Thursday, October 8, 2015
Elia, a lit student, is infatuated with Cameron Beck's masterpiece, Secrets of Odysseus. The book is a compilation of poems Beck wrote to his mysterious muse, but no one knows who she is. Elia is determined to find out. She desperately wants to know what love is and Cameron seems to have the answer.
In a coffee house one night before the end of term, she thinks she hears Beck read a new poem. The poem is left behind when the poet vanishes. Elia rescues it and now is determined to find Beck. The search leads her to a remote Caribbean Island. The islanders have befriended Beck and resent the stranger's intrusion, but she persists.
This love story is told from several perspectives. Elia is the protagonist in the present day, but we also see Cameron. In the past, we see him and his lost love. Usually, I find stories told in two time periods don't work well. However, in this case with the secret of lost love as the thread holding the story together, it works well.
Elia is a delightfully naive character. She is desperately searching for the meaning of love, but she is also capable of determination to see her adventure through to completion. Beck is a more nebulous character. We glimpse his total infatuation with his lover, but in the present day he is more subdued yet willing to part with his secret to the right person.
The characters who inhabit the island: Isabella, the island matriarch, Fatty, the medical doctor with a drug habit, Paco, the cantina owner, and Falcon, the pilot, are extremely well drawn. Each is unique and each fits the setting perfectly. They were some of the best parts of the book.
If you enjoy an adventure wrapped in a romance, you'll enjoy this book.
I reviewed this book for PR by the Book.
What inspired you to write The Poet’s Secret?
At the time I wrote The Poet’s Secret, I was on a personal pilgrimage. I essentially took a threeyear sabbatical, sort of an adult “time out,” and embarked on a new path. I dedicated myself to explore the meaning of life and love and particularly the arc of passion. I became consumed by the idea of living in the present, honoring the “now” as the only real moment in time, the only authentic eternity, which allowed me to both disconnect and connect like never before and let go of the constructs of past and future as fictions created by the mind. I gained a new appreciation for relatively brief moments and encounters as having potentially profound effects. I was living abroad, reading, writing, surfing and slowing down my existence.
The tale that became The Poet’s Secret was conceived in a hovel perched atop a onetable taverna in the hillside village of Avdou, just a scooter ride from the blue waters of the Aegean Sea on the island of Crete. I was sequestered alone, halfway around the world from my home, and recovering from a life, and a relationship, that had left me hollow, or at least I thought at the time. But it turned out words kept flowing out of me, first in raw, chunky verse that faintly resembled poetry and then in images and scenes that bore an even fainter resemblance to a novel. For months I wrote, swam in healing waters and disappeared into this remote, antiquated Greek village. I had never done anything like that before, but at the time it was the only existence that made any sense.
So many miracles happened during those months. I experienced a cleansing, a healing and an awakening, and I began to perceive light and water and imagery and words and the souls around me like never before. I eventually returned to California, and then traveled to Bali, Mexico, Costa Rica, Thailand, Cambodia and South America, following the sea and surf with laptop in hand and continuing to write. The backstory to writing The Poet’s Secret is a story in itself.
How did you select the locations for the novel?
It was tempting to set the bulk of the novel in Greece, a country I adore. However, as the story evolved the compass for the island setting spun toward the West Indies, and the story’s life raft washed ashore on the fictional island of Mataki. I was fortunate to spend a good part of my sabbatical on tropical islands and coastal villages that certainly informed the setting. As for the early campus setting, I based it on a fictionalized version of my beloved alma mater, The Ohio State University.
What was your particular process in terms of plot, outlining and character?
I essentially began the novel with two scenes that were haunting me. First, I had a reclusive poet on a remote island cliff about to attempt suicide. Second, I had a bookish young woman captured within the confines of the great romances of literature. I really had no idea about their connection, if any, but those two images would not let go of me. As I began to write, the concept of the woman yearning for what nearly kills the poet began to take hold.
The process was fairly organic. I let the characters breathe and lead me into the story. I wasn’t even sure whose story it was until shortly after the first draft. Once the closing scene appeared to me I realized that it was really Elia’s story. I then just had to navigate getting there. While I did not develop any formal outline, I downloaded scenes as they appeared, stockpiled them and later wove them in when they seemed to make sense. It was a bit like swimming across a sea, not sure which direction land might be but hoping that if I kept going I would eventually find my way.
Stumbling, a bit blindly, through this creative process was both exasperating and exhilarating. As I was working on revisions, I attended several writers’ conferences that stressed the necessity of thorough plotting, which made me feel a tad vulnerable. I later read an interview about Michael Ondaatje’s process in writing The English Patient and realized I was in good company.
The novel is filled with excerpts of poetry, which came first, the poetry or the narrative arc?
Most of the poetry was written before any narrative took form. The poetry came in often painful and soulsearching flourishes, and then was revised over time. There is a line in The Poet’s Secret where Dean Baltutis refers to the poet’s inspiration being “survival.” That is precisely how it felt at times. I also wanted to combine both poetry and prose into one novel and attempt to slow down the reader a bit at the beginning of each chapter to contemplate and absorb the poetry, to be in that moment so to speak, before continuing on the narrative journey.
What in particular surprised you about the process of writing The Poet’s Secret?
I didn’t want to force plot twists or preconceived outcomes. I let the characters find the story. I let go of expectations and trusted the story to evolve. Tapping into this creative process was freeing, exhilarating and challenging, sort of like jumping off a cliff into the sea for the first time. I had never done anything quite like it, but this particular process for me felt authentic. I certainly was surprised how well the early drafts of the poetry and manuscript were received, which bolstered my confidence to pursue the project through publication.
Water imagery is abundant throughout the novel, what is the particular connection for you with water and particularly with respect to this novel?
I was thrown onto a swim team at age 8 even before I passed beginners swim lessons (I was terrible at the back float). But water soon became my life and in many ways my salvation. Throughout my youth I swam, played water polo, lifeguarded and hung around Lake Erie in northeastern Ohio. Somehow, I didn’t even see an ocean until I was 18. But I recall climbing out of the backseat of a Datsun 210 hatchback (or what they claimed to be a backseat) after driving for twentytwo hours to Ft. Lauderdale for spring break and telling my college buddies to just pick me up in a few hours. I was mesmerized. I sprinted into the Atlantic Ocean and swam and bodysurfed until dark. Today, I surf or swim almost every day. I feel like I am about eighty percent water, the remaining twenty percent made up mostly of curiosity and mischief.
Much of the water in the universe is said to be a byproduct of star formation. I’m no scientist, but I like the way that sounds. Because when I look up at the night stars it feels a lot like gazing west an hour before the sun dips into the sea, at least at my secret little spot by the water. Flickering diamonds scatter everywhere along the surface, and if I squint just right, I forget the sea is even there. Instead, it looks like a galaxy of stars shimmering right into me, washing across my heart, reflecting off my smile and filling me with the belief that I can just float away into the universe. So I often do.
Spiritually, water often represents purification and healing. To me, water represents so many things, perhaps most importantly love and life and the sacred feminine. I once nearly died underwater while surfing in Uluwatu, a place few have ever heard of and even fewer have visited. But I know on so many occasions water has saved me, water has healed me, and water has reset my compass when I have been spinning in some uncontrollable vortex. So for me, my life and my love seem to be tied to returning to the great aquatic source, again and again, maybe just to fill the chasm that still exists in me, and maybe to some degree still exists in all of us.
I have been fortunate to swim with sea turtles and dolphins in the wild on many occasions. When I stare into the eyes of a sea turtle or a dolphin I cannot help but believe that they understand this great aquatic connection, a connection beyond humanity, beyond species, beyond even the stars. So when I am writing about passion, heartbreak, healing, life and love, it is only natural for me to write in a particularly aquatic language and style.
Monday, October 5, 2015
Sunday, October 4, 2015
Jules Landeau is a private investigator, although both his father and grandfather were in the mob. He's mostly playing it straight, but his knowledge of the criminal underworld helps when an ex-con, Eddie, hires him to search for Tanya, his missing girl friend.
Jules is reluctant to take on the case. Eddie is newly released from prison, and he's an unpleasant character. But Jules is a sucker for a Jersey boy who wants to find his lost love. After searching through Chicago's North side, Jules realizes that the case is not as simple as finding the girl. A valuable French wine and a dirty Jersey cop complicate the case. After plenty of twists, Jules succeeds with a surprising ending.
If you like stories featuring tough investigators, the mob, and a convoluted plot, this is your kind of book. The Chicago background is a perfect setting for the hunt for the missing girl.
I enjoyed the book, but thought there were almost too many characters. Once Jules leaves Chicago for New Jersey the plot twists come fast and more characters complicate the action. Although I found the subplot with the expensive wine engrossing, it seemed like a detour from the major action until about halfway through the book. The other problem with the book for me was that the character motivation seemed thin. This was particularly true of Margot and Doug, the owners of the wine.
I recommend this book if you like a fast paced mystery with plenty of twists.
I reviewed this book for Net Galley.
Around West Wacker Drive and Orleans Street, the Chicago River forked north-northwest, roughly parallel to busy Clybourn Avenue, which served as an excellent boundary to neighborhoods I thought might accommodate a nice wine bar. Webster Avenue ran through one of those neighborhoods and when I saw the Auvergnat Vin Bar, I slowed down before parking across the street, at Pâtisserie GrenouilleA violin-playing frog dressed as a maître d’, and standing on a hunk of Camembert, graced its window.
A black Porsche SUV with the license plate VINMSTR was parked in front of the Vin Bar. Although a wine tasting wasn’t scheduled until four, the door was unlocked, which I took as an invitation to enter. The venue reeked of country cottage schmaltz. Large paintings of sweeping Rhône sunsets and Loire Valley vineyards covered the walls. Antique wooden cabinets and wine racks hung from exposed brick. A few tiny shelves of distressed wood blended in perfectly despite holding pamphlets advertising something called a “wine equity trust.”
Behind the bar, a man carefully arranged a row of sidecar cocktail carafes. Near him, a gangly redheaded kid, who looked too young to be legally standing behind a bar, held a small spiral-bound notebook while studying a row of glass stemware, each holding a different shade of red wine. Standing in front of the bar, a man wearing a full-length black apron garnished with a stickpin of gold grapes looked thoughtfully over tables covered with bottles, glasses, and menus. He was tall with thick, black wavy hair, and his nose was slender and shiny. Around his neck hung a small silver saucer attached to a chain. I was practically in his face before he glanced at me and said, “Can I help you?”
“I’m sorry, I guess you’re not open yet. But your door was unlocked.”
“Yes, we don’t mind if people curious about wine wander in. Unfortunately, the Provence tasting doesn’t start for another hour.”
“What’s a wine equity trust?” I said.
Grape Man looked me over. Then he kind of shook his head a few times with a look of utter confusion. “Sorry. Who are you exactly?”
“I’m looking for a girl named Tanya Maggio. I was told she works here.” I showed him my investigator’s license.
“My god, you’re serious.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Grape Man let out a laugh-snort. “I’ve just never met a private eye before. I thought you guys only existed in the movies.”
“Next time, I’ll wear an overcoat and fedora. Do you know Tanya?”
“I’ve never known anyone named Tanya, and she certainly doesn’t work here.”
“What about the other staff members? Maybe they knew her before you arrived?”
Grape Man snorted again. “Ahhhh—no. None of them arrived before me. I hired them all—stole them all, some say. Only people with a proven background and education in serving and tasting wine can work here.”
“Any other fancy wine bars on the North Side, near the river?”
Grape Man’s face lit up. “Any wine north of here along the river is poured from a cardboard box into a plastic cup.” A hearty laugh. I was the perfect straight man. “I put this place out of its misery six months ago.”
“You’re the owner?”
“Six months ago. That’s what I just said.”
I wondered how long this guy would last in Eddie’s world before someone shoved that pin down his throat. “And the poor huddled masses that made up the staff of the previous miserable establishment? All fled from the black-caped wine taster with the silver spoon around his neck?”
Grape Man gave me a savage look. “I hold diplomas from the Court of Master Sommeliers, the Wine and Spirit Education Trust, and the Institute of Masters of Wine. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you walk into my wine bar and insult me.” As he continued describing my disrespectful behavior, I put a card on the bar, then bowed deeply as I backed away.