Barking from the Wood

It's just some noise.

[backwoodbarking]

The Dog-Eared Collection: Book 3

Some books you stumble upon as a starving creature to devour in the twilight hours in your most disheveled form. Some you thumb through delicately, curating a gallery of quotes and images to satiate you long past the last page.

And some are an exercise.

The Boys of Summer is a science fiction "coming of age" novel set in Wichita Falls, Texas focused on a group of childhood friends and the catalystic tornado that changed their lives.

Started: October ??? 2022 // Finished: December 11, 2022

I'll admit, I almost didn't write anything about this one. But then I remembered: it's all just a bunch of noise. So, here we are.

I attempted to read this book multiple times in the years that it's collected dust on my window sill. Every time, forgetting the exact reason why I shelved it the try before.

The ironic thing is that I picked it up this time after putting The Terror by Dan Simmons down, only making it a few chapters in. Partly because I wanted to pull together a character list and partly because I couldn't quite get a beat on the author. Was the disagreeable way I saw him approaching women a result of the author's viewpoint or those he was historically trying to replicate? (A cursory glance online seems to support the former. Unfortunate.)

Too lazy to address the first issue and displeased by the second, I turned to Cox's novel. Not for any particular motive other than it was available and simply written. I thought, potentially, my previous attempts had failed due to a deficient attention span.

No, no not exactly.

Here's where the irony swaggers in. While Cox doesn't include any of Simmons's feshitization of native women (small blessings), he certainly struggles with anyone who identifies with that gender. Some sense of an exaggeration or embellishment in their negative traits, grating against the main characters' progress. In addition, they exhibit a greater frequency for abuse, both in instance and severity.

Although, to be fair, no one in this novel is particularly likable. And the men are flawed it's just harder to pin down a feeling of disapproval from the text for those flaws.

To run down the list you have Bobby, Adam, Todd, David, and Jonathan. These men comprise the childhood friend group self-called the Boys of Summer. In addition, you have the female character Alicia, a former crush of Jonathan's and a former girlfriend of David (yes, both, scandalous).

All of them would have likely lived relatively mundane lives had it not been for the 1979 tornado that tore through their town during their childhood. But some lose family members, others experience strange psychic phenomena, and one is left in a "waking coma" for four years.

It's all very Stephen King, I'm sure you understand. Cox takes great inspiration from the horror writer (and says so in interviews). The review on the back of the novel from Sean Beaudoin, author of Welcome Thieves, even claims The Boys of Summer is "the book Stephen King would have written if he'd been born on the wind-ravaged plains of North Texas." Not enough of Stephen King's works have blown my way to disagree.

Here's where there's something to chew with this novel. Not King, not the plot, not the vague mystery within, and definitely not the amount of times with which the characters find themselves discussing the namesake Don Henley song (it's an oft revisited plot point), but the idea of inspiration, of influence.

The 1979 tornado described in the book is based on true events, i.e., the 1979 Red River Valley tornado outbreak. On April 10th, 1979, multiple tornadoes touched down in southwest Oklahoma and northwest Texas. According to the National Weather Service, 42 were killed, 1740 were injured, and thousands more were left homeless. (These numbers seem to vary depending on the source, though. Some claim higher numbers.)

Cox himself did not live in Wichita Falls when "Terrible Tuesday" struck, but his family were from the area and had lived there during his high school years. He saw the damage, though. A "town that had nearly been wiped off the map" he reflects in his The Weeklings interview. The image stuck with him, resulting in a story that whipped together that destructive force with the generative influences of his creative idols.

That is the most compelling element of The Boys of Summer to this reader. The impact of the tornado, the ripples it causes, is the most tangible component to this reader. To the point that it blows away the flimsier structures, such as the character relationships, the hints of science fiction, and the eventual antagonistic figures.

Regardless, finding value in a text you don't necessarily connect with is a nice way to stretch your perspective. I look forward to doing it again. Maybe with less Don Henley lyrics next time, though.

[backwoodbarking]

The Dog-Eared Collection: Book 2

Irish writer Maggie O'Farrell's award-winning Hamnet is a prosaic fictional account of the events surrounding Anne, or Agnes, Hathaway's marriage to William Shakespeare and the eventual death of their young son, Hamnet.

It draws on the author's long-time fascination with the family, particularly the ones left mere silhouettes in the annals of history. However, how successful O'Farrell is in extracting life from these shadows will depend on the reader.

Started: August 27, 2022 // Finished: September 6, 2022

Where to start?

The Language:

O'Farrell is certainly a gifted wordsmith. On more than one occasion, I found myself circling phrases just out of sheer admiration. As a writer, she has the enviable capacity to craft visually striking descriptions and incisive insights in just a few words.

Some phrases I highlighted while reading include:

"[...] narrow blades of light enter the space from high, mildew-spotted windows."

"ocean-deep in sleep"

"Hazelnuts [...] dun-jacketed pearls"

"Her thoughts are brief now, snipped short, pared back to the bone."

"It feels to her as though the world has cracked open, like an egg."

In these succinct sections of delicious language, I found O'Farrell's prose at its best. However, these instances are outnumbered by a pattern of sentences or passages that some could view as overworked.

For example:

"You might find it a restless, verdant, inconstant sight: the wind caresses, ruffles, disturbs the mass of leaves [...]"

"[...] quite a different creature—thin, milk-skinned, gaunt."

"Something has woken him—a noise, a bang, a shout [...]"

Alternatively, she uses repetition, such as:

"It means something. It is a sign of something—something bad, something amiss, something out of kilter in her house."

"[...] the priest places linen over them, to protect them from demons, from the devil, from all that is bad and undesirable in the world."

"The letters from their father speak of contracts, of long days, of crowds who hurl rotten matter [...], of the great river in London, of a rival playhouse owner [...], of memorising lines, lines, more lines, of the loss of costumes, of fire, of rehearsing [...], of the difficulty of finding food when they are out on the road, of scenery that falls, of props that are mislaid or stolen, or carts losing their wheels and pitching all into the mud, taverns that refuse them beds, of the money he has saved, of what he needs their mother to do [...]"

Naturally, there's nothing intrinsically wrong or "bad" about these writing choices. That's all they are: choices. I see plenty of reason to include them in Hamnet, even. Repetition, for one, is a great tool to create emphasis or the illusion of stacked events or feelings. It works well in multiple instances to embolden the reflective, internal quality the book builds itself around. And when it comes to listing descriptors, there are several moments I felt it gave a sense of movement and appropriately reflected the natural progression of thought.

But while reading, I'd often find myself breaking out of the text to think about her selection of words, to question them. And that leads me to believe that—for me—relying on certain writing patterns to carry your prose creates the opportunity for cracks in the foundation. In the end, what should be absorbing became a thought exercise at best and a distraction at worst.

The Significance of Names:

One of the creative choices made by O'Farrell is to leave the bard unnamed. Rather, since the book is written through the eyes of others (predominantly Agnes), it refers to him using relational titles, such as brother, father, husband, etc. (In the same vein, Agnes' surname is never mentioned.)

In a reflection published on Waterstones, O'Farrell cites the "heft" of his name as a crucial reason. Fearing the familiarity and weight of his name would pull readers out of the narrative, she elected to "strip him of it."

In that light, I believe O'Farrell made a sound call. Many readers likely do carry preconceived notions and associations with the playwright that could potentially hinder their ability to remain submerged in the text. Still, I find it interesting that in this very same article, O'Farrell makes a point to discuss the part of the novel that gave her the most trouble with this approach: the minor confrontation between the bard and his brother-in-law, Bartholomew.

Up until that point, I believed O'Farrell to be quite fair in her depiction of the playwright. Believably rendered through the eyes of those around him. But there is something surprisingly emasculating about this section of the book.

"The lad," as Bartholomew thinks of him, the "pasty-faced scholar," goes to his brother-in-law in a desperate attempt to find Agnes, who has snuck out to give birth by herself in the woods (a whole section which was... interesting). And during this scene, he's reduced to a "moaning" "whining" weakling for all intents and purposes. Granted, we see this perspective through Bartholomew's point of view who is a salt-of-the-earth farmer but it still felt strange.

Anyway, it made me think. Not so much out of defense for Shakespeare, who I honestly have very little knowledge of, but the approach itself when met with the book's intent. There is some aim here to honor Hamnet, a poor boy who died far too young, and the author honoring him has stripped his father of his name. There's something here that doesn't fit right to me but I'm not completely sure what.

Maybe because it feels incongruous with the end result. Making the bard nothing more than a side player in the story should encourage us to focus in on those with named roles. And it surely does for Agnes but not their son, who is the impetus for the book. His best scenes are those with his sister, Judith. In these, he takes up a more solid form. But that all is weakened by Agnes' gravity.

In trying to make Hamnet more than his father, he's made smaller than, or an extension of, his mother. And in that light, what was the sacrifice of the bard's name for?

The Hamlet Hypothesis:

At the end of the work, Agnes goes to London to confront her husband after she learns he's staging the play Hamlet following some time after the death of their son, Hamnet. It's here, in the crowd of viewers, where Agnes watches the king's ghost (played by Shakespeare) face young Hamlet and comes to the realization that:

"Her husband has brought [Hamnet] back to life, in the only way he can. As the ghost talks, she sees that her husband, in writing this, in taking the role of the ghost, has changed places with his son. He has taken his son's death and made it his own; he has put himself in death's clutches, resurrecting the boy in his place."

Essentially, Agnes becomes a mouthpiece for O'Farrell's overarching thesis: Hamlet, the play and eponymous hero, are a direct response to the loss of Shakespeare's son.

It's a nice sentiment. But then you remember what the play is about and you realize it's not actually all that nice. What grieving parent would want to see their pseudo-child come to a fate such as Hamlet's? Furthermore, there's historical evidence that Hamlet was based on a medieval Scandinavian legend called Amleth (or more likely a French retelling) and then a prior play called the Ur-Hamlet.

Now, does that mean we know for sure Shakespeare never wrote any line, any moment in light of his son's death? No. But as far as hypotheticals, the one O'Farrell poses feels flimsy.

Fictionalizing Figures:

I proposed a concern in my first post after reading a fictionalized account of Sarah Bernhardt's life written by C.W. Gortner. That is, what are the ethics of creating a character out of a person?

I saw a writer online remark that you can't libel the dead, and they're certainly right. In a legal sense, you can't hinder a dead person's prospects or finances or standing by interpreting them how you like. But is that the only standard to uphold ourselves to?

Let's focus on one figure: Agnes. One could view the way O'Farrell writes Agnes as empowering. She's intelligent, witty, and loving. But she's also a complete fabrication.

We have very little to go on as to who Agnes, or Anne, Hathaway was. But does she have to become prophetic, magic, a unique woman among women for us to care about her? From unknown to all-knowing... is that necessary?

Final Thoughts:

While this space worked through criticisms, they don't reflect a negative opinion. Hamnet put forth some interesting ideas that were worth responding to.

Moreover, O'Farrell is talented and her work to pull together a visually intriguing, period influenced book is evident. There are so many small details of day-to-day life, from fabrics to food, that make it feel real. The lives lived within feel close and intimate. The mourning for their loss is equally personal, brimming with sincere emotion.

It all makes the thick cloak of history hiding these once living, breathing figures just a bit more woeful.

[backwoodbarking]

Vocabulary List: Hamnet II

Have finished O'Farrell's book. Thoughts pending. The remaining words learned while reading it:

Scullion - (noun) a servant employed to do menial work in the kitchen

Peewit - (noun) the northern lapwing [Lapwing - (n) a large short-billed gregarious wading bird of the family Charadriidae] typically having a black and white head and underparts and a loud call

Scrofulous - (adjective) of, relating to, or affected with scrofula [Scrofula - (n) a form of tuberculosis infection affecting the lymph nodes, particularly in the neck]

Chaff - (noun) the seed coverings and other debris separated from the seed in threshing grain; husks of wheat, oats, or other grains

Nag - (noun) a small horse; a pony; an old, useless horse

Hearthrug - (noun) a rug laid in front of a fireplace to protect the carpet or floor

Daub - (noun) plaster, clay, or another substance used for coating a surface, especially when mixed with straw and applied to laths or wattles to form a wall (e.g., wattle and daub)

Ague - (noun) an acute fever

Conker - (noun) a horse chestnut, used in the game of conkers

Teasel - (noun) any of the several plants of the genus Dipsacus; the dried flower head of the fuller's teasel, Dipsacus fullonum, used for teasing or carding cloth

Casement - (noun) a type of hinged sash-window that swings open like doors

[backwoodbarking]

Vocabulary List: Hamnet I

I'm midway through Maggie O'Farrell's Hamnet and it's introduced me to some new words. I typically write their definitions in the book's margins. But I thought to put the ones encountered thus far here as well along with their meanings (contextually to the novel):

Wattled - (noun) a fabrication of poles interwoven with slender branches, withes, or reeds and used especially formerly in building; material for such construction; plural poles laid on a roof to support thatch (e.g., wattle and daub)

Caul - (noun) the amniotic membrane enclosing a fetus

Skeps - (noun) a straw or wicker beehive

Scree - (noun) a mass of small loose stones that form or cover a slope on a mountain

Buboes - (noun) swollen inflamed lymph nodes in the armpit or groin

Joists - (noun) a length of timber or steel supporting part of the structure of a building, typically arranged in parallel series to support a floor or ceiling

Whittawing - (noun) the form of tanning employed to manufacture whitleather [Whitleather - (n) leather that has been prepared by dressing with alum and salt so as to retain its natural color]

Flensing - (verb) the removing of the blubber or outer integument [protective layer] of an animal, particularly whales, separating it from the animal's meat

Factotum - (noun) a person hired to do an assortment of jobs

Pap - (noun) bland soft or semi-liquid food such as that suitable for babies or invalids

Wens - (noun) boils or other swellings or growths on the skin, especially sebaceous cysts

Jesses - (noun) a short leather strap that is fastened around each leg of a hawk, usually also having a ring or swivel to which a leash may be attached

Doxies - (noun) lovers or mistresses; prostitutes

Fossicking - (verb) rummaging; searching

Profligacy - (noun) reckless extravagance or wastefulness in the use of resources

[backwoodbarking]

The Dog-Eared Collection: Book 1

Time to inaugurate this place.

I think Miss Bernhardt would be quite thrilled she's the first thing I'll talk about here.

When I first picked this book up, I took to it with zeal. The premise reminded me of a series I used to enjoy when I was young called The Royal Diaries series and the promise of a "fresh" figure whet my appetite. I knew next to nothing about the book's subject, Sarah Bernhardt, an innovative Jewish French stage actress from the later 19th century.

And she was, by most accounts, amazing. Gortner highlights her various talents, such as sculpture (ever seen this Ophelia? That's her work), painting, and, naturally, acting, as well as her tenacious spirit. For example, she converted the Théâtre de L'Odéon into a military hospital for wounded soldiers during the Franco-Prussian war. He also draws attention to her various eccentricities, such as keeping exotic animals (wouldn't recommend) and sleeping in a coffin. And it was all good fun to find out these attributes of the Divine Sarah.

But by the halfway point, I could only read it in small doses.

Gortner specifies in his acknowledgement that, "[his] intent wasn't to depict Sarah's life in its entirety [...] but rather to create a fictional portrait—based as closely as possible on the facts—of her rise to fame as one of the era's most exceptional figures." As a result, he admits to "certain liberties" and use of "personal interpretation" although any errors are not deliberate.

And with someone like Bernhardt, well, I just don't know if a fictionalized account can be more entertaining than the truth.

Life has its ups and downs. You expect that in a biography or a memoir. But, here, the natural fluctuations of life end up as stumbling blocks in this "fictional portrait."

Figures come on to the scene with some flourish only to leave with a footnote, while others receive more attention than they're perhaps due (Comte Émile de Kératry), the pacing fights Gortner almost the whole way through, and the "actress" aspect can feel waylaid. Often by the myriad love affairs depicted.

Granted, I haven't done the research that Mr. Gortner has done. So, I may be off base. But if I understand his depiction correctly, the Sarah he crafts doesn't put great stock into some of them. As a result, I don't know why he did.

At some point, I did pause to wonder what the ethics are of writing a fictionalized first person account of someone's life. Even with biopics, you have some degree of separation because you're external to the subject. You have to watch them after all. But here, you're viewing the world through "her" eyes.

I certainly wouldn't appreciate someone doing that to me. But if Gortner's work is to be believed, Bernhardt might have thought it a great form of flattery. Or an even worse insult. Hard to know.

None of that is to undermine Gortner's work. There is care here and I appreciate the inclusion of a partial bibliography in his acknowledgements. I'll also admit that I did feel somewhat emotional while reading the last chapter.

It's not a book I'll be re-reading and I wouldn't recommend it if one were looking for something prosaic or heavy in the history department. However, it can be a fun jaunt, particularly if you want something to ease you back into reading or need a cursory introduction into the incomparable Sarah Bernhardt.