The head monk is like that gruff ballet master who lived off Marlboros and Diet Coke. The one who would inch her lit cigarette close to my thigh to urge me deeper into the plié. At our first private interview, the monk says I’m a couple steps ahead of myself. Like being halfway out the door while reaching for the keys.

I trust you’re keeping an eye out on Crissy’s boyfriend. Remember how you were at that age. By the way, thanks for sending me off with flowers. I hate chrysanthemums, as you know—too ordinary—but it was a lovely gesture.

All in all: excellent progress! You’ll be glad to know, I haven’t blown up at a single person. There’s another bell. Got to go. Love to the girls.

2.
This is the first I’ve felt like writing you back. I know. Sounds harsh, but the senior monk suggested we sit with our attachments and not act. It seems to be working. We meditated for six days straight, the pain worse than being en pointe. The fifth day—it’s hard to explain—it was like the pain wasn’t me. I used to feel this kind of exhilaration at the end of a long day taking ballet class. That time in Brooklyn before we married keeps coming up; the walk-in closet we rented at that dumpy apartment! Impossible to believe we lived that way, that we had so much potential.

Already someone here quit. On the cushion next to mine in the meditation hall, she left a single flower. A chrysanthemum. This is crazy, but it felt like she was playing some kind of fuck-you joke on me. I hid the mum in the sleeve of my robe and threw it away first chance I got. I’ll write when I can. Forgive me in advance if I’m a laggard.

3.
Why did I think the senior monk was reprimanding me yesterday when he placed another mum on the empty seat next to mine? Why did I hide in my room for the rest of the day and say I was sick? Do you know how much it bugs me when you say y

ou don’t mind me getting angry, just me running away? Why have I never told you I failed my Joffrey audition? Why don’t you paint anymore? Shouldn’t I be calming down by now?

4.
I blew up at the question-and-answer ceremony yesterday. I was really yelling at you. Not that I don’t appreciate the things you do for me. Your many kindnesses. It’s just…we had such purpose, before the girls, your job. I shouted in the senior monk’s face, “Why do I want to hurt everyone I love?” The students looked at me in horror, like they’d seen a fatality on the side of the road. The senior monk put his hands together, bowed deeply and said, “There is no place the Buddha is not.” I told him to go fuck himself.

5.
Sorry I made you feel so low. I’m low too, thin, like a blade of grass when you hold it to the sun. At fifth period yesterday, I felt the ghost of your hand on the small of my back. That’s the first soft feeling I’ve had in weeks. I brought chrysanthemums from the garden to the missing woman’s seat. Made a small shrine to her failure: incense holder, candle. Not allowed, really, but the senior monk let me anyway. Wherever she is, she’s Buddha. That’s small consolation, but failure’s the only thing I have to hold on to. I can’t promise you when I’ll be back exactly, or that I won’t get mad, but when I do, try not to be so nice to me.

* * *

Originally published in 2015 in Issue 6 of Jelly Bucket and cross-posted at the 49 Writers blog.

For another story generated from one of Nancy’s multi-part prompts, read “The Go-Between,” in Building Fires in the Snow: A Collection of Alaska LGBTQ Short Fiction and Poetry (The University of Alaska Press, 2016).

Reading journal - 7.18.23

Tweets and reviews on recent reading

 

Lookout | Christine Byle

I finished Lookout by Christine Byle last night. Loved it. The many characters, the farmlands and forests in Montana were alive in my mind. Those two entwined families—living next to each other and yet worlds apart. I was glad we got to see the elder neighbor son as more than a bully, but a wounded man wresting with his complicity in the concluding incident of the novel. 

I was touched by the reveal at the end about the relationship between Josiah, the father, and his helper in the woodworking shop, Freddie. Though it’s hinted at earlier in the book, as a gay man I selfishly wished I could have seen more of them together. I understand, though, that Lookout isn’t the story of the traumatized Josiah, but of trauma’s subtle effect on his whole family.

The same is true in my book, Dreaming Home. Many readers wish they knew more about its central character, Kyle. His direct POV is only featured in one chapter—so everything else must be inferred. I sympathize and am touched by readers wanting more.

In Lookout, Byle has generated enough material about the two men, so that if she wished she could craft a powerful novel from their perspective. I would to love see Josiah struggle with his nature, aided by Freddie. It would give the conclusion still more poignancy. Even without this, Lookout is a great read. I highly recommend it.

Instructions for the Drowning | Steve Heighton
This by Steve Heighton! A master class in the short form: verbal and storytelling wizardry. Men on the edge. Death, near death, attempted suicide, birth, all wrapped in a thrilling humanity. Read the book twice—it’s that good. Sadly, his last. 

I Felt the End Before It Came | Daniel Allen Cox
Just finished this thrilling memoir in essays by Daniel Allen Cox. On leaving the Jehovah’s Witnesses. The dangers of group-speak, substance abuse. The joys of music, sex, porn, personal agency. The urgency of facing our past. Gorgeous ending.

A Dream of a Woman | Casey Plett
I got so immersed in this by Casey Plett. We all have to embrace our innermost selves, but few have the courage to do it utterly. These trans characters are inspiring, funny, horny, sometimes sad. Brave, always. 

The Foghorn Echoes | Danny Ramadan’s
It’s my birthday today! 74 yrs and just getting started! As one of my presents to myself I finished Danny Ramadan’s excellent, sad, sexy novel of trauma, dispossession, family. Life! Love ! So good.

A Thousand Places Left Behind | Peter K. Lutken, Jr.
Mr. Lutken was a seminal presence in my childhood, teaching me through Scouting a love of nature. He used to regale us with stories of his time during WII in Burma. Stories appropriately tamed for teenaged boys. Here, we get the unvarnished account. Edited by his daughter E. R. Lutken.

Paris Review No. 243
Read all morning, something I never do. Gorgeous, The Paris Review No. 234. Prose: Rivers Solomon, Elisa Gonzalez, Elaine Feeney Daniel Mason, Marie NDiaye. Interviews: Mary Gaitskill, Olga Tokarczuk. More. Will I ever get another morning with nothing on? I hope so.

Young Mungo | Douglas Stuart
Six long days of editing and I’m collapsed in bed. Reading Young Mungo by Douglas Stuart. I see what all the fuss was about. The writing is an inspiration. Plus this story of star-crossed lovers has got me hooked. Absolutely thrilled.

The Disappeared | Andrew Porter
Beautifully straightforward tales by Andrew Porter that lure you into the deep end. A bittersweet catalog of the many forms of loss—one that’s hopeful, ultimately. Though unmoored, these characters find what they need to move on.

Pure Colour | Sheila Heti
This Giller Prize longlisted novel reads like a dream. Poetic, philosophical musings appended to the thinnest of stories. I lacked the patience to appreciate it. Rachel Rose/Sheila Heti's Giller Book Club talk last night, though, made the book feel like a wonder.

Brother & Sister Enter the Forest | Richard Mirabella
This is so beautiful—sparely written, loosely structured, deeply affecting. Hopeful, despite its dire circumstances, its prickly characters, especially the mother, a sensitively drawn and complex character. Justin—who I am a little in love with—fairly leaps off the page and tears your heart out. Like my book, Dreaming Home, Brother & Sister Enter the Forest is a sensitive portrait of the effects of childhood trauma on one American family.

If an Egyptian Cannot Speak English | Noor Naga
I’m loving the beautiful, head-hopping opening section of this. The nascent love affair, Cairo after the revolution are so vividly drawn. Naga does some really interesting things in this book in terms of structure, ending it in a kind of meta deconstruction of all that came before. 

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Reading journal - 2.23.23

Tweets on recent reading

Less by Andrew Sean Greer

Beautiful wordplay, an engaging, slightly off-kilter structure. I’ve fallen hard for Arthur Less—the handsome, gay Everyman with his bumbling insecurities, his lovers galore. Better yet, I want to be him. He doesn’t, particularly, but I’ll gladly take the job!

The World and All It Holds by Aleksander Hemon

Immersive. Epic sweep—historical and geographic—artful wordcraft, indelible characters. A tale of an unexpected family with gay love at its center. Please make this into a movie!

McSweeneys 69

Fantastic and fantastical new prose by Lydia Conklin, Siqi Liu, John Lee Clark, Julie Hecht, Fernanda Melchor and more.

Spare by Prince Harry

Don’t hate me, but I read and quite enjoyed this. Not all that contentious, really. The snippets related in the press make him out to be a bomb-thrower. When taken in context, these incidents read for the most part as nuance commentary. The loss of his mother is a deep sadness that runs throughout the book.

Stray Dogs by Rawi Hage

This story collection, is beautifully written, but its main concerns are intellectual. I need to be moved by my reading, and so failed to be taken by them.

Lila by Marilynne Robinson

Dreamlike, poetic, magical, its secrets at time well hidden—like Lila herself. As someone who in my own way also grew up rough, who has loved an old man and lost him, this book devastated me.

Cleanness by Garth Greenwell

I’m late to the party on this—such beautiful sentences. Incredibly sexy—you rarely get work this hot in literary fiction, that turns you on and makes your heart ache. Leaves you wanting more—life, love, literature, art.

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Ivan and Misha

By Michael Alenyikov

Twin brothers travails resonate in poignant novel told in stories

Ivan and Misha is a tightly-knit story collection by Michael Alenyikov that tracks the lives of two fraternal twin brothers, their family, friends and lovers over several decades. The result is not exactly a novel, but one that feels distinctly novelistic. Though each story has its own arc, they are at the service of the overall narrative. The organization challenges the reader to be a participant in the book’s construction, as each tale is told by a different narrator out of chronological order.

In the prologue we meet the brothers, young boys living in Kiev with their father, Lyov. Their mother, who, they are told, died in childbirth, strongly imprints on the two boys, especially the voluble, manic-depressive Ivan, whose dreams are filled with her motherly embrace.

We then fast forward in the titular story, one told from the point of view of Misha. The brothers are now both adults, gay men living in New York City. Rich in humor, it is a beautifully composed, poignant tale of family, both chosen and biological. And loss. At a Thanksgiving gathering, improbably organized by the sometimes delusional Ivan, the father unexpectedly dies. Complicating the love the characters have for each other are, of course, their individual limitations. Over the course of the book, these fuel the characters’ deepening bonds.

“It Takes All Kinds” takes place after the death of Louie from the point of view of Smith, Misha’s boyfriend. Smith is eighteen, thinking of leaving Misha to sow his wild oats. His mother, with whom he has a prickly relationship, and sister have come to NYC to visit. Complications ensue: the mother has just been diagnosed with cancer, the sister is marrying a man Smith considers a banal choice. His ambivalence over his relationship with Misha comes to a head in a scene rich in nuance and ambiguity.

Perhaps my favorite story in the collection is the beautiful, sad and wise “Whirling Dervish.” Told by the irrepressible Ivan, its style apes his pressured, manic way of thinking. Ivan does what he has been counseled, because of his condition, not to do. He falls in love. Eighteen, having recently quit college and now driving a cab for a living, he meets a fellow driver, the enigmatic Taz. The scenes alternate between the cab office, lovemaking and poetry in Taz’s apartment, conversations with the mysterious Gabriella, a woman pretending to be blind, among other things. Abandoned by Taz, Ivan fears a psychotic break, another stint in the psych ward, but thwarts this through the interactions with Gabriella and, finally, Misha, in a beautiful last scene of brotherly love.

The epilogue gives us a kind of summation. Most of the principal characters gather for a ferry ride to scatter Louie’s ashes. It is a simple tale that, though little happens, feels deeply satisfying. Their ritual of farewell facilitates our own parting with these characters we’ve come, through Alenyikov’s skill, to know so well and think of so fondly.

{ Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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2022 year-end review

Some major and modest achievements here from my literary endeavors in 2022. Next year, looks to be even better with the publication in June of my debut, a novel-in-stories entitled Dreaming Home.

 MY 2022 LITERARY HIGHLIGHTS

— Delivering the manuscript of Dreaming Home, my novel-in-stories, to publisher Biblioasis after working on it for two years with Caroline Adderson and John Metcalf, writers I deeply admire.

— Turning the manuscript into a book with managing editor Vanessa Stauffer, who has kindly sought my input all along the way. On Ingrid Paulson’s excellent cover/typesetting design. On John Sweet’s eagle-eyed copyediting.

Publishing in Prairie Fire print journal my short story “Napoli,” a project I toiled over for years and never gave up on.

— Publishing in Prairie Fire online two reviews of story collections by fellow Canadian writers: Marion Quednau’s Sunday Drive to Gun Club Road and Kristyn Dunnion’s Stoop City.

Editing a novella-in-stories by my late husband, Alex Turner, and submitting it for publication.

— Besting by 1 my Goodreads reading goal of 50 books (that’s up from 40 in 2021).

Sightseeing

by Andrew Smith

Canadian author’s published stories make for an elegant collection

In “Sightseeing,” Andrew Smith has collected nine of his short stories, stories originally published in some of Canada’s best literary magazines (Descant, Fiddlehead, The Antigonish Review). Each is elegantly written, featuring a host of diverse characters who’ve been dealt interesting lives. By interesting, of course, I mean complicated and, often, compromised.

Take the opener, “Lost.” It is one of several stories that feature characters with dubious moral centres. Here a probable dastardly deed is willfully overlooked in favor of preserving old friendships.

Similarly, in the titular story two strangers, women brought together by a random tragedy, share unexpected intimacies. Each harbours a secret, but finds deceit is no barrier to friendship.

Memory plays a strong role in many of these stories. This comes in the form of nostalgia in “Last Quickstep, First Waltz.” A mother longingly remembers her dancehall days with her soon-to-be husband. These reflections are brought on by her daughter’s attending dance classes. In a formally bold move, the story’s point-of-view shifts between the two as they reflect on their budding romantic lives.

Memory takes on a bittersweet hue in “The Brothers Barnabotti.” Two brothers, once close but long drifted apart, meet for an impromptu Venetian holiday. As they tentatively renew their old intimacy, their cheerful banter belies their difficult shared past and their recent losses—the death of a husband, the divorce from a wife. As befits the setting, Smith’s descriptions here are beautifully eloquent.

Like “Last Quickstep, First Waltz, “Victory Dance” is formally inventive. It is built around the vivid recollections and hallucinations of a woman who has been viciously brutalized during a home robbery. Alternating with the woman’s present-moment struggle to call for help are memories of the robbery, her history with her husband, her experiences in wartime Liverpool—careful observations that are beautifully described.

As here, when the woman recalls touring the destruction of her war-torn neighbourhood:

She sees yawning gaps where faces of buildings have been blown away. Julia’s eyes can’t resist the zigzag imprint of a lost staircase that winds its way up sheer exposed walls, four storeys high. Each ghostly landing is defined by a different pattern of wallpaper. “Lovingly chosen,” thinks Julia.

Smith has lived in Toronto for decades, but originally hails from England and many of the stories are set there. With their diversity of characters and historical settings, rich complexity, language and, sometimes, humour, these nine stories are a treasure.

{ Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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Amazon's The Rings of Power

Showrunners show their qualities.

J.D. Payne and Patrick McKay had twin impossible tasks when they set out on the road to create The Lord of the Rings: The Rings of Power. With the legacy of the Jackson Lord of the Rings trilogy to live up to (I don’t count his terrible 3-movie rendition of The Hobbit), a five-season commitment contracted with the Tolkien estate with a projected $1 billion production budget—on top of the $250 million paid to the estate for the rights to The Lord of the Rings trilogy—the stakes are almost impossibly high. Their series has to drive massive Amazon Prime subscriberships or the whole thing goes down as Bezos’s Folly.

The other impossible task: satisfy the legions of Tolkien purists, such as myself.

Tolkien wisely said when beginning his long journey to create his Legendarium, the mythopoeic universe he worked on for over sixty years that is the basis of the show, “I wisely started with a map, and made the story fit.” J.D. Payne and Patrick McKay have done the same.

But there’s a problem with that map.

Amazon only purchased the rights to the Lord of the Rings and its appendixes. In the later, Tolkien extremely briefly sketched the Second and Third Ages of his Legendarium, stories that are only slightly more fleshed out in The Silmarillion, his masterwork and compendium of the history of Arda (Middle Earth) and Valinor (the home of the gods). In his defense, his Legendarium runs from before the beginning of time through the Third Age, concluding with the events recounted in The Lord of the Rings. We’re talking 60,000 years, people!

Tolkien spent most of his time filling in the gaps in his schema for the First Age. The grimness of The Lord of the Rings is nothing compared to the multiple catastrophes of that age. Sure, we’ve got the battle between absolute good and evil, but many of the tragedies are brought about by the greed, avarice and thirst for revenge of Middle Earth’s supposed good guys: elves, dwarves and men.

Given that Tolkien spent so little time on his Second Age and what Payne and McKay have access to is merely a smidgeon of that—as outlined in The Lord of the Rings appendixes—their source material is indeed thin broth. Think of it as the Cliff Notes version of the Cliff Notes version of the Second Age.

So, Payne and McKay were required to use the broad strokes of the licensed material to create a sandbox in which to tell their own stories. Those stories aren’t exactly those Tolkien told, but they don’t much contradict them. (The Tolkien Estate—Simon Tolkien in particular—has general script approval for The Rings of Power.)

Case in point, the original characters. SPOILER ALERTS: YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

The Harfoots
The Hobbits had to come from somewhere. Enough said.

Adar
No, Tolkien says nothing about the bad guy of most of this first season of The Rings of Power. He does, however, mention elves who were captured by Morgoth and twisted to serve his ends. (Morgoth is the divine super-baddie defeated at the end of the First Age. Sauron is just his semi-divine lapdog.)

Men allying with Morgoth/Sauron
Yes, this did happen during the First Age and the Elves did establish watchtowers over Morgoth’s stronghold. Only they were in the far north of Middle Earth, not the south as in the TV show. But why quibble when over $1 billion is on the line?

The love affair between the elf Arondir and the human Browyn
No, there were no such people in the Legendarium, but before them there were Beren and Lúthien and after them Aragorn and Arwen. So, I guess it’s possible.

The Stranger
Tolkien mentions five Maiar Istari, semi-divine wizards sent to Middle Earth by the Valar (gods) to intervene for good. Three, most people know: Gandalf, Saruman and Radagast. The other two were called the Blue Wizards, who went East and disappeared into the unknown. And where is our friend going, the wizard heretofore called The Stranger? To Rhûn in the far east, a place Tolkien mentions but thinly describes. Of course The Stranger could simply be Gandalf, his arrival on the scene earlier than Tolkien conceived it. Payne and McKay are compressing the heck out of the Legendarium’s timeline, so it’s entirely possible. Add that to remarks some cast and crew members have made saying The Stranger is someone familiar to fans and you’ve got a good case for Mr. Mithrandir. And thumbs down, by the way, on the internet chatter. No, The Stranger is not Sauron. Who is?

Lord Halbrand
Tolkien doesn’t say anything about a Lord Halbrand, but he does lay out how Sauron deceived the elves (and later the Númenóreans) by taking the comely shape of one Annatar, the Lord of Gifts. The show’s writers barely justify Halbrand’s switch to Sauron. Worse, the moment where Halbrand/Annatar/Sauron inserts himself into the elves’ ring-making feels rushed, making what should be a significant moment look like writers ticking off yet another plot point. Still, Charlie Vickers is comely as all get-out; at least they nailed that part. So, thumbs up on the internet chatter that was convinced early on that Lord Halbrand was Sauron.

Other stuff Payne and McKay made up that Tolkien never mentioned but that could have happened
The creation of Mordor, the birth of the orcs, the origin story of mithril.

This latter in this show is nonsense: The Song of the Roots of Hithaeglir is pure non-Tolkien balderdash. It does, however, justify the dwarves overreaching in Khazad-dûm and the elves thirst for power in creating their three rings: Vilya, Nenya and Narya.

More nonsense: a badass Galadriel. Sure, she was a super ninja in the First Age during the The Helcaraxë (look it up!) But she largely refrained from participating in the wars against Morgoth, electing instead to hide out in the forest kingdom of Doriath, remaining there through the Second Age under the tutelage of Melian, another member of the Maiar. That said, I think it was the right decision to move her front and center. She is such a powerful presence in the trilogy. Plus, we need portrayals of powerful women and Morfydd Clark’s certainly fits the bill.

As for the rest, the show manages to be compelling viewing, its epic edge-of-your-seat set pieces balanced with smaller, intimate scenes. The design and special effects look terrific. The line between film and television has been totally erased. It feels absolutely one with Peter Jackson’s trilogy. The first season was shot in New Zealand. Weta Workshop and conceptual artist John Howe are seminal players in both. Bear McCreary’s music virtually channels Howard Shore’s in composition and instrumentation. The dialog features the same ponderous speechifying, which is either inspiring or insufferable depending on your point of view.

So, all and all, kudos to J.D. Payne and Patrick McKay, showrunners with very short track records. Sirs, like Lord Faramir in The Lord of the Rings, you have shown your qualities—the very highest.

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Takeaways from TIFF 2022

The Toronto International Film Festival ended yesterday. I’m still worn out from humping it back and forth to the Entertainment District for 9 days. Subway 2 to 4 times daily. Lots of stairs. 18 films. It was a whole lot of fun, though. Here’s my takeaways.

Opening & Closing Films (“The Swimmers” & ”Daliland”) - While nicely done (and in the case of “Daliland,” pretty to look at), they didn’t really get inside their characters, so the viewing experience felt flat.

People’s Choice Award - As the name suggest, these always go to a super-relatable movie and this year is no exception. “The Fablemans” by Steven Spielberg, with “Weird: The Al Yankovic Story” picking up the award for Midnight Madness. I heard a lot of great things in the lineups about “Weird.”

MY TOTAL FAVS:
“Emily”
- a backstory of sorts to “Wuthering Heights.” On shaky ground historically, but an assured directorial debut by actress Frances O'Connor.

“The Inspection” - Elegance Bratton’s story of a gay man trying to reconcile with his mother and make it through Marine Boot Camp. Another assured directorial debut.

“The Whale” - If you like Darren Aronofsky you’ll love this emotional roller-coaster ride. Touted as Brendan Fraser’s big comeback, deservedly so.

“The Wonder” - from Emma Donoghue’s novel of the same name. Starring the actress of the moment (I mean that in a good way), Florence Pugh. Another emotional journey that packs a punch. Available on Netflix Nov. 16.

OTHERS THAT STOOD OUT:
“Bros”
- the first gay mainstream film released by a big studio. It’s your standard rom-com, but with biting gay commentary and two white, cis gendered actors who are very nice to look at. I cried, oh how I cried.

“The Eternal Daughter” - Tilda Swinton. Need I say more? Okay, Tilda Swinton in a puzzler of a film, a meditation on grief that confounds but sticks with you. Both my festival partner and myself found ourselves thinking about it for days.

“Joyland” - a gender bending Pakistani drama, an ensemble piece about the costs of breaking from the strictures of society and family.

All of these got distribution deals, so look for them at a theater or streaming platform near you.

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100 Boyfriends

by Brontez Purnell

Hang on to your hats. This is one wild ride.

Oakland-based writer, punk musician and dance-maker abandons the loose, overarching narrative structure of his preceding effort, the novel “As I Lay My Burden Down,” in favor of a more pointillistic technique. The result is…what exactly? Partly a collection of conventional short stories. Partly flash pieces—a catalog of sexual encounters and regrets. Partly hodgepodged memoiristic vignettes that read like autofiction. Go ahead, try and put your finger on it. You can’t.

Whatever it is, it’s pure verbal magic. Accolades abound: New York Times Book Review Editors’ Choice, Finalist for the 2022 Lambda Literary Award for Gay Fiction and many more.

In the short catalog entries, Purnell’s fictive doppelgangers relate their mostly brief relationships in first person narratives. The language is wry, urbane—of the moment—wrapped up with a bow in pithy, ironically comic endings.

The narrator(s) appear to be a lot like Purnell himself—black man, born and raised in Alabama, punk rock musician and all around scene-ster. Or is he? Does it matter? Mattering isn’t relevant. There’s only the body’s compulsive journey, lensed through the mediums of drug-and-alcohol-infused hard partying. And sex. Lots of sex.

Like Purnell and his narrator(s), like so many young men, I gravitated to the Bay Area to revel in the sexual exuberance of my tribe, or as Purnell puts it his “peculiar coven.” It’s a joy to see all that craziness rendered in this book with such precision—the late night prowling the halls at the baths, the caravan of men and naked limbs and aching flesh.

Purnell came up in the punk music scene and much of the language of these short evocations has a similar brash, throw-it-against-the-wall-and-see-what-sticks bravado.

I drink firewater, often and late at night. Double-barrel—like a shotgun—and knock down every evening like a building past its prime making way for the new.

Interspersed between these catalog entries of his run-ins with lovers are longer, more conventional stories told in the third person. They feature characters different from the young, hip black narrator(s) of the short sections—manifestations, perhaps, of earlier stages of Purnell’s life or projections of later ones.

In the touching, “Ed’s Name Written in Pencil” we meet a seven-and-a-half-year-old boy navigating his confused attraction to his bully and benefactor.

In “An Early Retirement” a former actor, now a contract employee on a Northern California pot farm, treads water in middle age.

The young man in “Meandering (Part One)” tries to make sense of his life after a bad breakup.

An elderly gay man with a testosterone deficiency in “Mrs. Raleigh vs. The Gym” has an unsatisfying sexual encounter. As in the other longer stories, the language here is measured and precise. Upon returning to the gym to get his body into shape, the narrator observes:

He pictured all the men he had over the years and the different phases of his body as if they were both moon cycles. But there were no stark conclusions to be made, really—he could never get any man to act right, even when he had muscles.—Page 147

With so much sex going on in these stories, there is surprisingly little specificity about the act. Purnell has no interest in titillation, nor love, really. The word is barely used in the book. Though this does flatten the narrative’s emotional impact somewhat, I understand Purnell’s reason for withholding the smutty parts. Stripped of the choreography of fucking or any romanticism to the encounters, the hook-ups feel part of a larger moment.

The mix of lovers tales fizzles out in, not an ending really, but a travelogue that feels weirdly tacked on. To search for meaning in this cavalcade of sex—to label it, as one might, as sad or tawdry—misses the point. Like a good orgasm, an ejaculation, like life, it just is.

100 Boyfriends by Brontez Purnell
MCD x FSG Originals, 2021, 192 pp., $20.30
ISBN: 9780374538989

{ Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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Paris Review 239

The things I love about this issue

The interviews in The Paris Review are a treasure. In issue 239, Jamaica Kincaid inspires.

…if you’re a great writer, your people will stone you to death. It’s when they embrace you that your decline is imminent.”

“While I’m writing, I feel “...as if I have been made new. I’m sure it’s because of that Robert Johnson experience of searching for someone at the crossroads. Every time I sit down to write, I think, Will I find someone at the crossroads? And sometimes I do…”

“I suspect that I became a writer to support my reading habit.”

“I’ve always been amazed by writers who have routines. They seem, mostly, to be men.”

THREE STORIES THAT SLAYED ME

Wild about Kathryn Scanlan’s “Backsiders” in this issue. What a voice! And basing a story on transcribed interviews with this gutsy horse trainer is a bold move, weirdly brilliant. Can’t wait to read the novel from which this is excerpted, “Kick the Latch,” so I can dive back into this world.

“Tomorrows,” a story by Lakiesha Carr is crazy good. I am so there with this woman, working the slots in the game room behind the convenience store, talking smack, drinking my Crown and Coke. A story full of life and longing and hope. What I pray for.

Oh, to be young and sexy! Paul Della Rosa’s “I Feel It” let me remember those heady days. Feeling alive to the possibilities of the body. Going out to see what lovelies the night will provide. Dancing, drugs. Being someone’s little bitch. Divine!

{ Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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The 99% Invisible City

A Field Guide to the Hidden World of Everyday Design

by Roman Mars and Kurt Kohlstedt

What a unique and terrific book this is. Roman Mars and Kurt Kohlstedt have given us a guidebook to the city we inhabit daily, but never really see.

This adjunct to their podcast, “99% Invisible,” documents everything from the mundane (manhole covers, spray-painted sidewalk markers that trace utility lines, anchor plates and painted signage on old buildings) to large-scale urban architecture and planning (the story of the Chrysler Building or the Transamerica Pyramid, say, or the layout of Detroit streets or the birth of the US Interstate Highway System.)

To my mind they save the most touching to last: stories of citizens shaping urban spaces on their own, without the intervention of designers or the approval of governments. From the Oakland resident who installs a concrete Buddha across from his house to discourage crime, only to find it become a community hub and a pilgrimage site for Vietnamese immigrants, to gorilla gardeners beautifying unused interstitial spaces, to disability activists carving their right to the city by sledgehammering curb cuts.

Beautifully designed and illustrated, this handsome book is a compendium of things whimsical and mind-blowing that will change how you navigate the city you love. { Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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2021 year-end review

Despite all the craziness and isolation, 2021 was my best ever writerly year.

A novella sold, a story picked up, a review published. In the spirit of the season, here’s a look back at some literary accomplishments.

“Dreaming Home,” a novella-in-stories
After being mentored in 2020 by Canadian writer, Caroline Adderson, in March of this year Biblioasis fiction editor, John Metcalf, agreed to publish my debut work, “Dreaming Home.” The manuscript is now at the publisher awaiting copy-editing and is tentatively planned for release Spring 2023.

Short stories - “Napoli” to be published by Prairie Fire
I didn’t submit much in 2021, since I was busy reworking stories for two novellas. Even so, I’m ecstatic that the venerable Canadian journal Prairie Fire picked up “Napoli,” a story I toiled over for years and never gave up on. Look for it next spring or summer.

Being published by Grain Magazine, The Puritan, Prairie Fire and Biblioasis, this former Texan will be able to say I’m at least a Canadian-American writer. After living in Canada for most of the last 13 years, I’ve even started writing about the place!

Book Reviews
I’ve been writing book reviews on my website for over a year. This year I pitched reviews to Prairie Fire and Plenitude Magazine. They both said yes! The Plenitude review of “Alec” came out in November. Look for a review early next year in Prairie Fire of Marion Quednau’s excellent story collection, “Sunday Drive to Gun Club Road.”

Reading
With so much time in lockdown, I really hit the books this year. I read 42, a lifetime best.

So, while I didn’t set the literary world on fire, I think this is still pretty darn good!

Happy New Year!

 

A gay spin on love and family

Movies and shows: “Minyan,” “The Man with the Answers,” “Firebird” and “Young Royals”

This is the season of love and family. So I wanted to flag some movies and shows featuring a gay spin on these themes that have been recently released for streaming or that, hopefully, soon will be.

“Minyan” is set in a small orthodox Jewish community in Brooklyn in 1983. But this isn’t a gay version of the excellent Netflix miniseries, “Unorthodox.” David, the protagonist, we’re told, is a “good yeshiva boy.” He’s steeped in the faith of his community as embodied in his grandfather Josef, an excellent Ron Rifkin. Equally strong are the tidal forces within his own body that catapult him toward a completely new life. Featuring a committed performance by Samuel H. Levine as the smoldering David, inventive cinematography and a lush Klezmer-infused score, “Minyan” is a deeply moving meditation on what it means to honor community and faith, but also the dictates of one’s own body.

Who doesn’t love a good road trip? “The Man with the Answers” offers stunning vistas of Greece and Italy and also insight into the hearts of two young men. After the death of his beloved grandmother, the buttoned-down Victor sets off in his battered Audi to find his estranged mother. When he gives a lift to the free-spirited Matthias, Victor enters a landscape of new possibilities. We’re never in any doubt where this trip is headed, but the charming performances by the two leads make it a joy just to come along for the ride.

In contrast to the intimate scale of these two films, “Firebird,” set primarily on a Soviet Air Force base during the Afghanistan conflict, plays out on a vast canvas. When a young private and a dashing pilot meet, both men’s lives are changed irrevocably. Debut director, Peeter Rebane, balances intimate moments and large scale set pieces in this story of star-crossed lovers that teeters deliciously on the edge of melodrama.

A description of Netflix’s episodic smash hit “Young Royals” reads like a mash-up of “Glee” and a Swedish version of “The Crown”—the musical numbers, the raucous soundtrack, the teenaged angst played out against a backdrop of privilege and duty to the royal family. Sure, it’s all that—which is, thankfully, half the fun—but it’s underpinned by the story of lovers Crown Prince Wilhelm of Sweden and Simon, a commoner from a working class Hispanic family. The story of their travails is grounded by Edvin Ryding’s raw, fully-embodied performance as Wilhelm, along with those of the excellent ensemble cast.

All these titles center on romantic love and sexual awakening and none scrimp on the latter. There are no annoyingly unrealistic fades to black just as things start to get hot. This is especially true of “Minyan” where the camera dwells on David’s rapturous discoveries. All the sex scenes are character driven, though. As are the movies in which they are set, they feel like real life.

P.S. If you need a silly holiday movie with a feel-good ending (you know you do!), check out “Single All the Way.” You’ll laugh, you’ll cry. You’ll feel like baking Christmas cookies.

a ghost in the throat

by Doireann Ní Ghríofa

Ghost in the throat.jpg

Soaring meld of genres plumbs the lives of two Irish poets

THIS IS A FEMALE TEXT. So begins the stunning prose debut of Irish poet Doireann Ní Ghríofa. The work is partly personal essay, partly autofiction, partly detective story, partly historical fiction, partly translation. It delves into the domestic life of the author—an always desire leading to childbearing to childrearing, to housekeeping. In this Ghríofa feels kinship with all women, one in particular, whose story spooled out some two hundred and thirty years prior, fellow Irish poet Eibhlín Dubh Ní Chonaill. 

Composed after the murder of her husband, Eibhlín Dubh’s Caoineadh Airt UíLaoghaire (The Keen of Art O’Leary) is a searing, visceral embodiment of grief and all its components—rage, the thirst for revenge, homage to the fallen and the fantasy of his resurrection. The work has been called the greatest poem written in either Ireland or Britain during the eighteenth century, but the traces of its author have largely disappeared, another case of what Ghríofa calls “female erasure.”

In this book, the author sets out to rectify this. Mixed with the stories of Ghríofa’s life as a mother and lover are that of her sleuthing—searching in archives, haunting the paths where Eibhlín once trod. Interspersed with these are Ghríofa’s “imaginings,” the literary recreations of Eibhlín’s life spawned by the slim facts Ghríofa has unearthed. That these facts are mostly concerning Eibhlín’s male siblings and progeny renders Eibhlín a shade, known more through artistic inference than historical fact.

As you’d expect from a poet, the beautiful language in a ghost in the throat is constantly seeking the possibility of rhythm and repetition. As in the Caoineadh itself, this language is muscular, the cadences drawing the life of the body. A woman’s body, Ghríofa’s and Eibhlín Dubh’s. And, by extension, every one of us who has experienced great loss. { Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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Klara and the Sun

by Kazuo Ishiguro

Ishiguro probes the nature of humanity and altruism in new sci-fi book

Klara and the sun.jpg

What a compelling character Ishiguro has created in Klara, a robot purchased as a companion to a gravely-ill girl. Klara is intelligent, perceptive, empathetic, wise, and, at the same time, naive, ill-informed and childlike. Her first person narration mirrors these qualities—using language constrained by her programming to be simple, sometimes stilted and overly-correct.

As Klara seeks to understand her world, both in the store where we initially encounter her and in the family home where she comes to reside, she uses her superior, we are told, observational faculty to build up her knowledge base. While insightful, it borders on, what used to be labeled, the primitive. As the title suggests, she has an animistic reverence for her energy source, the sun, pleading with it to intercede on the behalf of the people she loves. For she is programmed to love, just as we are.

There is a long list of stories where robots serve as paradigms for exploring the human condition. Ishiguro breathes life into this well-worn trope by keeping the action simple, focusing on the emotional ebbs and flows in the two households where most of the novel is set.

While giving a world similar to our own a sci-fi spin, the particulars are lightly sketched, requiring the reader to infer their meanings, just as Klara must. Our only guides are snippets of overheard conversations, body language suggestive of family dynamics, signs and objects of unknown or misconstrued significance.

The literal-mindedness that Klara brings to this task, though underpinned by an inherent kindness, reinforces her magical thinking, one that leads to the story’s climax.

The message Ishiguro delivers in the final bittersweet pages seems heavy-handed. He can be forgiven, though, for having given us the complex and deeply human character of Klara. { Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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The Prophets

by Robert Jones Jr.

Incantatory prettiness muffles this important story’s impact.

Thinking about my experience of reading this book, I’m reminded of those oddly-worded form rejection letters I used to get from literary journals. “Thank you for submitting x, but this piece is not for us.”

I love to be thrust into time and place, into characters’ lives, through a muscular narrative style. I desire musicality in the wordplay, but only so much that it clarifies and deepens this experience. The narrative strategy Jones employs here is beautiful, to be sure, imbued with, if I can infer from his long acknowledgements, a respect for the cadences of the Bible and the verbal inventiveness of the Black church. (I could be wrong about this. If I am, please let me know.)

Though this may be your cup of tea, to me the incantatory prettiness makes nearly everything feel approximate.

As an example, we’re told the lover/protagonists, Samuel and Isaiah, are responsible for the animals in the barn, but not how exactly or what animals they care for. (In contrast: another rural gay love story, the movie “God’s Own Country,” which is, among other things, nearly a primer in animal husbandry.) Their lovemaking in the barn is similarly obscured by poetic stylishness.

The lack of specificity about the goings-on in the barn is curious, given the lovers rarely leave it. This, on top of seeming improbable, limits their interactions with others. Not an effective narrative strategy for dynamic fiction, where characters need to rub up against each other as much as possible.

This limitation is applied to most of the characters, each walled off in separate chapters. The result is a series of studies that mostly only allude to communal life on the plantation. (In contrast to Colson Whitehead’s “Underground Railroad,” where plantation living fairly leaps from the page.)

The characters do rub up against each other eventually, in ‘the Fucking Place’ where they are required to procreate, and in the conclusion, when the carefully managed violence on the plantation breaks its bounds. Even in this ending, the impact is muted by being told lyrically, at distance. It’s a pity, really. I so wanted to love “The Prophets.” It’s a great untold story that needs to be known. { Cross-posted at goodreads. }

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