It’s no secret that I love the American version of The Office. I would argue that the first season of that show has some of the most hilarious television moments to date (spontaneous dental hydroplosion, anyone?). The show is tattooed on … Continue reading
I sped through Amy Poehler’s hilarious autobiography Yes Please. I did this two days ago, shirking all responsibilities and school work in the process. I meant to write about it sooner, but I had to make up for all the shirking I … Continue reading
Hi, my name is Roz, and I’m a Sherlock addict.
Waiting for season three was torture, and now it’s over. Without a regular dose of Benedict Cumberbatch in my life, I seem to need to devote that hour and a half to something else Sherlock-related, so here it is.
I was thinking about the season three premiere. It had a lot of nuggets of fandom goodness: Molly-Sherlock, Sherlock-Moriarty, even Sherlock’s survival. All of these things were present on the various Sherlock fan blogs and Tumblr sites (thanks to my little sister for informing me of that). I don’t think it’s a coincidence that Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat decided to include these fan creations. In the digital age, it’s not surprising to think that the writers of a show as fantastic and famous as Sherlock would be in touch with the fandom in some way. Maybe Mssers Gatiss and Moffit scan Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr from time to time to see what the fans are thinking. Or maybe they just hear the faint rumblings without going directly to the source. Whatever the case may be, the fans have spoken and the writers listened. (Except no one will listen to my complaints about the gaps between seasons. Come on.)
This presents a mystery only Sherlock Holmes himself could solve: What does this mean for writers? TV, movies, books, whatever. The ability to communicate directly with an audience adds a new layer of…inspiration, pressure? I recognize that the audience always drives a text. Even before social media, writers had to have some sort of audience in mind to write, otherwise why pen anything? (Side note: If you’re really interested in this, I highly recommend Walter Ong’s essay “The Writer’s Audience is Always a Fiction” in which he explains this need for an audience.) But, we’ve got this new audience-writer dynamic. What does this and will this do to texts of the future? Should fans get such a say in story lines? As a fan, I’d love it if Gatiss and Moffat listened to my idea. (Sherlock meets an adorable English master’s student, they fall in love, get married and live happily ever after.) But, I feel a little weird about the fact that they followed other fans’ theories.
I guess my ultimate concern is that the writer/creator will cease to fully own his or her text, and that by following the audience’s whims might pollute the original, pure textual idea.
My hypersensitivity is showing, of that I am most aware. But, what do you think? Should we, could we, have told Dickens what to do? What about Orson Welles or Charlotte Bronte? Is this really a writer’s problem? They have to be steadfast enough to follow their own hearts and not listen to the audience.
Thoughts?
I can’t read at night. If I do, I find myself awake in the wee small hours of the morning with my eyes glued to the page. Or I find myself awake in the wee small hours of the morning thinking about what I’ve just read. Neither is ideal because both mean that Roz isn’t sleeping. And, for the sake of the world, Roz needs to sleep.
To accommodate work, life, school and reading, I’ve devised this brilliant plan: get up before the sun and start my day with a chapter or two.
Beautiful Ruins – Courtesy of JessWalter.com
This morning, I woke up even earlier than usual because I was desperate to finish Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins. It completely engulfed me with its layered narrative, compelling plot line and empathetic characters. It’s the perfect summer read.
The novel begins in Italy in the 1960s (how much more summery could it get?). Pasquale is trying to amp up tourism on his tiny island and fulfill his father’s dream of owning a hotel at which Americans stay. As fate would have it, the doomed Elizabeth Taylor-Richard Burton movie Cleopatra is being filmed not too far from Pasquale’s oasis and an beautiful, dying American actress comes to stay.
Right off the bat, this book combined things I love: 1) Books 2) Hollywood 3) Italy.
The next chapters switch vantage points and time periods. We meet a Hollywood producer dealing with his fading star and terrible plastic surgery; his assistant deciding whether to stay in her thankless job or curate a museum; a musician coming to terms with his less-than-successful career and a life tainted by addiction; two writers, one a novelist struggling to write more than a chapter about his WWII service and the other pitching a screenplay about the Donner party; and the inhabitants of Pasquale’s Italian island, including his sharp-tongued mother and aunt. Richard Burton makes a cameo appearance, which is awesome. Everyone is lovable in his or her own way, though each has a flaw which proves to be his or her downfall.
Now, I don’t want to reveal too much, but Walters does a fantastic job of interweaving the stories of these seemingly disparate people (Shades of Mrs. Dalloway). The stories deal with love and loss, sex and scandal, success and failure – and there’s a little Italian sprinkled in for good measure. Each is poignant and uniquely touching though never overtly sappy or preachy – I appreciate all of that. (It’s best that I finished this one in the morning. Now, I have all day to mull it over.) I think my favorite part of Beautiful Ruins is the way Walter deals with life becoming something you didn’t expect or plan, how things can turn out okay even when life goes off the rails. It’s a reassuring truth that Walter handles genuinely. There are an inordinate number of dog-eared pages for a non-school novel in Beautiful Ruins because I found much of Walter’s prose to be worth remembering either for its truth or its humor or a combination of the two.
The novel reads like a movie. Walter paints cinematic pictures that would be at home on the big screen. It’s romantic with the perfect meet-cute, but one could also find bits of Italian neo-realism scattered throughout a sarcastic dramedy. Walter takes shots at Hollywood in a big-brother-teases-a-little-sister kind of way; it’s all done with good humor and admiration. (See the Donner party screenplay)
It is a magnificent read and perfect for whenever, summer especially. You’ll want nothing more than to sit on an Italian beach with a cold drink in one hand and Beautiful Ruins in the other.
Or, you know, at 5 AM in your room with a cup of coffee. That works, too.
I don’t think it’s a secret that I love reading and writing. This morning, I thought about why. What is it exactly that draws me to the written word?
I’ve come to the conclusion that it has a lot to do with the intimacy of reading. Writing a book is typically a solitary activity. An author sits down and fleshes out his or her thoughts on paper, pouring his or her soul into a passion project, unsure of whether the text will be published or even read by anyone else. It’s a terribly romantic notion.
When I read, I’m also by myself just as the author was. My mother fondly calls me “socially awkward,” so it’s only natural that I take refuge in the self-imposed solitude of reading. It’s my nose in my book. For a short period of time I tune out the world around me; my friends and family know better than to disturb Roz when she’s engrossed in a book. Between those book covers is a universe in which only I and the characters reside. To quote Jack Kelly in “Newsies,” “I’m alone but I’m not lonely” when I read.
Reading’s also great because, though you read alone, you can discuss books with others. I find my kindred spirits through discussions about literature. In these conversations, the experience shifts from solitary to one of solidarity. When I meet someone who likes Harry Potter, I immediately feel a kinship (until he or she reveals that he or she doesn’t know who Peeves is or has never heard of the potions part of the search for the sorcerer’s stone – movie fans, bah.) If a man were to quote John Keats to me, I’d marry him on the spot.
I have a habit of keeping a book in my purse/backpack under the pretense that I may find myself with some free time. But, the truth is that I keep a book with me because it serves as a sort of talisman to ward off the banality of reality. No matter what is happening during my day, having a book with me as a reminder that there is another world into which I can escape. Rough day at the office? A Moveable Feast allows me to wander the streets of 1920s Paris after a day full of sitting at the desk. Boy troubles? Wuthering Heights will quickly put my heartache into perspective because no guy could do to me what Heathcliff did to Catherine. Existentially questioning my own existence? As I Lay Dying will help with that.
As readers, we travel through time as we come to understand the thoughts and ideas of the writer. Generations are linked by texts, oceans are crossed, languages un-barriered. We can communicate with someone who lived hundreds of years before us. We partake in a conversation with someone we don’t know, have never and will never meet. Granted, this dialogue is relatively one-sided, but I believe that every reader brings something to the text even if the author never gets to hear the response. Just in picking up a book, we’re engaging in that communication and opening the doors for a more direct dialogue. That’s cool whether it’s a novel, poem, pamphlet, diary, whatever. (Maybe in 50 years, our text messages will be treated in the same way, which is an excellent reason to use proper grammar when you text. We can’t give future generations the impression that we were grammatically incompetent.)
This time traveling is even more interesting when it comes to writers who gained fame after death. Posthumous publication or appreciation of a work is all at once sad and exciting. It’s sad because that author didn’t get the chance to revel in his or her literary glory. It’s exciting because that work finally found its audience; the world caught up with it.
Take this blog post: I’m sharing the thoughts I have on a random Thursday, and you lovely readers are interacting with my ideas. Lucky for me, you have the ability to respond to this post right now. I get immediate feedback, which I pray will be positive. But, who knows? Maybe you’re reading this in the future after I’ve become a world-renowned author whose every piece of writing is being archived, even her blog posts. In that case, I want you to know that I still appreciate that you’re interacting with my text and open to a dialogue. Know that I value this written communication just as much as you do.
Roz Writes 