THE SOUL is shaped by words, images, & experiences.

THIS BLOG is about those things that have left their impression on me. I'd love for you to comment on what affects you.
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Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label fiction. Show all posts

Sunday, March 9, 2008

Dissecting Fiction

"As Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from uneasy dreams he found himself transformed in his bed into a monstrous vermin."

This is the opening line to The Metamorphosis, the highly acclaimed novella by Franz Kafka, first published in 1915. The story is about Gregor, a traveling salesman whose life changes when he awakens in the body of a cockroach. The story is also about Gregor's family--his dependent parents and sister, who now must earn a living, as well as care for their grotesquely debilitated family member. In the end, Gregor's family agrees they are better off without this bug.

The beauty of The Metamorphosis lay in its ability to inspire so many different formulations of its meaning. And that's what good literature does, right? It forces you to dig deep, ponder life beyond the inked images of the page.

Let's see. I just read an article in the New York Times that exposes Kafka for being a "fraud", because "'the story is actually non-fiction,' according to a statement by Kafka's editor." "Kafka simply wrote a completely verifiable, journalistic account of a neighbor by the name of Gregor Samsa who, because of some bizarre medical condition, turned into a ‘monstrous vermin.’"

Supposedly there is a rare disease known as entomological dysplasia, in which the sufferer, over time, develops a hard carapace, a segmented body and antennas.

The article's author, Mark Leyner, reports: "In a telephone interview, Mr. Kafka was contrite and tearful. 'I know what I did was wrong,' he said. 'I’m very alienated from myself, but that’s no excuse to lie. I took someone’s life and selfishly turned it into an enigmatic literary parable.'”

Hold the presses. Didn't this guy die in 1924?

Mr. Leyner's article goes on to say, "Mr. Kafka’s publishers are now reviewing all his works of fiction — stories about singing mice, 'hunger artists' and men on trial for crimes they’re not aware of having committed — to determine whether they too are true." “'We were duped,'” said E., Mr. Kafka’s editor. “'The whole story is pure, unadulterated non-fiction. This guy’s a complete con man.'”

Is he? I can understand criticizing an author, like Margaret B. Jones, for passing off a fictitious work as factual. But condemning a novelist for turning fact into fiction? Isn't art suppose to imitate life?

I double-checked to make sure today is not April 1st. The article sounded like a joke to me. What are your thoughts?

Thursday, January 17, 2008

Over Her Head, a book review

How would you feel if the teen you lovingly raised suddenly became suspect in a murder? This is the premise of Over Her Head, the new novel—based on a true story—by award-winning writer, Shelley Bates.

Laurie Hale enjoys a life most women admire. She has a good husband and nice kids, and she is a natural leader. Her skills as an organizer combined with her enthusiasm for helping others have made her popular in her church and community. Then Laurie discovers a body during her morning run. The dead girl is fourteen-year-old Randi Peizer, a newcomer to town. Forensic evidence reveals the unpopular student drowned after being pushed off the bridge. Accident or murder? Police investigate and find that Laurie’s teenage daughter Anna may have been involved. As her faith in Anna’s innocence is tested, Laurie’s confidence in her roles as a wife, a mother, and a friend to the women of Glendale crumbles under the proud waters that overwhelm her soul. If she is to help her troubled daughter, Laurie must first find the way out of her own despair.

Over Her Head wrings our emotions through the author's deftly-handled contrasts. We shiver at the frightening secret world of cyber-age youth and feel the heartbreak of parents trying to understand them. We are heartened when one grieving mother draws comfort from her faith, but distressed because the other, too wrapped up in her own agenda, discovers emptiness where God should have been. Shelley Bates is a captivating storyteller. I couldn't put this novel down until I finished reading it. Then when I did, I had to run for tissues. And believe me, it takes a lot to make this gal cry!