Archive for April, 2007

Making new art from old

Thursday, April 26th, 2007

"And all shall fade – the flowers of spring" – 'The Song of Purple Summer', from Spring Awakening

Every morning, on my way into work, I take a couple of minutes to listen to a song from my MP3 player – it's a way of easing into the day, entering into the world on my own terms. I keep the player on shuffle, never knowing what's going to come up next. This morning, the player kicked up 'The Song of Purple Summer', the closing number from the new musical Spring Awakening. It's a sweeping, slow-building number, emotionally affecting (if you're familiar with the show), but it got me thinking, as I listened, about making new art from old materials. A matter close to my heart.

(A little background – back in January, when we were in New York, I found myself alone and ticketless ten minutes before showtime. C & X were off to see The Drowsy Chaperone again – having won front row tickets in the lottery – and I was planning to wander up Broadway, spend a little time at the Barnes & Noble at Lincoln Center before returning to the hotel and getting an early start on our packing. For some reason, I decided to stop at the box office for Spring Awakening to check for standing room tickets, knowing they were long-since gone. Surprisingly, I was wrong – I walked into the lobby at 7:57, bought the last SR ticket and walked into the theater just as the houselights were going down. Two hours later I walked out, rocked by a theatrical performance in a way I haven't been since we saw Rent with the OBC more than a decade ago.)

Spring Awakening is one of the hot musical on Broadway this year, a clever synthesis of the classical and the modern. The drama – a coming of age story set in a small, cloistered German town in the 1890's – is drawn from Frank Wedekind's often banned 1891 play, but the character's internal lives are set to contemporary song by Duncan Sheik and Steven Sater – thus, a realistic, nineteenth century classroom scene is interrupted by the rocking "The Bitch of Living". It shouldn't work – it should come across as contrived and obvious, but it DOES work. Wonderfully.

With the fiction I've been writing lately, I've been taking something of the same approach. Readers of Before I Wake will be familiar with my use of classical source material (I won't specify, for the sake of those of you who haven't yet had the pleasure), but my new work, including the new novel, takes that usage even further. My recent stories are all contemporary, and strictly realist in nature, but threaded through with elements from more… traditional… storytelling. Ghosts haunt these stories. Figures from fairy and folk tales walk among the contemporary characters. The action of the stories is shaped by these … otherworldly … elements, but never for their own sake – they are incorporated for the sake of the contemporary stories, for their influence and impact on the characters. I could write strictly contemporary, realistic fiction — I have done, and will certainly do so again — but incorporating these older elements, these archetypal threads, lends the work a certain power, a power that resonates somewhere deep within our primal selves. These are stories in a continuum, stories that are at once new and familiar.

New wine in old bottles? Old wine in new bottles? Somewhere in between. Reading these stories, there's a timeless quality that co-exists with a world of MP3 players and cell phones…

"And all shall know the wonder, I will sing the song, of purple summer…"

Counting down

Wednesday, April 25th, 2007

I've gotten in the habit, since Before I Wake came out in Canada last summer, of talking about the US publication of the book as if it were some impossibly far-off event. Akin to the next ice age, perhaps. Something forseeable, but barely on the radar.

"Next May," I would say, knowing that next May was so far away as to be inconceivable.

Oops.

Before I Wake will be released in the US in six days. Less than a weak. And my psyche has started its own inexorable, undeniable countdown. The dreams have started again (I'm particularly fond of the one where I stumble around a huge bookstore, looking for the manager to whom I'm supposed to report for a reading, only to realize, when I finally find him, that I'm naked from the waist down. Doesn't take a whole lot to parse that one, does it?), and I'm occasionally stopped in my tracks with the realization of "Holy crap! This is actually happening!" It's healthy to have your heart stop and spontaneously re-start a couple of times a day, right?

All that being said, I can't express just how excited I am about the upcoming momentousness. I'm in great hands with St. Martins, I've written a good book that's already been well-received, both in Canada and in the early reviews south of the 49th, they've made a beautiful book out of my words…

Hold on. Did I mention… I don't think I did.

Two weeks ago a courier pack arrived from New York. Inside was my first copy of the American edition. And I have to tell you (despite the cool points it's bound to cost me) I just about wept. It's a thing of beauty, a beautiful edition both inside and out. The cover is powerful and evocative, and the page design is everything I could have hoped for. It's lovely, and its loveliness is doing a lot to bolster my feelings with the impending publication.

Because, honestly, is there any position I'd rather be in right now? Not hardly.

Now I just have to break that news to my subconscious.

So it goes

Thursday, April 12th, 2007

I woke up this morning to the news that Kurt Vonnegut has died, age 84.

I think I can be forgiven, therefore, for feeling a little melancholy, a little fatalistic, a little hyper-aware of mortality. Sic transit gloria.

Thinking about Vonnegut, I realized that I haven't actually read one of his books for a decade or more. There was a time, though, when I was hardly without one. When I was a teenager, Slaughterhouse Five and The Sirens of Titan revealed to me worlds of possibility, hinted at the sheer possibilities of fiction. His books taught me lessons that I didn't realize I was learning, told me fundamental truths that I didn't realize came from him until I learned that he was gone.

So it goes…

And, as usually happens when I'm feeling melancholy and mortal, the world seems suddenly more alive to me, more filled with beauty than it has any right to be. My son stumbling into the living room at 6:30, asking if it's okay if he stays up with me for a while before curling into the chair beside me. The sunrise coming over the horizon as I walk to work. My wife as she wakes, ever so reluctantly. The skeletal trees bursting into life.

It truly is a world of wonders. Thanks, Kurt. For everything. Blessed be.

Slowly… carefully… calmly…

Monday, April 2nd, 2007

I was writing a note to my publicist a few minutes ago when it occurred to me: it's a month now, almost exactly, to the US publication date for Before I Wake.

Erp.

It's almost enough to have one breathing into a paper bag.  Exciting (oh, so exciting!), but terrifying all over again.  I'm bolstered by the early reviews in Kirkus and Publisher's Weekly, but I suspect my sleep will be disturbed over the next few weeks nonetheless.

In other news, we've just about got the US tour dates pinned down.  I'll post them here and on the tour page when I'm able.  And expect a bit of a site re-vamp in the next little while as well — ordering information and details for the US edition, and for the British hardcover and the Canadian paperback, both coming in June.

And in related, and hardly unexpected, news, there's another story on the go, this one about a boy, a girl, a car, a gun and the end of the world.  It's an idea that's been bouncing around in my head for a while – I guess it just needed to come out now. 

Which also means that the previous story — called, I think "Waiting for the Light" or some such — is done and moving into the editorial stage.

More on the stories shortly.  In the meantime, I have a review to write.