Mrs. Harris and Angel Falling Softly

I just finished reading, for the second time, Mrs. Harris by Diana Trilling and Very Much a Lady by Shana Alexander. These are both true-crime books (although Mrs. Harris is really more a memoir of Trilling's experience at the trial) of the murder of Dr. Tarnower in the late 70's (the trial ran into the early 80's) by his lover, Jean Harris.

I reviewed both books on Amazon.com when I first read them. My opinions haven't changed substantially although I am more in agreement now with Trilling (I admire her bravery in not accepting Mrs. Harris' view of herself--a view Mrs. Harris managed to sell many people on--as a woman of integrity who just happened to go off the rails).

The one major difference, and this is probably my age and experience (no, I'm not married; I just know more than I did in my 20's) is my pity for Dr. Tarnower.

I don't doubt the guy was a sleazebag. I don't doubt that I wouldn't have spent two minutes in his company. But I do feel pity for his final hours.

Basically, Jean Harris was in love with Dr. Tarnower. At one point, he offered to marry her but changed his mind. She accepted the situation. She accepted his mistresses. She continued to go on trips with him and to stay at his house despite having, towards the end, a serious (younger) rival. She accepted his coldness, his indifference, his rudeness, his blatant degradation of her.

She was also taking a massive amount of "uppers," prescribed to her by Dr. Tarnower. I consider these prescriptions (made out in different names to avoid problems at the pharmacy) to be Dr. Tarnower's major contribution to his own death although I seriously question the so-called integrity of a woman who doesn't balk (and later claims not to notice) taking prescriptions in other people's names for nearly 10 years. When Tarnower was killed, Jean Harris was in massive withdrawal. If she had meant to kill herself and had succeeded, her family could have sued the doctor for malpractice (and won a bundle).

So the night of the murder (and whether Harris intended to kill Tarnower or to kill herself, Tarnower ended up dead, and he ended up dead because the stupid woman brought a gun into his bedroom, so I call it murder), Harris drives up to Tarnower's house in Purchase, New York, goes in, sits on the bed next to his, tells him she needs to talk and waits for him to . . .

Trilling, Alexander, and Harris herself correctly diagnose that Harris expected a confrontation with some accusations, some tears, and finally, some tenderness. She probably played and replayed the scene in her head as she drove the five hours to Purchase. But Tarnower didn't respond. He knew she was coming and didn't leave the light on. He was grumpy when she woke him up. Even after he was fully awake, he didn't want to talk, closing his eyes and hoping she would just drop the whole thing and go to bed.

So Harris wanders into the bathroom, sees his other woman's stuff, and all hell breaks loose . . . in a very literal way.

Both Alexander and Trilling fault the doctor for not responding to Harris' distress that night. Okay, so she woke him up, but once he was awake, he should have responded like he would have to a man friend; he should have noticed her condition was worse than usual. The murder could have been averted if . . .

Alexander and Trilling have the honesty to admit that, well, that really wasn't the guy's modus operandi, was it, and how stupid was Harris anyway? But I think they both miss another factor, the thing that causes me to feel sorry for Tarnower.

Harris didn't leave Tarnower despite every instigation to do so. He made her happy, she claims in letter after letter she sent him after their jaunts abroad and to Florida. She can't live without him. Alexander correctly perceives that Harris needed to believe she was wasting her time on a worthwhile person. Trilling more perceptively points out that Harris would have had to re-evaluate her own taste and choices (and supposed high ideals) if she'd accepted Tarnower as he actually was. In any case, the letters and Harris' later reactions indicate that Harris needed this guy to be on a pedestal, and she invested everything he did with pedestal-quality meaning--with all the attendant pathos. (She basically created her own little Gothic romance.)

Towards the end of her book, Alexander points out that Harris didn't always remember things correctly. If Tarnower said five mean things to her in a conversation and one nice thing, she remembered the nice thing: the nice thing became the only thing the conversation was about. And while I'm sorry Harris felt the need to do this, I'm mostly sorry for the guy. Because living on a pedestal can be tiring. Having your every action, whim, bad temper, passing comment, minor thought, absent-minded choice invested with THAT MUCH MEANING would be unbelievably exhausting.

I'm not saying Tarnower is a complete innocent here. When he was younger, I'm sure Tarnower enjoyed Harris' adulation. He was an arrogant, self-involved person, and it probably gave him a thrill to have a reasonably intelligent, well-read, pretty woman think he was "all that." But as he got older, it would have just tired him out. I think it is notable that the two women he went back to (without dumping Harris) in his later years were women who accepted him as he was. The first woman accepted him as he was and walked away from the romantic side of their friendship because, well, she saw him as he was. The second woman, the direct rival to Jean Harris, Lynne Tryforos (and the only person involved in the case who behaved like a real lady: one who kept her thoughts to herself), saw him as he was and worshipped him. No matter what he did, she thought he was wonderful. No matter how few the crumbs he scattered, she gathered them up. He didn't have to do anything. And sure, that's sexist, and no self-respecting woman would put up with it, but the guy never pretended he was anything else than how he behaved. In fact, you get the impression that towards the end, he was trying to force-feed the notion of his own self-involved importance down Jean Harris' throat: this is who I am, I'm not going to change, nothing is going to be different, this is who I am, let it go.

Unfortunately, Jean Harris was just smart enough and just proud enough and just besotted enough with her "script" (as Alexander calls it) to need more than crumbs and indifference. The relationship had to have meaning: meaning to her, meaning to him, meaning to her sense of self, meaning to her past, her future, her life, her career, meaning, meaning, meaning.

The guy was nearing 70; can you blame him for being tired of it all? I don't think Tarnower noticed anything different in Harris when she showed up that night. Based on Alexander's excellent, detailed summary of their relationship, it was the same "I want you to play a role with me" as always. And he didn't want to play. And he ended up dead.

As the dominatrix on CSI points out more than once, in a domination/submission relationship, the submissive party does have power. It's no bizarre mischance that the supposed dominant party in the Scarsdale murder ended up dead. The woman who made the relationship out to be something it wasn't triumphed; she killed the disillusionment and hence, enabled herself to live forever in her disillusion. And he may have been a jerk, and he may have brought some of it on himself, but he and his family didn't deserve that. (Although from a Freudian point of view, if one puts an Electra complex into motion, one should hardly be surprised by the result; still, despite reading Herodotus, I don't think Tarnower was prepared for Greek myths to re-enact themselves all over his bedroom.)

I mention this case, despite its datedness, because this whole business of creating unreal, perfect heroes has come up recently in exchanges I've been reading. Most of those exchanges regard Twilight; however, I've beat up on that series quite a bit lately here and elsewhere, and, at the end of the day, I think the series for most fans isn't anything more or less than a fun read. However, my brother Eugene's book, Angel Falling Softly, has recently come under fire, and I can't help but be miffed by a similar audience base that prefers unreal heroes to real, fallible people. (I'm floored by readers who can't tell the difference between amoral literature, where characters end up doing the "right thing" not from choice but through some kind of accidental karma--because they are supposed to--and moral literature where the characters actually grapple, sincerely, awkwardly, with moral issues.)

It isn't just that unreal heroes don't exist or that unreal heroes always cause problems; it is that the belief in unreal heroes can hurt all the parties involved. Sure, the disillusioned Mrs. Harrises get hurt, but the Tarnowers, who never pretended to be better than they were, end up dead. Everyone is fallible. Very few people, as Buffy points out in "Earshot" know what's going on in another person's mind; we don't know other people's scripts; we don't always anticipate what is expected of us. Investing anything--anyone--with the idea that it ought to be perfect, from presidents to governments, from religious institutions to marriages, can result in a great deal of unnecessary collateral damage.

BOOKS

Twilight Discussion Between Carole & Kate

I started Twilight by Stephanie Meyer a few months ago for a book club and never finished. Therefore, I don't feel qualified to talk (much) about the series. However, my friend Carole has read the three books in print (the fourth comes out in August--since we both criticize the series, I figure a little promotion as an apology isn't amiss) and has become progressively disenchanted. Here are her thoughts. I respond at length in the first comment.

Carole's First Point:

Bella’s flaws, while present in the books, are not clearly communicated as the underlying problem in the story.

From Stephanie Meyer's website:

Q. What are the characters' biggest mistakes in Eclipse, their tragic flaws?

A. Bella's is a lack of self-knowledge; she never would have pursued her friendship with Jacob if she had realized how much more than friendship it really was. You don't give up your friends when you fall in love; however, you do give up your other romantic interests. If Bella had understood herself better, she could have saved everyone a lot of heartbreak. Sometimes that happens when you try to do the right thing.

Carole: The biggest problem with the books is that there is no outside element telling the reader that Bella has a lack of self-knowledge and is handling the relationship with Jacob poorly, except Jacob himself and only at the beginning of the book. The first chapter of Eclipse starts with a note Jacob writes to Bella:

Bella,

[scratched out] I don’t know why you’re making Charlie carry notes to Billy like we’re in the second grade – if I wanted to talk to you I would answer the
[scratched out] You made the choice here, okay? You can’t have it both ways when
[scratched out] What part of ‘mortal enemies’ is too complicated for you to
[scratched out] Look, I know I’m being a jerk, but there’s just no way around
[scratched out] We can’t be friends when you’re spending all your time with a bunch of
[scratched out] It just makes it worse when I think about you too much, so don’t write anymore
Yeah, I miss you too. A lot. But that doesn’t change anything. Sorry.

Jacob

Even though the problem (Bella's lack of self-knowledge) is stated here, it is later blurred by events and, more annoyingly, other people’s actions. In the first chapter, Charlie, Bella's father, says, “You’re hurting Jake’s feelings, avoiding him like this. He’d rather be just friends than nothing.” Edward says his objection to Bella seeing Jacob is Edward's concern for her safety, not because her relationship jeopardizes Edward and Bella’s relationship. (Edward's reaction really is jealousy, but Edward only admits this to Jacob--not directly to Bella--and Edward is always able to rise above his jealousy to do what’s in Bella’s "best interests.") Even Jacob tells Bella she is welcome to come by. (I can buy this, though. Jacob decides he wants to fight for her. Stephanie explains that on her web site, and I can see that.)

Considering Edward's overall reaction to Jacob . . . it felt entirely uneven, especially since Edward continues to exhibit controlling behavior in other minor but concrete ways. Edward goes from being insufferable to being overly magnanimous towards Jacob, to the point of allowing Jacob to do something for Bella.

Near the end of the book, Bella does realize that she can’t be with Edward and stay friends with Jacob because it hurts everyone involved, and she decides to tell Jacob that they can’t be friends. She begins to, but then Jacob tells her that he might die in the impending fight. She freaks out and begs him not to leave. Jacob asks Bella to ask him to kiss her. She does, and during that kiss, she realizes that yes, she does love Jacob, but not enough to not be with Edward.

But she never really makes the difficult choice. Even after the above scene, when Jacob gets hurt in a fight, Bella goes to him. She doesn’t even stop to think that her decision to walk away is the right one. She is still committed to Edward, and Jacob knows that, but when she gets ready to leave Jacob, she tells him she will come back or stay away depending on what he wants. This might seem selfless, but it also allows her to not make the choice. She’s asking Jacob to decide, but the decision doesn’t just affect Jacob’s happiness. It’s also affects hers and Edward’s.

I understand what you [Kate] mean when you say the Buffy writers didn’t portray Spike as bad, they just wanted us to think that. Here it’s the same thing. Stephanie says that Bella not letting go of Jacob is a problem, but the events and characters in the book don’t lead the reader to that conclusion. It’s acknowledged in the beginning and end of the book, but in the middle of the book, it’s forgotten. Not only does Bella associate with Jacob without considering the consequences, but Meyer allows the reader (not counting people like [Kate and Carole who are over the age of 21]) to forget the consequences too. The reader never forgets that Jacob loves Bella [which causes problems for all concerned] . . . but the events are manipulated, so it seems acceptable for Bella to be around Jacob.

Bella doesn't consciously choose what man to be with.

From Stephanie Meyer's website:

Q. What's the deal with Bella just falling in love with Jacob in the eleventh hour of Eclipse? Don't you believe in true love anymore? What happened to blacken your soul, woman??

A. First of all, let me say that I do believe in true love. But I also deeply believe in the complexity, variety, and downright insanity of love. A lucky person loves hundreds of people in their lives, all in different ways, family love, friendship love, romantic love, all in so many shades and depths. I don't think you lose your ability—or right—to have true love by loving more than one person. In part, this is true because you never love two people the same way. Another part is that, if you're lucky, you learn to love better with practice. The bottom line is that you have to choose who you are going to commit to—that's the foundation of true love, not a lack of other options.

Next, Bella does not fall in love with Jacob in Eclipse. Bella falls in love with Jacob in New Moon. I think it's easy to understand why this fact doesn't occur to her. Bella has only fallen in love one time, and it was a very sudden, dramatic, sweep-you-off-your-feet, change-your-world, magical, passionate, all-consuming thing (see: Twilight). Can you blame her for not recognizing a much more subtle kind of falling-in-love?

Does this love devaluate her love for Edward? Not for me. For me, it makes that perfect true love stronger. Bella has another option. She has a really good one. An option that's easier in many ways, that takes nothing—like her family, present or future—away from her. She would have love, and friendship, and family—an enviable human future. But she chooses Edward over all of this. This makes it real for me.

Carole: The last paragraph is where I disagree and get annoyed. I think the love Bella comes to have for Jacob is one hundred times better and stronger than what she has for Edward, but the book doesn’t support that Bella made a choice. In fact, Bella says she has no choice. When she goes to Jacob after he is hurt, he realizes that even though Bella knows she loves him, she will stay with Edward . . . to which she replies:

The worst part is I saw the whole thing—our whole life. And I want it bad, Jake, I want it all. I want to stay right here and never move. I want to love you and make you happy. And I can’t and it’s killing me . . . I never had a choice (emphasis added.)

This completely contradicts what Stephanie says above. She claims that Bella is making a choice, but throughout the whole book, Bella stays with Edward, not because she likes that future better than the one that she could have with Jacob, not because Edward makes her happier (though I think Stephanie believes he does), but because Bella cannot live without Edward. Earlier in the same conversation, Jacob makes the following, very astute observation:

He’s like a drug for you, Bella. I see that you can’t live without him now. It’s too late. But I would have been healthier for you. Not a drug; I would have been the air, the sun.

Putting aside the question of whether Bella needs either man for survival (I quite disagree with that [so does Kate!]), I agree with Jacob. Jacob is more natural, more nourishing, more comfortable. Bella doesn’t disagree with Jacob either. In fact, she tells him, “I used to think of you that way, you know. Like the sun. My personal sun.” She doesn’t explain how Edward is not like a drug (i.e., he’s like water or a breeze or anything else remotely healthy). She even tells Edward the same thing:

You may be brave enough or strong enough to live without me, if that’s what’s best. But I could never be that self-sacrificing. I have to be with you. It’s the only way I can live.

In her answer above, Stephanie says, “Bella has another option. She has a really good one. An option that's easier in many ways, that takes nothing—like her family, present or future—away from her. She would have love, and friendship, and family—an enviable human future. But she chooses Edward over all of this.”

I don’t believe that Jacob is the easier option. According to the book, he’s the harder option because he would be the more painful option. Never once did Bella consider the best option.

Bella admits that had there been no Edward, no vampires, no magic, Jacob would have been the natural choice for her and she would’ve been happy. As I said to you [Kate] earlier, the whole “love is a spell and is inexplicable” thing is entirely beyond my grasp.

Stephanie doesn’t know what makes a good romance good.

From Stephanie Meyer's website:

Q: If you pitched the first book to publishers as a ''suspense romance horror comedy,'' which of those do you think your books are most?

A: I think that it's romance more than anything else, but it's just not that romance-y. It's hard to nail down, but romance tends to be my favorite part of any book or movie, because that's really the strongest emotion. Orson Scott Card is my favorite: The romances are a small part of his books, but they bring his people to life.

Carole: Show me a more "romance-y" book, and I’ll show you a pile of complete and utter blech. I seriously don’t think you could find a more "romance-y" novel in the fantasy genre, so if Meyer thinks she’s anywhere close to what OSC does in his books, she has another thing coming. I think I know what she’s trying to say because I feel the same way: OSC’s romances are great because they are important, but with OSC, the characters fall in love while doing other things, and they have motivations besides their beloved. In the Twilight saga, every thought and action made by Edward, Bella, and even Jacob is motivated by their respective love interest. There’s no action that Edward takes that doesn’t revolve around Bella; there’s no decision that Bella makes that isn’t tied to Edward or Jacob; and there’s no limit to what Jacob will do to get Bella in the end.

Stephanie says that these books started out as a dream, and she kept writing to see where the story goes. What this tells me is that she’s not thinking a lot about character development or motivation or plot as she writes, and any analysis of the book she’s done is after it’s written. I think that style of writing is very different from the kind writers do when they take complete control of the characters. It makes me think that writers who just let the characters do whatever they want are bound to write stories that aren’t as tight, or as thoughtful, or even as interesting as they could be. I might be wrong, though. There might be lots of books that I enjoy that are written that way.

BOOKS

Persuasion Characters Over 36 Years

I have now seen Persuasion (1971), Persuasion (1995), and Persuasion (2007). Here are my comparisons of how the characters in these versions are portrayed:

Anne:

1971 Anne and Captain W.

I think Persuasion (1971) is unfairly criticized. Yes, it is stilted and mannered. Yes, it painstakingly keeps to the plot (although the camera work isn't totally unimaginative).

But Ann Firbank as Anne is perfect. Anne is supposed to be a quiet but not timid person. She is supposed to be intelligent with an astute understanding of the people around her. She has good sense, good taste and, when called upon to do so, speaks her mind. She is the perfect companion for the incredibly straight-forward but somewhat more impetuous Captain Wentworth.

Ann Firbank presents this persona perfectly. She has a nice alto voice, an elegant bearing, and the ability to speak to the point without being aggressive. She also, more importantly, has the ability to hold her peace without looking put upon. Yes, her family ignores and slights her, but Anne has confidence in herself. In the book, many people compare Anne to her mother, a self-possessed and elegant woman.

The lovely Amanda Root

The book also makes numerous references to Anne's superiority. One is not supposed to suggest such things in this day and age but "superiority" (re: Jane Austen) means that Anne is not only more educated than, say, Louisa Musgrove but that she has a better mind. It is not a matter of SAT scores but a matter of what Jane Austen sometimes calls "understanding." We would call it insight although that implies Myers-Briggs intuition silliness. "Discernment" might be the best word--a person who can distinguish what is worthwhile from what isn't; a person who is not taken in by flashiness or gaudiness but doesn't automatically dismiss them either.

Ann Firbank does this perfectly. I quite like Amanda Root (1995), who manages to retain her dignity despite her portrayal of Anne as incredibly shy and retiring. I'm afraid I didn't care for Sally Hawkins' (2007) portrayal at all.

Captain Wentworth

Rubert Penry-Jones as

Captain W.

I couldn't warm to Bryan Marshall (1971). He doesn't have the charisma of either Ciaran Hinds (1995) or Rupert Penry-Jones (2007). I think Captain Wentworth is a difficult character to cast. Unlike Darcy, who is given specific actions to indicate definite characteristics, Captain Wentworth's character is defined mostly in his reactions to Anne. His reactions are realistic. I am not an advocate of the idea that a writer can only write what she knows (oh, Jane Austen must have had similar experiences as those portrayed in her books), but Jane Austen did have brothers, and her depiction of Wentworth's anger towards Anne (an anger that is neither excessively hostile nor excessively sappy) is about as accurate a depiction of thwarted male pride as one is apt to find in classic literature.

But how to portray him? Rupert Penry-Jones captures the strong feelings Wentworth has for Anne. Ciaran Hinds captures the authoritative bearing of a leader. Bryan Marshall is, well, rather blank (he does have a sense of humor).

Any suggestions for the perfect Captain Wentworth? Is there an actor out there who can pull it off?

Musgroves

I consider the 1995 Musgroves the best version of the Musgroves. They are happy, buoyant, funny, kind, not exactly intellectual but full of activity. Mary (1995) is also right on the money. She does the poor-me-all-I-can-talk-about-are-my-ailments (despite actual fine health) act very well. She and Charles are also a more believable couple than in the other versions. You can believe that when Mary isn't swooning about trying to attract attention, she and Charles actually get on fairly well. They share an interest in gossip and have similar viewpoints.

The awesome 1995 Crofts.

The Crofts

I adore the 1995 Crofts. They are down-to-earth and friendly and yet, like Anne, superior in their understanding of the world. One of my favorite scenes from 1995 is Mrs. Croft's speech at the dinner table where she explains how the only time she "imagined herself ill" was when she was separated from her husband; while she speaks, her husband, listening attentively in the background, smiles to himself. It helps that Mrs. Croft is played by the excellent Fiona Shaw and Admiral Croft by the wonderful John Woodvine.

Sir Walter Elliot and Elizabeth Elliot

I love Anthony Head (Sir Walter, 2007), but I think he plays this particular part too mean. Sir Walter is a seriously vain man who doesn't realize how ridiculous he is. He isn't angry, storming guy; he is vacillating, self-involved guy. We, the audience, should find him amusing (even if he doesn't find himself amusing). Basil Dingman (1971) is actually quite good and very funny. Corin Redgrave (1995) is so good, he makes you wince. (In fact,  Anne's 1995 family is almost too horribly self-involved. You start wondering why they don't just get eaten by sharks or show up in a CSI episode dead. We, the readers and audience, need to believe that Anne can care for these people. If they have no redeeming characteristics, you start to think Anne is a bit of an idiot.)

Mr. Elliot

Again, 1995 Persuasion does it best. Good old Samuel West can do anything, and he delivers a believable portrayal of a charming yet ultimately shallow and worthless person. Tobias Menzies (2007) is far too smarmy. His Mr. Elliot would never take in Lady Russell; he just makes your skin crawl. 1971 Mr. Elliott is rather a non-entity (which, in a way, is kind of the point of Mr. Elliott).

[Of course, in my version, Persuadable, he is quite different, being charming but also acerbic and amused.]

Lady Russell

The 1995 Lady Russell is well-done. I can believe in her influence over Anne. She also has a modern (for Jane Austen's time) appearance and attitude. However, she is so overbearing, it is hard to believe that Anne was right to trust her seven years earlier. 1971 Lady Russell, while still being forthright and opinionated, is much more motherly and gentle. It is believable that Anne would have listened to this person who had her best interests at heart. Okay, okay, so 2007 Lady Russell IS Alice Krige (the Borg Queen for you Voyager fans), but, like most of the 2007 Jane Austens, the action goes by so quickly, you don't really get to know her.

Captain Harville and Others

1995 Harville

The trying-to-fit-all-of-Austen-into-90-minutes 2007 version gives the minor characters short shrift. The 1971 and 1995 versions are much better in this regard. I prefer the 1995 Captain Harville, but I must mention Michael Culver who plays Captain Harville in the 1971 version. He is one of my favorite actors; he plays Prior Roberts in the Brother Cadfael series and shows up in the occasional PBS mystery.

1971 Harville

Actually, to be fair, the 2007 Captain Harville is pretty decent, but you have to be paying close attention.

2007 Harville with Anne

The Benwicks are fairly interchangeable. The one aspect of Persuasion (1971) I really like is that Louisa flirts with Benwick—we are given some warning of Louisa and Benwick's later romance. On the other hand, Jane Austen's explanation for that romance is completely, and hilariously, believable:

Where could be the attraction [between Louisa and Benwick]? The answer soon presented itself. It had been in [the] situation. They had been thrown together several weeks; they had been living in the same family party. [Anne] was persuaded that any tolerably pleasing young woman who had listened and seemed to feel for [Benwick], would have received the same compliment. He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody.

Both 1971 and 1995 Mrs. Smiths are lovable. The 2007 Mrs. Smith bears little resemblance to the book and is totally misused plot-wise. Speaking of Mrs. Smith, I must give Jane Austen's description of her:

[Mrs. Smith] had moments only of languor and depression [compared to] hours of occupation and enjoyment. How could it be? [T]his was not a case of fortitude or of resignation only. A submissive spirit might be patient, a strong understanding would supply resolution, but here was something more. Here was that elasticity of mind, that disposition to be comforted, that power of turning readily from evil to good, and of finding employment which carried her out of herself, which was from Nature alone. [This is my version of Mrs. Clay--only with a little more moxie and a lot more sardonic wit.]

And one can see why Jane Austen is the great mistress of characterization and should always be respected as such, especially by film makers.

Romance Recap

I recently came across an email I wrote to my family several years ago (before I had a blog). Since I've been writing about men, women, and romance lately, I decided to post it:

I am reading a book called How to Write Romances on the principle that romances sell, so they must be doing something right (as in something that makes money).

Unfortunately, I haven't learned anything so far except not to switch viewpoints in the middle of a sentence, and I already knew that. The book is aimed at almost entirely unexperienced writers and is the sort of book that recommends new writers to keep a file of newspaper clippings for ideas. There's nothing wrong with this suggestion, but I can't really wrap my head around someone wanting to do something (write, paint, sing) which they have never tried before on the off-chance that it will be EASY! and FUN! [Hello, American Idol.]

However, despite the lack of useful tips, I am still reading the book because it is, entirely unintentionally, completely hilarious. I ran across this quote:

He didn't have a leg to stand on when it came to taking Petey away from Ashley. Not unless he could prove she was an unfit mother. After seeing her with Petey today, he knew that was out of the question. She was a perfect mother, and he was an out-of-state politician who hadn't known the boy existed until a day ago. That's why he had to get her to Texas.

"Study the preceding paragraph," the author writes, "to understand the wealth of information fed so discreetly to the reader."

I had to read the above sentence twice to make sure it actually said what I thought it said. And that's when I realized I was going to have a lot of fun reading this book.

This is my favorite bit of advice so far: Concerning figurative language

[y]ou should not use Artic comparisons if your novel takes place in the tropics.

Such as . . . Tarzan lurched along the jungle floor, beating his handsome, muscular chest and yoodling like an Artic seal calling for its mate!

[Unfortunately, I have found the above advice does need to be given to my composition students. At the time I wrote this email, I thought not mixing metaphors a rather obvious tip, but apparently, mixing metaphors is a national pasttime for beginning writers.]

Back to the book:

For most romance lines, a coal-mining town . . . is too difficult to imagine as a romantic setting. A small-town setting with a fashionable resort, an Olympic-trial ski run, or other point of interest could easily be considered exotic.

And whilst you are describing the exotic ski run, do NOT write, "Daphne, taking a break from her hard life as a secretary to a billionaire lawyer who might secretly love her but couldn't show it due to some silly misunderstanding that will be cleared up in Chapter 12, watched the snow fall on the ski lift like coal dust from a town very far away and completely unrelated to her." Because ski lifts and coal dust DO NOT mix.

Let's take a look at character development:

There is an advantage to keeping a character chart. When you first begin writing, it is very easy to remember names and descriptions. However, as you progress from chapter to chapter and book to book, you will soon discover how easy it is to forget names as well as color of hair or eyes. By charting or listing the physical as well as psychological makeup of your characters, you will save time and effort.

I can just see Shakespeare: "Darn it all--is it Lear with the daughters in the rainstorms or is that MacBeth? Which is the Dane? Fudge! I keep confusing Juliet's boyfriend with Ophelia's!"

And what color are Romeo's eyes anyway?

Even the most villainous people should have at least one good point to make them believable (my emphasis).

Because we all know villainous people who steal, murder, and mug little old ladies but have a soft spot for cutesy-wootsy bunny rabbits.

If you want to show strong feelings but prefer not to spell out the swear words, easy solutions exist: 'He swore competently.'

He swore COMPETENTLY? Is that like getting a prize at a spelling bee? "Jimmy, please stand up and swear competently. Are you ready, Jimmy. Begin with the s's."

How about some plot advice?

Mark, a newspaper columnist, finds himself attracted to Coryn. But after a few dates, he abruptly stops seeing her without explanation. Coryn's father is about to run for political office. Interwoven subplots involve Coryn's mother, who is in the initial stage of Alzheimer's Disease, and the death of Coryn's dog, all neatly tied together to make an inspiring and informative read.

I could write a novel like that: "The subplots of Pamela in Portland combine the ongoing search for Mr. Right (Now), the loss of the heroine's job, a sudden discovery of a cure for cancer, and the death of the heroine's cat by a passing car."

Since this how-to book IS about romances, we must discuss the PG-13 bits. The author makes a big deal about the difference between sensuality and sexuality. Sexuality is all very well and good, it seems, but it is sensuality that sells the book. Sensuality falls in to the category of "a phone call in the middle of the night to tell you how much he needs you" which proves that sensuality is all relative since I, personally, would consider battering Mr. Lover Man to death with a brick for waking me up in the middle of the night. (Actually, the conversation would go something like "Wha?" "Wha?" "I don't--" "Uh, sure." "You in trouble--need a lift somewhere or something?")

On to sex:

There are closet scenes, anthill scenes, love among the pine needles, and lovemaking under water.

An ANTHILL? Not really up there with Lady Chatterley's Lover [addendum: I have since read Lady Chatterley's Lover, and it is at about the same level. LCL is a remarkably stupid book.]

And I'm sure the sex education folks will be relieved that "some publishers now accept clinical descriptions" EXCEPT, the author adds, "too much realism--on any score--destroys the fantasy we are providing and that includes the discussion of safe sex."

[Along these lines, Katie Roiphe wrote a fascinating book called The Night After where she discusses the fantasy v. the reality of sex-in-the-moment and why the latter, despite public education, is considered more romantic. I also recently picked up a book called Predictably Irrational. Provable fact: All the sex education classes in the world aren't going to make teenagers behave sensibly in the throws of passion. When the hormones get going, "cold" promises go flying out the window. Education and supervision are the only two options and, turns out the Victorians were right, education doesn't always work.]

Back to character development, repeated several times by the author is the instruction that (1) the heroine cannot be promiscuous; and (2) the hero cannot be a wimp.

I don't find the first particularly puzzling--it's part of the finding-your-one-and-only idea--but the second is a non-starter. He can't be a wimp means the hero is not only supposed to be physically pro-active, he is supposed to be ambitious/rich. So this workaholic, ambitious, unrelentingly superdynamic multi-millionaire is also supposed to take time out to be sensitive, caring, loving, and gentle, blah blah blah.

I work for workaholics and believe me, it is an attractive quality, but it NOT romantic. Walking around with a cellphone sticking out of one's ear is NOT romantic. Demanding, "I want my fax NOW" is frankly irritating. And obnoxious bosses getting stuck overnight in an airport because of the weather is just funny. But then I'm a secretary and earn about 1/16th of my bosses' salaries, so I have the right to find those things funny.

[As many of you know, I now teach; one reason I changed careers is because I got fed up with getting snapped at by workaholics. It really isn't that datable a personality type.]

Anyway, there's something intensely schizophrenic about the romance hero who has to be all things to the heroine.

Okay, that's enough of the PG-13 stuff. Back to plot, specifically violence!

It always creates a strong plot point to surprise the reader and kill off a character or two who seemed to be a vital part of the book. But I was reminded by a speaker at a writer's conference to never kill off too many characters in a novel because it all but eliminates the possibilities of a sequel.

Agatha Christie wrote some very funny passages in which her alter-ego, Mrs. Oliver, complains that whenever the publisher demands another 3000 words, she just kills off another character.

But then Agatha Christie, who I greatly admire, was writing mysteries, not supposedly character-driven romances. There's something downright annoying about writers (book and script) who kill off characters not for the puzzle but to "shake things up."

On the other hand, I like this advice (about the Middle Ages):

It is difficult to sell a book set during any time when civilization was at an extremely low ebb.

And:

[A romance writer] asks herself if she would believe [a plot device] is she were reading it for the first time. If the answer is no, she takes it out.

Not to be rude or anything, but I suddenly had an image of a romance writer's transcript with nothing left except the sentence "Lucinda walked into the room."

Don't write about trees.

This is actually great advice! The author is saying that writers should always be specific. If you write about trees, call them "maples" or "birches."

Then, presumably, you can stick your heroine amongst the birches or maples and have her ruminate, discreetly, about her life. Using the principles noted above, the result would be something like this:

Rochelle walked through the tall fescus (Festuca elatior) grass under the looming oak (Quercus) trees, thinking of Bradley's devotion to his job, yet how he always managed to take her to champagne lunches while putting through mergers and giving money to charity. He even took time to text message her: b luv u--lines as sincere and moving as Shakespeare's poetry, the bits from The Merchant of Venice where everyone is talking about money. Perhaps she should confess to him that she had been systematically siphoning off money from his accounts for six months, but it was probably better to wait until he confessed his undying affection. There are limits to how much a women should put out.

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Unannoying Gender Difference Analysis

Men and women think differently--this seems kind of obvious. Yet in some circles, it is still considered bad form to say such things. In my master's program, this idea was treated very warily. And, truth be told, there's so much nonsense out there on the subject, I didn't mind; it's not like anyone in my master's program would have said anything concrete and provable on the subject.

However, I am an advocate of the belief/argument/theory that biology, rather than social constructs, makes men and women different and in more ways than the obvious. So I will occasionally pick up books about gender differences. And I will then get annoyed. The reason for my annoyance, usually, is that the writers form illogical conclusions backed by justification and self-congratulation. That is, since more men than women can be found in the top levels of hard-science, women must not be good at the sciences (fallacy), therefore (1) science stinks (justification) or (2) women just aren't made that way--sorry, ladies (self-congratulation).

And I throw the book down and that's that until the next one.

However, I think I have found a book that doesn't annoy me: Susan Pinker's The Sexual Paradox. Susan Pinker is examining why men appear to achieve more than women in "high-flying" careers, but she examines "why" using interviews, statistics, and reliable methodology, not political correctness, her own experience, or fevered socio/geo/religio politics.

So refreshing!

She also has a great perspective. First, she makes the point (through all those statistics, etc.) that, for instance, women do enter the sciences and those that do, succeed. Second, not only are these women not discriminated against, often they are sought after. Third, many of these women choose to leave the track they are on and pursue different (less kudo-offering) careers for reasons that have nothing to do with external pressures.

In other words, women consistently make choices where internal desires--job satisfaction, a sense of obligation to family, and a desire for personal time--outweigh external privileges: mucho dollars and prestige.

And, Pinker says, so what?

Well, she says more than that, but her attitude (so far) is that these choices aren't wrong, detrimental, unfair, discriminatory, or hurtful to women. And she has so far avoided the equally annoying tack that women have it right, why don't the stupid men get a clue. Rather, she argues that women should not perceive themselves (or each other) as failures if they make choices that make a lot more sense to them than the alternative.

She proves over and over that women who "opt out" of the money/prestige path are not suffering from discrimination. (Not necessarily. She does make the interesting point that women in high academic positions tend to get burned out since they are expected to be more motherly than their male counterparts. I can attest to this. I walk into a class--5'2", female, late 30's-- and I can see the "oh, she'll be so sweet to us" look in my students' eyes; I imagine coyotes look at poodles the same way before they leap. Consequently, I give a speech at the beginning of each semester where I nicely, but forcefully, advise my students that the requirements on the syllabus will not change, and they will be sadly disappointed if they think I will fold to their hard-luck stories in four months. I'll feel incredibly guilty about their hard-luck stories, but I won't fold. And I don't. And at least one student a semester gets very angry at my--to quote the expurgated version--"cold-heartedness.")

Women, Pinker says, are making choices by which they put various aspects of their lives first. A woman who goes into pediatrics rather than surgery (and this is common) is not doing so because (1) she hasn't the brains (in fact, women do better academically than men at almost every level) or (2) because she hasn't the ambition (keep in mind that the women Pinker is studying are all, for lack of a better word, alpha-females). Rather, the woman who goes into pediatrics would simply rather have her cake and eat it too, even if eating her cake means a cut in salary because she has opted for a more flexible schedule and for a more people-oriented application of her knowledge. (It isn't about choosing babies over careers; it's about making career choices that allow for babies . . . and other stuff.)

What insight! On a personal note, I've never considered myself a people-person, and yet, I work in education. Since I took on too many teaching jobs for this coming fall, I recently had to decide what to drop; what got dropped, interestingly enough, was the online tutoring: the job with the least amount of student contact (and a job I find rather depressing) even though it is probably the easiest, fastest and least inconvenient way for me to earn good money. Apparently, despite unexpurgated emails, I prefer to work with "real" students than with faceless entities.

I'm not exactly an "it's all about the people" poster girl, however, since I would rather be paid to write than to teach. But I would still teach if I got paid to write; I just don't like my entire life hanging on a career track, which actually, now I think of it, probably makes Pinker's point. However, a strong streak of "do my own thing" runs through both the men and women in my family, so it could just be a Woodbury thing.

In any case, to muddy the waters still more, men make people choices too. An ER doctor I know works ER precisely because it has more regular hours (don't have to carry that annoying beeper around), and he can be home with his family more. Pinker is not saying that ALL women are one way, and ALL men are another. She is noting consistencies, trends if you will, amongst women and men. The trends are strong, and they occur even when other social factors have been accounted for; more is going on than a social construct.

And what Pinker sees as going on is not evolutionary psychology (per se; evolutionary psychology isn't her focus) but choices. "[T]here is new evidence," she writes, "that it is a good idea to trust women's choices instead of pushing them to study what doesn't appeal to them. . . women--both those who chose science and those who didn't--knew their interests, their capabilities, their appetite for risk, where they would succeed, and exactly what they wanted." Now, that's a feminism I can get behind!

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