Showing posts with label classic literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label classic literature. Show all posts

Milestones

I find myself at an interesting point in my life where all sorts of things are happening, doors have closed, windows are opening, I'm well down paths I never imagined I would take.

Not quite two years ago, I had a discussion with my son about life choices I had to make secondary to my husband's medical retirement. Basically, he wanted me to throw in the towel, metaphorically speaking. It would have been an easier road, but I refused. I'm not finished yet, I insisted. I still have a lot I want to do with my life. I'm not ready to say that's all there is of me. (I was a wizened 48, so you can understand his concern).

Fast-forward nearly two years—two very intense, very trying, and sometimes seemingly hopeless two years—and here I am a published journalist, author, and content and developmental editor. Here I am, the co-owner and editor-in-chief of a micro publishing house that is fast developing a reputation for quality fare. Who would have thought it?


A review of Mechanized Masterpieces: a Steampunk Anthology came out today, published by Ricky L. Brown of Doctor Fantastique's Show of Wonders. He was kind—so kind that I can't help but share a bit of it here.


Write Mr. Brown:
          The smartly titled A Steampunk Anthology: Mechanized Masterpieces (sic) is not just a description of the stories collected in this anthology edited by Penny Freeman. The book’s forward reinforces the theme of the stories with, “Steampunk is revisionism, and what better material to expand upon than literature that bespeaks the universal human condition and has withstood the test of time?” In the spirit of brilliant classics, Xchyler Publishing has taken this definition to heart by using characters, ideas, little snippets and whole stories from literary “masterpieces” and opened up fresh new Steampunk perspectives.
          There are only eight contributions with varying lengths in this collection, with only nine authors to their credit. But be assured, each selection exemplifies the revisionist theme by introducing new angles on old ideas. Here are brief rundowns of what you can expect.
          Anthologies are tricky in that editors are encouraged to put their best foot forward if they want to grab the reader’s attention for the entire volume. Tropic of Cancer by Neve Talbot is the first installment of the collection, and a strong candidate in letting the reader know just what to expect in the rest of the book. Fashioned around the moral awareness of Charlotte Brontë’s Jane Eyre, the familiar character Edward Fairfax Rochester is the determined protagonist this time around. With the industrial challenges of a Steampunk era mixed in with a little mystical romance, the hero battles atonement to an estranged father, an ambitious brother and the empowerment of love. Charlotte Brontë would approve. (read more)

Tidbits: Tropic of Cancer

Tomorrow marks the release of my short story under the pseudonym of Neve Talbot (to honor my father, Glen Tarbet, and step-father, Leslie Neves). It will appear in Mechanized Masterpieces: a Steampunk Anthology, published by Xchyler Publishing. We will be having an online launch party on Facebook. Anyone can join in the fun here.

Be sure not to miss a thing by liking Xchyler Publishing on Facebook, and following on Pinterest and Twitter.

As part of the festivities, we will give away prizes to the first person to answer various questions. To that end, I offer a tiny sampling of my short story, which is an expansion of the classic Jane Eyre by Charlotte Bronte.

I sat at the breakfast table across from the very picture of feminine modesty and conjugal devotion. I could not stand to look at her. Ire coursed through my veins, hot and quick, and I dared not speak. I stared at the fish on my plate.

“You are not eating, my love,” my tender bride cooed. “I had thought you swam this morning.”

“Indeed.”

“Then you must be famished, especially after . . . last night.” She eyed me through her long, dark lashes. “You must keep up your strength.”

 “I told you, Mrs. Rochester, I do not care for the whole of the fish. In England, we gut it before we cook it.”

“But we are not in England, my darling. Cook knows nothing of such food. We must go there soon, that she may learn—”

“No.”

“Fairfax, darling, you promised to take me to England to meet your family. Do I so shame you that you hide me away? I am good enough for your bed but not your friends? It’s because my father is in trade, isn’t it?” Her voice grew shriller as she spoke, until it spiked through my brain. “You are so much higher than me. You treat me like the dirt beneath your boot.”

I simply eyed her. Her face screwed up into a petulant pout. Tears rushed her eyes. Her hands slapped down on the table. The crystal and china jumped. “I want to go to England!”

“When I trust you within five thousand miles of my family, we will go to England, but not a day sooner.” My voice sounded cold and flat.

“Trust me? Trust me?! You are a monster—a horrid, beastly monster!”

“Better to say an ape.”

She started at the words and glanced up at me. I stared at her blandly. She rose and went to the sideboard. She feigned concealing a fit of tears, but I knew it a ploy to add rum to her orange juice. My mind filled with images of my brother sharing his morning with the polar opposite of my angel wife. I jabbed my fork into the fish on my plate.

The tines hit something hard and screeched across the china. The exposed and torn gut glinted in a stray shaft of sunlight. Dumbfounded, I stared at the mess.

Bertha returned to her seat, glass in hand, once again the very image of a model wife. I carefully slit open the fish’s gut and spooned out the innards.

“That really is the best part, you know,” Bertha instructed, her cheeks pouched with gobbets of her own mackerel. “After the eyeballs, of course.”

I scraped away the offal, and there it was: Yvette’s pendant, chain and all. It felt as if the sun burst free of heavy clouds the moment I laid eyes on it. A freshening breeze cleared the cobwebs from my mind. I could breathe again. I still tumbled in unforgiving surf, but I thought, perhaps, I could at last get my feet beneath me.

I hope you enjoy the book, and the party. It is available on Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Kobo. 

Note to Self: Speaking vs Communicating

A while back I picked up a Regency romance when the author briefly made it a freebie on Amazon.  As I've said previously, I had been attempting to classify My Father's Son and considered Regency Romance a probable genre.  (wrong wrong wrong)  I still haven't finished that book.   More still, I've read no fewer than 23 other books since I downloaded it.

The huge problem with this book (other than totally ignoring several social mores and the egregious consequences of flouting them) is the language.  The writer aims for Austen-esque language and way overshoots the mark.  And, I know it's not just me, because my #3 DIL kept reading passages to me out loud while she perused it on my Android.  (I really did want to know if it was just me being persnickety.)

It's the same problem I've seen in other Regency romances.  People try so hard to sound authentic in their phraseology and vocabulary, dropping topical names and slang and verbage, their words cease to communicate.  They become hurdles for the reader, and, no matter the dexterity of the literary athlete, sooner or later they're going to tire out. I read this book only when I had nothing but my phone in my hands. The plot is interesting, but I just can't take it in large doses before I start tearing out my hair.

Note to Self: It's the Story, Stupid!

Recently I've been asking myself this vital question:  am I a writer? or a storyteller?  I think the answer at this point is writer.  I want to be a storyteller.  But primarily, I want to be both.  Not all authors are.

One of my favorite adaptations of
Dickens' Oliver Twist
Let's face it.  Some of the best storytellers in the English language were deplorable writers.  Charles Dickens could not structure a sentence properly to save his life.  As an editor, I writhe in agony reading his grammar. I marvel that he got away with structuring his story arcs as he did, writing for periodicals notwithstanding.  But, as a storyteller, he was second to none.  He knew how to captivate, to compel, to reach into a person's gut, grab hold and twist—and leave them begging for more.

Book/Film Review: Cold Comfort Farm by Stella Gibbons

“Well, when I am fifty-three or so I would like to write a novel as good as Persuasion but with a modern setting, of course. For the next thirty years or so I shall be collecting material for it. If anyone asks me what I work at, I shall say, 'Collecting material'. No one can object to that.”
                                          ― Stella Gibbons, Cold Comfort Farm
Book: Cold Comfort Farm
Author:  Stella Gibbons
Pages:   260
Format:  Paperback, Kindle/ebook
Publisher:  Penguin Classics (org. ed. 1932)
Book Source:   Public Library
Category:   Classic Literature
Style:   Humor, Parody









Film:   Cold Comfort Farm (TV movie) 
Starring:   Kate Beckinsale
Released:   UK:  1995; US:  1996
Format:  available in DVD (95 minutes)
Produced by:   BBC Films, BBC
Film Source:   Netflix
Category:   Romantic Comedy
Style:   PG for brief sounds of heavy breathing



Synopsis from GoodReads:

THE DELIRIOUSLY ENTERTAINING Cold Comfort Farm is "very probably the funniest book ever written" (The Sunday Times, London), a hilarious parody of D. H. Lawrence's and Thomas Hardy's earthy, melodramatic novels. When the recently orphaned socialite Flora Poste descends on her relatives at the aptly named Cold Comfort Farm in deepest Sussex, she finds a singularly miserable group in dire need of her particular talent: organization.  Read movie synopsis at IMDB.com.

My Take:

I've wanted to see this movie ever since I saw Kate Beckinsale plug it on Letterman way back in the day, but I never got around to it.  Since then, I've followed Ms. Beckinsale's work from Much Ado About Nothing to Emma to Van Helsing and everything in between.  She is a talented actress, even as kick-butt vampire Selene in the Underworld series. When I finally caught Cold Comfort Farms on Netflix, she did not disappoint.  I enjoyed it so well, I had to scrounge our local library and actually read the book.  (As much as I like Gwyneth Paltrow, Ms. Beckinsale ruined Emma for any other actor).

Film Review: Sherlock

Film:  Sherlock (miniseries)
Starring:  Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock Holmes) & Martin Freeman (Dr. John Watson)
Installments:  2010 (3), 2011 (3)
Produced by:  Hartswood Films, BBC Wales, PBS
Book Source:  Independent Purchase
Category:  Murder/Suspense
Style:  some scenes of violence & nudity 



I caught the last fifteen minutes of the last installment of Season 2 the BBC's Sherlock on PBS last night and was so blown away, I had to write about it.  Luckily, PBS has all three episodes online until the 20th of June, so I'm catching up on what I've missed.

The History

My husband has always loved and loves to own Sherlock Holmes videos.  Which Sherlock?  Take your pick.  So, a few years back, I picked up this book off a bargain table at my local Barnes & Noble.  It sat on the shelf unread.

Then, an elderly friend of mine fell and ended up in a rehab facility for several months.  The lady has macular degeneration and can see very little, so a few times a week I would visit her and read to her.  She loves murder mysteries, and so we read (aloud) this book from cover to cover—all 752 pages of it.

Honestly, by the time she was released from rehab, I was good and ready for that book to end, and I came to think precious little of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.  I found his narrative pedantic, his plots thin and predictable (to say nothing of redundant), and Sherlock's reputation for amazing deductive powers overblown.  But then, we're rather jaded, are we not—we of the CSI generation?

Film Review: The Three Musketeers (2011)

poster-The-Three-Musketeers-574x430
When I first stumbled over the previews for this 2011 Summit Entertainment release, I got the goose bumps. I mean, who wouldn’t? A timeless tale, swashbuckling heroes, stunning cinematography and Matthew McFadyen, Orlando Bloom, and their other manly men co-stars all rolled into one. How can you go wrong with that? I found myself counting the days until its release date. Then, I promptly forgot all about it. Only last week did I realize that T3M had been released on DVD, and so, of course, I picked it up from Red Box.

The cast: Matthew McFadyen (Pride & Prejudice, Little Dorrit) plays Athos, the high-minded leader of the band, with a tormented past. Milla Jovovich (The 5th Element) plays the evil seductress without a soul. Luke Evans (Clash of the Titans) plays Aramis, the ambitious cleric soldier discontented with his lot, and Ray Stevenson (Return of the Native) plays Porthos, the muscle-bound giant with a heart, as well as a taste for finery and women who can afford it. Logan Lerman (Percy Jackson & the Olympians) plays young D’Artagnon.