Reading & Watching The Searchers

I have a confession. I’m a John Wayne fan. I’m a sucker for movies like McLintock!, The Quiet Man, Blood Alley, and She Wore a Yellow Ribbon, I even have Angel and the Badman on my iPod (yup watched it on that tiny screen on a bus trip once). I’ve even sat through part of The Conqueror, although Wayne as Genghis Kahn is pushing it, even for me. Suffice it to say, I have a soft spot for movies starring “The Duke”. Despite that lifelong fandom, from a young age one movie in particular has always stood out for me as being something more—bigger, richer, dirtier, edgier—a film that at twelve, I knew had depths that I wasn’t quite capable of grasping, yet if asked I would state without hesitation, that it was my favorite Western, and more importantly, my favorite John Wayne film; The Searchers.

I always knew I loved The Searchers, but it seemed like each year I saw it something else would jump out at me as to why it deserved my appreciation. At twelve, it was the revenge story of Ethan Edwards and Martin Pawley hunting down the Indians who massacred their family, at fourteen it was the presence of Natalie Wood as Comanche captive Debbie Edwards (I was in a “Natalie Wood” stage, where I would watch anything and everything with her in it—whole other story), at twenty it was the love story between Martin Pawley and Laurie Jorgensen—how I railed against poor Charlie McCorry—and an appreciation of scope and beauty of John Ford’s film, so gritty, harsh, and beautiful. Now, past thirty, I appreciate the complexity of Wayne’s performance, the overlying themes of racism, women ruined by the taint of Indians, deep hatred, revenge, lost love, and the exclusion from companionship of those incapable of releasing the strongholds of those elements on their souls. I suspect that at age forty I will have even more discoveries to make about this brilliant film, one I consider to be the greatest Western ever made.

After those statements it is clear that it was with great excitement that I picked up Glenn Frankel’s new book The Searchers: The Making of an American Legend. This thoroughly fascinating book looks, not just at the film, but at the true history behind the story The Searchers is loosely related to, that of Cynthia Ann Parker, a nine year old girl abducted by Comanche’s in 1836 amidst the massacre of her family, and the subsequent years following her uncle’s search for her and the other captives, Cynthia Ann’s eventually recovery, and the life of her son, Quanah Parker, a man with historical standing of his own (as chronicled in S.C. Gwynne’s Empire of the Summer Moon). It also delves into Wayne’s rise in fame and his interesting relationship with director John Ford, the film’s reception, and follows-up with the descendants of each player within this expansive history. Frankel manages not to only delve into the making of an American film classic, but to also provide a rich, thoroughly researched history of Texas’s origins, white/Comanche relations, the rise of Comanche chief Quanah Parker, and a look at the history of American westward expansion. This completely readable and brutally honest account of America, spanning from the 1800’s to today, is absolutely compelling. As a fiction reader who typically only reads movie related non-fiction, I was blown away with how enthralled I was with the history behind this stunning film. Frankel writes with the precision of a thorough researcher, the panache of a journalist, the depth and caring of a biographer, and the soul of a film lover. He makes readers yearn to find a showing of The Searchers in a movie theater, and delve into their DVD collections in search of John Ford films such as How Green Was My Valley, or The Quiet Man in order to better view the incredible vision of this great director. His glimpse into the story of the Parker family even pushed me towards Empire of the Summer Moon, a book that typically would not even garner a glance from me. It takes master storyteller to convey so much in a book that is more history and criticism than exciting thrill ride.

The Searchers: The Making of an American Legend will make you want to revisit history. It will drive readers toward a renewed or even brand new interest in the evolution of the American West and it will reintroduce the character of John Wayne—someone so much more than the Rooster Cogburn that is so indelibly etched into today’s movie watchers—showing them the lonely, tortured depths he was able to obtain as Ethan Edwards. These two, book and film, are perfect companions, a lovely blend of history and movie magic, created by virtuosos and should be read by every American history and film buff out there.


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What I’m Reading, February 21, 2013

This week I tore through Benjamin Percy’s upcoming (5/7/13) alternate history/paranormal/horror novel Red Moon, only to be disappointed in the Justin Cronin-like ending ‘ala The Passage, that leaves more questions unanswered than answered. The general plot is intriguing—imagine that instead of civil rights marches in the 60’s, and groups like the Black Panthers, the world was dealing with an altogether different race battle, one between humans, and humans infected with a lobos prion that turns them into lycanthropes—yup, werewolves, or in the case of this book, Lycans. So, think Freedom Marches with Lycans, instead of African Americans and how that history would be reflected in the lived today’s 21st century Lycans.

I liked the alternative history angle, putting the Lycans into the place of African Americans was interesting, and Percy seamlessly ties that past into the stories of the three primary characters living in our current time. Percy integrates college sit-ins, holocaust-like settings and persecutions for Lycans, Occupy-like protests, genetic testing, and dirty politics into a rich and complicated plot. Unfortunately, once the reader has invested time into the 544 page novel; he/she is left hanging, with no real satisfaction. I actually threw the book on the floor in frustration upon finishing it. When you invest that much time into a book you want some sort of payoff, and books that leave you with frustration and not anticipation, rarely get the sequel picked-up by readers. Hence the copy of The Twelve that is still sitting by my bed—I think I bear some resentment to my Passage frustration. I liked Red Moon, but I just don’t know if I will read the next book (whenever it comes out, my guess 2014 or 2015) for fear that I will be just as unsatisfied by the ending, or lack thereof. If that’s a style you enjoy, go for it—the story is really good, but if you are like me, with too many books and too little time for that empty feeling at a book’s conclusion—take a pass on Red Moon.

Right now I’m reading Jennifer McMahon’s The One I Left Behind, a gripping novel that follows the aftermath of a serial killer in a small Connecticut town. Written more in a more literary manner than most serial killer books, The One I Left Behind deals not only with the horror of a serial killer; in fact, its primary focus is relationships; those between outcast teenagers, mothers and daughters, family, and how what we perceive is not always what is. A good one for Book Clubs, I’m a fan—I just hope the ending is written well.

Follow-up:

I mentioned in my last post two books I was reading, Gayle Forman’s Just One Day and Carlene Bauer’s Frances and Bernard here's my quick opinion:

Just One Day was a little bit of a disappointment, primarily because the book is clearly set-up for a sequel that is to be told from the perspective of the male protagonist (or antagonist depending on how you look at it), and that takes a bit of the sting out of the emotional impact. Also, perhaps it’s an age thing, but the character’s choices are so off the wall that the believability factor was a bit low. I’ll still read the follow-up, Just One Year, but it will have to be a miraculous piece of storytelling to win me over.

Frances and Bernard was very different than I thought it would be. Slow to start, this epistolary novel was a bit tough to get into. The opening letters were deeply philosophical discussions of faith, dry and dull, with insight into the characters intellects, but lacking the emotional tug that makes readers want to know them more. Yet, once I was able to get into the groove of a story told in letters, both Frances and Bernard’s voices became very clear, with Bauer creating rich and complex characters outside of the bonds of traditional storytelling. Instead, readers are treated to two multifaceted individuals, whose friendship, and complicated love story is both bittersweet and intellectually stimulating. Not my usual “cup of tea”, but highly satisfying in terms of character development and voice. In all, Frances and Bernard was a wonderful surprise of a read.


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A Return to Chick-Lit

I used to be a chick-lit reader. It was fun, escapist, and just what I needed following years of college and graduate school. Now, I tend toward psychological suspense, dystopian futures, and really good fiction, having eschewed my chick-lit reading to my early twenties. And yet, in the midst of my busy and ridiculous schedule this week, I opted to read, not the new Chevy Stevens ARC that’s been sitting next to my bed for a week, and not the fun new Nicola Upson that features my all-time favorite director Alfred Hitchcock as a character, but a book I grabbed from my pile on a whim, The Runaway Princess by Hester Browne—a definite chick-lit novel.

Maybe it’s because I’m over thinking about serious things (I’ve been dealing with political book signings for the past couple of months and am so ready for the last one to come and go), or maybe it’s because I’m in the midst of planning my wedding and I just wanted to have a light-hearted moment, but whatever the reason, I put off the books I’ve been excited about and picked-up a cheap thrill.

The basic plot of this light read follows London garden designer Amy, as she meets Leo, the man of her dreams at a costume party, starts to fall just a little bit in love, and then finds out he’s a prince—one with a super model mother, playboy brother, debonair father, and who happens to be fourth in line for the throne. When circumstances change putting Leo‘s father into the ruling position with Leo right behind him, Amy’s already shaky self-esteem and past family embarrassment lead her into a downward spiral of nerves and mishaps, that just may take her away from her own shining prince.

Predictable—highly. Silly—absolutely. Was the main point of conflict ridiculous—yes. Still, for some reason I still found it enjoyable. Maybe it’s the wedding thing, and the romance (and craziness) of all that comes with falling in love and getting married, but this book was actually fun to read. It’s not exceptional writing, the peripheral characters are poorly developed, and the main character gets a bit annoying with her constant bouts of self-consciousness, but it moves along quickly and for the most part amusingly.

I wouldn’t go around recommending this to everyone. In two months I might even regret writing this piece, but for now if anyone is looking for a no-brainer that is relatively fun, give The Runaway Princess a look. Hopefully, it will give you that chance to breathe, before delving back into the real world and all its madness. Now it’s time to pick-up that new Chevy Stevens suspense.


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What I'm Reading This Week

For various reasons, I’ve been finding it very difficult to review as of late. Some of it has been that I have been disappointed with many of the books that have crossed my path, or I’m reading the book so far ahead of publication that I have to wait to publish, and of course time is an issue—I’m just plain busy.

In an effort to maintain some degree of criticism I’m going to attempt to map out some of the titles I’m reading each week and a few of my thoughts. If I really love or hate something I’m sure I’ll be moved to write an in depth critique, but until my schedule opens up a bit, I’m going to give this way a try.

Right now I’ve bumped my usual reading quotient down to 3 books a week. So, here’s what’s on my desk, night stand, and bedside floor this week.

Of Beast and Beauty by Stacey Jay (Release Date: July 23, 2013)
I’m all sorts of fairy tale driven these days, and since I’ve had the misfortune in the last few weeks to read a truly horrid fairy story (The School for Good and Evil by Soman Chainani—interesting premise, poor execution, and putrid ending) I was both eager and reluctant to pick-up another fairy tale inspired novel. Yet Of Beast and Beauty, which is of course a retelling of Beauty and the Beast (one of my all-time favorites) has an interesting twist that actually worked for me. In this version the hero and heroine are descendants of humans who escaped to an alien world. Isra, is a blind princess confined to her lonely tower, and Gem, a mutated boy trying to save his dying people, are the protagonists of this story, but who is the “Beauty” and who is the “Beast” is rather cleverly played with. I would recommend this one—original twist on an old tale, an entertaining and fun read.

Towering by Alex Flinn (Release Date: May 14, 2013)
Another revisionist look at a fairy tale. Towering is a Rapunzel-esque story of a broken boy, a hidden diary, and a girl possessed of magic hair locked in a tower. Flinn, the author of several other fairy tales re-workings, including the well-known Beastly, has an interesting concept with Towering, but the plot gets bogged down with bad dialogue, and an utter lack of mystery. The plot is fairly easy to figure out, and sadly it’s not really a plot worth figuring out. This one was simply put, a disappointment.

Just One Day by Gayle Forman (Out Now)
I’m a big fan of Forman’s first two novels If I Stay and its sequel/companion Where She Went—I’m interested to see what she does outside of that particular world. Preliminary reviews have been quite good, so we shall see.


Frances and Bernard by Carlene Bauer (Release Date: February 5, 2013)
Like The Paris Wife and Loving Frank, Frances and Bernard is a novel inspired by a real life relationship, this one being between Flannery O’Connor and Robert Lowell (although they are not characters in the book as is the case with the former), and told through letters. I’m reading this at the same time as the Forman book. It will be interesting to compare the two romantic themes from two very different eras (today and the 1950’s) by an “adult” author and a “teen” author.


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"Me Before You"

Have you ever picked up a novel expecting it to be a great read, but instead find yourself being pummeled with a “message”? You know the type, the ones where some highly publicized real life event is bastardized by a fiction writer in an attempt to capitalize on the sensation, or tell the other side of the story, or worse, push a personal agenda in the guise of thoughtful fiction. If you’ve ever read a Jodi Picoult book I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. Picoult fans, please don’t get up in arms, I’ve read, and enjoyed a few of those very books, but being smashed in the head with a hammer loses its appeal after a while. So, unless it’s done in a very tongue and cheek manner (thank you Max Barry) I try to avoid hot button novels.

Jojo Moyes, author of The Last Letter from Your Lover, a book I enjoyed, has produced with her newest novel Me Before You, a hot button novel, in that the story tackles the issue of assisted suicide. Usually, this has me running to me pile in search of something else to read, but in the case of Moyes’ work, what could have been a politically and socially fired look at suicide and Dignitas (a non-profit Swiss assisted dying group that helps those with terminal illness and severe physical and mental illnesses die through the aid of doctors), what readers get instead is a moving portrait of lost dreams, family, friendship, and unlikely love. Me Before You is the story of Louisa Clark and Will Traynor. At the end of her financial rope, 26 year old Louisa takes a job as companion to Will, a wealthy go-getter and thrill seeker, who is now a quadriplegic with little joy in his life, a large chip on his shoulder, and a far-reaching plan to end his suffering. As a reluctant friendship ensues, Lou must find a way to teach Will that he still has a life worth living.

This is a touching tearjerker that manages to display humor, love, and warmth. The characters are well-drawn, showing complexity that is rarely present in these types of books. Their chemistry is a blend of fire cracker and over-enthusiastic childlike behavior, that creates a constant tug of war for the readers, drifting emotionally from embarrassed discomfort, gut-clenching laughter, snide snickers, misty eyes, and gulping tears; a mixture that works to enrapture and captivate through the novel’s beautifully written conclusion.

What easily could have been a story where an author shoves her opinion down the readers’ throats becomes a wonderfully touching narrative that presents the information and conclusion softly, allowing us to digest and process in our own ways. Author Moyes handles a rather controversial subject with a deft and a respectful hand; a thoughtful way to approach such a difficult topic, one which is too infrequently used by mega-authors such as Picoult. So, if you are looking for a novel that approaches a real concept and handles it humanely, with three-dimensional characters you grow to love, scars and all, Me Before You is your book. A quietly riveting novel from beginning to end.


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Kate Morton Fandom

People are creatures of habit and to some extent, at least in terms of entertainment, fandom. This is seen in how movies, television shows, actors, music, bands, etc… are inhaled and spit out by a clamoring public. How else could there be four Pirates of the Caribbean movies (please don’t tell me you actually thought they were good)? The same concept holds for books and their authors. Even if they are not “great” or “avid” readers, everyone seems to have their favorite authors. These are the writers whose books we immediately purchase no matter the subject or genre. Some people are hooked on Martin (George R.R., that is), some on Michael Chabon, others veer towards James Patterson, Danielle Steel (don’t worry, I’m not judging you…at least in this blog), while other still are hooked on writers from our past, like Steinbeck, Austen, Nabokov, Hemingway, or one of the Bronte’s—who may not be writing anymore, but as soon as a new annotated version of Lolita, or illustrated Wuthering Heights is released, watch out, those fans are there. I have both witnessed and participated in this phenomenon. My grandmother was a big Jane Austen fan, and upon her death I found multiple copies of each Austen book (we are talking 4 or 5 copies of just Pride and Prejudice alone), as well as just about any book about Austen, her style, her home life—even a décor book—that could be imagined. That’s dedication! Now, I have my authors too, working in the book world, how can I not. My book shelves pay homage to writers like Mary Stewart, Max Barry (all but Machine Man, which I read, but couldn’t bring myself to keep), Tana French, Susan Elizabeth Phillips, and Carol O’Connell. Another author whose titles grace my shelves—and is really the topic of this blog—is Australian novelist Kate Morton.

Kate Morton is one of those novelists who create stories that sweep across time, weaving in and out of eras, switching between narrative voices and views with profound skill. Her four books The House at Riverton, The Forgotten Garden, The Distant Hours, and the newly released The Secret Keeper, all use the devise of flitting between a modern story and one from the past, by creating an intriguing mystery that leads its modern day heroine to delve into the past in order to unearth the truth. Morton’s pasts are tragic. The characters suffer—for love, for war, for sisterhood, motherhood—for life itself, creating an interesting bond between not only the “mystery-solver”, but also the reader, as both protagonist and reader have the past slowly unfurled for them. It is easy within this type of storytelling to run to the melodramatic, but Morton is adept at running on that knife edge, providing an emotional core to her plot without falling into the stereotype. Kate Morton is a magician with a pen (or, more accurately in this day and age, Word Processor). Her characters are flawed, three-dimensional beings and her settings are richly defined without dragging the reader into a dull description of the landscape that more often leads to skimming, than appreciation. While her mystery plotlines, or rather twists are a touch on the predictable side, it is easy to overlook when confronted with such a rich tapestry of character and place.

In her newest novel, The Secret Keeper, Morton excels at connecting the story of Laurel, a well-respected older actress, with that of a trio of young people living in London during the Blitz. The novel interlaces the lives of Vivian, Dolly and Jimmy, switching between their narratives with that of Laurel as she struggles to unravel the mystery surrounding her mother and the long ago death of a visiting stranger at her home. In a time where I have been struggling to find a book I really love, The Secret Keeper has been a welcome breath of fresh air. Along with another of Morton’s books, The Forgotten Garden, The Secret Keeper has created characters and storylines that have enthralled me. I really can’t do them justice in explaining how Morton’s characters ignite a spark of compassion, an emotional link really, that is difficult to find in other novels. Her books are much more than good stories, they are in a sense, epics; not so much in the sense of something like the Ken Follett books or Gone with the Wind, but in the sense that her creations, these beings developed in her imagination, are really brought to life in a way that leaves vestiges of them in your mind long after you’ve put the book back on the shelf.

So, you readers with supreme author allegiance and a yen for good fiction, here’s my challenge—pick-up a Kate Morton book, read it, enjoy it and then move on to the next. Before you know it you will have a Kate Morton section of your book shelf too.

 
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Classic Hollywood Revisited

Iconic Hollywood stars have frequently been the subjects of books. There is always a new bio or photo book featuring the likes of Audrey Hepburn and Grace Kelly, or a new biographical look at Humphrey Bogart, Bette Davis, or Joan Crawford; even Hedy Lamarr got her intellectual due in Richard Roades’ Hedy’s Folly: The Life and Breakthrough Inventions of Hedy Lamarr, the Most Beautiful Woman in the World. In Fiction, there too have been glimpses into the possible lives of these larger than life figures; from Susan Elizabeth Phillips’ look at Errol Flynn in Glitter Baby, Marilyn Monroe in multiple books, including Joyce Carol Oates’ Blonde and the current The Empty Glass by J.I. Baker, Louise Brooks in Laura Moriarty’s The Chaperone, to Frank Sinatra and Jackie Gleason in Don DeLillo’s Underworld. The point is, celebrities, particularly those from the halcyon days of yesteryear are frequent subjects of the written word. Many of these works are interesting and informative, some preposterous and maddening, but mainly they are a type of book that draws readers looking for sensationalism or a glimpse at an era that never ceases to fascinate. So, I was not too surprised to come across several books this summer that dealt with the classic Hollywood scene, but I was surprised by their quality, particularly that of two novels, Emma Straub’s Laura Lamont’s Life in Pictures and Jess Walter’s Beautiful Ruins. The books are incredibly different in context and presentation, deal with two different eras of Hollywood, but both are well-written snap shots of a time and people that continue to fascinate us.

While Laura Lamont’s Life in Pictures does not feature a real-life celebrity, it does perfectly recreate the feeling of the studio-machine driven age of cinema. From the height of the studio system in the 30’s and 40’s to the revamped look of the late 70’s, this is a novel that brilliantly evokes the life and times of a studio-made star. Laura Lamont’s Life in Pictures follows young Elsa Emerson, a girl raised within her parent’s Wisconsin theater company who plots her way to Hollywood and is remade for eventual stardom as the glamorous Laura Lamont. This is more than a novel, it plays out like a 1950’s film, or even one of those epic studio stories (some true, some fabricated) of how someone became a star. In fact, I had a hard time not picturing someone like Lana Turner in my mind while reading this novel. It unfolds like a brilliant melodrama—a suicide, teen marriage, divorce, marriage to a studio head, stardom, age—and yet, this novel is wonderfully written, not a dramatic soap opera, but a sort of love letter to the Golden Age of Hollywood and its products, the movie stars. A deceptively simple story, Laura Lamont’s Life in Pictures is surprisingly gripping in its honest humanity, and cleverly written characters. Straub’s obvious love of this time period within the movie-making world helps to round it out presenting a well-thought out, interesting novel with remarkable understanding of the era, Hollywood studio system, and what it meant to be an aging female film star during this time period. In all it’s a fresh and charming new novel, perfect for classic movie fans.

Beautiful Ruins is an entirely different beast. Unlike the linear third-person limited narrative of Laura Lamont’s Life in Pictures, Beautiful Ruins is told via a multiple third-person narrative that bounces not only between characters, but also through time, place, and at points leaves the primary story to show excerpts from fictionalized books and screenplays. From 1962 Italy and the filming of Cleopatra (the most expensive US movie), to current Hollywood, with sections in Scotland, London, Seattle, and Idaho thrown in; Walter’s unique style creates not only a touching story of a love that could have been, but also a deftly drawn portrait of the demise of the movie star as an untouchable god (pre extreme-paparazzi), and the transition from epic films to reality garbage, lacking any sense of prestige and glamour. It adroitly shows the inner workings of film publicists and producers looking to exploit everything and anything to sell their products, the turmoil created by the desire to be famous, post-traumatic stress, and the general narcissism and technological dependence of the current generation. On the Hollywood front, actor Richard Burton is takes a co-starring role—his actions literally spur the plot of the entire story—his drunken escapades, remarkable talent, and on-set affair with co-star Elizabeth Taylor (prior to their 2 marriages) are imaginatively recreated, using much of the lore and fact that fans have come to associate with the couple’s tumultuous relationship. The addition of an ill actress (a fictional character who is part of the Cleopatra cast), an alcoholic former solider/writer, a canny and amoral publicity grunt, and a young Italian trying to save his dying hotel, help to create a setting that is almost film-like itself in its capture of drama and occasional bouts of comedic flair. The sections taking place in current times are less thrilling, far more irritating in view of the younger characters’ self-absorption—one is looking to sell a ridiculous screenplay based on the Donner Party, the other is a production mogul’s development assistant/lackey with a dependence on data fixes and a porn addicted boyfriend—but Walters uses them effectively in bringing together the threads of the story as it bounces between decades and characters. In all, Beautiful Ruins is intriguing, very stylized in its presentation, and a wonderful look at Hollywood’s transition from its Golden Age.

There are so many books published dealing with this theme that it can be daunting to take on the task, particularly for a fan of classic films, not looking to see their favorite star/era/movie diminished in stature, but taking up either of these novels, whether it be the stylized Beautiful Ruins, or the homage to the studio system of yesteryear within Laura Lamont’s Life in Pictures, readers are sure to find pleasure within their pages. Great reads for readers of varying styles and a love of interesting characters.
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