A friend of mine recently bought a copy of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight … in French. Though she studied the language in college and speaks semi-fluently, she’s definitely not a proficient reader of French and reads much more quickly and easily in English. Nevertheless, she’s forcing herself to plow through the French version of the incredibly successful teen vampire novel just so she can feel less guilty about reading it. She thinks that most people who see her reading Twilight will think that she has terrible taste in literature, so by reading it in French, she can defend herself as merely practicing another language.
While the adults in the publishing industry create rigid genre boundaries, in the minds of readers, these are actually quite flexible. I’m just as likely to enjoy something on the “Young Adult Fiction” shelf as I am in the “Classics” section. And as the industry continues to suffer during the recession, it’s the sale of young adult content that continues to grow. So maybe we shouldn’t be so embarrassed?
What do you think? Are there any great hidden gems in the YA section that adult readers should know about?
This past weekend in New York, where Twilight megahunk Robert Pattinson is currently shooting a film, the actor was approached by a throng of teenage girls. Even though he had a total of five (five!) professionally-trained security guards on hand to protect him, the hysterical fans nonetheless chased him into the street, where he was hit by a car.
Pattinson is fine. But apparently this sort of thing happens to him a lot. And as unfortunate as that is for him, it’s absolutely fascinating to me. There are so many things I don’t understand here. Why does Pattinson have a weird habit of running away from his fans? And—more curiously—how can these girls be so enthralled with a fictional character that they will go so far as to chase him down the street? I understand the concept of feeling connected to fictional characters, and hey, if you don’t feel connected to a character then clearly the storyteller has done something wrong. But to go to such extremes as chasing an actor into a busy street? I don’t get it, though I would like to. And I’m not sure if this is an example of fandom gone awry or—as crazy as this sounds—if this is what true fandom really is. Read more »
If you have never heard of it, then you live under a rock. If you have never read it, then there is a big hole in your life where this book should be. Holden Caulfield’s search to find his place in the world has long been hailed as the quintessential tale of teen angst. But for me, J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye far surpasses such a general assessment. The entire story hovers above a violent undercurrent of energy, and it feels like Holden is going to explode if just one more person disappoints him or one more thing goes wrong. Holden’s voice puts me in a trance…I get pulled into his world of “phonies” and “slobs” and I absorb his loneliness and let it mingle with my own. It’s the story of not being able to find a single place where you feel you belong. Rye was one of the most censored and controversial books of the 20th Century, and as a result it possesses an almost mythical level of mystique. People are still fascinated with Holden, the ultimate modern antihero. And Salinger has only enhanced the book’s mystique by proving himself to be one of the most reclusive writers of the last century. He has hidden from the world for decades…refusing to grant interviews, not publishing any new work, and suing those who try to do anything with his existing work. It seems as if, like Holden Caulfield, Salinger thinks we’re all a bunch of phonies and he just wants us to leave him alone so that he can die. Well, some dude in Sweden had other plans.
Part fantasy, part word-play, the fragementary narrative comes alive when read aloud.
This collage novel follows the classic format: images culled from nineteenth century sources, painstakingly rearranged and reassembed into entirely new, seamless tableaux.
This is the first chapter from the novel, complete with Betancourt’s artwork and story. It is a riff on Ernst’s 1926 painting “Two children are menaced by a nightengale,” taking up the story years later from were Ernst left it.
The story chronicles the adventure of Rose, her sister Marcella, the insane landscapes they travel through (including a sea where mothers drown their naughty sons), and the eponymous Nightengale on their way to the Moon.
The sheer lunacy of the tale is accentuated by the strangeness of the images.
The tale features magical mops, flying fish, and mocking sea turtles. And plenty of mind-bending imagery, like the image at left. And yes, that’s a wolf’s head on that little girl’s body, trying to force her way through an elaborate gate (with fire?). Delicious!
In the documentary Before the Music Dies, a bevy of accomplished artists including Ray Charles, Erykah Badu, Elvis Costello, Dave Matthews, and more weigh in on the steadily commercialization of the music industry. I’ve had my eye on the film for a while now, mostly because of this clip:
Just be butt-naked somewhere. Butt-naked somewhere with glitter and a beeper.
Yes it’s ridiculous, and yes it makes Badu seem batty, but what she says rings true. And the rest of the film is just as eye-opening and engrossing. I’m not a music industry-type at all, or even much of a music-y person, but this doc really moved me. Maybe that’s because the core issue isn’t exclusive to the music industry. In a commercial world, how can you a) create art and b) succeed? At what point does the creative work end and the corporation begin?
How would you feel if the deepest recesses of your soul became material for your therapist’s next novel? I suppose it’s possible you would feel honored – hey, at least it means your life is in some way interesting (unless your therapist’s next novel is entitled, The Biggest Wastes of Blood and Tissue I’ve Ever Counseled). I suppose it’s possible you would feel betrayed – the sacred secrets spilled on your therapist’s couch/chair/zafu are the building blocks of your life and not sources of creative inspiration. Yes, both reactions would be valid and understandable. But stop for a moment and think about the life of a therapist/analyst/healer. Day after day they are inundated with human dramas. Whether tragic, hilarious or frustrating, these human dramas are all real…and therefore inherently compelling. I imagine your therapist leaves her office every day filled to the brim with the joy, pain and universality of the human experience. So, what does she do with it all? If she lives in Manhattan, she very well may be writing about it. Read more »
Sometimes not writing is just as important as writing, and when I don’t want to write I remind myself of this simple and profound Buddhist principle: “Form is emptiness, emptiness is form.” There is value in embracing emptiness rather than just trying to fill it with random available crap. Of course sometimes I’m just deluding myself and procrastinating….screwing around with half-strangers on Facebook. But sometimes something really is working inside of me that isn’t ready to take form quite yet, and if I try to tell it what its form is supposed to be then I don’t like the result. It’s false. Forced. Awkward. Like trying to shove a 20-pound cat into a 5-pound box. Read more »
Ficly is a new collaborative writing community based on the idea that writing doesn’t have to be something you do alone. As a member, you have the option to build on others’ story stubs, compose sequels and prequels to existing stories, or work on story challenges—and all in less than 1,024 characters. To put this number in perspective: that’s just over 7 Tweets. If Ficly sounds familiar to AOL’s short-lived writing community Ficlets, that’s because it is. Ficly was built by alums of the Ficlets developer team, who have dedicated a “memorial” section to their alma mater.
Normally I’d be a little hesitant about distributing my writing freely on the web. But Ficly is less about the writer than it is really about the story. And thanks to the 1,024 character limit, more than one writer is needed to put together a well-developed story. In a profession so focused on the individual, where some of the best work is done when no one is around, it’s refreshing to see a community that does just that: build community.
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A friend of mine recently bought a copy of Stephenie Meyer’s Twilight … in French. Though she studied the language in college and speaks semi-fluently, she’s definitely not a proficient reader of French and reads much more quickly and easily in English. Nevertheless, she’s forcing herself to plow through the French version of the incredibly successful teen vampire novel just so she can feel less guilty about reading it. She thinks that most people who see her reading Twilight will think that she has terrible taste in literature, so by reading it in French, she can defend herself as merely practicing another language.
If you have never heard of it, then you live under a rock. If you have never read it, then there is a big hole in your life where this book should be. Holden Caulfield’s search to find his place in the world has long been hailed as the quintessential tale of teen angst. But for me, J.D. Salinger’s The Catcher in the Rye far surpasses such a general assessment. The entire story hovers above a violent undercurrent of energy, and it feels like Holden is going to explode if just one more person disappoints him or one more thing goes wrong. Holden’s voice puts me in a trance…I get pulled into his world of “phonies” and “slobs” and I absorb his loneliness and let it mingle with my own. It’s the story of not being able to find a single place where you feel you belong. Rye was one of the most censored and controversial books of the 20th Century, and as a result it possesses an almost mythical level of mystique. People are still fascinated with Holden, the ultimate modern antihero. And Salinger has only enhanced the book’s mystique by proving himself to be one of the most reclusive writers of the last century. He has hidden from the world for decades…refusing to grant interviews, not publishing any new work, and suing those who try to do anything with his existing work. It seems as if, like Holden Caulfield, Salinger thinks we’re all a bunch of phonies and he just wants us to leave him alone so that he can die. Well, some dude in Sweden 
How would you feel if the deepest recesses of your soul became material for your therapist’s next novel? I suppose it’s possible you would feel honored – hey, at least it means your life is in some way interesting (unless your therapist’s next novel is entitled, 
Ficly
