Whenever I am not writing, I am reading, and sometimes I am even writing about reading…
First up is a transcript of one of the highlights of my literary life: introducing Pico Iyer at a reading he gave in Iowa City in February 2012. I have also had the honor of introducing Rebecca Solnit, Sandra Cisneros, and Ted Conover.
The glory of pursuing a MFA is the opportunity to read all those writers you’ve known you should but haven’t. Here is my list from my most productive year.
* Amexica: War Along the Borderline, by Ed Vulliamy. It starts with a headless body dangling from an underpass called Bridge of Dreams. A bed sheet unfurls beside it, sending a message from one drug cartel to another. Hours before firemen come to cut down the corpse, venerated British journalist Ed Vulliamy arrives on the scene. He takes everything in, noting how the straps beneath its armpits “creak”; how its feet “flap in the wind.” Yet he is equally transfixed by the crowd that has gathered in “unsurprised silence.” They gawk “at this hideous, buckled thing, perhaps fearing, if they leave, they might take with them the curse of that which was done.” Readers of Vulliamy’s Amexica: War Along the Borderline quickly find themselves in a similar quandary. Page after page depicts horrifying violence rendered in grisly, though compelling, detail. As Vulliamy (disturbingly) notes, “the feral physical cruelty of the slaughter accentuates the borderland’s sensuality and libido.” READ MORE
* The Line Becomes A River, by Francisco Cantu. It’s Christmas Eve, and Francisco Cantú and his mother are drinking eggnog with brandy around a miniature tree. Mom, a retired Park Service ranger, is trying to understand why—after graduating with honors from American University—her mijo is training to be a Border Patrol agent. Isn’t that sort of work, she delicately asks, beneath him? Cantú is quick to defend his career choice. Despite growing up near the Arizona-Mexico border and having a grandfather who crossed over during the Mexican Revolution, he argues that he mainly knows the region from books. Now he seeks a perspective that can only be found “out in the field.” Besides, imagine the comfort he could offer migrants, speaking with them in their own language with a knowledge of their homeland. Maybe he could infuse some humanity into the situation. “It’s a paramilitary police force,” Mom objects. READ MORE
* New Stories from the South: The Year’s Best 2009, edited by Madison Smartt Bell. Anthology editing must be one of literature’s most thankless jobs. You are challenged by writers, readers and critics on every front: whom you included, whom you omitted, the book’s order, its theme, the intro you cobbled together to justify your reasoning. God help you if you make a bold claim in the title, like Best American Political / Travel/Sports / Nature / Spiritual Writing. No one will ever be happy. So I looked on the latest volume of New Stories from the South: The Year’s Best with collegial empathy. Its editor, Tennessean novelist Madison Smartt Bell, is worthy of such a post. Among other accolades, he won the 1996 Anisfield-Wolf Award for the year’s best book dealing with race, All Souls’ Rising. He completes his task admirably here, compiling 21 short stories from south of the Mason-Dixon Line. Nearly all are enjoyable. A few are genius. Yet I have a mighty rant on this book…. READ MORE
* Golondrina, Why Did You Leave Me? by Barbara Renaud Gonzalez. The question is posed innocently enough: “¿Como cruzaste, Mami?” “How did you cross the border, mommy?” Yet 60-year-old Amada evades it, heating gorditas and swiveling her hips to a love tune. Why can’t her daughter, Lucero, probe her for chisme? She’d be happy to divulge the latest ‘scandalo of her four sisters, or of the neighbors across the street. But no. Lucero only wants to hear that story, the one Amada is afraid to tell. So she lays down her spatula and lights a cigarette. The story that slowly unfolds is the basis of San Antonio writer Bárbara Renaud González’s debut novel, Golondrina, why did you leave me? READ MORE