Archive for May, 2008

A few years ago, after reading Tobias Wolff’s novel Old School, I wondered what had taken me so long to discover his work. Fortunately I read Old School after finishing my similarly-themed first novel. Otherwise–and I can pretty well guarantee this–Wolff’s voice would have crept into my work, looked around, and asked: “Just what the hell are all these adjectives doing here?”

Which may not have been a bad thing. Anyway, I’m proud to announce I’ve been selected as a finalist for the Tobias Wolff Award for Short Fiction, for my story “The Love Life of Tigers.” I’ll make the story available on my site after the judging is finished.

What else. Two years ago saw the Coolidge Corner Theater premiere of my short horror film “The Last Job.” Since then I’ve been kicking around the idea of expanding the script into feature length, and last night (2 a.m. to be exact) I decided I’m done kicking that poor idea. I’m giving the damn thing a shot. Granted, most 2 a.m. ideas are not so good–we’re moving to Perth, we’re replacing our siding with vinyl, etc.–but this one just might work.

Quick note: My wife and I have never considered a move to Perth, nor a switch to vinyl. Given the choice, we’d take Perth.

It’s been a long time since I received any Gods-related fan mail. Back when it first hit the shelves, accompanied by a sprinkling of publicity, a few readers sent their praises and criticisms. Then it launched in Italy, and clawed its way to the top of the best-seller heap (courtesy of Sonzogno’s killer marketing team), and the fan mail I received was all in Italian. I didn’t understand a word of it. Well, maybe a few words. Mostly the good ones.

But it seems Gods is still floating around out there, in the capitalist version of limbo: the dollar store. A recent emailer came to read Gods courtesy of a Dollartree, and he wanted to tell me the backstory. I love backstories, especially when they end with praise.

Hello Mr. Nathan,

This would be the first time in short life of 22 years that i’ve actually written a letter or e-mail to anyone I don’t know.  Normally, doing something like this would just be an afterthought and I would go about my life, soon to forget it.

However, I was… entranced by your book and the almost funny circumstances surrounding how I came to procure your novel.  Before I start, I just want to let you know that I am long winded but out of respect, i’ll try to keep my story short and sweet.  Anyway, without further ado…

I work at a small independent advertising sales office and i’ve been working their for two years, now.  I have often wondered if it would ever get any easier to call unsuspecting businesses around America asking them to advertise with us but after all this time, it hasn’t.  My boss had me run an errand to get the whole office (5 people in total) a bunch of energy drinks to help us get through a particularly dreary day and as I was waiting in the line at my local Dollartree, standing behind two elderly ladies paying with what seemed to be a bunch of pennies, I saw your book and thought that reading might help me get through my day.  I saw “Gods of Aberdeen” amongst some of the other books and I read through a couple synopsis’ of the books, including yours. Gods was the most intriguing.

I didn’t expect much, to be honest with you.  I thought you were a female author when I first saw the name because I had a co-worker who was named Micah and she wasn’t with us, too long but still, that was the only other time I had ever heard or seen that name.  I couldn’t imagine a first person narrative coming from a male character being too accurate coming from a female author as they have just not been on that side of the fence while growing up but, during the first third of the book; I found the narrative to be incredibly intimate and I was sucked in, almost effortlessly.  This book absorbed me from cover to cover and I found out after those first hundred pages that you were a male author and it made more sense so…

Anyway, I just want to tell you that I really enjoyed the book and I almost feel bad for only spending a dollar on it.  I felt like I owed you this letter, at least.  It must take ages to finish a novel and while I have wanted be an author since I was young, the undertaking has seemed almost futile.  The allure of a safer job in accounting or something like that beckons me when I think of my dream of living in a house on the beach in Oregon, someday.  But your book has kind of helped to remind me that i’m still young.  I still have time to make a change in my life and i’ll have to make a decision between following my heart and following the almighty dollar.

I don’t want to rant on too much longer but I just want you to know that I loved Eric and the rest of the characters in Gods.  I don’t read books too often and when I get something good, I don’t stop reading until i’m finished… only i’m always disappointed when a good book ends because that’s the last thing i’ll know about a character that i’ve grown attached to.  Keep up the good work and i’ll keep my eye out for any future works you come out with… and not just at the Dollartree.

Take care and thanks for being an author,

Caleb Lowrance

I’m heartened to hear the synopsis actually performed its duty–that is, selling the book without giving away too much. Writing book jacket copy is a nail-chewing prospect, and the good news is your marketing team takes on the challenge, then sends you the first draft. The bad news is that we authors are a territorial, nit-picky bunch. I spent way too long editing the synopsis, and I’m pretty sure my final version was close to my first version. The hours (days) spent between first attempt and last, desperate gasp were almost useless. Almost as in 90%.

There are far more experienced writers than I who can talk about the inherent futility of the writing life–and maybe years from now I’ll look back on this post and chastise my younger self for saying futility is inherent, rather than symptomatic–but I don’t think this futility is a bad thing. All artists struggle with futility, even the really happy ones. In fact, forget I said artists. Futility finds its way into all pursuits, so you may as well let it find its way into a pursuit you love.

My essay “The Blonde or Brunette” appears in the newest issue of Boston Globe Magazine. Credit goes to my editor for giving it a better title than “Weird Science.” Evoking LeBrock, Hall, and Wells was not my intention. Give it a few days–it should hit the stands (do people use stands anymore?) by early next week.

It may be that “Murakami” is a common Japanese name, like Brown or Smith (though I’ve only met one Brown in my life, and two Smiths), and coincidence has nothing to do with the sudden entry of both these excellent artists into my life. Or it might be some sort of sign, which would be nice. It would mean the universe is actually paying attention.

Whatever the cause, fate-tinged or not, I’ve recently discovered both Takashi Murakami and Haruki Murakami. The former through a NYT article first published in 2003, which caught my attention because the reviewer called T. Murakami’s work “visually ravishing…surrealistically hair-raising, which argues against dismissing it.”

I’m not sure what the rationale is for dismissing any art, other than personal taste, but I didn’t even look at T. Murakami’s work after that article. I just knew I liked him. And I figured one day, somehow, his paintings would come to me.

Cut to this 2005 article, then to this 2008 feature, and I finally, finally saw T. Murakami’s work. It was like recognizing a face from a recurring dream–more assumed than experienced, but still real. I’m not a big fan of anime and manga (I like the concept, but the application is almost always…I don’t know, disappointing), yet T. Murakami distills the best of Japanese pop art into a colorful, saturated nightmare. It’s like Bosch with a sense of humor. And a penchant for handbags.

The second Murakami (though chronologically he should be the first) is quickly becoming one of my favorite–oh, hell. He is one of my favorite writers. Haruki Murakami. Writer of novels and short stories, keeper of nostalgia and carrier of Kafka’s torch. I tried to avoid using Kafka because citing influences never tells us as much as we’d like, other than performing marketing shorthand. So forget the Kafka reference and enjoy H. Murakami for what he is: A fine writer who combines surrealism with humanism better than anyone in the biz. No small feat, I assure you. Start with his recent collection, Blind Willow, Sleeping Woman. You’ll like it. Even more than R.O.T.O.R..