about bliss

Showing posts with label academe. Show all posts
Showing posts with label academe. Show all posts

Friday, May 22, 2009

book review: tolstoy lied

Thursday morning I headed out to my friends' house to help in their large garden. They grow delicious, organic produce for the local farmers' market, and the task is becoming increasingly arduous, so I volunteered to help in exchange for some goodies. It took a little convincing T- that I'm not a fancy city girl, but someone who at one point in her life owned her very own pair of rubber shit kickers for potting and planting blueberries on the family farm. I'm a study in contradictions, I suppose, something that many people fail to recognize (because they're not really paying attention, I think. Or because I adapt to circumstances fairly well).

Who should show up to help out but N, the woman from the coffee shop who recommended that I read Rachel Kadish's novel Tolstoy Lied. I love it when my circles overlap as such. And so, under a hot sun and cerulean sky, T, N, and I chatted about this particular novel, among other things.

***

In attempting to write a book review, I'm honestly not sure how to proceed. I could very easily write a one paragraph summary; or a literary analysis of certain themes and/or characters; or apply some seemingly obfuscating literary, cultural, and/or philosophical theory to the narrative using pretentious jargon, but like Tracy, the protagonist/heroine of Tolstoy Lied, "I made a private vow never to say 'simulacrum' if 'cheap imitation' will suffice" (5). (although, having consumed a large-ish glass of pink prosecco left over from the aforementioned sorbet experiment, the classic vocabulary/alcohol ratio may be evidenced tonight).

My point is that I've never written a true book review. And I don't think this will be one, really. I think it will wind up being a pseudo-academic ramble with a heavy dose of personal connection. You've been warned...

***

I loved this novel. I loved reading it with that jolt of recognition that brings laughter, tears, pain, and pondering. At one moment in the book (I'm not going to tell you which one because, well, sometimes reading and recognition is intensely private), I had to set the book down for a good five minutes, a stunned look on my face and a epiphany racing through my being. It was that good.

The novel, subtitled "A Love Story," features Tracy Farber, a single, thirty-three year old Professor of American Literature at a prestigious Manhattan university who is in her tenure semester. Basically, this means that Tracy should be freaking out about whether she'll earn tenure (a mixed-blessing system of six year (!) apprenticeship) and be safe and settled in her career, or whether she'll be denied tenure and forced back on to the grueling job market. Tracy seems fairly comfortable with her tenure prospects, but is blindsided when she meets George. The novel tracks both her quest for tenure and her relationship with George.

Tolstoy Lied is predicated on the opening line of Anna Karenina: "Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way." (full disclosure: I've never managed to read Anna Karenina. I blame my crappy Signet edition, with the tiny pages and tinier font. Then again, I have never finished a Russian Realist novel, though I have started many...the problem must be me.). After earning tenure, Tracy plans on taking Tolstoy to task for what she perceives to be a lie. Rather, Tracy believes that happiness is not monolithic, but is various and individual. She plans on studying most all of literature to find proof of this thesis, an undertaking that in turns angers, mystifies, and delights her colleagues.

The career plot is intricate in the way that academic intrigue and suspense is--hushed meetings in closed-door offices, scowling colleagues who resent your happiness, and unbalanced graduate students pushed over the edge. I've seen them all during my twelve years in the not-so-Ivory-Tower. The relationship plot is full and richly layered--a realistic romance with George, strong relationships with work friends and those outside of work. The ideological plot is well-drawn--the conflicts between second and third wave feminists, the tugs-of-war between religious families and secular individuals.

***

A few scenes that made me love this book:

Tracy talking to George: "'Dealing with academic politics,' I say, 'is like reading a book while walking in a rainstorm. You crane your neck like hell to anchor the umbrella's stem while you turn pages. Step over puddles while trying to keep your eyes on the printed words. And pray you're not about to put your foot in it'" (45)

Tracy dressing for date with George: "Being a proponent of difference feminism rather than equality feminism, I am not in principle alarmed by miniskirts. But I'm accustomed to seeing a scholar in the mirror, not a pair of legs [...] I add a gauzy black scarf, which produces a more brooding, dramatic look than I'd intended; the effect, a little more Edna St. Vincent Millay than my usual, is definitely bold. On the other hand, sexual boldness didn't exactly guarantee her happiness. I exchange miniskirt and scarf for a pair of black jeans. If I were a postmodernist, I'd say Edna St. Vincent Millay never had a chance at what she wanted..." (62).

Tracy talking about her project with graduate student Elizabeth
: "It's as if our whole literary tradition, which has been unsparing on the subjects of death, war, poverty, et cetera, has agreed to keep the gloves on where happiness is concerned. And no one has addressed it. I mean, shame on us all--readers, critics, writers. Anybody who tries to take happiness seriously is belittled. [...] Or worse, they're called 'romance writers'--the literary world's highest insult. [...] People talk about culture wars over sexuality and race. But we're in a culture war over the nature and feasibility of happiness. And no one even acknowledges it" (160).

***

In reading around the internet, I stumbled on a variety of reviews, many of which described the book as "chick lit," that ubiquitous genre of city girls making strides in their careers and lookin for love whilst garbed in name brand luxury. Such novels are generally pink or purple hued objects of conspicuous consumption and feature shoes or handbags on the cover. If we were to judge Tolstoy Lied by the cover, and chick lit by the cover, this novel would *not* be categorized as such. The cover features a pretty but unadorned female face half hidden by a stack of drab colored library books (inexplicable, with the titles erased).

If the genre is defined instead by narrative qualities, we would expect a single protagonist, who tells her story through a confessional first-person persona. Romance will be an important theme and plot in the novel, but may not be the main focus. A close knit circle of friends, career trials, and an urban setting are typical qualities. As such, Tolstoy Lied definitely matches the genre.

Michael Dirda of the Washington Post begins his review with a bit of elitist snark: "Any genre, no matter how seemingly common or commercial, may serve as the foundation for a work of art. Perhaps even chick-lit." His review considers the chick-litty elements of Kadish's novel, and, by the end, suggests, rather tongue in cheek, that as a man he just might be missing the point: " When a man opens a novel so clearly oriented to women readers, he can't help but wonder if he's missing the point. Perhaps my view of Tolstoy Lied as an attempt to "transcend" the chick-lit genre is simply an aggressive, masculinist misreading."

At this point, I would refer readers back to the third of my favorite quotes in the previous section of this blog post. Dirda IS missing the point. Many points. First, that a man cannot possibly read and understand fiction coded "female." Second, that chick lit is a genre to be transcended. This is an old, old line of critique, best represented by one Nathaniel Hawthorne who bemoaned the "damned mob of scribbling women" who were outselling him at every turn. (confession: I love me some Hawthorne.)

To me, Tolstoy Lied exhibits the best that chick lit has to offer--which is the wonderful hybridity of the genre, which tries, above all, to show the chaos that ensues when women try to live out the dream of having it all. My favorite chick lit heroines, Ally McBeal and Bridget Jones, with their penchant for miniskirts and tendency towards neuroticism, do so with humor and shamelessness. Tracy Farber, though too academic stereotypey to wear a miniskirt, and too seemingly rational to be neurotic, gives another face to what might be seen as the contemporary version of The Woman Question: how to keep it all together when trying to a) decide what all you want and b) live out what all you want.

***

And so, I conclude this verbose and way too professorial blog entry wondering about Tracy Farber. Would she be a good colleague? Would we be friends if she worked at my University? (realizing, of course, that she is after all a fiction character, and this is a moot point. Still it helps to determine if the characters ring true.) We would certainly have interesting conversations *and* a shared conviction that happiness is not some naive emotion to be scoffed at, but rather that "happiness is the ability to live well alongside trouble," and that love, whether of literature, life, and/or another person, is "the willingness to be changed" (325). I'm sure she'd be scandalized by my fashionista ways and my tendency towards silliness. I think, though, that she'd get the discipline and the pleasure in seeking bliss:)

Works Cited

Kadish, Rachel. Tolstoy Lied: A Love Story. New York: Mariner Books, 2006.
Dirda, Michael. Review. Tolstoy Lied. The Washington Post. 10 Sept. 2006: BW15. The Washington Post Online. 22 May 2009.

Tuesday, January 06, 2009

new year, new beginnings


my favorite vintage pink cake carrier and canisters

Hello! I've been a negligent blogger lately, enjoying my two week respite from work and words, both of which I love, both of which are entwined, and both of which I delight in all the more after a long vacation.

First, I'd like to thank Mary, The Food Librarian, for the Trader Joe's tote bag filled with goodies--candies and cookies and fruits--for my holiday Elfster surprise. What a delicious and thoughtful treat to find sitting on my doorstep when I returned after my sojourn in Michigan.

And I'd also like to thank Christine, of Happy Tummy, for all of her kind words about me. What fun it was to send off a package of goodies to my secret Elf!

I look forward to chatting more with these two amazing bloggers and the rest of the TWD kitchen crew in 2009. I've already found a community of kindred spirits, passionately baking and writing all over the world. I love how the sweetness in life has brought us together, and I know the act of baking and writing has sustained my spirit many a time this fall.

I first began baking in earnest while I was writing my Doctoral Dissertation--a long and tortuous process of never-ending writing and research, revision and questioning. Baking allowed me to start AND finish a project in one short period of time, and provided me with sustenance for the long, lonely hours of writing.

Now that I'm on the tenure track--a six year probationary period in which I prove--through teaching, service, and research-- that I'm worthy of the job security and academic freedom that tenure guarantees--I feel many of the same pressures as I did when I was a lowly graduate student. My work, it seems, is never done, and I can easily lose myself and my balance in my endless pursuit of if not perfection, then at least excellence. As you can guess, this pursuit often feels impossible, and becomes all consuming, and at times discouraging.

Joining TWD in August forced me to set aside time to bake AND to write for myself at least once a week, and though sometimes it feels like one more requirement, I love the routine, the deadline, the camaraderie, and the time for myself.

This year I vow to carve out more time for myself, separate from my career. Time to read just for the fun of it. Time to linger over coffee with friends. Time for a quick visit with family on the weekends. Time to date and find Mr. Almost-Wonderful (as my dear Dissertation advisor calls him). Time for an hour of vinyasa yoga, a long walk along the lakeshore with my new digital camera (yay!), and time to pursue my non-academic writing goals.

Thank you for reading, and for choosing to spend a little bit of your time with me:)

Sunday, November 23, 2008

mad about madison!


photo of Wisconsin State Capital, Madison, taken by Darin ten Bruggencate, courtesy of wikipedia, and licensed by GFDL

"Well, if there's a long wait at the Nepali restaurant, then we could go to the Greek place," so said M as he, D, and I walked up and down State Street in Madison deciding where to eat.

Now that's a sentence you don't often utter when considering places to dine on a remarkably chilly evening. Or any other evening, for that matter.

Lucky for us, there was an open table by the window in the tiny restaurant, and we settled in for our very first Nepali meal at Himal Chuli. Or anywhere else, for that matter. I selected the Roti, Dal, and Takari, and I further chose the Chana Takari with chickpeas, potatoes, and carrots. The food was delicious--utterly familiar and vastly different than any other food I've ever eaten because of the spice and herb combinations binding together favorite foods. A gentle heat underscored the dal and the takari, and the mild soft, buttery bread was a perfect accompaniment.

We headed back out into the cold, in search of a basement bar where D and M could drink Strongbow hard cider and I would sip a Bombay Sapphire G & T as we talked about the conference on Liberal Education that had brought us all together from various corners of the state to the Capital city.

The next afternoon, after attending more sessions and parting ways from new and old friends, I bundled up in an extra layer, slung my messenger bag across my shoulder, and walked up State street to the Capital Square. I made it to Cafe Soleil just before they stopped serving lunch, and enjoyed a Dairyland classic: grilled cheese. This one melded together several artisan cheeses and caramelized onions and thinly sliced tomatoes. I stopped by fromagination on the recommendation of several fellow bloggers, and selected a cheese to bring to Michigan for Thanksgiving, dried cranberries, local chocolate, and local crackers. One more stop: Barriques Coffee Trader, a brilliant coffeeshop cum wine shop, stocked with reasonable bottles of wine and an espresso bar. I purchased a French pinot noir and an Argentinian torrontes. Loaded down, I walked back down State Street, past the hippie shops and fair trade coffee shops, smelling nag champa incense whirling on the air and mingling with a thousand cuisines.

And then it was back to my car and a long drive across the state, past a graceful field of wind turbines and rolling farmland, and back home.

Tuesday, September 23, 2008

romance and locavores

♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

I'm taking a break from baking and baking blogging today to share some exciting news: two fun presentations this week!

1. On Friday I'm giving a talk at my College on popular romance fiction, my current research (and creative) specialty and interest. I'm hoping to share my enthusiasm for the genre and to "redeem" this genre in the face of common charges of formula fiction that's simply wish fulfillment fantasy written by "the damned mob of scribbling women" (said by Nathaniel Hawthorne about the 19th century domestic novelists like Fanny Fern, whose books were outselling his, but echoed in many a review and casual conversation even today). I'm making some classic ganache truffles and bringing sparkling wine, and a friend is making other romantic treats.

2. I've been asked to speak at our farmers' market on Saturday on our campus green initiatives, particularly our Locavore Challenge that starts tomorrow! I'm so excited--I love the farmers' market and I'm so passionate about local foods. I'm also thrilled to represent my school and to hopefully build positive connections between the campus and the community.

Tuesday, June 19, 2007

meta-narration

Happy Birthday to my Dad! I listened to Rascal Flatts' "My Wish" in his honor (he gave my brother and me the CD last fall because that song made him think of us, so sweet). It's an apt song for a time of transition...

Thanks to Laura's encouraging words and a long walk today when all I could write was page after page of dialogue (do these people never shut up?!?), I have developed a narrative structure to allow for the characters' place-based po-mo fluidity. Scarily enough, it involves drawing on some po-mo theory of identity/subjectivity/narrative...which will work wonderfully with a *surprise* meta-narrative device that fell into the story last week. And, Lily's (heroine) Mom happens to be a professor, so this structure can work into the existing character pool and plot...now, if I can only correctly remember the aforementioned po-mo theory from my grad school days when it was de rigueur...

Last night I cooked my first meal of the season using exclusively local produce! Well, not local by locavore standards, but from the greater Holland area where I bought my fruits and veggies at the outstanding farmer's market. I'm reading *The Way We Eat: Why Our Food Choices Matter* by Peter Singer and Jim Mason and thinking about the many implications, personal and political (which are inseperable, yes?), of what we choose to consume. I'll have a whole post on that soon enough. Anyway, the book is as transformative a read as Michael Pollan's *The Omnivore's Dilemma* was last year. Whereas Pollan made me more emotionally connected, Singer and Mason engage a much more complex, analytical perspective. They resist simple platitudes, like the "local, sustainable, organic" mantra, by exploring the multi-faceted ethical quandries such decisions pose.

Finally, my excitement grows for my scouting trip to WI this weekend. Serendipitously, my future colleagues are having a party so I'll have a chance to meet everyone again, this time without the pressure of an 11 hour interview. Yes, 11 hours. (I hope to convince my PhD Friends to blog with me about the insane rigors of The Academic Job Search, in which the full story of that day might be revealed, but I'm afraid our potential blogging will get bogged down in the act of naming. I'm fond of MLAgirl, but know that would only engender a discussion of girl v. woman v. womyn v. grrrl. I miss such debates!)