Book Review: Harvard Yard

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

Part of his Peter Fallon series, Willian Martin has crafted a fascinating novel that follows a Boston family with a secret through many generations.

In 1604, Robert Harvard turns to his friend Will Shakespeare, needing advice on just the right words to express his love for Katherine Rogers. Shakespeare conjures up a few phrases, such as “Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?” Two years later, Will Shakespeare gives the couple a gift for their new son, John: a handwritten play named Love’s Labors Won, a companion to another play, Love’s Labors Lost. In 1625, when the plague is about to take Robert’s life, he tells his son “a man is known by his books”, and extracts a promise that John will cherish all of Robert’s books, especially Love’s Labors Lost.

Twelve years later, John Harvard arrives in Puritan Boston, bringing with him his father’s books. Thus begins a story of the founding of Harvard College and a missing Shakespeare play that spans 400 years, told through the lives of the fictional Wedge family of Cambridge, Massachusetts.

In 1638, John Harvard dies at 30 without an heir and wills his trunks of books to a student he had sponsored at the new college, Issac Wedge, and also gives an £800 donation to the college itself. When cataloging the books, Isaac discovers the play and decides it must be hidden from the Puritans, who believe plays are evil.

In the present day, antiquarian book dealer Peter Fallon is on the trail of the possible lost play. But, he soon finds others will kill to possess it. As Fallon discovers each new clue to its location, the scene changes to the past - and another Wedge descendant - where the origin of that clue is revealed.

Harvard Yard is a long read (600 pages or so), but well worth it if you like historical novels.

PNWA Author Panel: Poisoned Pen Press

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

Last month, I attended the September member meeting of the Pacific Northwest Writer’s Association. The program consisted of a five-person panel of authors who have published books with Poisoned Pen Press of Scottsdale, AZ, which is an independent publisher of various mystery genres. According to the panelists, the editors are Barbara Peters and Annette Rogers. Unlike the big New York publishers, they take unagented submissions. They accept works between 60,000 and 90,000 words.

The panelists raved about how the editors spent a lot of time with them to get their book just right. In general, they recommend that authors start out querying small, independent presses because the author has a good chance of receiving good feedback on their work, even if rejected. Like any other publisher or agent, 99% of submissions will be rejected; they receive a lot of poorly-written submissions.

Poisoned Pen’s advances aren’t large: about $1000. But, there isn’t a lot of deadline pressure, and they won’t necessarily drop you as an author because of poor sales. After your book’s first print run, they utilize Print On Demand for subsequent orders, and distribute through Ingram Publisher Services. This means your book never goes out of print. From day one, your book is published in hardcover, trade paperback, audiobook, and large print.

On the subject of marketing your book, the panelists emphasized the importance of sending out advance, pre-publication review copies to the big industry reviewers, such as Library Journal or Booklist. Poisoned Pen will send out the review copies. Once the book is published, these reviewers will not look at the book. They only review advance copies. Unfortunately, most newspspers no longer review books. Ones that do: LA Times, Seattle Times, Washington Post.

Also attending the meeting was a man (I didn’t get his name) from New Libri Press, a small publisher in Mercer island, WA.

Book Review: Operation Mincemeat

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

The subtitle of this non-fiction book draws you right in: How a Dead Man and a Bizarre Plan Fooled the Nazis and Assured an Allied Victory. Author Ben MacIntyre doesn’t disappoint in this true tale of British intelligence operatives who came up with an ingenious scheme to deceive the Nazis.

The year is 1943. The Allies have defeated the Nazi army in North Africa and are planning their next strike at the Axis: the invasion of Italy. If successful, they hope to knock Italy out of the war and secure Allied naval dominance of the Mediterranean. But the key to victory in Italy first requires the conquest of the island of Sicily, so that its large contingent of German and Italian troops and planes aren’t left in the Allies’ rear during the campaign. An attack on Sicily was obvious. Everyone knew it, including the Germans, who were expected to massivly fortify it in advance, making its invasion a costly, bloody affair.

Enter a couple of screwball-thinking intelligence officers in London: Ewen Montague and Charles Cholmondeley. They came up with an audacious and risky plan to make the Germans think the Allied attack would occur in Sardinia and Greece: dress up a corpse as a high-ranking military officer, plant fake invasion documents on it, drop it in the sea, and let it float into enemy hands. Operation Mincemeat was born.

MacIntyre’s book is filled with wry humor and short biographies of the numerous characters involved as he describes in amazing detail the operation’s inception, planning, execution and aftermath. He tells of the trouble finding and preserving a suitable corpse whose body won’t be missed; the planning for how to drop a corpse at sea so that it will drift to just the right target area (in Spain) where it is sure to be noticed by Germans (but not be too obvious); and the anxiety whether the Germans will buy the ruse and reposition their forces.

Once I started reading, I couldn’t put the book down, finishing in just a couple of days. The research to uncover all the details seems to be exhaustive. The history is fascinating, and the characters colorful and believable. It even mentions the participation of a British intelligence officer named Ian Fleming, the creator of James Bond.

Even though Operation Mincemeat is non-fiction, it reads like a spy thriller and is definitely worth the read.

Point Of View Versus Perspective

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

While reading some articles on the craft of writing, I noticed the terms Point Of View and Perspective used interchangeably, while other times they had distinct meanings. So, which is it?

Two concepts are at play here:

1.How does the narrator tell the story?
2.Which character (if any) tells the story in a particular scene?

I’ve usually considered #2 above as point of view (POV), but I’m not sure that is right. Sources I read online indicate #1 is actually POV, called narrative point of view or viewpoint by Wikipedia. This definition of POV means essentially the choice of a first, second, or third person narrator. Within a novel, the viewpoint usually stays consistent, but in rare cases an author may switch from one to the other between different chapters.

For #2 above, Wikipedia discusses narrative voice, which may be the same idea as perspective. This deals with whether or not the narrator of a particular scene is a specific character, knowing only what that character sees, hears, feels, and thinks (person-limited). Alternatively, the narrator may know everything about every character (omnicient), or tell the story only by observing from a distance, knowing nothing of characters’ thoughts (objective). Of course, there are variations of these types of narrative voices, such as a storytelling narrator who sticks to one character’s perspective in each scene, but is not that character himself.

For example, if Joe is a person-limited narrator, then the sentence

Joe didn't see the bus bearing down on him

violates Joe’s perspective: he can’t describe something he doesn’t see yet. But, an omnicient or objective narrator can tell this to the reader.

So, I have to ask myself if it makes sense to change my own usage of the the term POV, and whether to preach the difference at fellow writers who may not wish to be lectured. Does it really matter that much as long as the idea gets across?

Book Review: Strange Cargo

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

A few years ago, I read Jeffrey Barlough’s House In the High Wood, and thoroughly enjoyed it. Recently, I read his novel Strange Cargo (third in his Western Lights series). It’s a great book, but not quite as good as the former.

Strange Cargo takes place in a frigid alternate Victorian-like world that in the past was rocked by the “great sundering” - a cataclysmic event that leaves mankind clinging to the mild coastal edges of an English-like civilization. The reader is introduced to three main storylines that crisscross one another as the novel goes on.

First, there is the Cargo family, from the town of Cargo, who learn from an attorney, Mr. Liffey, that they are to inherit the estate of Joseph Cargo, the grandfather of the clan. But, not all of the estate; some of it is left to an unknown Mr. Squailes of the town of Nantle. Mrs. Cargo is especially appalled at the Squailes bequest. So, they all book ship passage to Nantle to find and interrogate the “interloper Squailes.” The Cargos don’t know that Mr. Liffey is often haunted by some kind of sinister presence whenever he is alone.

Next is Miss Wastefield, who is plagued by a locked trunk that murmurs strange things to her. She cannot throw it away, because it always comes back. She travels to Nantle with her little monkey Juga after hearing from a Mr. Thistlewood who claims he can help with the trunk.

And then there is Mr. Threadneedle of Smithy Bank who, after buying some strange stones from a trader, discovers they have the power to levitate objects. So, along with his young helper Tim Christmas, he constructs a contraption within his carriage house that allows the building to fly like an airship. During test flights in the fog, a few people around Nantle spot the flying house, but aren’t believed when they report it.

As the three stories are told, the main characters cross paths with each other and numerous other cast members in and around Nantle, including a Mr. Lanthorne who seems to vanish and reappear at will; monsters called Triametes who eat humans; rooming house owner Mrs. Matchless and her other guests, and several lovable street hooligans.

Strange Cargo’s prose has a distinct old English quality that is captivating, but a bit hard to read when it reverts to the dialect of the lower classes. I found the Miss Wastefield storyline particularly unsatisfying in its resolution because it has a damsel-in-distress theme where she isn’t really saved by the hero. She does discover how the sundering occurred, but never tells anyone else (except the reader). The sundered alternate world created by the author is fascinating. His characters have an innocence and charm about them that is appealing. Strange Cargo is a definite recommended read.

It's Real Life, For Once - Part II

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

In my June 3rd posting on this subject, I mentioned that my writing is far removed from real life. Mobsters, spies, con-men, Pinkerton detectives, extortionists ... not me, no way.  But then, once in awhile, real life - even mine - provides material for a story.

This spring, an envelope from 49 years ago came into my hands. It was unopened, addressed in a kindergartener's scraggly handwriting - my own. What could be inside? Why was it never opened? I wrote a story about it that speculated on its journey. When I read it to my Thursday critique group, the response was so positive that I polished it up and submitted it to a local senior newspaper: Northwest Prime Time.  Within hours I received a "Yes" - they'd like to print it, assuming the month's layout will allow it.  If it makes the issue, it'll be my second non-fiction item published.

That's non-fiction 2, fiction 0.  Hmmm ... not a lot of progress for a determined fiction writer.

Anyway, what was in the envelope?  Ahhh ... stay tuned for the story's publication announcement.

Uhhh ... Where Are We?

Copyright © 2011, Steven E. Houchin. All rights reserved.

One of the things I often see when editing or critiquing a manuscript is that the author launches into a new scene or chapter without setting the scene. Instead, we’re subjected to paragraphs of dialog or narration about what the characters are doing. It’s like the characters are floating in a black void, detached from time and place. The reader will manufacture his own mental image of the scene, immerse himself in it, and then is later jarred out of the story when the author finally gives a hint of where or when the action is taking place.

What does it mean to set the scene? At the minimum, the reader should learn exactly where the characters are, and when the action takes place at the point the scene has changed. If a chapter ends with Suzie hanging on the 33rd floor ledge by her fingernails, and the next chapter starts with Suzie still hanging on, then little scene-setting is necessary. Mentioning Suzie and the crumbling ledge is sufficient. But, if the next chapter has Rex sipping a latte and scanning the newspaper’s obituary columns, the reader will be confused if Rex starts chatting with someone or the narrator discusses Rex’s angst over his business dealings. How much time has passed since Suzie’s unfortunate predicament? Is Rex walking along the sidewalk 33 floors directly below Suzie? Or is he about to turn the corner and stumble across her splattered corpse? Is he walking at all? Or is it days later and he’s reading her obit sitting in a cafe? The time and place set the reader’s anticipation of what may happen next.

Beyond the minimum scene-setting (“Rex walked along the sidewalk sipping his latte”), the author can provide richer detail of the scene. As Rex walks along the sidewalk, what does he pass by? Small storefronts nestled together in an ancient brick building, with smells of roasting chicken, garbage, cigars, bus exhaust? Do cars roar by? Does the wind kick up scraps of paper? Rain falls like a fine mist? Is he cold because he left his overcoat at the office? Are scary-looking homeless guys loitering about? As far as setting the timeframe, the narrator can give a hint that it is night (“the glare of a passing Taxi’s headlights”), and the reader knows Suzie’s trouble was at noon. Surely, Suzie is no longer hanging on. Or, Rex hears a streetside clock strike noon.

In my opinion, the scene-setting should begin within the first paragraph of the new scene. More can be added as the scene goes on, but the longer the author waits to set it up, the more the reader constructs his own time and place - maybe incorrectly. That can lead to confusion or frustration later, and diminished reader enjoyment of your story.