On the date this entry is published I will be at the “Pig Farm.”
I’m so glad you asked. This is the country estate of a writer friend and her sambo, a bit north and east of the lovely university town of Uppsala. This couple has a large guest house on their former pig farm which they generously offer to friends, especially writers who need to get away from worldly affairs to think great thoughts and indulge themselves in their scribbling habit without anyone outside their circle observing their anguish and angst.
In preparation for my trip the Pig Farm 72 hours hence, I needed to gather writing material which was scattered throughout my office. The chaos was distracting, so I made the effort to pile all the books in some kind of order. The result of this antientropic exercise is that I now have something to write about.
I have just finished reading, for the second time in as many months, Julian Barnes’s Arthur and George, a novel based on incidents in the life of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of “Sherlock Holmes.” This book will be discussed at the next monthly meeting of the book discussion group I attend. The reason for my having read it twice is–after the first read, I immediately forgot almost everything about it because of all the other books I had read in the interim. And, perhaps also, my short-term memory at age 71 ain’t what it useta be.
The husband of one of my fellow book readers and discussers suggested some science fiction books when I admitted to him I used to be an avid reader of such. I haven’t yet read the three now in my possession: The Reality Dysfunction, by Peter F. Hamilton; Blood Music, by Greg Bear; and, Use of Weapons, by Iain M. Banks. My father used to bring home pulp science fiction (“Amazing Stories,” “Galaxy,” etc.) and I read them all. Great covers, too. I stopped reading science fiction after reading and rereading one of the greatest of all: Brian Aldiss’s Galaxies Like Grains of Sand.
A fellow I met at one of the regular Friday lunch meetings of the Stockholm Writers Group, a journalist, suggested the author Lee Child to me, especially his “Jack Reacher” novels. This fellow was impressed with a little sketch I had written for the luncheon (we get an assignment for each weekly meeting), thinking I might have the talent for writing a thriller, something I have thought about. I read Die Trying and Killing Floor. Here is my reaction to them, from an email I sent the journalist:
I read ‘Die Trying’ and ‘Killing Floor.’ He’s good, and I do see a pattern common to both:
1. Just wandering through town and getting in trouble inadvertently
2. Good looking gal and he hook up, but he always leaves
3. A very, very bad guy to defeat, a psychopath or an associate who is a psychopath
4. Somebody you trust is a mole or betrayer of some sort (at least one)
5. Don’t get Reacher angry with you or you will die
6. Other people (the bad guys) kill good people very awfully, sometimes involving torture
7. Lots of detail about firearms and ordnance and related subjects
I generally enjoyed the plot and action, although occasionally wanted the action to proceed without so much detail. I thought certain plot elements very clever and well thought out (the mountain of 40 million dollar bills to be bleached).
I couldn’t write so much violence and mayhem, nor have so physical a main character. My guy will be more of a mental warrior, a clever manipulator (there are elements of Reacher that match this). My guy may not appeal to as wide an audience, if any. We’ll see. I give myself 3 years for this first novel. I’ve got other things cooking too.
Next up is a BIG book, Tree of Smoke, by Denis Johnson. The owner of the book store said her mother loved the book and I should buy it, so I did. It was a bit difficult for me to stay with during the introduction of all the characters, some of whom never directly connected. But all were drawn to and affected by the Vietnam conflict (“war” was never declared by the U.S. Congress as provided in the U.S. Constitution). The main character is a CIA agent and his characterization was very compelling, reminding me of some of the novels of John le Carré, especially those involving the character George Smiley, although I hasten to add the CIA character was not a master spy as was Smiley. What is brought forth, very well, is the shadow world of espionage, and how it confuses the mind and morals and one’s sense of reality.
Now to continue preparing for my trip the the Pig Farm.