The first to know
Four touring novelists read from their debuts

by Laura J. Williams

Contrary to stereotypical belief, readings can be fun. The First Fiction tour has roots in an indie bookstore in Arizona a couple of years ago, when the owner took it upon herself to organize a reading series for debut novelists. The tour has since become national and is the result of collaboration between publishers to win attention for promising first books. They have it at bars, which apparently helps. But don’t go for the pints alone. These four very different writers have some intriguing things to say.

Journalist Marya Hornbacher attracted much attention with her first book, Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia (Random House, 1999). The Center of Winter (Harper Collins), her first novel, tells the story of a troubled family in Minnesota. After the suicide of her husband, Claire Schiller and her children try to recover. Here is a description of the man, told from the point of view of Katie, the youngest child: My father would sit on the back porch watching her, sitting the way men here sit: leaned back, feet planted far apart, arms on the arms of the chair, a beer in his right hand. The beer would be sweating.

Serpent Girl (Villard) opens with a scene reminiscent of a certain famous book by a certain recently deceased “gonzo” writer. Matthew Carnahan’s protagonist, a young carnival worker named Bailey Quinn, comes to in the desert after being passed out for who knows how long. There is peyote involved, and a helpful drawing of a peyote button graces the text. In fact, a list of the drawings provided should give you a clear idea of the novel’s mood: thong, road flare, Schopenhauer. The following is one of the many highly educational passages about circus life:

Clowns, in the circus caste system, are a separate entity from crew and performers. Clowns tend to stay in their own clique, often traveling between a few different circuses, or taking it solo and basking in malls. It was a journeyman skill I could learn and take anywhere, although I found it a little pathetic, putting on a bunch of pancake makeup and behaving like an asshole. But the pay was double props and rigging, and really, how hard could it be?

The clowns at Maximus were a strange lot, drab and unremarkable without their makeup, and even in their makeup—their happy, smiley clowny makeup—they could communicate a level of hostility I had rarely encountered. They were known to the crew as the Fuck-You Clowns.

Responsible Men (Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill), by Edward Schwartzschild, tells the story of Max, a broken-down con man trying for some semblance of youth through affairs and new deals in Key West. The bar mitzvah of his son, Nathan, calls him back to Philadelphia, where his father and uncle, two cantankerous old salesmen, live together, and his ex-wife and her new, rather hilariously loathesome, fiancée are waiting to unwittingly torment him. Max’s Last Big Score drives the plot, but it’s the family and ex-family that make it interesting. This is a much-conversation between Max and his ex-wife “You should take Nathan with you,” Max said. “I’m sure he’d love some time on the islands”

“Not possible,” she said. “Besides, your father would be upset, even if you wouldn’t. And we’ll be very busy over there. It’s not a pleasure trip, you know. Well, not entirely. Hiram’s going to learn more about Japanese landscape science, and we’ll both be taking intensive Japanese classes.”

“It all sounds wonderful,” Max said. “The rewards of prosperity, long overdue.”

“And what are your big plans?”

The two young female characters in The Effects of Light (Warner Books) have a complex relationship with a woman who photographs them. Sisters Myla and Pru model for Ruth, a middle-aged woman who takes the sort of photos of nude children and adolescents that make Sally Mann, Jock Sturges and other artists whose work tests the boundaries between innocence and experience so controversial. Author Miranda Beverly-Whittemore was a photographer’s model herself and knows of what she speaks:
She remembered witnessing this quality in Ruth too, in the moment just before Ruth would crouch behind the camera, gather the dark-cloth to her shoulders. Her eyes would look different. She’d use words, but they weren’t conversation, they were words from another part of her body, words to service her eyes. “Shift left. Eyes her. Blink. Now.” It had seemed such an easy way to be, such a comfortable solution. Myla wondered if she’d lost all capacity to practice such grace. A2P
First Fiction, Tuesday, April 5, at 7:00 p.m. at Arbor Brewing Company, 114 E. Washington.
 

COLUMNS
Deep Background
The conundrums of calling Michigan home, by Drew Franklin
Girl on Love Friends. How many of us have them? by Anonymous

BOOKS
reviews

Niice Big American Baby by Judith Budnitz, reviewed by Steven Gillis

Preview the work of the four writers on the First Fiction tour by Laura J. Williams

MUSIC
Interviews
The Hard Lessons
It ain't easy being the Hard Lessons. By Jason Gibner
W anda Jackson
The Queen of Rockabilly rolls into Michigan. By Laura J. Williams
Fred Thomas
The hero of the Tuesday series of local CDs. By Scott Sellwood
Kelli Hicks A singer/songwriter with sad, dreamlike work. By Davy Rothbart
Detroit Techno Militia DTM is all around. By Denis Baldwin

MUSIC - Reviews
ADULT. D.U.M.E.
Noisetank (loves you)
, Glee, Ad Nauseum, and how It All Works Out


PLUS:

CHOICE A2P's selected events of the month
PublicEye You Belong to the City. You Belong to the Night
A2 Astrology