HelenKay Dimon

According to the Washington Post, Amazon has a new program called Text Stats.  This is one of the programs that you sit back and wonder why anyone ever thought it was needed.  It’s part of the "Search Inside" program.  The Post describes it as this:

It can un-complicate comedies, trivialize tragedies, diminish legitimate discourse and completely humiliate the humanities.

Yeah, that’s clear.  This part is better:

Through Text Stats you can know such arcane things as the SIPs, or Statistically Improbable Phrases, that appear in a book.  The strange pairing of ‘reindeer socks,’ for instance, shows up four times in Eric Jerome Dickey’s ‘Naughty or Nice.’  Text stats will also tell you the number of characters (letters, not protagonists) in a book and the relative ‘complexity’ of the words.

Why is this needed, you ask?  I have absolutely no idea.  The fact Linton Weeks, the author of the article, took the time to look up the phrase "reindeer socks" is the bigger mystery.

The one really cool feature is Fun Stats which tells you how many words you get per dollar paid for the book.  So, when trying to decide which of two books to buy, you can now figure out which gives you the better word per penny average.  And, really, isn’t that how we all choose our books?

The article sums up my feelings with this:

Text Stats is a triumph of trivialization.  By squeezing all the life and loveliness out of poetry and prose, the computer succeeds in numbing with numbers.  It’s the total dissembling of truth, beauty and the mysterious meaning of words.

Then there’s how silly it seems….

In giving his list of favorite books for the The Book list column in The Week, author Mark Spragg said this about the book Joe by Larry Brown:

This book is a masterpiece of place.  Rarely have I read a novel that so transformed my sense of region.  Rarely have I read a novel in which the complexity and honesty of the characters so transformed my sense of self.

I re-read the quote several times because it’s such a strong statement about something most readers and some writers might not think about in detail.  I assume place doesn’t just mean Pittsburgh or Starbucks – or, in the case of this book, Mississippi -  but is a broader concept of setting, time, culture, location character, local flavor and mood.  As a reader do I sit there and think, "wow, this book really captured the area for me."  Not really, but I think the idea is supposed to be more subtle than that. 

Take an easy commerical example and one most of us have read or at least seen on TV – Band Of Brothers, the story of Easy Company and its drive from landing at D-Day to capturing Hitler’s vacation home.  The author, Stephen Ambrose, described the bond between the men in detail such that when I then watched the mini-series based on the book it matched the scene I had created in my mind. 

In a general sense, I think that’s what Spragg means by "sense of place."  If so, does it play as big a role in the romance genre?  Well, it should.  Some settings have a richness and history that may make this easier because they almost work as another character, such as the Louisiana Bayou. But, I’ve read several books, some romances and some not, that felt disconnected from their surroundings.  Not just that I didn’t understand what the living room looked like, it was more about a lack of grounding of the scene and characters. About the failure to give depth and perspective. 

Ah, yes, another skill to try to master. 

I wasn’t going to say anything.  I was going to let the comment pass and pretend I never heard it.  Then I saw the quote for the 10th time in a week and thought – oh, what the hell…

I am, of course, talking about a brilliant quote by Posh Spice AKA Mrs. David Beckham AKA The Woman Who Hasn’t Eaten In Six Years.  With her memoir Learning To Fly coming out in 2005, Posh has stated – with a bizarre amount of pride – that she doesn’t read.  By that I mean ever.  The exact quote is: "I haven’t read a book in my life."  And she is not alone.

Let’s hope the nanny reads or her kids could have some trouble.  Let’s also hope she doesn’t actually write.  This is one of those times that just calls out for a ghost writer, a better PR person and, oh yeah, a sandwich or two wouldn’t hurt her either. 

We all ponder the importance of covers in selling a book.  Okay, I ponder and assume I do not ponder alone.  Now there is an academic text on the subject.  Two graphic design/art history professors from Rutgers looked at "dust jacket" designs from 1924-2004 and then wrote a book about their venture, By Its Cover.  It’s interesting to note that the book about book covers has a bizarre book cover – follow that?

Here are three of the five best covers as determined by these two gentlemen.  I’d put up all five but two of the covers – the 1950 edition of DH Lawrence’s The Man Who Died and the 1960s version of Hans Selye’s The Stress of Life – appear to be out of circulation and I couldn’t track them down anywhere on the internet despite my valiant efforts.  Guess someone out there didn’t think the covers were all that great, or even good enough to keep producing them.  Go figure.  For those who care (all one of you) the covers are displayed in this week’s Entertainment Weekly, the source of all great information.

I read through PW’s daily record of amazing book sales yesterday because you, uh, never know when some editor may have purchased one of your books and forgotten to tell you.  Hey, it could happen.  Anyway, I stumbled across this:

FICTION: WOMEN’S/ROMANCE
Bestselling author Barbara Delinsky’s FAMILY TREE, for publication in 2007,
called "a departure for Delinsky from the romance genre, and a second book a
year later, moving to Phyllis Grann at Doubleday, by Amy Berkower at Writers
House (NA).

Barbara Delinsky is writing something other than romance?  How can that be?  She’s been writing romance for something like 50 years.  Okay, more like 25 years.  Sure, I haven’t read anything by her since Coast Road and my favs of hers have always been the re-released category romances.  But, really, that’s not my point and this time I actually do have one.  It’s that another long-time romance writer appears to be jumping ship.  This time the jump looks as if it’s to women’s fiction not romantic suspense like Sandra Brown, Tami Hoag, Linda Howard, Julie Garwood….need I go on?

Makes you wonder who is staying around in romance and why all these talented ladies are leaving.  Money?  Prestige?  It was time?  Better shoes?  Don’t know. 

I’m working my way through the stacks of magazines and numerous blogs I missed while I was off visiting the good people of LA.  During this process I saw two statements relating to the power of writing.  George Stade a professor and author of Confessions of a Lady Killer and the upcoming Sex and Violence was the featured in The Week and given an opportunity to list what he views as the "best books" for the Book List column.  Some of his choices don’t really match the visual image I have of a guy with those book titles but this one was truly interesting – no, it really is:

Tarzan of the Apes by Edgar Rice Burroughs (Signet, $5),  Stumbling upon this book at age 11 made me a reader and finally a professor of English and a writer.  It’s racist, ignorant (in the first magazine version tigers are indigenous to Africa), sentimental about the British aristocracy, and full of the wildest improbabilities, but somehow the fantasy floats up and out of the dross.

Okay, for those unfamiliar with "dross" it’s waste or scum.  And, yeah, this isn’t the book that made me want to become a writer.  But it made a difference to him.  What an awesome thing to be able to write something that helps shape the course of someone else’s life.

Then there’s the matching view expressed by Sienna Kelly in her blog entry here.  In her words:

To know that what I have to say, while it may not change the world or affect everyone who reads it, is important.

If Stade’s experience is universal, and I think it is, Kelly’s words may change more than she thinks.  And, really, have you ever heard someone say they were changed by Tarzan of the Apes before?   

I will state right up front that this entry contains a mini-rant.  It may also break my solemn vow not to take personal shots at other authors.  This absolutely is going to take what some will view as a shot at a famous, one might say infamous, author.  One Candace Bushnell.  Feel free to call me names in response.

Now, I do not know the woman and won’t pretend to have any personal information other than what I’ve read.  She may be lovely in person but articles portray her as shallow, crass and stupid.  Sure, this could be some bizarre promo campaign, in which case her PR person must be fired and sent on a plane to anywhere that doesn’t have magazines or television…. or people.  It could be journalists portray her as something she’s not, in which case she needs to stop doing interviews in evening gowns and lingerie because that appears to be throwing off journalism’s collective integrity when it comes to her.  An even scarier possibility is that Bushnell is purposely cultivating the annoying dumb bitch personality.  If that’s her thing, I guess that’s fine.  But, by all that is holy there must be a way to write about her without annoying the crap out of me.  Better yet, let’s stop writing about her.

The newest ad, I mean article, is in Harper’s Bazaar this month.  This one showcases Bushnell and her professional ballet dancer husband in the requisite evening wear.  The article purports to be about Bushnell’s new book, Lipstick Jungle, but spends more time talking about her money, her shoes, her clothes, her connected friends and, oh yeah, her money.

Admittedly, my frustration with Bushnell started in the middle of Sex and the City.  Maybe it was her fault or maybe it was some other writer on the show – I don’t know and I care even less.  But, somewhere around the time Carrie finally found a decent guy (the Northern Exposure guy – Aidan on this show) then cheated on him, pushed him away and generally treated him like crap, I realized that the women on the show, at base, were weak and unlikable.  Carrie, when faced with a decent and employed good guy, proved the adage that women like to be treated like garbage and gravitate to men who will do that for them.  Charlotte’s determined search for a husband and a baby at the expense of everything else always struck me as hollow.  Her voice annoyed me too but, technically, that wasn’t her fault.  Samantha was ridiculous.  Miranda was pathetic.  You see where I’m going here.  Not my favorite show.

And, this isn’t an anti-chick lit thing.  I like chick lit.  I like the voice and spirit.  This is an anti-shallow thing.  Enough is enough.  Is being witty and entertaining and somehow still smart impossible?  I’m all for books that are just about entertainment.  I’m all for people writing what they want to write and reading what they want to read.  Fine, fine, fine.  The problem here is that with each article I read on or about Bushnell I become more determined never to buy anything that could possibly send a royalty nickel in her direction.  But, that’s me….

I’ve returned from a brief trip to LA for a family function.  After all the chatting and visiting – and did I mention eating – the relatives went back to work and we lingered for one more day.   This is when one of the highlights occurred, and I’m not talking about seeing the King Tut exhibition, ‘tho we did that as well. 

No, the Monday highlight came in the form of Wendy Duren (my cp) and her hubby, Tod Goldberg.  What a strange experience to finally meet the person – the only person – who has been reading everything I write and to whom I write somewhere in the neighborhood of 10 nonsense emails per day.  Yeah, the fact Wendy continues to write back or was willing to meet me was a shock to me too.

Here are some general observations:

1. They were as cool, lovely, intelligent (I’m mostly talking about Wendy with this one) and charming in person as they are in writing. 
2. Wendy needs to revive her blog because we are all missing out by her being on blog hiatus.
3. The guy you know from Tod’s blog – and you all read it, you know you do – is the guy you get in real life, except he managed not to use his invented word "fucktard" once in our 5 hours together.
4. I feel even more comfortable entrusting my work to Wendy’s hands now that I’ve met her.  This wasn’t a question before but for some reason it’s clearer now.
5. Go buy Tod’s book, Simplify.  Again, most of you read his blog.  You’re getting the milk for free so now go buy the cow….or something like that. 
6. Sometimes the internet works and results in finding someone other than a pedophile to befriend.

The meeting, which my hubby compared to a first date, makes me wonder what the other folks we follow on blogs and buy from bookstores are like in person.  I have to wonder if a positive experience is the norm.  And, if it isn’t, would we still visit the blogs and buy the books once we figure out the live version of the person is a dork or an ass.

A journalist asked four romance authors – Toni Blake, Dianne Castell, Rosemary Laurey and LuAnn Mclane – a host of questions for an article. Probably not the questions I would have asked if I had four up-and-comers in a room but at least this wasn’t the usual sniveling, nasty anti-romance article.  The most interesting Q&A was this – interesting because I’m not sure what answer I would have given but here’s what these talented ladies had to say about what was happening in the romance genre today:

Question: How are romance novels different now from 10 or even five years ago?

Dianne: There are women heroines who are strong, much stronger than in the past.

Rosemary: The day of the 17-year-old virgin is long gone.

LuAnn: These are women with real jobs, and even husbands.

Dianne: Erotica has taken off and sexy is in right now. You can use language that you couldn’t use in the past … and you couldn’t put in the newspaper.

LuAnn: It is much more realistic. You can let your hero talk the way a guy really talks.

Dianne: You have heroes who are in the FBI, the Marines or the Army and they need to be able to talk like those men talk.

Rosemary: There aren’t any of those awful euphemisms for body parts anymore, like ‘granite monolith’ or ‘dew-laden petals of love.’

Toni: Things have come a long way.

Ever read a book review or an article about a book and have almost no idea what the hell the article is supposed to be saying.  I had that reaction to this one about Paul Theroux and his newest book Blinding Light.  I now know a little about the book but didn’t find the article all that enlightening or particularly well-written.  Maybe it’s early.  Maybe I’m tired.  Maybe this book isn’t my thing anyway.  But I prefer not to get my book information with a dose of confusion.

For anyone else trying to follow along, I think the book can be summed up with this paragraph:

And when Steadman takes his drug — a hallucinogenic concoction found on a drug tour into Ecuador’s wilderness — he’s temporarily struck blind yet given a second sight of sorts, a sense of oneness with the world that sparks a variety of sexual shenanigans and creativity. Eventually, he produces a second book. And eventually, the blindness sticks and his world falls apart.