The Grapes of Wrath 75th Anniversary Edition, by John Steinbeck

Today, 27 February, is the 112th birthday of the great American writer John Steinbeck. Over the course of his long career, Steinbeck won the Pulitzer and Nobel prizes and wrote some of the country’s most essential works taught in schools and read by millions.

April 2014 marks the 75th anniversary of the first Viking hardcover publication of Steinbeck’s crowning literary achievement. First published in 1939, Steinbeck’s Pulitzer Prize–winning epic of the Great Depression chronicles the Dust Bowl migration of the 1930s, telling the story of the Joads, an Oklahoma farm family driven from their homestead and forced to travel west to the promised land of California.

 

 

The Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck

Elda Rotor, Editorial Director for Penguin Classics, on THE GRAPES OF WRATH:

“There are five layers in this book, a reader will find as many as he can and he won’t find more than he has in himself.” This is how Steinbeck described his novel, a blunt challenge to the reader, and it’s a line that I think about often when it comes to how we encounter classics such as The Grapes of Wrath. Those layers are both very personal and yet universal, and in my experience, when the intersections and the layers become clear, for instance, in scenes of Ma fighting to maintain her family’s dignity as their welfare worsens, and in her exchanges with her daughter Rose of Sharon, it shakes you to your foundation. The Grapes of Wrath demands your slow and thoughtful read and you’ll be grateful for discovering those layers and what Steinbeck’s tremendous work provides.

WORKING DAYS by John Steinbeck

The journal, like the novel it chronicles, tells a tale of dramatic proportions—of dogged determination and inspiration, yet also of paranoia, self-doubt, and obstacles. It records in intimate detail the conception and genesis of The Grapes of Wrath and its huge though controversial success. It is a unique and penetrating portrait of an emblematic American writer creating an essential American masterpiece.

East of Eden, by John Steinbeck

Ryan Murphy, Marketing Assistant for Penguin Books, on EAST OF EDEN:

To me there is no more enduring scene in John Steinbeck’s work than that of East of Eden’s Sam, Adam and Lee discussing, with sincerity and gravity, the meaning of the Cain and Abel story. Deep in this incredibly rich novel, the simplest of elements—a single Hebrew word, timshel, “thou mayest”—becomes the pivot upon which the ethical heart of the narrative turns. In the context of Steinbeck’s messy and brutal world, such humble concepts or acts—like Rose of Sharon’s selfless offering at the close of The Grapes of Wrath or the quiet small-town war resistance of The Moon Is Down—often have the deepest repercussions. (include book cover)

 

THE WAYWARD BUS by John Steinbeck

In his first novel to follow the publication of his enormous success, The Grapes of Wrath, Steinbeck’s vision comes wonderfully to life in this imaginative and unsentimental chronicle of a bus traveling California’s back roads, transporting the lost and the lonely, the good and the greedy, the stupid and the scheming, the beautiful and the vicious away from their shattered dreams and, possibly, toward the promise of the future.

BOMBS AWAY by John Steinbeck

A magnificent volume of short novels and an essential World War II report from one of America’s great twentieth-century writers. “This book is dedicated . . . to the men who have gone through the hard and rigid training of members of a bomber crew and who have gone away to defend the nation.” –John Steinbeck

Of Mice and Men and The Moon Is Down, by John Steinbeck

OF MICE AND MEN AND THE MOON IS DOWN by John Steinbeck

Of Mice and Men represents an experiment in form, as Steinbeck put it, “a kind of playable novel, written in novel form but so scened and set that it can be played as it stands.” The Moon Is Down uncovers profound, often unsettling truths about war and human nature. It tells the story of a peaceable town taken by enemy troops, and had an extraordinary impact as Allied propaganda in Nazi-occupied Europe. (include book cover)

 

 

 

More Books from Nobel Prize winner John Steinbeck include:

THE PASTURES OF HEAVEN

THE LONG VALLEY

TORTILLA FLAT

IN DUBIOUS BATTLE


Redeployment, by Phil KlaySince August of last year, when I snapped this picture and shared it on my Instagram account telling readers that this is one book they won’t want to miss, I’ve been telling anyone who would listen about the upcoming Redeployment by Phil Klay.  Earlier that day, I’d been brought to tears in a pedicure chair within the first 20 pages, an admittedly odd position to be caught reading war fiction. By the end of the night the book was finished.

Redeployment, and war literature in general, is not my standard reading fare, but I trusted an editor’s recommendation and discovered a book that is so much more than I had expected it to be. Author Phil Klay takes a look at all of the lives touched by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan—families, children, soldiers, and those who will find a veteran in their lives years after their deployment has ended. Interwoven with themes of brutality and faith, guilt and fear, helplessness and survival, the characters in these stories struggle to make meaning out of chaos.

Redeployment, by Paul Klay

Author and veteran Phil Klay has delivered something truly remarkable in his debut, and when asked, was happy to share his thoughts on war literature, and some of the key works in the genre for us.

The following content has been taken from an Interview with Shelf Awareness:

War literature has been its own special genre for some time now. What are some novels or stories you feel are authentic and valuable and worth recommending to readers? 

I don’t know if authenticity is always the first thing I’m looking for in literature, war related or otherwise. I wouldn’t call The Iliad an authentic portrait of the Trojan War any more than I’d call Richard III an authentic portrait of late 15th century English politics. Hasek’s WWI novel The Good Soldier Svejk isn’t particularly interested in being realistic, so I don’t know how it fares on the question of authenticity, but it does have the virtue of being incredibly good. I’d like to think my book is authentic. I did a lot of research and talked to a lot of vets in order to get things as right as I could, but my ultimate aim was to do more than just achieve some kind of verisimilitude.

I’ll say this. Reading Joseph Conrad’s Lord Jim was important to me and it informed my thinking while writing this book. That’s not really a war book, though. Then there’s Isaac Babel’s Red Cavalry. Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time. Seamus Heaney’s North and Station Island. Colum McCann’s TransAtlantic is less about war than about the work of crafting peace, but it’s a book I’ve thought about a lot since I finished reading it. Beer in the Snooker Club, by Waguih Ghali, is not really a war book either, but there’s a long scene where two Egyptian characters go drinking with a British soldier that is also important to me. What else? Grant’s Memoirs. Tolstoy’s War and Peace. The war poetry of Kenneth Koch and James Dickey. Nathan Englander’s short stories. There’s plenty of great war or war-related writing.

Start Reading Redeployment by Phil Klay

Looking for more War Literature? A few more suggestions from the Penguin team:

Voices of the Pacific, by Adam Makos and Marcus Brotherton

A firsthand chronicle of United States Marine Corps’ actions in the Pacific. Following fifteen Marines from the Pearl Harbor attack, through battles with the Japanese, to their return home after V-J Day, Adam Makos and Marcus Brotherton have compiled an oral history of the Pacific War in the words of the men who fought on the front lines.

Civilian Warriors, by Erik Prince

Forget everything you think you know about Blackwater. And get ready for a thrilling, true story that will make you rethink who the good guys and bad guys have been since 9/11. Prince reveals new information about some of the biggest controversies of the War on Terror.

My Share of the Task, by General Stanley McChrystal

In this illuminating New York Times bestseller, McChrystal frankly explores the major episodes and controversies of his career. He paints a vivid portrait of how the military establishment turned itself, in one generation, into the adaptive, resilient force that would soon be tested in Iraq, Afghanistan, and the wider War on Terror.

Undaunted, by Tanya Biank

As she did so provocatively with military spouses in Army Wives, Tanya Biank gives us the inside story of women in today’s military—their professional and personal challenges from the combat zone to the home front…

Beyond Band of Brothers, by Dick Winters and Cole C. Kingseed

Now in paperback! The New York Times bestseller and war memoir from the commander of the legendary Band of Brothers––now with a new preface from Dick Winters.

Biggest Brother, by Larry Alexander

Full of never-before-published photographs, interviews, and Winters’s candid insights, Biggest Brother is the story of a man who became a soldier, a leader, and a living testament to the valor of the human spirit.

Call of Duty, by Lt. Lynn Compton and Marcus Brotherton

The national bestselling World War II memoir with a foreword by John McCain. This is the true story of a real-life hero.

Brothers in Battle, Best of Friends, by William Guarnere, Edward Heffron, and Robyn Post

Tom Hanks introduces the “remarkable” (Publishers Weekly) story of two inseparable friends and soldiers portrayed in the HBO miniseries Band of Brothers.

- Kristen O’Connell, Director of Consumer Marketing and Social Media


I was very excited to be asked to be a guest blogger for Penguin because for years I have been working on a plot to infiltrate the system and inject it with my subversive ideas.

You represent stage 3 in my plan.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithWorld domination aside, what I really wanted to share with you is a bit about how I was formed as a human being.  My story begins like this…

I did not do very well in school.  I think my attendance may have had something to do with it.

Wreck this Journal, by Keri Smith(The only other person who was absent more than me had cancer.)

At a very young age I realized that school was not very fun and

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithI began to see that my perception of the world was different than the other kids, and that school was largely about making the teacher happy, and had little to do with actual learning.  One of my early school memories is me at the age of six noticing that the other kids were getting attention from the teacher because they were struggling with reading.  I had learned to read at age four and found all the reading material too easy.  Feeling left out I decided to choose a random word and go up to the teacher and ask the pronunciation just so I could have her notice me.  The word was “sandwich”.  The teacher looked surprised at my asking.

In the book How Children Fail, John Holt states:

When children are very young, they have natural curiosities about the world and explore them, trying diligently to figure out what is real. As they become “producers,” rather than “thinkers,” they fall away from exploration and start fishing for the right answers with little thought. They believe they must always be right, so they quickly forget mistakes and how these mistakes were made. They believe that the only good response from the teacher is “yes,” and that a “no” is defeat.

At this point I became very creative.  I found as many inventive ways as I could to stay home from school.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithLuckily my parents were a bit distracted with work and I was mostly free to stay home, watch tv, and make stuff.

I worked with every medium I could find.  I transformed egg cartons into dragons, grey bits of plastercine (stolen from school in small increments) into never-ending labyrinthine houses full of secret rooms and tiny furniture. Bags of wool scraps became fodder for dozens of projects, anything from weaving to doll hair; fabric scraps were sewn into a variety of shapes and characters, paper plates into masks worn with fervor.

Every day brought forth unlimited potential for creation.

And then I would have to go back to school again and I would feel suffocated and bored.

I was caught between two conflicting worlds.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithWhen I was in kindergarten my parents were called in by the teacher for a “meeting.”  She had a bucket full of rolled up drawings done by me.  She pulled them out and unrolled them one by one.  Each page had a drawing of a square house with three windows and a door, an apple tree, and a few clouds scattered about.  They were all identical.  The teacher expressed concern at my lack of originality.

Looking back now I think my drawing rut reflected my mental state at being forced to go to school.  I did what I felt was expected of me.  Every day, the same thing.  Ad nauseum.  I had taken on their perception of me.

But in my private life I became invincible.  My imagination ruled.

As I grew I became a seasoned “clock watcher”…

Wreck This Journal, by Keri Smith…counting the minutes until the bell.  I did the bare minimum of work necessary not to fail.  No one asked for anything more from me.  And I didn’t offer.  It was the same for middle school and into high school.

As I struggled with family conflicts, my mother’s diagnosis with a terminal illness, and adolescence I became disconnected from my imagination.  I felt completely lost.  I rebelled against everything and everyone.

In my mind the world was very dark so I wore only black. It was at this point that I began to believe that my failure in high school was due to a deficiency of some kind.  Some unavoidable lack of intelligence.  I was the stereotype of the white-faced goth kid in the back of the classroom just putting in time until the bell rang so I could go out for a smoke.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithI knew I could see things in the world that others could not–to me the world could be much more alive and animated.  Objects turned into characters before my very eyes, little messages appeared just for me, I saw what ‘could’ exist, magical things.  But I pushed these thoughts aside because the world told me they were crazy.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithMy silenced imagination left me feeling sad and hopeless about the world.  In 1986, a break-up with a boyfriend resulted in my isolation from friends and family.  To ease the pain, I took an overdose of pills and put myself in the hospital.  After that, in an attempt to heal myself I began what I call “my research.”  I was on a quest to find meaning, an explanation of what it means to be human.

I began to read.

Not the books that were assigned in school.  I found respite in authors who didn’t just live in their imagination but somehow ‘became’ it.  Madeline L’Engle, C.S. Lewis, John Wyndam, Asimov, Rober Pirsig.  These led me to others, and thus I began my lifelong journey as an autodidact.  After not graduating from high school, I got the only job I was qualified to do: working full time in a bookstore [1].

Because I couldn’t get into university, I acquired a reading list from a friend for her English Literature 101 class.  I actually believed that due to my lack of intelligence I might not be able to get through these novels.  On the list were the Brontes, Austen, Thackeray, Hemingway.  After finishing each one I found myself amazed.  Not only could I understand it, I reveled in it.  I became insatiable. I tore through Dostoevsky and Turnev, and Tolstoy.  Flung myself into Orwell, Huxley, and Vonnegut.  Then onto Salinger, Steinbeck, Fitzgerald, and Faulkner.  Nothing was out of my reach.

And then I had a thought (a few thoughts actually)…

What if everything I had been taught about myself in school was wrong?

What if the opposite of everything was true?

What if I had the power to create anything that I conceived of?

What if the world was magic and I was able to see things that others could not for a reason?


[1] One of the skills I learned while working in the bookstore was an ability to distinguish publishers by the smell of the ink.  Penguin Classics was one that I always got right.  In those days the printing smells were a lot more distinctive than they are today.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri Smith[2]

I found out about a loophole in the Canadian school system where I could apply to college as a “mature student” after being out of school for a few years, and they wouldn’t look at my marks.  I applied to art school and got in.  There I was exposed to a whole new world, one where I was at the helm and completely in charge of my own life/research.  My life became my research project. I was determined to mine my teachers and the books for the answers to everything.


[2] My dad worked for IBM in the education dept. where they taught this on a regular basis.

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithI loved this new life of research.  I had thoughts and ideas and opinions and it was glorious.  When my classes finished, I found myself literally running to the nearest bookstore to get more information.

Very slowly I began to experiment with my ideas.  Instead of listening to the fears I had developed over fourteen years of schooling, I began to question everything.  The rebel in me moved to the forefront.  I found other rebels to serve as role models.  What if we ‘did’ the opposite of what we were taught?  What would happen?

Some of my responses came out in book form:

Wreck This Journal, by Keri SmithThe books mimic my own process.  Part deconstruction, part re-enchantment of everyday life.  Break things down, tear them apart, then shape them into something.  I try to see what it is like to be free from convention, and how it feels to go to the limits of your imagination.  I want to enter fully into an experiment, that place of being open to the unknown.  The realm of uncertainty.  The leaping off point.

“Since we can’t know what knowledge will be most needed in the future, it is senseless to try to teach it in advance. Instead, we should try to turn out people who love learning so much and learn so well that they will be able to learn whatever needs to be learned.” —John Holt

 One thing I have learned from my life so far is that creative thought gives individuals a sense of ownership over their world.  And this is what I aim to share with others.  I do not see myself as any kind of expert on anything; what I have to offer is an intense passion for learning.  As I found with the greatest teachers I have had over the years, this passion is infectious.

To this effect I leave you with a few thoughts:

Wreck This Journal, by Keri Smith


Fallen Beauty by Erika Robuck

Edna St. Vincent Millay’s seven-hundred acre estate in the Berkshires, Steepletop, is a literary gem. I visited Steepletop for research for my novel, Fallen Beauty, and wish to share some background about the home and the legacy of the poet, and encourage travelers to visit this site so rich in natural beauty and literary history.

 Dr. Holly Peppe, a Millay scholar and the literary executor of the estate, was kind enough to share her knowledge of the family and of Steepletop with me. Her work on Millay, including the Introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Millay’s Early Poems, a collection she annotated and edited, has helped keep Millay’s memory alive. Her other critical essays about the poet appear in various anthologies and in the new Collected Poems of Edna St. Vincent Millay (Harper Perennial, 2011). As one so close to the family, Dr. Peppe gave me keen insights on the fascinating Millay women, and voiced her wish to rekindle public interest in one of our greatest American poets.

ERIKA ROBUCK: As one who believes that books and writers find us when we need them, I am curious about the commencement of such “relationships.” When did your relationship with Edna St. Vincent Millay begin?

HOLLY PEPPE:  You might say it was a winding road! My mother read poetry to me as a child and sang songs every evening at the piano, so I was exposed to the musicality of words early on. By the time I was in high school, I considered poetry a second language—my favorite pastime was writing poems and songs and reading every poet I could find. My favorites were Neruda and Borges. I started out as a music major in college but switched to English and earned a B.A. and Masters before moving to Rome, Italy where I directed the American College of Rome’s English Department for a few years. Inspired by a favorite book, Rilke’s Letters to a Young Poet –a work that I encourage all writers to read—I made a summer pilgrimage to Switzerland to visit a water castle and other places where the German lyric poet Rilke lived and wrote, ending the tour with a visit to his grave. I was in love with him and his work and decided that I would return to the U.S. to pursue a doctorate, with Rilke as my subject.

Unfortunately, the Ivy League university where I had earned my Masters rejected my plan, noting that I could not earn a doctorate in English if I wrote about work that had been translated from another language. Instead I would need to find a poet who wrote in English. So I chose Edna St. Vincent Millay, whose poetry I admired, only to have this second topic rejected by the English department because Millay was not considered a “major American figure.” I was told I could combine my research on Millay with work on another poet or two, like Robert Frost, Marianne Moore or Louise Bogan, and the combo would equal one “major” writer! My frustration with that plan, which I considered absurd, led me to the University of New Hampshire, where I was told they would accept Millay as a dissertation if I would educate a doctoral committee about her work. Because she was a bestselling poet, most scholars had considered her poems “too accessible” and “popular” and therefore not worthy of serious study. I disagreed on all counts and set out to prove them wrong.

My research led me to Steepletop, where Millay’s sister, Norma, age 89, was still living and working as the poet’s literary executor. The Director of the Millay Colony, an artists’ enclave across the hill from Millay’s home, told me Norma was largely unapproachable. Nonetheless, armed with gifts from Rome and my determination to write about her older sister, I made the trek to the top of the hill in Austerlitz to visit. Luckily Norma accepted me as an ally and over the next few years, where I spent days and weeks at a time at Steepletop, we became good friends.

Getting to know the poet through the eyes of her fiercely devoted sister was a moving experience and before long, Millay became far more than a dissertation topic or even a favorite poet to me—she became a living memory.

Even on my first visit to Steepletop, the place seemed to exist outside of time. Norma and her husband, Charlie had carefully moved in around Vincent; she left her sister’s clothes and shoes in the bedroom closets. (Norma’s own clothes were hanging on the shower rack in the bathroom). Millay’s evening purses, with lipstick still inside, were left in place, tucked lovingly into the mahogany bureau’s drawers.

There were times when I felt Millay’s presence everywhere, like the night Norma asked me to try on Millay’s gowns. Dutifully I modelled them, one after another, including the long red velvet and black taffeta dresses the poet had worn on her reading tours. For a graduate student in awe of her subject, it was thrilling!

ERIKA ROBUCK: Was Norma pleased to have a scholar studying her beloved sister?

HOLLY PEPPE: Oh, no—not at all! She didn’t believe in academia and said most professors drained poetry of its passion. So she insisted that before she would discuss a poem with me, I would need to memorize it. This is what prompted me to learn many of the poems and sonnets by heart, which was indeed more enriching than simply reading and analyzing them one after another. In the end, we spent two to three hours a day talking about Millay’s poetry—its origin, form, meaning, and so forth.

ERIKA ROBUCK: How did it feel to be living in Millay’s house?  

HOLLY PEPPE: I felt like I was living in a dream. Many times, especially when Norma and I were sitting in the living room, sipping wine and eating our meals from decorative metal trays as Millay sometimes had, I gazed around in appreciation and wonder at the whole experience.

ERIKA ROBUCK: When I visited Steepletop, I was taken aback by the life force left in the house and grounds. For a place that has been almost untouched since the days of the poet, the atmosphere is very active. Has anything troubling, haunting, or fascinating ever happened to you at the house?

HOLLY PEPPE:  Yes, and though I’m not generally a believer in the paranormal, I absolutely believe there is a spirit or two in residence at Steepletop. So much happened there—from Millay and Eugen’s legendary parties, to the 1936 car accident that resulted in Millay’s addiction to morphine, to Millay’s and then Norma’s death in the house 36 years later.

My first encounter was the night Norma died –she was in Millay’s bed in an upstairs bedroom. I was with Norma’s dear friend Elizabeth Barnett, who would inherit her role as literary executor. In the middle of the night, Elizabeth and I got into my car and followed the hearse down the hill to the funeral home. A few hours later, sad and exhausted, we drove back to Steepletop, only to find that the strings of Christmas lights surrounding the house were blazing with an array of color, having somehow turned themselves on! Instead of being frightened we were instantly delighted—we knew it was the spirit of Norma, welcoming us home.

A few weeks later, when I returned to the house to discuss Norma’s memorial service with Elizabeth, we heard a loud crash upstairs. When we went to investigate, the wooden bar in Millay’s closet holding the gowns had crashed to the floor. Was it Norma this time, or the poet herself sending us a message? We weren’t sure.

And finally, on the afternoon after Norma’s memorial, I was bidding Elizabeth goodbye on the front porch when the light above me started blinking, slowly at first, and then faster and faster until it went out. “I guess she doesn’t want you to leave,” Elizabeth said with a smile.

ERIKA ROBUCK: Why is preserving the legacy so important to you, and what would you like readers to know about Steepletop?

HOLLY PEPPE: I promised Norma, and then Elizabeth, I would carry on as the next literary executor, a keeper of the flame. I want people to know that Millay’s impressive body of work is of vital importance to the American literary tradition. It was this poet, who was also a playwright, essayist, and short story writer, who infused new life into traditional poetic forms and brought new hope to a generation of youth disillusioned by the political and social upheaval of the First World War.

I also want to introduce readers to her deftly crafted sonnets and lyrics not only addressing typical poetic subjects — love, loss, life, and death and so forth– but also tackling the social issues of the day: political injustice, discrimination, and personal freedom.

It’s an exciting time in the world of Edna St. Vincent Millay! The Millay Society Board, is intent on preserving the beauty and spirit of Steepletop.  On behalf of my fellow Board members, I’d like to invite readers and others to visit this National Historic Landmark, Millay’s beloved country home. There you can walk through the newly restored gardens and rooms in the house where, at every turn, it feels like the poet herself might just walk in the door.

ERIKA ROBUCK: These are lovely sentiments for a worthy cause, and I encourage all to visit this fascinating place, and learn more about Edna St. Vincent Millay. Thank you, Holly.

Steepletop is open from May 23 2014 – Oct 20 2014, and reservations are required. Call 518-392-3362 or visit the website at millay.org for more information.

 


While Beauty Slept by Elizabeth Blackwell I’ve never been known as a trendsetter. So imagine my surprise—and delight—when I found out my Sleeping Beauty–inspired novel, While Beauty Slept, would be published the same year a high-profile Sleeping Beauty reboot hit movie theaters. Invariably, I knew, my book would be compared with Angelina Jolie’s big-budget Disney film Maleficent, even though I suspected the two stories would take very different approaches. I had always intended my book to read as historical fiction rather than fantasy, imagining the dramatic events of the fairy tale as if they had happened to real people.

I was pretty sure Disney would be going in the opposite direction—and judging by the recently released Maleficent trailer, I was right.

There’s lots to love about it, from the appropriately eerie Lana Del Ray cover of “Once Upon a Dream” to the overall creepy tone. We like our fairy tales dark these days, focusing less on the “happily ever after” and more on the dangers that come beforehand. The Maleficent of the 1959 animated movie is one of the great Disney villains, right up there with Cruella de Vil and Snow White’s Evil Queen, and when I wrote my book, I renamed her Millicent so that she wouldn’t come across as a cartoon bad guy. If I wanted my story grounded in reality, it didn’t really work to have a character whose name literally means “I do terrible things!”

I’ve still got a soft spot for the original Maleficent, though, and Jolie perfectly captures the character’s magnetic evil. With her glowing eyes, spine-chilling cackle, and one-of-a-kind black antler hat, she’s mesmerizing. The only thing that took me aback was when one of her freaky-sharp cheekbones nearly popped out of the screen; I hope that effect was achieved through makeup or special effects, rather than a starvation diet.

There’s plenty more movie magic in the trailer: flying fairies, a levitating Elle Fanning, and trees that morph into soldiers. There are battle scenes and rugged castles that look like outtakes from Lord of the Rings or Game of Thrones, both series I love. But I worry about all these epic fantasies blending into one indistinguishable mass of CGI overkill. A friend of mine once expressed her distaste for traditional westerns by saying she didn’t like movies “filmed in brown”; it seems we’re now living in an era of fantasies filmed in gray.

Maleficent is an iconic character, and Angelina Jolie has the star power and talent to pull off that tricky role. Self-interestedly, I’d love the movie to be a huge success. But I also hope the film is able to create a sense of real magic: the kind that comes not from clever programmers sitting at computers, but from a story that whisks you away from the everyday. With While Beauty Slept, I wanted to create a world where the drama arises from human actions and emotions. I believe the story of Sleeping Beauty has resonated all these years because of its characters and its imagery: the dramatic curse, the finger pricked on a spinning wheel, a princess sleeping alone in a tower. None of these moments needs over-the-top special effects to cast its spell on an audience.


Author Dina Nayeri remembers the first American books that opened her world after immigrating from Iran in the 1980s.

A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea, By Dina NayeriIn 1989, my mother, younger brother and I arrived in Edmond, Oklahoma, after two years spent as asylum seekers in Dubai and Rome. I was ten years old. During our years en route, my mother had attempted to teach us English with used homeschooling workbooks that she erased by hand, audio tapes of children’s stories to which we added our own voices (for pronounciation lessons), and whatever technical words she had learned as a medical student in Tehran. But on arriving in Oklahoma, I quickly discovered that what I knew wasn’t nearly enough—especially by the cruel standards of American public school children. My brother and I spoke rudimentary, accented English and we knew no slang, no idioms, nothing that couldn’t be found in a very thin, very old children’s dictionary.

 

 

A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea, by Dina Nayeri

Luckily, we arrived in mid-summer and were greeted by our legal sponsors, a jovial, nurturing couple who lived away from their own grandchildren and enjoyed our noise and excitement and delight at simple things like bologna and Frosted Flakes. We lived with them for the first few weeks of our American life. The day after our arrival, a chatty, tube-topped Mary-Jean took my brother and me on two important errands: Toys R Us (a marvel to an Iranian girl who had only experienced life under an Islamic Republic and in refugee communities. Were all those toys for regular, middle class children? It made no sense. Surely we had stumbled onto the private storeroom of a Saudi prince), and the Edmond Public Library.

 

A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea, by Dina Nayeri On that first day, I checked out thirty books, the library’s limit. Most of them were far below my grade level (I believe Goodnight Moon, Eloise, and a few mouse related stories were in the pile), but I didn’t know enough to be embarrassed. What I remember was the elation of brazenly taking so many stories, on so many topics, freely and without fear. No moral police asking about hidden political messages (the reason my favorite storybook The Little Black Fish was banned). No censored books or topics. Just piles and piles of colorful dust jackets, English letters, that inviting used book smell. Suddenly, I could read anything I wanted. I tore through all thirty books in three or four days and mustered the courage to ask Mary-Jean to take me back. She did, this time leaving my brother and me for an hour by ourselves to explore the stacks. She talked to her friend, the librarian whose encouraging face became familiar over the next few years.

Then I discovered the Judy Blume section.

To this day, I have rarely felt a thrill so raw and unexpected as that of opening a Fudge book, understanding enough to be delighted, then looking up and thinking, this new life could work out so well. For a few moments, I wasn’t missing home, a place where I fit in, where my family was the standard for normal. Right then, I was fine. I was happy. I was traveling to other American towns and neighborhoods, and no one was making me get up from beside that rickety plastic spin-stack.

Blubber, by Judy Blume

That young adult spin stack became my life for the rest of the summer of 1989.

I read everything by Judy Blume. Blubber was my favorite—how could such a book even exist? In 1980’s Iran, if a volume wasn’t written by one of the greats (Hafez or Ferdowsi or Sa’adi or Rumi), and if it wasn’t educational or religious or political, it had no place on a respectable bookshelf. Children’s stories were almost aways classics, adapted folktales, fantasies, or religious stories. Reading about the trials of an overweight girl in school felt like eating a pound of sprinkles, or coloring my walls with bright pink magic marker while my parents were at the office. By the time I started fifth grade at a local public school, I had moved on to The Babysitter’s Club and Sweet Valley High, making sure to hide them from my strict Iranian mother who would almost certainly die of shock if she were to stumble onto the super racy scene where Bruce touches Jessica’s belt buckle (I’m not 100% sure this scene exists. I remember someone touching a belt buckle and my mom going bananas).

A Teaspoon of Earth and Sea, by Dina Nayeri

In less than a hundred afternoons at the Edmond Public Library, I had finished the young adult stacks and my fingers itched for more. When I was alone, I explored other parts of the library. I took a peak at The Joy of Sex before a librarian shooed me away. I found the college entrance guides that planted the seed for my budding ivy league obsession—an insane streak that started in the sixth grade and lasted until… well, I’ll let you know. I discovered an entire section on Native American ghost stories full of magic and ritual sacrifice and blood and messily requited love. Again, my mother went full-on bananas.

 

 

Roll of Thunder, Hear My Cry, by Mildred D. TaylorMonths later, I noticed a shiny round sticker on some of my favorite books—the Newberry winners. I started hunting stories bearing the sticker. These books, of course, were more difficult to read, and required a deeper grasp of American culture and history than the high school fluff on which I had been gorging. But, once again, I was enraptured. To understand stories like Roll of Thunder, Hear my Cry, or A Wrinkle in Time, I had to ask questions. I had to read more. I had to figure out where I had landed in the world. I absorbed new vocabulary at a rapid clip. Best of all, those books gave me a place to go in the coming years. When the gulf war happened and I became an outcast. When puberty hit and I began to look more and more Iranian. When money became a worry. When my family changed and changed again. I was never unhappy—I had the ability to transport myself. And, as a bonus, I believe it was in that particular section, the Newberry winners, that I finally caught up to my grade level in English.


Budget Bytes, Beth MoncelWhen people think about saving money in the kitchen, images of slaving over the stove for hours to make their own food often come to mind. After almost five years of refining my kitchen into a money saving machine, I’ve found that the exact opposite is true. Time is money, so recipes and habits that save me both are key.

In my new book, Budget Bytes: Over 100 Easy, Delicious Recipes to Slash Your Grocery Bill in Half, I’ve included several recipes and tips for saving both time and money in the kitchen. Whether you prepare meals ahead of time or opt for simple, fast dishes, you can eat well on a budget without spending all of your free time in the kitchen. Here are some of my favorite recipes that help save both time and money.

Banana Bread Baked Oatmeal (p. 18) – It only takes about ten minutes to mix the ingredients together for this ultra-rich baked version of oatmeal and then into the oven it goes. After baking, just divide the oats into single serving dishes to have quick, microwavable, and filling breakfasts for the rest of the week.

Breakfast Parfaits (p. 22) – When it’s too hot outside for a warm breakfast, I’ll mix up a few of these parfaits on Sunday night to prepare for the rest of the week. It only takes a few minutes to layer the yogurt, oats, nuts, and fruit into jars and then I’ve got a delicious, nutritious, and portable breakfast that I can take with me to work.

Easy Pad Thai (p. 112) – Ordering take out may seem like it saves time, but you can have a homemade meal that’s delicious, fresh, and probably more nutritious in less time than it takes the delivery guy to get to your door. This Easy Pad Thai is ready in about the amount of time that it takes the noodles to boil, and there’s no tipping required. View the recipe here.

Microwavable Apple Crumble for One (p. 218) – Single serving microwavable desserts have been a huge hit for food manufacturers over the past few years, but you can make them at home for pennies on the dollar using basic pantry staples. Just take whatever apple you have on hand, chop it up, and top it with a quick cinnamon oat crumble topping. Minutes later you have just enough dessert to satisfy without any leftovers to taunt you into ruining your diet.

Better Than Mom’s Chili (p. 134) – Cooking in large batches and freezing the leftovers is a habit that has saved my budget. Soups, casseroles, and stews, like this hearty chili, are great for preparing on your day off and then freezing in single serving portions. On busy weeknights, just microwave one or two portions until heated through and you have an almost instant homemade meal.

Hungry? Check out the book trailer.


The Flight of the Silvers, by Daniel Price

August 26, 2004. My alarm goes off at 3:55 in the morning. I lumber through darkness, nearly skidding across the kitchen on my cat’s empty food bowl. I sit down at my desk and croak out several test words until I stop sounding like Sylvester Stallone on diazepam.

Right on schedule, the telephone rings. A chirpy young woman greets me and asks me to hold for the host. I grunt in agreement. My latest interview is about to begin.

Long ago, in the dark and rustic age and before social media, authors once promoted their books through wireless aural transmissions called “radio.” My mission, which I chose to accept, was to explain my debut novel to a bunch of East Coast morning listeners, dazzling them so much that they pull their cars over and add my book to their “Holy Crap/Gotta Buy” list.

I wasn’t optimistic but hey, any exposure is good exposure. And this host is clearly skilled at dealing with semi-conscious phone guests. He steers me through the interview like a pro. By his fifth question, the fog is lifted from my head. The two of us chat like old college buddies.

Suddenly I hear a familiar creak behind me. A feline comes traipsing in through the flap in the porch door. He’s an orange and white tabby with a long, narrow body. Ridiculously long. If he could stand upright, and if he wasn’t neutered, he would be the Wilt Chamberlain of cats.

His name is Jake. And he is home.

A little backstory: Jake had lived his first two years under the care and collar of my next-door neighbor, until my neighbor abruptly moved away. Jake informed me in no uncertain terms that he was taking over my place, but I could stay with him if I wanted. I was okay with that. Though he was Keyser Soze to the other cats in the neighborhood, he was well-behaved and eminently pettable around humans, especially me.

But he had one big problem. I can only assume a mad scientist had implanted a megaphone into his larynx because when Jake meowed, the walls shook. Birds fluttered out of trees. Dogs in the next town raised their heads in tense query. Jake’s favorite pastime was to sneak up behind me, ninja-style, and then blast me with his sonic mewl. To this day, I remain the only novelist on Earth with a detachable skeleton.

Now Jake is back from his late night thuggery and utterly confused to see me awake. I cover the phone just in time to block his inquisitive yowl, then brusquely motion him away. Go! Go!

While I answer the host’s question about the origins of my story idea, I nervously watch Jake. He has difficulty processing behavior that doesn’t revolve around him, and assumes I’m only up at this hour because I’m so damn excited to feed him. He hurries over to his empty food bowl, then shoots me a hot-eyed glare that only a cat can conjure. You…bastard.

“Raer!”

I cover the receiver again, a split-second too late. I can hear the brief, addled skip in the host’s next question.

Jake isn’t done registering his outrage. My heart hammers as he draws closer. I don’t have the time or mind to explain the concept of live radio to him, so I try every gesticulation imaginable. I shush. I wave. I plead for him to be quiet. I draw a frantic finger across my neck, proving beyond all scientific doubt that cats ascribe no meaning to the slit-throat gesture.

“Raer! Raer!”

Soon the interviewer has no choice but to address the elephant in the room. I can hear the rolling chuckles in his voice, the laughter he’d been suppressing for thirty seconds now.

“Is that your cat?” he asks me.

By now, my mind’s working at full emergency power. The red hot embarrassment has made me hyper-alert to the point of giddiness. I am backed into a corner, a mile out of reach of any sane retort.

“No, it’s my dog,” I reply. “He has issues.”

This all happened nine and a half years ago. The world’s moved on to bigger and better things—Facebook and Twitter and blog tours and Goodreads, all venues that are much more flexible to a poor writer’s schedule, and utterly impervious to cat noise. I don’t remember the name of the man who interviewed me that morning. But I’m pretty sure he remembers me.


Romance is My Day Job, Patience BloomI often encounter people who say, “I’m going to write a romance novel. It’s so easy. Just write to a formula and send it in.” Romance writers and editors laugh a little at this because it’s not so easy. Believe me, I’ve tried it—at least ten times and can’t get past chapter three. But say you do have that true drive to publish in romance, here are a few steps you need to take.

  1. Love writing. Love love. To write a romance, you have to immerse yourself in the goo of love—how exciting, difficult, invigorating, frustrating, and life-affirming it is.
  2. Write a good book. Throw your heart and soul into your romance. This could be the beginning of a new life and you want to give it your best shot. You will find many references and I’d recommend first off Writing a Romance Novel for Dummies by Leslie Wainger. Also read GMC: Goal, Motivation, and Conflict by Debra Dixon, along with every romance-how-to you can find.
  3. Don’t do it for the money–even though money is nice. If I had a nickel for how often I’ve heard, “To make some extra dough, I’ll just write romance novels.” Many paid writers learn that you can’t count on a paycheck when you write. And this paycheck depends on your next book, which may not sell. There has to be another reason for writing a romance.
  4. Try not to get too attached on the outcome: I must get published. I’m desperate to get published. If I don’t get published, I’ll be miserable forever. Please publish me now. When you write because you love to write, it shows in your work.
  5. Make one new contact a day with fellow romance-aholics/industry professionals. It’s easy to develop a one-sided relationship with your computer. Get some fresh air, interact with others and move ahead.
  6. Have other people read your good book and take their suggestions seriously. The romance world is a nurturing business, for the most part. Sure, it’s not perfect but adopting a positive relationship with your fellow writers is key. When you show your work, expect suggestions and support. We all want your book to be amazing! Just think, you could be the writer who makes me forget all my problems and get lost in your story. This is a gift to a reader.
  7. Map out your publishing ambitions: traditional publisher vs. self-publish. If the former, which houses/editors would like your book? Do research on publishing houses’ lists. I suggest doing this when you’ve completed a rough draft of your book. If you go the self-publishing route, be sure to strategize how you will tackle the many hats you’ll wear as your own publisher. It’s all exciting, but planning is crucial.
  8. Have your next story in mind. If you meet with an editor and she isn’t so hot on your project, tell her what else you have. In romance, we want to build you as an author. The more you write, the more possible this is. No achy breaky one-hit wonders here.
  9. Go to conferences and chapter meetings. Follow up on the inspiration you get from these outings, i.e. read the books you find, chat with new friends, go through your notes from the workshops and revise your book accordingly.
  10. Rewrite your page-turning romance until your brain nearly explodes. When you read your book without an iota of boredom/frustration/misgiving, unleash it on the editors and see what happens.
  11. Patience is a virtue. You know I had to throw that in. There is a lot of waiting when you submit to traditional houses. It’s part of the deal. What do you do while you wait? Repeat tip #2.
  12. If at first you don’t succeed, never ever give up writing or trying to get published. One of the heartbreaks we editors experience is when a writer abandons her craft. Life can intervene or maybe that drive has fizzled. One must obey that call to other bliss, of course. But if there’s a morsel of yearning that keeps you obsessing about writing, just do it, keep doing it and submit until you can’t submit no more (also read Chicago Manual of Style, which would tell me not to use a double negative).

Because of our readers’ voracious appetites, we constantly need books. You’ll see us on Twitter, Facebook, at conferences begging for a great new story. Face it, romance writers keep us in business (you don’t want us to starve, do you?). So, keep these tips close and if you ever feel discouraged or inspired, read them again them, stay positive, and submit your story.

 


A Religion of One's Own, Thomas MooreI never chose to be a theologian, psychotherapist and humanities enthusiast.  I was born into it. My father was a plumber, but he was also a born teacher and counselor.  For years one of the most distinguished psychiatrists in our city visited my father every two weeks, huddling with him over a long evening.  This was my father the plumber, who never finished high school but somehow found wisdom and a calling.

My mother was a mystic housewife, praying devoutly and seeing her entire life through the prism of her Catholicism. When she died, the priest kept repeating, “She was such a simple woman, such a simple woman.” I think he meant uncomplicated and not at all given to possessions or ambitions.

It was just part of the flow of our spiritual family for me to leave home and enter monastic life at thirteen to study for the priesthood. When I left the religious order thirteen years later, I found my way to doctoral studies in religion, where I put together my interest in spirituality, depth psychology and the arts.

From the beginning of this fated journey, I never liked religious behavior that was too pious or moralistic. I seem to have been born with an appreciation of secular life interweaving with a spiritual vision so that neither dominate. In this regard, I think of the interlinking chains and spirals I see all over Ireland, my adopted second home,or the familiar Taoist symbol of yin and yang melting into each other.

Just as Care of the Soul sprang out of me at the particular point where my ideas and my experience as a therapist matured, now I feel that my worldly way of being religious is emerging at just the right time in our cultural evolution to go public with it. Thus, my new book A Religion of One’s Own. We are now at a point where it’s time to let go of a narrow view of religion. I suggest that we don’t abandon it, even if many sophisticated modern people think it’s superfluous or prefer “spirituality”. Worldly life without a deep form of religion would be secularism, and that is a dangerous, soulless option.  Just listen to the way many scientists are talking these days, reducing the richness of human experience to brain studies, for example, and you get a taste of what secularism would be like. As human beings we’d shrivel up.

The new book puts together an array of ideas I’ve been working on for years that together form a personal spiritual practice that I call a religion of one’s own. At the top of my list are the beauty and wisdom of the world’s religious and spiritual traditions. I don’t want to get rid of the established religions but use them now as resources for a personal religious vision. They are priceless for what they have to offer, but the emphasis on belief, authority, empty ritual and moralism has weakened them to the point that they must re-imagine themselves radically.  You can be a member of a religion and still have a religion of your own, or you can go off on your own, becoming a seeker or even an atheist, and use the traditions as resources.

Other elements of your own religion might include natural mystical experiences in nature and art, a broader and less literal notion of community, more reliance on deep intuition understood as a kind of natural revelation, a serious dream practice and the use of images and art for contemplation and insight. Having loved the life of a monk, I can recommend borrowing elements from monastic life and adapting them to your own everyday way of life. You might understand that your work is a form of prayer and that study and deep meditative reading are central to your spirituality.

One of the richest elements in formal religion, and could be in yours, is a deep experience of the arts.  In a secularistic society the arts are entertainment, but in a religious ssetting they mediate between ordinary life and the eternal, profound and sublime realities. What could be more important? In a fully secular situation we may think that the goal in life is success and happiness. In a religious setting, fired by the arts, the aim is the much more profound pleasure in acquiring insight into the nature of things and sensing how beautiful life and the world can be. This blend of beauty and meaning, available in all the different art forms, serves as a tool for the spiritual quest.

In this book I advocate a maturing of the religious impulse by being more personally engaged. I’m certainly not suggesting an emphasis on oneself to the exclusion of others. Each of us has a unique situation that calls for special directions. We can each decide against both secularism and hollow religion, creating a deep spiritual way of life that is unique to us. Some will want to remain devoutly connected to a tradition, like my friends who are actual monks living out the ideals I present in my book within the strict and concrete setting of a monastery. Others may call themselves atheists and fight against formal religion with fervor, and yet they, too, may be shaping a religion of their own, intuitively understanding that the way formal religion speaks of God is too literal and the resulting lifestyle moralistic and dogmatic.

Emerson once wrote: “Every church has a membership of one.” That is, every experience of religion is singular, uniquely fashioned to the needs and imagination of the individual.  These individuals can come together to form community that is more meaningful and intense than any gathering of people who think and act alike. The world needs religion, but not the kind that has generated wars and has polarized populations.  It needs a deep spiritual imagination of life and a corresponding lifestyle and practice. To literal-minded people the deeper, person-centered religion I propose may seem less than what they are used to, but others will join me in welcoming a significant evolution in the human spirit.