I generally don't write about books before I've read them, but I can't get my hands on The Lifespan of a Fact yet, as excited as I am to read it (I've requested that the library order it, so now I need to wait). But I've been hearing about it for a while, and am eagerly anticipating getting to watch the drama - essayist vs. fact-checker - unfold, and in the mean time, the New York Times has an interesting take (the article itself is interesting, vs. the viewpoint, in particular) on it:

http://www.nytimes.com/2012/02/26/magazine/the-fact-checker-versus-the-fabulist.html

The Times also did a review and a hilarious (intentionally?) adapted exerpt from the book.

Basically, the book, credited to John D'Agata and Jim Fingal, traces the history of one of D'Agata's essays, after Fingal, on the publisher's side, calls into question some facts. And D'Agata, being who he is, takes umbrage not so much with Fingal's questioning of the accuracy of the facts, but with the latter's concern that the facts be accurate.

"Accuracy" in nonfiction is something I have struggled with for a few years now. More or less up until I took a writing class, Advanced Narrative Nonfiction, I was working under the assumption that nonfiction was "true" and fiction was made-up. Since most of the nonfiction I read was history, and I am a historian by training (or so they tell me) I was used to a pretty rigorous dependence on verifiable facts. Certainly, a lot of speculation was normal, and acceptable, but there was a line, and if you couldn't be damn sure something happened the way you were saying it did, you had to at least be clear when you were moving into the murkier waters of partial evidence and supposition. People weren't always, of course, but that is where peer reviewers and cranky grad students jumped in to rake your argument over the coals.

I think I interrupted the class several times at the beginning of the semester to say things like "but...how can the author be repeating whole conversations she overheard as a child? She can't possibly remember each word. This is at best an approximation of what she thinks was said, based on her memory of the event."

Yes, I was a super annoying and boring pedant. But it bothered me that we were saying this was non-fiction, and yet there were clearly "fictional" - that is to say, wholly or partially based in imagination - aspects.

The professor very patiently led us through a discussion of the...shall we say "grey zone" in modern (and earlier, but whatever) essay writing, in which the emphasis is placed on the overall, sort of metaphysical "truth" of the whole, rather than the quantifiable & confirmable accuracy of the individual elements.

Eventually I (semi-grudgingly) conceded (sort of) the point. My "eureka!" moment came when I realized that, humor aside, the Colberian "truthiness," which delighted me when it first came out, could be applied. It was a little like when I finally figured our the distinction between "gender" and "sex" (in so far as historiography, that is). More to the point, though - much like pornography, some things are accurate, but others are "real," in ways, without being strictly, by-the-book, real, and you just need to let it slide, and see the work as a whole, and in its place in the grander scheme of things.

I was actually quite proud of myself. I am not exactly prone to accepting new and different viewpoints, so I felt very open-minded and intellectually advanced. That acceptance, though, created in part by our discussion which featured D'Agata and his philosophies prominently, was frequently challenged by my irritation with my idiot classmates (not all of them, but a solid percentage).

It turns out I can roll with a lot more blurring of the lines between nonfiction/fiction and real/not-real, even leaving aside the fact I had supposedly learned those were not necessarily corresponding categories, when in the hands of an accomplished writer like D'Agata. So I have never quite decided how I feel about the whole thing, although I am decidedly clear on the fact that better writers can get away with more.

Generally, though, I tend to think that if something can be verified, it should be, and facts should be used carefully. This may be my history background again; I am really sensitive to how easily facts can be manipulated, and even something as seemingly solid as figures can be used to argue differing, even opposing, points.

"Facts," particularly when presented as "the truth" or as being "real," can be very, very dangerous. So it makes me nervous when they are handled carelessly...carelessly isn't the right word, but I can't think of a better one at the moment...without due caution?

In any case - it's an intriguing question, and one that I enjoy following down its twisty logic roads. Hence, this super-long and probably unnecessary post about a book I haven't even read yet. But it's a good excuse to get the links on here so I won't forget about them, because I want to go back and read the reviews/comments again after I read the book.

And just for fun:

Truthiness is a quality characterizing a "truth" that a person claims to know intuitively "from the gut" or because it "feels right" without regard to evidence, logic, intellectual examination, or facts.

For the full, awesome Wikipedia entry: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Truthiness

Ooops

I forgot; at some point recently I read The Flight of Gemma Hardy, by Margot Livesey. It was fine. A re-telling, more or less, of Jane Eyre, although probably "homage" would be a nicer way to put it.

I ALSO forgot - I had flagged a couple of lines I particularly liked, and just noticed now when I was getting ready to return the book (Lamont wants it back, darn them).

"In the last year Louise, as visitors often remarked, had blossomed. She carried her new breasts around like a pair of deities seeking rightful homage. Privately I called them Lares and Penates, after the Roman household gods" (8).

I just love that that middle sentence. It's succinct, funny, erudite. Generally speaking, now that I think about it more, the book was really rather well-written. It's origins in Bronte are clear: it's about an unloved orphan sent by her cruel aunt to a miserable boarding school, who eventually becomes the governess (more or less) to the ward of semi-brooding older man, flees him after a wedding-morning revelation, is taken up by a kindly family and then spurns the proposal of the brother... Clearly nothing to give away, there.

But it was a good story in its own right, although there's no way you can read it and not have Jane Eyre before your eyes with every page. The characters are better than the plot, but Livesey updates and changes Bronte's well. Probably my biggest concern with the book, such as it was, was the story's rather timeless nature - and I am not sure that was a good thing. I don't mean timeless in that the story and its inhabitants are accessible to readers of any generation or era. Rather, I never knew quite when the events of the story were taking place.

There were not all that many references that could really tie it down to a specific period, so when there were mentions of more identifiable technology, fashion, or trends, I was always taken aback. Part of this was certainly due to the Eyre influence; I think my brain was always stuck in Jane's time period, and not Gemma's. When there was some reference to a the modern (late fifties / early sixties) setting, I was always caught off guard. And it didn't help that the events, particularly the horrid treatment of orphaned children at the boarding school, seem too Dickensian (or Bronte-ian) to have taken place at the same time my mother, for example, was going to school. And then Gemma is coming of age in the sixties, when so much was going on, and her whole world is contained in a few small villages, a few families. Was semi-rural Scotland really so far out of step with the rest of the world? I can't think so, so it must just be how Livesey wrote the book.

It might also be Gemma, though. She's a better character in the beginning, when she is a sharp, observant, quick-witted and funny child. As a young woman, she seems terribly slow at times, and flees her Mr. Rochester sadly, but without much passion. Sometimes it seemed like her spirit was crushed at school, unlike Jane's, so much of whose appeal is her angry defiance of the life there, and the life the school intended for her.

Ultimately, if you're fond of Jane Eyre (as I am, very much), this is a respectful and respectable updating of that book - but it doesn't present any compelling reason why you would want to read an updating, other than as a pleasant pastime. Livesey seems like a strong writer, though, and I would be interested in how her prose expands in a story of her own creation.

More Austen, & etc.

As I was sitting down to write this post, I was thinking it had been a very themed weekend - specifically, Georgian/Regency, with Intrigue! And Ratafia!(whatever the hell that is - I keep meaning to look it up - I feel like it's some kind of gross Orangina-type drink, for ladies?) And Muslin! And Rakes!

And then I saw that that was kind of my last post, too...

So - some time this past week I started the latest Stephanie Barron (or, at least, the latest in the series I like), Jane and the Canterbury Tale; Being a Jane Austen Mystery. I assume that the subtitle is not really part of the title, but I like to make it nice and period-appropriate. And, totally unplanned, I moved on this weekend to another early nineteenth century caper, this one with spying rather than murder, but still lots of muslin, Lauren Willig's latest Pink Carnation episode, The Garden Intrigue.

As to the first; I think I started it Monday or Tuesday (I remember climbing into bed a little tipsy and very tired, and since I seem to be living my life backwards these days, that would place us at the beginning of the week) but didn't finish it until this morning (Sunday), since I never read for that long. Mostly because I was tired, but also because it just wasn't the kind of book where I couldn't put it down, and was making the time to read it.

I fell in love with this series years and years ago; probably before the first one had been out in paperback for long, and I'm not even sure if the first one came out in hardcover, since back then they (the paperbacks) were mass market and much less slickly turned out. There was a character I was very fond of who died, sometime when I was in grad school, and after that I just haven't felt as much for the remaining characters or the books themselves. So that might be some of it.

But the bigger problem is that they're starting to just feel dull, like we're going through all the same events, with the same people, and the same "reveals," just altered in minor ways. Barron also seems to be struggling a bit, or at least her editors are. There were some small, but noticeable mistakes and I had some issues with the tone.

The thing that I used to really appreciate about the books was Barron's ability to mimic Austen's language - vocabulary, pacing, little, loving nods to lines from the latter's novels - without it feeling forced or gratuitous. Now it kind of does. Like, some period spellings - fine.  But make them count. Every time she used the word "romantickal" (to be fair, I think it was only twice), I felt like I was being hit over the head with "hey! It's ye olden days!" We get it. But, for what it's worth, I think Barron still does a better job than the plethora of other authors trying to ape Jane's style (AHEM, P.D. James, I'm not letting you off the hook for that travesty so easily). When has a character say "It will not fadge, and you know it" (44), I knew basically what he was saying (it won't work, more or less), but the contemporary language grounded the character. And I could tell from context that a "succession-house" (48) must be a greenhouse, but it sounded old and English.  I had no idea what the etymology of the phrase "grass widow" was, but I spent some pleasant minutes trying to figure it out.



Finished up Jane this afternoon, and then immediately started Garden Intrigue. Not because of the chronological similarities, but because it had just come last week in the mail (I ordered it from B&N the day it came out, using a coupon & a Valentine's Day gift card, so it was free, sweet!) and I had made myself wait to read it until the week was over and I had turned in some reports I really had to focus on. So I started it this afternoon - and finished it tonight. So, am I about to say that it's not as good as the earlier books in the series, and that I am getting disenchanted? Yes. Was I also enchanted enough to read the whole thing in the course of the afternoon? Also yes.

Honestly, I think the marathon reading was more about the fact I had kind of an awful week, and a lot of stuff going on in my life that I wanted to avoid, so escaping into a book - light enough I didn't have to really focus, not so fluffy I could still brood while I read - was a good option for a Sunday. Doing the work I brought home probably would have been a better idea, but it's not like it's anything with a "due date," and in any case, that's neither here nor there.

It's not that I didn't enjoy Garden Intrigue, because I did. It was funny in places, romantic (kind of) in others, and it suggested that the cranberry muffins at Broadway Market are good, so I will have to check those out (although I am annoyed with the place at the moment). But again, it's getting oooooold.  Couple whose early verbal sparring is an obvious prelude to them falling in love, after some misunderstandings, and then a scene where they haltingly admit their love? Check. Interspersed romantic and personal entanglements of a modern-day history Ph.D.? Check. Some issues with a threat to British national security and/or an attempt against the French (the former bad, the latter good)? Check. But suspense, or excitement? Not so much.

I want to be fair. Willig is, I think, great with pacing. She knows just how to build and hold a chapter, and when to cut it off; she spaces out the modern sections well, tying the action in twenty-first century England to what was going on in Napoleonic France (in this book) and also cutting off the reader when something big(ish) is about to happen in the main narrative, heightening what suspense there is. But in this book, there just wasn't that much suspense.

Obviously, in any book like this, you know basically what is going to happen because a) Napoleon never does take over the world, so you know the right side - that's the British, by the by, as much as my brother might not like it - win, and b) it's a romance novel, whatever other pretensions it might have, so there will be a happy ending. Now Willig might not concur with my thoughts on romance novels, and I am probably being overly judge-y, but this book, even more than the others in the series, just seemed to be so consumed with the romantic aspects of the plot that the spy part got lost. Or maybe it's just that there wasn't much spy part to begin with?

While the protagonist, Emma, was an appealing character, I prefer the books in the series where the female main characters actually know, at least to an extent, what they're involved with, and not just in the concluding chapters of the book. It gives them more to do. I don't know...I can't put my finger on it, this one just seemed extra formulaic, and when nothing is a surprise, or even a little unexpected, it takes away from the journey.

Like Jane and the Canterbury Tale, this one had some editing issues, too - at least, I think so. It was stupid stuff, like using the same name (of a poet) in adjacent paragraphs (and they were dialogue-paragraphs, so they were practically adjacent lines), and forgetting the accent over the e in the name the second time around (310). Or missing a word here and there, or using the wrong word (off by a couple letters). "If he loved and lovely hopelessly" (283) had me puzzled for a bit, until I decided that it should have been "if he loved and loved hopelessly" - unless it's a quote I don't know? There's nothing in Google about it, other than a GoogleBooks citation of Garden Intrigue.

The worst is when a character is described as wearing a waistcoat when throughout the whole d*** book they've made a big deal out of the fact that he never does (350). I mean, even just a few pages earlier. I actually kept re-reading the page, trying to figure out if I had missed something...like him putting on a waistcoat. I'd rather think that I missed something, because if it IS a mistake, than it's so egregious, it makes me feel differently about the book. Because if the author, and editors, people who should really care about the book, didn't even read the final draft closely enough to catch something like that, when why should they expect the readers to care?

 Is that mean? I mean, I'm waiting for the first draft of my boss' book to come back from the publishers for us to edit soon, and I know how hard it was just getting the ms off to them. I know that we've been going back and forth on the cover illustration (forget the overall design), because of everything from if the colors are appealing enough to if the image gave the wrong impression (that was my objection - the publishers for some reason decided to use an old engraving showing brutal, brutish Indians slaughtering poor, innocent whites. Because obviously that is both totally historically accurate and representative AND is the point of the book. Sure. I felt bad being like "HELL no" to my boss, genius that he is, and a big-wig at a big-deal press, but someone had to) but still. READ YOUR OWN BOOK. I'm not saying it's Willig's fault, but someone on her team should have caught something like that. Again, IF it's a mistake, and I do truly hope that it's not, and it's just me missing something.

Hmph. I dunno. I seem to just be b*tching about these, but when I was reading them, while I was disappointed, I also passed some pleasant time, if that makes any sense. And I'll definitely keep going with the two series (how do you pluralize "series" anyways?). If the authors return to their original form, fantastic, because there was a time when I really loved them. And even if they stay where they are, I will keep reading, because I've grown fond of the characters.

But I think I need a palate-cleanser of some contemporary fiction and some non-fiction right now!

Jane Austen!

Returned P.D. James' Death at Pemberly today. Blah. Shocker, I didn't find a James mystery imaginative or gripping, and while I love me some Austen re-visiting, even Lizzie and Darcy et al. were not enough to win this one for me...
But last night I started the lates "Jane and the..." mystery, so we'll see how that goes.