Newsletter 
            # 37
            January 
              10, 2003
          A new year is beginning 
            with an attack on Iraq looking more likely and less rational. Hoping for 
            some insight into war, I decided to read a war novel. I found FIELDS OF 
            FIRE by James Webb on a list of best novels of the twentieth century as 
            the best Vietnam War Novel. I don't necessarily agree with the designation, 
            but it is terrific in two areas: first, its combat scenes are totally convincing: brutal, but with the nightmare alternating with other moods. Secondly, the 
            novel made it clear to me the real reason people fight in wars. I don't 
            mean why they sign up (and the people in this book are Marines who mostly 
            chose the military), I mean what keeps them from walking away from what 
            they recognize to be the utter insanity of shooting strangers and being 
            shot. 
          The rest of FIELDS 
            OF FIRE, I could do without. It is Webb's first novel, and the background 
            stuff tends to be sentimental. Worse, the book is consistently awful on 
            women, who are sexually responsive in all situations: prostitutes adore 
            their work; a villager, as she is raped, just can't help getting carried 
            away. The novel makes an effort at creating real human beings of its black 
            soldiers, but to a man they say "doan" for "don't," as if those of us who 
            speak other dialects pronounced each final "t." (Try saying aloud "don't 
            you dare" at normal speed and transcribing the actual sounds you make.) 
          Mostly, though, 
            the book stays with its strength, which is combat and the pendulum swings 
            from combat to mourning dead comrades and complaining about food. The reader 
            even comes away with a hint of infantry tactics: how combatants place themselves 
            in the landscape, where attacks come from. And finally, you come away with 
            an understanding of why these marines keep fighting. They fight for each 
            other, for their band of brothers, to save Private Ryan. This is hardly 
            news, but it is made sharply alive in this book. They fight to save the 
            lives of their platoon, their little scouting party, their buddies. Soldiers 
            will never walk away from war as long as there is a wounded man beside them 
            or a friend killed this morning. They are motivated by an intimate desire 
            to protect and revenge one another: He would die for me, so I have to die 
            for him. Everything else may be confusing, complex, stupid, pointless, but 
            the novel sets out as a supreme value the purity of one young life sacrificed 
            for another. There is a boyish idealism at the heart of it. It is without 
            politics, and it is addictive to those who engage in it. Soldiers will never 
            stop wars; that is something civilians must organize themselves to do.
           The author, James 
            Webb, has had an interesting career: he is a former Marine and a lawyer 
            who has represented the defense at court martials. He has written other 
            novels including RULES OF ENGAGEMENT, made into a recent movie. He even 
            rose to be Secretary of the Navy under Reagan, a position he resigned over 
            fleet reductions. He has business connections in Vietnam and is working 
            on a movie version of FIELDS OF FIRE. His book is worthwhile. I just wish 
            I had skipped everything with a woman in it and a lot of the parts with 
            black guys.
                                                                     Meredith Sue Willis 
           
          
          MORE GOOD READING
           The stories in 
            Belinda Anderson's collection THE WELL AIN'T DRY YET have a disarming straightforwardness 
            that is unpretentious on principle. The people are generally more good than 
            bad, and the stories are about small but transforming changes in their lives. 
            Even a supernatural figure (an angel of death? The Holy Spirit Itself?) 
            is charmingly accessible: he tucks his pants into tooled cowboy boots and 
            drives a sports car. Everyone has the possibility for redemption: a little 
            boy whose life so far has consisted of coloring at kitchen tables while 
            his mother has sex with "uncles" in the back room is handed over to a pretty 
            sorry excuse for a father, but the story ends happily. Repeatedly, whatever 
            the dangerous or sad situation she sets up, Anderson manages to bring us 
            to a believable and upbeat finale. The collection is available from Mountain 
            State Press, 2300 MacCorkle Avenue, S.E., Charleston, WV 25304. 
          
          READERS WRITE
           Norman Julian wrote 
            in response to last month's remarks about MIDDLEMARCH: "When I retire and 
            have less required reading to do, I will try some of the books you recommend 
            on your website. Last summer, I did find time to make it all the way through 
            WAR AND PEACE, after failing in four previous tries. I was a bit disappointed 
            with what is supposed to be the greatest novel. [Tolstoy] rambles and repeats 
            himself much too often and that results in unnecessary sprawl. He could 
            have written to half the length and not lost anything of value, and maybe 
            gained millions of lazy readers who could have got through it on the first 
            try. He pays too much attention, in my view, to only that part of Russian 
            society that was aristocratic. Concurrent to reading the novel, I read some 
            of his biographical writing. In later life he regretted how he wrote that 
            book. Said it was done in a style that made it mostly accessible to the 
            elite classes, and if he were to do it over he would have aimed more to 
            the proletariat. At least that's how I understand him. We lose so darned 
            much in translation. I like the Russian novelists as a group best of all 
            the non-Americans who work in that form, but how much more appeal they might 
            have if they had written in the ‘American language.'" 
           
          Shelley Ettinger 
            writes: "Just what you were waiting for, my holiday reading report! My plan 
            to tackle ULYSSES fell by the wayside after I found myself in our little 
            Queens branch library checking out armfuls of books. Several turned out 
            to be forgettable but a few stood out. I liked THE FROG by John Hawkes; 
            although I can't say with certainty that I understood it, it appealed to 
            my sometime taste for the weird, and I enjoyed the writing style which was 
            sort of like Proust yet sort of like Kafka. I also liked I'LL TAKE YOU THERE 
            by Joyce Carol Oates. It didn't bowl me over like [her novel] BLONDE, but 
            its character portrayals and social commentary were sharp. I think she's 
            a brave writer--holds nothing back, goes way to the edge in her truth telling. 
            I've never heard her referred to as a feminist and I wonder why, because 
            she says a lot of stark, harsh things that need to be said about being a 
            woman in this society. Also she takes on racism in a way few white writers 
            ever do. I'm just finishing PERMA RED by Debra Magpie Earling. It's a painful, 
            sad story of a young woman's coming of age on the Flathead Indian Reservation 
            in the 1940s, told with beautiful writing."
           Shelley also makes 
            a recommendation to those of you in the New York area or coming this way 
            soon: " I saw DEF POETRY JAM ON BROADWAY and found it stunningly good. Just 
            exhilarating to hear the words of these talented young poets who are taking 
            the language in whole new directions, and most of whom are very political 
            to boot." 
           
          
          WEBSITE TO VISIT 
          Have you always 
            wished you had read THE DIARY OF SAMUEL PEPYS but found it too long and 
            disorganized? Well, it's disorganized because it was written one day at 
            a time without knowing the future. And now, thanks to the wonders of the 
            web, the famous record of seventeenth century life is being posted one day 
            at a time, the way Pepys wrote it at Pepys 
              Diary. It's like time travel to a web log of the past. You learn, for 
            example, that old Sam had a good dinner yesterday, except for the venison 
            pasty, which wasn't much to his taste. 
          
          
             
          
          
             
          
          Newsletter 
            # 38
            January 
              24, 2003
           
          I want to recommend 
            a book called NO NEW JOKES by Steven Bloom. This unusual novel is set in 
            Brooklyn, New York, in 1949, at the outbreak of the Korean war. The hydrogen 
            bomb has just been tested, and anti-communism is poisoning the careers and 
            lives of celebrities and others. Izzy, the main character, has a damaged 
            head: shrapnel from the Second World War and psychological damage from a 
            pogrom he experienced as a child. The other characters are damaged too: 
            some have bad hearts, some have bad marriages; his friend Mary can't bear 
            the horrors in the news. Izzy plays music in courtyards for money and love 
            and gathers with a gallery of Brooklyn guys in candy stores and grills to 
            talk and watch the World Series on a tiny television. 
          But the conceit 
            of this novel, of this sad protagonist's attempts to make love, to make 
            a life, is that every conversation and every interior monologue is larded 
            with an endless supply of Jewish jokes. Everyone tells the jokes, Jew or 
            gentile: Izzy, the women he sleeps with, the men he hangs out with, cab 
            drivers. And Izzy already knows all the jokes. He heard the original Yiddish 
            versions in his family's tavern in Europe so that he can finish any joke 
            in his mind even if the teller stops telling. Sometimes the jokes are Izzy's 
            way of explaining to himself something going on around him:
           "This Jewish kid 
            sees a guy drowning in the river so he jumps in to save him...And when he 
            pulls him out, he sees it's Hitler. So Hitler says, for saving my life I'll 
            grant you any wish. And the Jewish kid says, I want you shouldn't tell my 
            father." 
          This wonderful book 
            was never given the recognition it deserved. I have a personal connection 
            to it, too: I read it in manuscript (and a pretty smudged typescript it 
            was, as if it had been making the rounds of publishers since before personal 
            computers) when I was a reader for the Associated Writing Programs novel 
            contest. I sent this one, along with two others, to the final reader, Ron 
            Carlson, who chose NO NEW JOKES as the 1995 winner. I was as proud as I 
            am when one of my students gets a book published. 
          W.W. Norton brought 
            out NO NEW JOKES commercially, if quietly. It is now out of print, but there 
            are plenty of copies online at the online used book outlets, and I certainly 
            hope it's available in your local library. Who else has a favorite lost 
            masterpiece, or, if not a masterpiece, a really good out-of-print book to 
            recommend? 
                                                                                                Meredith 
            Sue Willis 
           
           
          
          POETRY IS FUN, FUN 
            IS POETRY 
          Don't miss Ron Padgett's 
            newest book of poems, YOU NEVER KNOW. Published by the redoubtable 
            Coffee House Press, the book works for me the way Matisse works: celebrating 
            movement and surface, which is, of course, to celebrate material life, and 
            also celebrating the spirit that suffuses life. Padgett has published a 
            lot of poetry and was one of the so-called New York School of poets that 
            included Frank O'Hara, Ted Berrigan, Joe Brainard, and many others who often 
            figure in Padgett's poems. Padgett's new poems have some sadness and reflections 
            on the second half of a human life, but as always, he follows his metaphors 
            to delightfully extreme conclusions that are at once surreal, hilarious, 
            and true. A lot of the pieces have the boxy form of prose poems, but, with 
            or without line breaks, whether light or heavy, Padgett's work lifts the 
            spirit and sharpens language. Here's a sample I chose for being short but 
            also reasonably typical:
           
          What to Do 
          "Show, don't tell," 
            they say, 
            and I agree, 
            so here, take a look at my naked body, of which 
            I will tell you nothing, and here is my naked soul,
            into which I will jump with both feet clad
            only in socks, bright red ones from which 
            sparks are flying as I whiz into its depths.
           
           
          
           READERS WRITE 
          Win 
            Thies writes in response 
              to Norman Julian's comments on Tolstoy: "Let 
              me concede I haven't even cracked WAR AND PEACE. That having been said, 
              in the context of Norman Julian's observation that he finds it sprawling, 
              undisciplined, repetitious, might it be that it could benefit from editing--?(!!) 
              Tolstoy didn't have the benefit of a Maxwell Perkins. Okay, we'll supply 
              that lack, posthumously. A skilled and sensitive editor could possibly cut 
              it in half and make it twice as interesting. ‘Less is more.' Are the canons 
              of Western literature immune to editing improvement? Surely there is a place 
              for sensitive editing for the unedited sprawling novel--however much a classic. 
              Now, there's a project...." 
          Greg 
            Sanders says he's struggling 
              with Gertrude Stein's ‘Melanctha,' the second story in the THREE LIVES collection. 
              "There are many beautiful phrases and sentences in there, but their worth 
              is diminished by the volume of bizarre repetitions and strange cadences 
              of the dialogue. The piece simply stretches on and on. I know that these 
              are all experimental elements of her style, and I found them interesting 
              at first, but how interesting would an abstract painting the size of a city 
              block be? I think I feel this more strongly with ‘Melanctha' than I did 
              with ‘The Good Anna.'That's 
                my current mood, which is changeable." 
           
          
          MONIQUE WITTIG DIES 
          Shelley 
            Ettinger alerts us to the 
              death on January 3, 2003 in Tucson, Arizona of Monique Wittig the French 
              writer and literary theorist. Shelley says she was "crazy about her work 
              in the 1970s, especially her book LES GUERRILLERES." 
          The following information on 
            Monique Wittig quotes the obituary by Douglas Martin in the NEW YORK TIMES: 
          Wittig, a French 
            writer and literary theorist whose imaginative, fiercely innovative books 
            tried to create a new mythology for the feminist movement, died Jan. 3 in 
            Tucson. She was 67 and lived in Tucson. The cause was a heart attack, said 
            Sande Zeig, her partner.
           She advocated a 
            total rupture with masculine culture and pulled no punches, forcefully arguing, 
            for example, that lesbians are not women because the word woman is constructed 
            by sexist society. In one of her novels, female warriors torture men before 
            tanning and displaying their skin. In another, paradise is full of lesbians 
            on motorcycles. Ms. Wittig's startlingly rich imagery found its counterpart 
            in her experimental literary approach: she sometimes abandoned paragraphing 
            and normal punctuation and developed a lyrical style that could be called 
            neither prose nor poetry. ...
          In the United States 
            she is probably best known among feminist scholars.... Ms. Wittig was born 
            July 13, 1935, in the Haut-Rhin region of Alsace. She earned a doctorate 
            in languages at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. She worked in Paris in 
              various semiacademic positions, including posts at the Bibliothèèque Nationale 
              and Les Éditions de Minuit, where she was a proofreader. She later wrote 
              radio dramas and became involved in feminist protests. "L'Opoponax" appeared 
              in France in 1964 and in American translation two years later. It 
                concerns children undergoing typical childhood experiences like the first 
                day of school and the first romance. It won the Prix Médicis literary award. 
           
           If 
            you use this link
If 
            you use this link
            
              You 
                Never Know: Poems
                  
                  to buy books through Amazon.com, a few 
                    cents comes back to the Newsletter writer. So far, in about five years of 
                    this program, I've made $1.90 which won't be transferred to my account until 
                    $10 accumulates sometime during the next decade. If you are interested in 
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                      Associates.
           
           
           
          
          Newsletter 
            # 39
            February 
              12 , 2003
           
          Once again shadowing 
            my son's high school English class, I reread William Faulkner's THE SOUND 
            AND THE FURY. I asked Joel if his classmates liked the book, and he said 
            everybody was confused in the beginning, but all of the "outspoken" members 
            of the class liked it. My guess is that the students are at least partly 
            motivated by pride at working through the intricate time changes in the 
            various interior monologues. Modernist experiments in stream of consciousness 
            and fractured time have never been easy to read, but I agree with the students, 
            THE SOUND AND THE FURY is worth the effort. We aren't surprised by the experiments 
            now, but our skills at complex written language of all kinds are probably 
            weaker than they were in the early twentieth century. I would think that 
            fewer "common readers" (as opposed to students and scholars) are reading 
            Joyce, Woolf, Faulkner et alia for fun. Much of what the 20th century writers 
            did as whole books, of course, has been integrated into more ordinary fiction 
            today: stream of consciousness appears even in plot driven genre stories 
            to show a disturbed mental state, for example, by broken sentences and jerky 
            bits of memory. 
          Faulkner also, to 
            twenty-first century eyes, manages his working class and black characters 
            less insultingly than a lot of his contemporaries (think of Fitzgerald). 
            Considering Faulkner's own class, race, and where and when he wrote, Dilsey 
            and her family are far fuller people than, say, William Styron's caricatured 
            black people twenty years later in LIE DOWN IN DARKNESS. Dilsey's faithfulness 
            to the Compsons is a white man's version of reality, but Dilsey has considerable 
            depth and is given respect. There is an interesting minor character in the 
            Cambridge section who makes a financial specialty of getting tips from Harvard 
            undergraduates from the South: he starts out uncle tomming them all over 
            the place, then gradually stands taller, uses less southern black dialect. 
            He is comic and not exactly an inspiration, but he is believable (keeping 
            in mind always that he isn't presented in his own voice telling his own 
            story, which would no longer be Faulkner's novel). 
          Beyond the challenge 
            of its style and some dated ideas, THE SOUND AND THE FURY really is a young 
            person's book. Faulkner was youngish when he wrote it, and his characters 
            are even younger. Caddie and Quentin are children in much of the novel, 
            and Quentin is a freshman at Harvard on his famous last day. A friend of 
            my son's, a freshman at Harvard now, came back in considerable excitement 
            to tell his high school teacher that he had found a plaque marking the bridge 
            Quentin jumped from. Issues of sexuality and intense family conflict and 
            suicide may make THE SOUND AND THE FURY the perfect introduction to modernist 
            prose.
           Bitten by the Faulkner 
            bug, I next reread SANCTUARY, a far less artful book, but gripping and quirky. 
            The first third is almost pure horror story, and yet, this strikingly violent 
            book (a lynching by fire, an indirectly described rape with a corn cob) 
            is probably a kind of comedy in that most characters end appropriately if 
            not precisely happily. The weakling Horace goes back to his wife; the victim 
            Temple Drake returns to her true role as a bored, beautiful luxury item; 
            the evil Popeye is punished, but never loses his gangster savoir-faire. 
          SANCTUARY begins 
            with its most terrible act, the rape, and then follows the consequences. 
            I remember that the first time I read this book I was totally repelled, 
            especially by Temple and her objectification. Her mere presence drives men 
            crazy, but she is incapable of any rational act of self-preservation. She 
            certainly does not deserve what she gets in this novel, but for all that, 
            she's a despicable little chit, at least as Faulkner writes her. 
          The book also has 
            passages of straight-up humor: for example, in one chapter a couple of good 
            ole Mississippi boys come to Memphis looking for sex and take rooms in a 
            whore house, never realizing that what they want is down the hall. The only 
            characters whose ending is truly sad are the moonshiner Lee Goodwin and 
            his common-law wife Ruby, perhaps the only admirable character in the novel. 
            Lee dies because he can't imagine a power higher than the little thug Popeye, 
            and Ruby, romanticized as a true ideal of Southern womanhood, the long suffering 
            mother-wife despite sexual history, stands by her man. The final impact 
            is bleak, dark, but extremely rich comedy. The joke's on us: to be human 
            is to be the butt of the gods. Not my philosophy, but Faulkner makes a good 
            case for it.
                                                           -- 
               Meredith Sue Willis 
           
          
          DEPARTMENT OF WONDERFUL 
            OLD BOOKS 
          James Still's beautiful 
            Kentucky classic RIVER OF EARTH is about the moment early in the twentieth 
            century when agrarian life and industry clashed in the Appalachian region. 
            It may be the best choice if a person is going to read only one twentieth 
            century Appalachian novel, even though my favorite is still Harriet Arnow's 
            much longer HUNTER'S HORN. Some of the dialect in RIVER OF EARTH seems to 
            me to have been transcribed in more detail than was necessary, but on the 
            other hand, it really gives a flavor of how people talked. It would work 
            well in a classroom setting, broken into thirds, giving ample material for 
            discussion of Appalachian dialect, folkways, and also industrialization 
            of the region. Sad and lovely. 
           
          
          BOOKS RECEIVED 
          Janice Haas Kasten's 
            SURVIVAL OF A CATHOLIC SCHOOL GIRL is the work of a witness. It never says 
            if it's a novel or a memoir, and in some ways it's a roughly written work, 
            not in its sentences or grammar, but in its story telling style. The narrative 
            is omniscient in unexpected places, it predicts a suicide that happens far 
            beyond the scope of the book, it explains everything. At the same time, 
            though, it's the kind of honest psychological report from the front lines 
            of human suffering that I have always found absorbing. You keep reading 
            out of a kind of awe at such honesty. 
          The setting is Louisiana 
            in the late nineteen sixties, and the main character's family follows a 
            blindly conservative brand of Catholicism that finds birth control and divorce 
            worse crimes that adultery or maybe even murder. Not that anyone gets murdered 
            here: the main character Judy is a victim of family, place, time, and even 
            a victim of her damaged self, but, happily, you are left with the impression 
            that she will come out okay in the end. Learn more about the author Janice 
            Haas Kasten and how to get her book at http://members.aol.com/jhkast/index.htm.
           
          
          READERS WRITE 
          Allan 
            Appel says: "NO NEW JOKES 
              [discussed in Newsletter #38] sounds wonderful, and I will order soon. Do 
              you know a book called STONER, by John Williams, a sort of Southerner, I 
              think, or border guy, from Arkansas. He was a professor and wrote a couple 
              of traditional historical novels, but STONER is a book about teaching. It's 
              kind of sad -- sad books alas appeal to me --- but it's about a guy utterly 
              dedicated to poetry and the word, in part because he grew up around a kitchen 
              table where the farmer parents (maybe it's Missouri) were almost completely 
              silent. Anyway, his life unravels, but his courses sustain him. I found 
              it powerful and inspirational and I guess I'm thinking about it in connection 
              with teaching. Irving Howe gave it a stellar review, if memory serves, in 
              the early 1960s, and I would be surprised if it's in print." 
          "Enjoyed the latest 
            Readers Newsletter," says Carole Rosenthal. 
            "I've recently read THE EMPEROR OF OCEAN PARK--which is quite interesting 
            on the subject of race and class, though written a bit stiffly; the mystery 
            is horrible, intricate and not credible, and I thought the book could have 
            been cut by at least 25%, but it was enjoyable and provocative anyway. I 
            don't think I would have been so critical if Stephen Carter hadn't gotten 
            sooooo much money from Knopf and all that publicity. But it really makes 
            you aware that being black in this country (or if you're a member of ‘the 
            darker nation' as Carter so puts it in his occasionally stuffy and conservative 
            style) is something you never, ever forget; no matter how well-paid, and 
            well-connected you are there is lurking suspicion and easily tapped rage 
            towards ‘the paler nation.' It's obvious why, of course, but it's worth 
            thinking about.
           "On the subject 
            of books that have been around for awhile, I'm re-reading HOUSEKEEPING, 
            by Marilynne Robinson, which is wonderful. And which is a marvel of clear 
            and evocative voice and insights about the ties of family and community 
            and history--a very wonderful American novel. I'm so sorry she never wrote 
            another." 
           
          
          PRESSES TO DISCOVER
           Phyllis 
            Moore tells us that West Virginian Jeff Mann's new collection BONES 
              WASHED WITH WINE   is now available from Gival Press. Gival will 
            also be publishing a book by Cuban/West Virginian novelist Carlos Rubio 
            Albert, whose home page is www.carlosrubioalbet.com. 
           
           
          
          
          Newsletter 
            # 40
            March 
              5 , 2003
          GUEST COLUMN ON 
            JOHN WILLIAMS 
            BY ED MYERS
           I enjoyed Allan 
            Appel's recent comments about John Williams and his novel STONER, as I have 
            admired his fiction for many decades and was fortunate to study with Williams 
            at the University of Denver during the early 1970s. I also knew Williams 
            personally through his friendship with my father, who taught for many years 
            at the same institution. A 
              few comments about Williams as a friend and teacher...
           My relationship 
            wasn't particularly deep but went back all the way to my boyhood. Williams 
            and other writers were among my parents' friends in post-WWII Denver and, 
            like many other academic households, our home was the site of more or less 
            continuous informal discussions, bull sessions, parties, and other professorial 
            off-hours activities, many of which focused on talk about the arts. I can 
            recall Williams's presence in our midst as far back as 1955, when I was 
            five. He was the first novelist I'd ever met and in many ways fit a Central 
            Casting image for a writer of that era. Short, dark-haired, and sporting 
            a neatly trimmed goatee, he dressed in a style I'd call Dapper Beatnik--tweed 
            sports jacket, beret, silk ascot. Although gentlemanly in many ways, he 
            tended to be polite but not very warm, and his dry sense of humor could 
            easily become caustic.
           From my early teens 
            on I became aware that Williams was a fine writer. He never attained a popular 
            following, but his early novel BUTCHER'S CROSSING, a coming-of-age novel 
            with an 1890s Rocky Mountain setting, drew some attention in the American 
            literary world for the quality of its prose. STONER, published in the mid-1960s, 
            inspired some favorable reviews but no popular acclaim. Perhaps it didn't 
            fit the mold of the academic novel then fashionable; it was straightforward 
            rather than ironic in its portrayal of university life, and its prose was 
            lean to the point of austere. Williams's virtues as a writer--a flawless 
            "plain style," understated dialogue, and almost invisible plots--never fit 
            the literary fads of his times. 
          In 1972, however, 
            Williams published AUGUSTUS, a historical novel about Caesar Augustus that 
            won the National Book Award for 1973 and drew the only wider attention that 
            he ever received. I can't say enough good things about this book. It's extraordinary 
            not just as an example of its genre but also as a beautifully structured, 
            perfectly written work in its own right. Presented as a series of fictional 
            letters, memoranda, and dispatches, Williams details the force and cunning 
            that allowed Augustus to defeat his rivals, among them Brutus, Cassius, 
            and Mark Antony. Perhaps most interesting, though, are the portraits of 
            other players in the drama, including Ovid and other poets. The book also 
            has one of the greatest ironic final sentences in English-language literature. 
            AUGUSTUS is so beautifully written that I've never understood its almost 
            immediate disappearance following publication, though the University of 
            Arkansas Press has had the sense to reissue it as a paperback. 
          As a teacher, Williams 
            was difficult, uncompromising, and miserly with praise. I benefitted from 
            two independent studies with him during my undergraduate years at the University 
            of Denver--a bumpy road that left me shaken at the time and deeply grateful 
            afterwards. I had finished my first novel shortly before that and submitted 
            the manuscript to Williams for comments and suggestions. Williams read the 
            book and remarked tersely when we met to discuss it. He hadn't found much 
            to like, and he said so. Let down, I revised the book and resubmitted it. 
            Williams still didn't like it. His main criticism: too much happened in 
            too short a span of time. "This book is so tightly packed it's like a bomb 
            that's ready to explode," he told me. I fished for compliments: "What do 
            you think of the prose?" His comment: "It's okay." My two terms of mentoring 
            ended inconclusively. I felt frustrated; I'd wanted more support, and I'd 
            grown accustomed to praise from writing instructors. Williams left me with 
            the sense that my book had little to offer, and that moving on to a different 
            project would be the only remedy. Within a few years I realized that he 
            was right on both counts.
           Williams died of 
            cancer around 1980. My hope is that he'll some day gain the recognition 
            he deserves as a novelist, especially for AUGUSTUS.
                                                     --Ed 
            Myers 
          Ed Myers' website 
            is at Http://www.edwardmyers.com 
           
          
          DEPARTMENT OF VICTORIAN 
            LITERATURE 
          I reread Dickens' 
            GREAT EXPECTATIONS, perfect snowed-in reading during the blizzard of ought-three! 
            Always fun, far more melodramatic than remembered, including the revised 
            and original endings, but more especially the near-murder of Pip by Orlick 
            and the last instant rescue, I had absolutely no memory of that part. The 
            boats on the river scene at the end (also unremembered by me) is nicely 
            cinematic; Miss Havisham a magnificent creation; Estella and Wemmick too. 
          What is this novel 
            about? Parenting, maybe? The failure of efforts to live your life through 
            your children? Everyone seems to be adopted and/or orphaned. I love its 
            double voice, the Then and Now Pips, and the gradual dawning of a kind of 
            affection for Pip's convict, Magwitch. A minor problem for me is that I 
            like Magwitch from the beginning, and find it a stretch to understand why 
            Pip and company are so repelled by the crusty old felon. There's some assumed 
            bias here that doesn't translate well to the twenty-first century: maybe 
            we've had so many heroic convicts and anti-heroic heroes that we don't assume 
            the shackles make the man.
           
          
           CHECK IT OUT! CHECK 
            IT OUT! NEW LITERARY ‘ZINE! 
          I'm proud to say 
            that New York University's School of Continuing and Professional Studies 
            has just launched a new online/hard copy ‘zine ( I think you call it a ‘zine 
            if it's online) called EPIPHANY.  It is scheduled to publish online three times a year with a hard copy once 
            a year, and it has fiction (of course) as well as poetry, drama, nonfiction 
            and photography. I've had the good fortune to be part of putting the magazine 
            together, and there was a neat reading/party in the Washington Square area 
            in late February. Work in the first issue includes several friends of BOOKS 
            FOR READERS: Carol Emshwiller, Shelley Ettinger, Ardian 
              Gill, Denise Mann, and Greg Sanders.
          As the guy on the 
            street in New York used to say as he extended a tray of Rolexxx watches 
            for my perusal, "Check it out!" 
           
          
           READERS WRITE 
          Denise 
            Mann writes that she enjoyed 
              Greg Sanders' story in EPIPHANY. She called it "Paul Auster-esque" She also 
              says: "Having never read Jane Austen in high school or college, I recently 
              read PRIDE AND PREJUDICE and found it extremely engaging and witty. Hard 
              to put down, actually. Now, I am reading PERSUASION which I was having trouble 
              getting into for the first hundred pages but now am truly enjoying as the 
              pace has quickened. It is extremely similar to PRIDE AND PREJUDICE and each 
              of the essential characters seems to serve similar purposes. I also read 
              ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST which I picked up at a used book store in 
              Philadelphia and I enjoyed it very much. I hear the movie is pretty good 
              too and it's on my list of movies to rent ..." 
          And Shelley 
            Ettinger says, "Last week I read Sandra Cisneros's new novel CARAMELO. 
            It's wonderful. Funny, touching, thick with rich, beautiful language and 
            insight. I also just read your recommendation NO NEW JOKES (which Barnes 
            and Noble.com does have, new, not used)--and loved it. Boy, these writers 
            who can make you laugh and cry with the same sentence!"
           
          
          MORE ONLINE NEWSLETTERS 
          The newsletters 
            online about books are proliferating. You might want to take a look at The 
              Compulsive Reader. Also, don't forget our friends the Reading 
                Divas and their publication with reviews and original fiction.
          
          MORE ON JOHN WILLIAMS
           I read STONER rapidly. 
            It really is a wonderful, sad, energetic book. It imagines a whole life, 
            including the life's death, beautifully. The life has as its highest ideals 
            personal integrity, the graceful acceptance of what life deals out, and 
            the life of the mind as it is lived in an American university in the first 
            half of the twentieth century: teaching and studying. The main character's 
            failure is the same as his strength, he is passive in the face of many bad 
            things that happen to him to the point of being a sort of male Patient Griselda, 
            and you want to tell him to stand up to his wife, to his department chair, 
            but in the end, you find yourself, the reader, accepting the man for what 
            he is.
          The other John Williams 
            books I have now read is AUGUSTUS. It is indeed a major achievement-- an 
            epistolary novel that works! Unlike Ed Myers, I think I prefer STONER-- 
            not sure why, because I usually adore historical fiction. Maybe because 
            this one takes a certain amount of effort, to go back and forth among the 
            many speakers. Only at the very end do we have a long passage in Augustus's 
            own invented voice, and I like that part a lot. In fact, for all of the 
            history and reflections on people who make world changes, this too is the 
            story of a man's life.
                                                                       -- 
            MSW