Counterbalance

Ogunquit Got Me

Originally uploaded by calliemiller.

Ogunquit got me. There is no other way to say it. I went. I brought my laptop. I meant to post. I meant to write. I had free wifi in my waspy inn. And then, somehow, I just didn't. I didn't write a sentence, a single line. Not even a word.

But I wrote several short stories in my head.

I returned this evening and intend to commit these wonders to paper. I feel things moving, shifting, ideas forming. Do you know what that feels like after so many weeks without a drip? Without a sentence that inspires? Without a clue as to where I'm headed next? It feels divine, but I don't want to spook myself or my stories so I'll tread with tiny quiet footsteps until then.

Do know that when I get these ideas out of my head and onto the page I will return to tell you how wonderful Andrea Siegel was at her reading (because she was!) and how I should have gone to Marisha Pessl tonight (but I've only just returned!) and how it pained me to leave for quiet, cold, gloomy Ogunquit on the very night that Aimee Bender was reading. That's right. I missed Aimee Bender to meet my fiance's family. Was it worth it? You'll have to wait and see. I do at least have several stories in my head. I'll leave it at that.

I will also do a final follow-up on the heated topic of Emily Giffin. I have now read all of her books (yet am experiencing a strange hesitancy in adding them to my "read in 2006" list...am i that much of a snob? what's the problem?) and can speak more intelligently (read: can write a post without boldly stating my unfounded opinion) about her work, "chick lit" and where I ended up on the matchy matchy concept as it relates to her writing.

Ogunquit: you were cold, you were gray, you were a nice change from the 90 degree weather and smog that is LA, but you tried my patience for many days. Please oh please let me get these stories down on the page before I distract myself with all the other "work" that lies ahead.

Matchy Matchy Shuts Me Up...or How Not to Judge a Book By It's Cover

So. You already know what she looks like, right? Sarah Michelle Gellar only tinier, if possible, and actually, much prettier.  A husky voice. Very Sex & the City with the outfit to match.  Crisp white capris with a fabulous chiffony top that showed off her perfect tan and expertly muscled arms.  Sexy sandals to die for. She would be a vapid lovely if not for, you know, that law degree from the University of Virginia.  Yes, that's right, she's an attorney. A smart one.  One that realized early on she hated being a lawyer and knew she had to plot her way out. Hence, the writing. Hence, the books. Hence the very business-savvy-ness that radiates from her.  A rarity, as many writers either don't understand the business aspect of book selling or resent it or both.  She embraces it.

I knew she had a law degree before I got to Vromann's.  I knew I was not dealing with a fluffy kind of girl. And yet. And yet. I could not reconcile this smart woman with these matchy matchy book covers that seemed fluffy in the extreme (mere marketing or was there something more sinister at work?). As she approached the lectern, I was eager to see how events would unfold.  I wanted to be surprised, proven wrong, made a fool of...anything that would give me hope that all these "i can't wait to be marrieds" in the audience were at least reading books that improved their minds, made them think, inspired bigger dreams, different options.  All the things that a good book can do.  Or, as I cynically feared, would this be another fluffy book about finding the man of your dreams (because who are we with out that?) and living the happily ever after life that is marketed to women in a thousand different ways each day? 

Giffin waited until the room was quiet and jumped right in.  Not into her new book, Baby Proof (which one would expect at a reading), but into a speech about how she approached the writing of this book, how she came up with the storyline and what inspired her to write it.  Baby Proof is about a married couple, soul mates who were pleased to find early on in their dating that neither of them wanted children.  Several years into their marriage, the man changes his mind. He wants a child. Desperately. His wife does not.  Giffin's book chronicles their struggles and attempts to wrestle with the criticism such women face...particularly in our society of Mommy Wars and the ongoing debate about women who want to have it all: the husband, the career, the children and a fabulous social life to boot. 

As Giffin put it (quite well), "there's this huge debate about Mommy Wars and women who want to have it all vs. those who feel they need to stay at home with their kids, but no one is talking about this group of women in society who choose not to have children. In fact, those women are often looked upon as if something must be physically wrong with them.  No one wants to believe a woman would choose not to have children and when people do realize that a woman has made that choice, she is ostracized. Thought of as unloving, uncaring, cold. Why is that? Why is it that no one is applauding those women for not having a child if they know themselves to be unwilling to provide all the attention a child needs?" In short, she outlined the problem thus: Why aren't these women viewed as child-free instead of child-less? 

I know. Smarter than you expected, right?  A better subject matter than you were prepared for, right?  I was flummoxed...but oh so pleasantly. Certainly not of the "go out and find yourself a mate asap" variety.  And certainly not worthy of the fluffy cover. Or, for that matter, not worthy of an audience that talked non-stop about getting married as if it was the most important thing one could strive for. Do I now need to read the book to see if I agree with how she handles it? Of course. Am I still irked, irked, irked that a book has been packaged in the same way so many other books have been packaged to appeal to an audience that seemingly cares only about shoes and dating and marriage and babies? Absolutely.  But is there something else at work here? This book being marketed to husband-seekers might have the opposite effect -- showing husband-seekers there is a different way.  Too optimistic?  Remains to be seen.  I am halfway through her first book and will report back on all as I make my way to Baby Proof.

It worked on me though. This marketing hype. I saw these books and sensed immediately what they might be about. For me, these covers signaled predictable drivel about finding a man to make your life better. Why? Because so many other books that look like this do peddle that message and it makes me very angry. Is that the hallmark of a well-executed marketing campaign?  Possibly. Is this a rather ironic way to learn the true meaning of the "don't judge a book by it's cover" adage?  Indeed. Am I rash and prone to verbal gymnastics before I really know what I'm talking about (S?) -- sometimes, yes. But my anger was not fabricated and my confusion -- on many levels -- remains. Why are these books being marketed this way?  Judging from the audience at Giffin's reading, the books are making their way into the hands of the women who expected to read exactly what I expected to read. We were both surprised. Bravo for Giffin & props the marketing guru who came up with the matchy matchiness, but I'm not sure where that leaves us. Or the writers.

This is it good/is it bad/does it matter/and if so how thinking reminds me of the current debate about the This is NOT Chick Lit/This IS Chick lit deuling anthologies. Excellent insights and healthy debates can be found at Ed's & Megan's.  I have more to say on this point as well and once I've finished reading Giffin's work, I'll be better able to comment on exactly how she is/is not different from the expectations (my?) of this genre. 

Just as I began to settle in and get ready to hear her read, Giffin stopped talking, looked out at the audience and asked if there were any questions.  What? No reading?  Huh?  The audience didn't skip a beat. It seemed no one knew that at a reading there is meant to be, you know, reading. No matter. Hands enthusiastically shot up in the air.  And so we had arrived at the best part of any reading: the Q&A.  The moment when the night just gets better or careens off a cliff...

Andrea Siegel Shakes It

Andrea Siegel, author of To Feel Stuff, gave a reading in Irvine.  She danced.  Yes, danced. And I don't mean timidly shuffled around while waiting for people to be seated.  She got down.  She'll be at Book Soup tomorrow night and I'll be there to capture her moves.  And, you know, hear her read from her excellent new book.

Matchy Matchy Keeps 'em Waiting

One must often arrive at important readings early.  Very early.  Wait in line, get a good seat (or any seat), muscle one’s way through eager booklugging fans just to get out the door when it’s over.  You know the drill. 

Yet when one is attending a Matchy Matchy reading, it seems this prep is an unnecessary formality. Not needed. A waste of time.  On the flip side, arriving early at such an event gives one ample time to observe (read: eavesdrop and record their every word while inwardly snickering) the overall demeanor of those who are likely in attendance because they are actually fans of the writer in question. 

An alarming sense of excitement prevailed.  The ladies in attendance (because what man would?) could barely sit still in their seats. Their dangly earrings and wrists full of bracelets jingled with every swish of their long, perfectly ironed hair, jangled with every full torso twist to the back of the store, craning their necks, wondering when, when the object of their affection would appear. “I wonder what she looks like in person?” “I wonder what she’s going to wear.”

Vapid lovelies? Not quite.  They lacked a certain edge, a specific cynicism. These ladies fell in two camps: young unmarrieds & old marrieds trying very hard to look young.  Surely they were other things as well, but what was most palpable was either the previous partaking of or the assured future transaction of marriage.  All movement, all discussions, all slight murmurs oozed with either a future that most definitely included a wedding or their past in which they had a wedding.  Case in point:

“I hope the man I marry is like Dex. I liked him so much, especially in the first book...I know I shouldn't because he cheated, but he was so torn up about it.”

“I know. But what about Darcy? He shafted her. I don’t want someone like that. I want someone who is honest.”

“Me too, I guess. I wonder what Matchy Matchy’s marriage is like? I wonder if her husband is like Dex? I wonder if she’s rich now.”

“I bet they have a huge house.”

The old marrieds version varied slightly. Replace “I hope I marry a man like Dex” with “I wish I had married a man like Dex.”  Indeed. Critical minds at work, trying desperately to crack the important symbolism and overarching themes buried within the treasures of Something Borrowed, Something Blue & yes, Baby Proof.

While they were not vapid lovelies, they were, surprisingly, bookluggers. I didn’t expect this lot to trudge about with all three hardcover books in tow (must be hell on the acrylic nails), but there they were, stacked neatly on knees, wedding fingers as yet unadorned or tricked out with blinding Orange Countyesque baubles, waiting for their own version of Carrie Bradshaw to arrive and tell them how to land a man of their own or how to land a better version of the one they’ve already got.

A Vromann’s employee -- just as giddy, just as eager, wholly given over to the Matchy Matchy magic – announced that Matchy Matchy was delayed en route. Audible groans. Concerned sighs. One girl desperately cried out, “But she’s still coming right? Right?” Yes, still coming, just a little bit late.  Large collective sigh of relief.

The overly excited employee (which I find quite suspect – anyone who works at a bookstore in the capacity of recommending good books should not be this enthusiastic about this author) offered a diversion to pass the time.  “To make the waiting easier, I visited Matchy Matchy’s website and I printed out pictures of her and her family and some photos of one of the first books she ever wrote when she was ten years old. She made it out of construction paper. Isn’t that cute? I’ll pass it around so everyone can see. It’s just so cute.”

I could launch into a whole thing here, but I’m guessing I don’t need to.  You get it.  To filch a reading technique from David Mitchell, just imagine a huge, gaping, silent pause here and the painful passing of time as the pictures made their way through the eager hands and I wondered what bizarre world I’d stumbled upon.

Coming out of what I can only guess was an involuntary fight or flight response in which I stood up to look at actual books written by actual authors, I picked up snippets of conversation about Anne Hathaway being perfect. About the film being miscast. About the need to hold more auditions to be sure that whomever plays Rachel is sweet, perfect. Just like the character in the book. Several women who did not arrive together but who were now fast friends (for what sisterhood is stronger than the Matchy Matchy kind?) debated the merits of every young actress in Hollywood. Arms were flailing. Women from two rows up were turned around and kneeling on their seats so they could join in. The film rights have been sold for all three books. Of course.

Just as they began to launch into a detailed discussion of which young Hollywood actor should play Dex, the Vromann’s employee appeared looking as if she was concealing the most exciting information she’d ever been asked to guard. In a flurry of waving hands and gasps of air, she shouted: “She’s here! She’s here! Everyone – she’s here!” 

All conversation ceased, the kneelers abruptly turned around and put their fannies in their chairs.  A few people re-checked their cell phones to be sure they were off.  Matchy Matchy was in the house.