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August 14, 2007
I sing a simple song
Sorry, my non-office life these last two weeks has been complicated by crises of this sort and that (and by the renovation of the main bath). All of this, and the daily demands of an editor/publisher, has kept me from this blog.
But all the while I’ve been contemplating the pre-pub progress of the first two titles in our Fall season, contemplating because the books arise (of course) as a parcel of our profile. They are works among the works we always are drawn to here.
First in line is Every Past Thing, the beautifully wrought debut novel by Pamela Thompson. I have said widely that I find the book so emotionally honest and personally rich, that I may have fallen for the protagonist. It caught my interest on the first page and my heart after a couple of chapters.
The next in line is The Pirate’s Daughter, by Margaret Cezair-Thompson. This novel is the story of a Jamaican woman and her daughter whose lives are defined and inverted first by Errol Flynn, the last colonialist in Jamaica, and then by the revolutions that remade the Islands, for better or worse. Over a score of booksellers to whom we have given pre-publication looks have contacted us to rave about the novel. The Pirate’s Daughter is bright and compelling and filled with desire.
So why ponder? For good reason:
Set in New York City in 1899, Every Past Thing is a driven narrative about a powerful, heartbroken woman searching for what is left of her capacity to love and seeking to redefine herself on her own terms. But it is an interior book, a book that lives in a distant time of great social complexity, with a protagonist who assertively contemplates her own possibilities. I find it absolutely enthralling, both narratively and emotionally. But it is not a quick read.
(I do love those books that are not quick reads . . . .)
And, although it is primarily a love story, The Pirate’s Daughter portrays four generations of women and explores real issues of sexual exploitation, the blade and burden of colonialism, the cult of personality, and the causes and threats of cultural revolution. The novel is masterfully sure-footed as it crosses the sands of a world so radiant and fragrant that you can nearly taste it. And yet it carries enough of the world along with it that a book group might discuss it for hours.
So here is what I’ve been pondering (and quite a few correlative questions arise alongside): If the appropriate review of a novel must need be long, because of the complexity and richness of the Text Entire, then how do ambitious works, even novels as beautiful and moving as these two, fit into a world in which review inches are at a premium?
I don’t know. But we shall see.
Fred
Posted 14 August 2007
Posted in: Publishers Blog, | Keywords: publishers blog
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Comments
They don’t fit in. So change the world. As you and your colleagues are doing.
Perhaps those minimal review inches are creating a school of simplification, of demotion, among reviewers?
By the way, isn’t it “must needs?” Please forgive my presumption.
“Blade and burden” is a nice phrase.
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Posted by .(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address) 08/14 09:56 PM