Wednesday, November 28, 2012

December Not Fiction Book Discussions

"He believed the dog was immortal. 'There will always be a Rin Tin Tin,' Lee Duncan said, time and time again, to reporters, to visitors, to fan magazines, to neighbors, to family, to friends. At first this must have sounded absurd--just wishful thinking about the creature that had eased his loneliness and made him famous around the world. And yet, just as Lee believed, there has always been a Rin Tin Tin." So begins Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend by Susan Orlean, our last book for 2012, and the last in our series of discussions about biographies and memoirs that offer us ideas for how to live. What if we could live forever? What would that really mean? And why would we want it?

On her website, Orlean describes the kind of writer she always dreamed of being: "someone who wrote long stories about interesting things, rather than news stories about short-lived events." Her deep curiosity and compassion for her subjects are evident in every piece she writes. Her subjects are often people with a similar deep connection to something. In an interview with Oprah.com, Orlean said, "I think I'm often drawn, whether I realize it or not, to the idea of what drives people. What do we love?" In Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend, Orlean tells us that her fascination with her subject began with a figurine of the hero dog that her grandfather clearly felt was special and would not let his grandchildren play with. In her research for the book, she discovered many other people who were invested in Rin Tin Tin. The original animal died, but his memory lived on in his offspring and in other movie and television productions. In an interview with Publishers Weekly, Orlean said, "The power of memory is one of the important themes in the book. My memory of Rin Tin Tin, and in particular my memory of that figurine, and the persistence of those memories, were essential to my interest in the subject. As I learned more about Rin Tin Tin's history, the mystery of my grandfather's attachment to that figurine suddenly seemed to reveal itself, and since it tracked such an important part of history, it became a natural theme for the book." To Orlean, then, living forever means living on in someone's memory.

In interviews with Oprah.com and with her publisher, Simon & Schuster, Orlean mentioned that both her father and a loved dog died as she was writing Rin Tin Tin, making very real for her the consideration of loss and memory. She told the interview for Oprah.com, "What has always fascinated me and what's very emotional to me is the question of what lasts. People want to, if not live forever, have evidence of their existence live forever. And I think that part of what happened for me was that my dad died in the course of my writing this, and I started thinking about memory, the idea that things come and go and then they're gone and forgotten. But Rin Tin Tin, by being reinvented over and over in people's imaginations, became kind of a timeless model: He just keeps going and going; his story outlives everybody. I feel great tenderness toward the people who devoted themselves to Rin Tin Tin and his history because I think everybody wants to have had their existence noted by the universe." We want our lives to have mattered.

In writing about Rin Tin Tin's life and legend, Orlean learned a profound lesson about how to live. Writers write biographies and memoirs in order for the lives of their subjects and their own lives to have been noted by the universe. Orlean says near the end of Rin Tin Tin, "I, too, had set out to be remembered. I had wanted to create something permanent in my life--some proof that everything in its way mattered, that working hard mattered, that feeling things mattered, that even sadness and loss mattered, because it was all part of something that would live on. But I had also come to recognize that not everything needs to be so durable. The lesson we have yet to learn from dogs, that could sustain us, is that having no apprehension of the past or the future is not limiting but liberating. Rin Tin Tin did not need to be remembered in order to be happy; for him it was always enough to have that instant when the sun was soft, when the ball was tossed and caught, when the beloved rubber doll was squeaked. Such a moment was complete in itself, pure and sufficient."

We hope you will join the discussion: Tuesday, December 4, at 6:30 p.m. at Main Library; Thursday, December 20, at 11:00 a.m. at West Ashley Branch Library; and here on the blog. 

Monday, November 19, 2012

Not Fiction Book Discussion Titles for 2013

We are already looking forward to 2013's list of great recent nonfiction!

As Cheryl Strayed says in her memoir Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail, "There's no way to know what makes one thing happen and not another. What leads to what. What destroys what. What causes what to flourish or die or take another course." Yet that seems to be the nonfiction writer's task, to understand how the world came to be the way it is, how it is changing even as we observe it, and how people make their way in it, with curiosity, determination, courage, forbearance, forgiveness, humor, and not a little luck.

We hope you will join us in 2013 to read and discuss the titles posted on the right side of this page.

And don't forget our remaining 2012 discussions of Blue Nights by Joan Didion and Rin Tin Tin: The Life and the Legend by Susan Orlean!


Wednesday, November 7, 2012

December Not Fiction Book Discussions

Within two years, author and critic Joan Didion lost her husband, John Gregory Dunne, and her daughter, Quintana Roo Dunne Michael. Her husband died suddenly of a heart attack in December 2003 while her daughter was in the ICU with sepsis, just one of a string of mysterious illnesses leading to her death in August 2005. Didion describes her grief over her husband's death in her memoir The Year of Magical Thinking, which sold over a million copies, won a National Book Award, and was made into Broadway play starring Vanessa Redgrave. She shares details from their married and shared professional lives and honestly describes the madness brought on by grief that allows one to believe that the beloved is not truly gone--the "magical thinking" of the title. In Blue Nights, however, a companion of sorts to The Year of Magical Thinking, Didion does not offer us another memoir of grief. Instead, she explores a frequent and even darker companion to grief, regret.

Readers expecting to follow a linear narrative of Quintana Roo's charmed but emotionally troubled childhood, to learn specific details about her series of illnesses and death, and to find catharsis and learn to accept that death along with Didion may find themselves disappointed. Instead, they consider with Didion the very uncomfortable question of whether, and to what extent, she herself was responsible for Quintana's unhappiness. Meghan O'Rourke, in her review of Blue Nights at slate.com, says, "The regret memoir is another thing altogether, a stranger, patchwork beast. It is written by an author with no hope of recovery, who has let go of her magical thinking. It is pricklier, more nihilistic, composed knowing that the center hasn't held, rather than out of a fraught awareness that the 'center cannot hold.' . . . The book instead bears witness to the realization that the past can never be fixed (a realization many parents must at some point confront)." Didion also confesses her inability to rely on her famous elliptical style to write about Quintana and realizes that she has perhaps often chosen style over substance in her own life. As O'Rourke notes, "the story is about how style becomes a tactic that prevents you from being in the moment. . . . her writing taps into one of postwar life's most vital contradictions. It dismantles myths and self-mythologizes at the same time. It exposes a generation's narcissism while at times embodying it." And in facing the death of her child and the inadequacy of her writing to help her deal with it, Didion confronts the uncomfortable fact of her own mortality.

While readers might not get what they expected in Blue Nights, they must surely recognize Didion's courage to share with her readers the more difficult story. Sometimes we turn to writers to show us how not to live.

We hope you will join the discussion: Tuesday, November 13, at 6:30 p.m. at Main Library; Thursday, November 29, at 11:00 a.m. at West Ashley Branch Library; and here on the blog.