THE PARTY'S OVER

As I projected when I began this project, this Blog would have a finite life. It was a project originally designed to be a dialogue between two writers about the craft of the writer Jacob M. Appel. My partner referred to himself as the FIRE MAN. He did manage to collaborate through the first three stories of EINSTEIN'S BEACH HOUSE, a collection that, as you know by now, has eight stories.

The objective was to obtain some ideas about the craft of writing and story telling through discussion of our observations about the text, and examining techniques for narrating action and using dialogue to develop characters and plot, if there is a plot.

As in most things, what hasn't been noted in entries, are observations that exist, at deep levels, from the reading that don't get articulated, but still inform our perception perhaps at a subliminal level. Those kinds of observations usually don't surface in projects like this. But sometime later, maybe even years, they may surface in our own work. We may or may not connect such occurrences with past research.

Writing/Reading can be a circular process that generates its own energy. It can ripple across the imagination when you least expect it.

I regret that FIRE MAN chose not to participate. If for some reason, he comes to the party belatedly, I would so happy to interact with his observations.

If you are reading this entry, which is the most recent effort, it represents a culmination of the blog. If you want to follow the history of the entries, you need to go back in time to February 9th, and move forward (or up) the entry dates. This will align the blogs with the order of the stories in EINSTEIN'S BEACH HOUSE. 

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PARACOSMOS: A PARABLE OUT OF THIS WORLD

Eve is the daughter of Medical Researcher Hugh Malansky and naturally skeptical wife, Leslie. Evie, as she is called by the Malanskys, has a best friend, a classmate and redhead named Kim. Kim's explains that carrying an umbrella increases the chances of rain. Hugh snips this fuzzy thinking in the bud with a lecture on cause and effect, and using an example of of the scrotum of chimney sweeps grew tumors because of their contact with soot.

This explanation prompted Kim's Mother calling the Malansky's for an explanation and apology, which ultimately ostracizes Evie from her school friends by excluding her from Kim's birthday party, and all other events.

Evie comes home sobbing that no one loves her anymore. The only thing that will compensate her loss is to have a talking pet parakeet. "Not in a million years," is Hugh's response, citing parrot fever, ornithsosis, pneumonia and meningitis as probable outcomes of parakeet possession.

But when her parents enter her room to explain why a parakeet is out of the question, Evie explains that it is okay. Her friend Lauren had brought her macaw along with her for a sleepover. When they inquire about Lauren, Evie replies that she;s her new best friend, and she asks Lauren have her makaw say something. Evie listen's to the silence intently and then bursts out laughing. 

"Isn't she great?" Evie laughingly observes.

Leslie is terrified saying to Hugh that she's too old for imaginary friends, while Hugh assures her it is just a phase and jokes that he hopes Lauren's mother is not a bitch like Kim's mother.

Leslie remembered that she had a childhood imaginary friend named Sally Whiskers, part human, part cat. She had always wanted a cat. When her twin brother claimed Sally was also his best friend, she countered that she couldn't be because she didn't exist, promptly terminating her fantasy.

Lauren Dowdy consumed Evie's imagination and time. Lauren required a toothbrush and an extra seat for amusement rides or admissions to events. Leslie would question about details of Lauren's life and Evie would fill in details that Lauren's parents were divorced and she had brother that drowned.

As the fantasy grows, partially abetted by Leslie's tacit acceptance of Lauren as Evie's friend, Hugh put's his foot down and declares that Lauren doesn't exist. When he eats a portion of Salmon from Lauren's plate a dinner, Evie demands he put it back because it belongs to Lauren, he replies that Lauren doesn't exist. Evie retreats sobbing. But after that day, Evie did not mention Lauren again, and she gradually returned to a world of real friends.

After a few days, an intriguing, handsome man parks in front of their house, and inquires "Mrs. Malansky? He explains he is Lauren's father and that he came to inquire if Lauren had done anything wrong. He explains that Lauren means everything to him, and if she has done anything wrong, he wants to make things right.

Steve Dowdy is magnetic and compelling. Leslie explains that the episode with Lauren was the fault of her husband. Steve remarks that Lauren was right about Leslie, You are more beautiful than I thought possible. They kiss and begin an affair, Steve visiting her every afternoon. As things develop, Leslie asks so see Lauren, but Steve continually makes excuses as to why that would be difficult.

Finally Leslie makes Steve commit to a date to see Lauren. She never meets Lauren, and Steve disappears from her life.

Paracosmos is that universe of the imagination that can be vivid and persuasive, intersecting with our lives with rich compelling narratives that can be more powerful than our daily pursuit of activities. 

What Appel demonstrates is how fluid and disarming the use of narrative story-telling can be in shifting our sensibilities from the "real" to an imaginary world, where anything is possible even if it conflicts with reality. He further illustrates how this imaginary life enriches experience and can rupture the membrane of our more or less tidy reality.

This is Appel at his best. The narrative is rich, and the characters are well delineated. What a way to end this collection of short stories. Paracosmos is "out of this world."

 

"SHARING THE HOSTAGE" HOLDING US HOSTAGE?

"Sharing the Hostage" is placed just right in this collection, as it is a piece of fluff that holds the reader hostage, away from the final story in the collection. We stay with it, hoping it has somewhere to go, but in the end, this story about "Flamingo Beach" on Long Island, and a divorced couple that shares the custody of a tortoise named "Fred" is caught in the web of its own rhetoric. 

We never learn the name of our hero, but we learn he has had some success as a ventriloquist with a homemade dummy named Dr. Whipple.

The hero of the story is courting a new girl-friend, Maddie, who has just gone through a divorce. Her ex-husband retains the house, and to avoid the turtle dying from removal from the comfort of his home, "Fred" remains with her ex-husband.

Our hero, who has ambitions to become a lawyer, is smitten with Maddie. But early in the relationship he warns her that schizophrenia is rampant in his family. He has vowed he will never have children. For most of his dates, this has been deal-breaker, and the relationship ends. 

But Maddie shrugs it off, and tells our 'hero" that she has a worse secret--sharing her story about joint custody of Fred the tortoise. She insists that he must take her every Saturday to visit Fred.

On this first visit, the ex-husband, Michael, warns our hero to stay in the car. Under no circumstances does he have permission to enter his house.

Suddenly he recognizes our hero as the ventriloquist he had taken his niece to see on her seventh birthday. Michael leaves for work as he shakes his head in wonder that his wife left him for a ventriloquist.

A few minutes later, Maddie comes out of the house holding a damask curtain which he learns is hiding the turtle. She buckles the seat belt and commands our hero to drive. Of course, he heads for Flamingo Beach. Maddie leaves the car to dig for earthworms for Fred, using our hero's prize coffee cup. This leaves our hero free to carry on a ventriloquist-style conversation with the turtle. He offers the turtle freedom and tries to get him to leave the car.

Maddie returns with an empty coffee cup.  She realizes they have made a mistake, and insists that they return to the house. She puts Fred back in Michael's house, and the weekly Saturday visitation will continue with everyone sharing the hostage "until something gives."

This is not Appel at his best. Appel often contrives his narratives with surprising shifts that can be jarring, lifting you out of the narrative and reminding you that this is just a trick, a device of language, like a magician pulling a dove from a hat, or a ventriloquist throwing a fake voice at a dummy, hoping you will not notice and will go along with the charade.

IS THE FIREMAN NOWHERE?

If this Blog had any readers, they might well ask, "Where's the Fireman?" But as this was a private learning venture, we are the only readers. For reasons known only to the Fire Man, he has abandoned this project...so I blunder on alone, left to my own devices, determined to come away a little bit wiser about the craft of writing through what I am discovering through Appel's short story narrative technique.

I understand that Appel has another set of stories, AMAZING THINGS ARE HAPPENING HERE, published in 2019. This is another set of eight short stories, and I gather that more than half are told in first person. The technique of entering into another identity to tell a story requires considerable skill, and Appel has been extremely prolific. Nothing beats learning about writing than writing itself. I'm happy Appel has brought forth these new stories. Reading is another way to unlock narrative awareness.

I miss Fireman. I wish he would sort out his issues and join me again. His participation would surely deepen what we might learn about writing as a process.

As I write this, a late winter snow storm is raging past my studio windows. I'm on the edge of a forest reserve, and my windows are framed by stately firs exactly like those that populate the Blue Mountain Forest Reserve. The moment is one that I envisioned in my teens, writing furiously during a snowstorm...only it was in Vermont.

Existentially, is the Fire Man Nowhere...or maybe really, Now Here?

 

ASCEPLIUS AS APPEL'S ARROGANT AGONY--ALAS!

Maybe Jacob Appel hopes that language can manipulate our values, as clearly the tale told by the daughter of a charming ne'er-do-well seeks our collaboration in murdering innocent bystanders. 

Appel's "The Rod of Acsceplius" begins with "A FIRST PULSE OF MEMORY---" by a precocious daughter of an architect who pretends to be a doctor to punish relatives of doctors---a vendetta against the medical profession because some doctors botched the treatment of his wife's ruptured uterus, killing her on Thanksgiving, and leaving our narrator, Lauren, motherless while still in kindergarten.

That "first pulse of memory" included a visit to a hospital, where her father, in a white lab coat is waived past security, and together they take the elevator to the top floor. He mistakenly barges into the room of an elderly man who has had his leg amputated, and makes a retreat, entering the room of a woman in her thirties who is emaciated and asking for Dr. Hagerman. He assures her that her doctor has been delayed, but that he's prescribed a blood-thinner, as he fills his syringe and administers a dose of his usual fatal" cocktail.

"Papa" never calls his daughter by name. She is a princess, and he has her go along as part of the mission. "Who are we doing this for?" he asks. Lauren replies, "For Mama." 

Papa's sister, Henrietta, comes to live with them because of a court order issued when Lauren plays hooky from kindergarten and "Papa" must adhere to new custody requirements for his lack of oversight. 

Henrietta has many boyfriends coming and going. She is 27, five years younger than her brother. When she asks Lauren what she wants to be when she grows up, Lauren answers she wants to be a doctor. When asked why, she replies because "Papa is a doctor." She is told outright her father is not a doctor, information that Lauren had suspected, but now knows to be true.

The murders of doctors' relatives, and in one case, an actual doctor, continues, all in the cause of Lauren's mother---all administered as medical treatments by syringe. Presumably the syringe is the Rod of Aceplius.

Each episode is followed by a celebration such as ice cream, or meals at fun places. After one such treatment, Papa asks Lauren what she wants to be when she grows up. When she answers "a doctor," he slaps her with stunning force. He tells her doctors are the enemy. Never forget that.

When Papa meets an aspiring doctor after she bumps into his car and smashes the headlamp, he begins to date her. For a while she believes his story, but in time she sees through his masquerade. But she has fallen in love and wants to be part of his life, no matter who or what he is.

Her name is Suzanne, and through her we learn that "Papa" is Phil. Phil constantly stays at her place, some distance from his actual home. He never asks Suzanne to come to his home, not even for Christmas. Finally she issues an ultimatum that they celebrate Christmas at his home or their relationship is ended. 

He celebrates Christmas at home with Lauren, her aunt and future uncle, but without Suzanne. After the holiday dinner, Henrietta and her boyfriend leave for vacation at the Gulf Coast. 

Phil returns to heavy drinking and two days later he asks Lauren to practice being a doctor by administering a dose of "salt water" with a syringe. 

Amazingly, she cooperates, even though she knows it is the same lethal dose he has administered to his victims. The Rod of Asceplius administers justice one last time.

Appel's "Papa" is a socially adept, good-natured fellow, who wants everyone to have a good time. Seen through the eyes of a young girl, his daughter, she serves as his accomplice in medically administered ceremonies of death followed by celebrations of ice cream and dessert.  

Appel seems to rationalize Phil's motives as a reasonable reaction to medical malpractice. But there is also a tone of arrogance that is troubling because all sense of right and wrong is apparently abandoned.

This might be the most complex narrative of this collection of short stories. It clearly is fueled by Jacob Appel's study of medicine and his actual practice as a doctor. He propels the story through the use of dialogue. It is a chilling final scene when he forces Lauren to administer his lethal concoction in an act of assisted suicide.

TRAVELOGUE THROUGH APPEL'S SHORT STORIES

We have passed the midpoint of this collection, so about three weeks remain before we try to glean what we might have learned from this experiment. I proposed to my young writer friend that we examine Appel's collection of stories, EINSTEIN'S BEACH HOUSE, together, and blog about our observations of his narrative techniques, and perhaps detect elements that comprise his style. All of the stories in the collection were printed earlier in various journals. 

It seemed clear to me that these were among Appel's first published attempts at story telling. What made these stories effective enough to be accepted for publication in journals? Do these stories hang together as a collection?

What can we learn from reading and discussing the stories? What is the "languaging" of the author Appel? Is it distinctive? What is the relationship of plot to character development? In this small group of stories, is there enough coherence to say Appel has a particular style?

Maybe there are better questions to be asked. I'm sure there must be. But I'm a strong believer that it can be fun to just dive in and start looking at what is before you. 

Looking ahead to "The Rod of Asclepius."

IT'S ALL ABOUT RELATIVITY: EINSTEIN'S BEACH HOUSE

This beach house story is a tale told by an eleven year-old girl, Natalie Scragg, who lived with her parents and younger sister Nadine at 2467 South Ocean Avenue in Hagers Head, New Jersey. The American Automobile Association posts that Albert Einstein spent his summers at that address. Even though at the outset, the first sentence indicates (with no authority) that Einstein spent his summers at 2647 South Ocean Avenue. Appel's opening paragraph is a succinct setting for the entire story as seen through the eyes of the older daughter.  Natalie speculates as to whether this statement by AAA was a typographical error, or that maybe the editors had some basis to think it was the correct address. 

Right away, we learn through Natalie that her parents, Bryce and Delia, are mismatched. Her father is a dreamer, and her mother is an unrepentant realist. When strangers appear asking for a tour of Einstein's summer cottage, the mother angrily tells them to get lost, but Bryce sees it as a cash cow to alleviate their dismal financial circumstances. As the consummate dreamer, he had been laid off work at Bell Labs working on a translation device to understand cats and dogs that had no traction with his employers. 

Bryce devises a plan to hold tours of Einstein's Beach House for twenty-five dollars a head. Delia will have no part of it, and spends her time fuming at what she regards as Bryce's ineptness and fuzzy thinking.

The Scraggs believed the house had been in the family as a summer home, and then the crash of 1929, forced Bryce's grandfather to give up his townhouse in Washington Square Village and move to the beach house as a permanent residence. It had been in the family for years.

Bryce bumbles along with the tours, inventing stories about Einstein and enjoying revenue growing to the amount of $2200 a week. It was enough to warm the cold heart of Delia, causing her to admit that the money had made it possible to pay their taxes on time for the first time in their life. Natalie sees her parents kiss "passionately" and remembers this as their happiest moment.

Of course, paradise unravels when Einstein's niece from Germany, Dora Winterer, visits them at the Beach House to claim her inheritance from uncle Albert: the beach house that Bryce thought had been in his family for years. Checking his safe deposit box, he fails to find a deed to the property.

We last see the Scraggs with Bryce changing a flat tire as they are on the road, without a home, on their way to live with Aunt Claire in her Virginia row house.

Here is a story of a relative of Albert Einstein, evicting the relatives of the Scraggs from Einstein's Beach House, a house they believed had been in the Scraggs family for generations. 

Maybe the real story is how did Grandpa Scraggs end up in the wrong house?

Appel writes a tight narrative, but there are a lot of loose ends. What is convincing is his sharp delineation of many characters that appear in the story: family members, boarders renting the lower floor, many visitors to the museum, and finally the dagger in the heart: Einstein's niece, Dora Winterer, sporting her memory of visiting uncle Albert in that very home and clutching the official deed to the property.

Whatever. This story has lots of relatives. Clearly adhering to a theory of relativity.

THE QUESTION OF STRINGS

FIRE MAN succinctly asks about the story "STRINGS" resonated with me, but I think I already covered that in my Blog "NO STRINGS." 

The situation of playing truly new music is always a conundrum for musicians with traditional training. When composers such as Charles Ives present totally new concepts, it is difficult to find musicians who can articulate those ideas for the first time. Consequently Ives made his living selling insurance. We didn't learn of his genius until after he had passed away, and scores of new music were found in his studio. 

John Cage solved the problem by mostly performing his own scores with like-minded colleagues. Today it is a bit different as musicians today are generally eclectic in styles, having been exposed to so much new music. 

I still do my electronic compositions mostly for my own amusement and edification. I seldom post any of my electronic dabbling.

I do wish FIRE MAN would get in the habit of using Verdana font, medium, so we have consistent style to this Blog. I guess this is the third time I've mentioned it, so maybe FIRE MAN is not as serious about this Blog as I am. I thought it would be an opportunity to learn together, and maybe in some subtle way it is.

ANOTHER QUESTION

Appel is not a musician, but he creates some vivid scenes about music in "Strings." Being a musician and academic, how did the story resonate with you? You talk about musicians being more incoherent when they give ambitious instructions to play something that is conceptually complicated. How do you relate to the musicians in Strings?

DELIVERANCE FROM LIMERENCE

I have considered this project of studying Appel's short story techniques through reading of his collection EINSTEIN'S BEACH HOUSE, a limited study with another writer, The Fire Man. Consequently this commentary on the stories and Appel's technique and style will come to a close about a month from now. I had hoped this blogging experiment would be helpful for the Fire Man, a talented and aspiring young writer, but I think he is finding it to be more of a task than a joy. For myself, I discovered the act of reading a powerful, subliminal teaching tool, and I was hoping our readings and response to each other would be a source of motivation and inspiration.

While waiting for my colleague's response to "Strings," I have moved on to "Limerence" the fourth entry in this eight-story collection. Of all the stories, this one had, perhaps, the most impact for me on a personal level. Limerence, as a psychological condition was not recognized until Psychologist Dorothy Tennov published her study in 1998, Love and Limerence: The Experience of Being in Love. Limerence is described briefly as obsessive thinking about the object of your affection, irrational idolizing their attributes, emotional dependency, and lastly, (and most importantly) longing for reciprocation.

Leave it to Appel, who among his many advanced degrees holds a doctorate in psychology, to clarify my adolescent life that continues to haunt me even today. His story about Jesse's obsession with Lena, pales before the obsessive compulsive behaviors of my adolescent years from junior high school through my years in college. Want to know about "Limerence"? I can give you stories...in spades. But, that's another Blog.

Appel's story of Jesse Neerman growing up in Connecticut with an obsession for Lena Limpetti is well-crafted. Lena had moved to the house across the street when he was in the seventh grade. She was also in the seventh grade, and Jesse's father asked him to show her around and introduce her to friends.

Lena's stepfather was in jail for having killed her mother, and she had come from California to live in Connecticut with her father. We learn these facts abruptly as an element of surprise, as almost everything about Lena is endearing, edgy, with abrupt swings of mood. But she was a stunning beauty. She turned heads, no matter where she goes. She hung out with older boys and enlisted Jesse's help to smooth over and back up her alibis about her whereabouts and boyfriends.

When Lena abruptly leaves for California with a tattoo artist to visit her stepfather who has just been released from prison, Jesse finally gets the courage to write Lena a letter declaring his love for her.  Upon her return, Jesse asks Lena if she received his letter, she replies "I wish I could write like that."  When he asks about the visit with her stepfather, she tells him he hanged himself the day before she arrived.

Years pass, and Jesse marries and has daughters of his own, and after pursuing his law degree at Yale, becomes a Connecticut judge. He has lost touch with Lena, and on a rainy day, Lena's father calls with concern about Lena in Greenwich Village and her refusal to communicate. 

Although he had not seen or been in touch with Lena for years, he agrees to check on her situation in the village. When he arrives, he sees Lena at the cash register. She doesn't recognize him. He walks up to her and says "Lena...it's really you." Suddenly she recognizes him and hugs him, and all of his feelings for her from the past come flooding back into his memory.

She goes through a rush of emotions, becoming angry that maybe he thought he still had a chance with her. She tells him he wasn't the only guy that wrote her love letters. She begins fuming that her father had sent Jesse, screaming, "I don't owe him anything." 

They sit for a few moments, when Jesse says, almost angrily, he has to get back to Connecticut. As Lena reaches for his hand, he avoids her and makes a quick retreat, presumably leaving Lena stunned.

Outside in the "drizzle and mist," Jesse clutches his umbrella, somehow hoping that Lena Limpetti would come "chasing him through the rain."

This is the most complex narrative in this set of stories thus far---passages of time and histories of characters unfold quickly in this story that takes Jesse Neerman from the seventh to twelfth grade in high school, to being appointed to the bench midlife, his limerence holding him captive to a dream that could never be.

NO STRINGS

Appel's "Strings" is one of the better written stories in this Beach House collection. Just look at how succinctly he sets the stage in the first sentence:

"RABBI CYNTHIA FELDER WAS NEWLY MARRIED, and in her pulpit only six months, when a former lover asked to borrow the sanctuary." 

Note the use of caps in the opening phrase, like a headline, screaming "emancipated woman here" and a rip in the conventional fabric of society. All at once we have Gays, Lesbians, and Koreans gathering in her tabnernacle, but the thought of 400 musicians (cellists!) invading her sanctuary seemed the height of effrontery. At the pinnacle of this impudence was the fact that a female was the ultimate arbiter of the use of God's space.

The description of the new music concert led by ex-lover Jacques Krentz was so accurate that Appel surely must have seen such a spectacle. I've seen many such concerts of new music where the conceptual framework challenges musical convention leaving the audience stunned, and rendering the musicians somewhat incoherent.

"No Strings" was the name of a musical by Richard Rodgers, and while the title suggested a romantic relationship with no obligations, it also described an orchestra for the musical that had no string instruments in the ensemble. For some reason, this story title reminded me of that musical, and there is a tone in Appel's writing that "Strings" seems to resonate metaphorically for Jacques remaining attached to Cynthia, the newly married rabbi. But instead of NO Strings, it is actually ALL STRINGS, 400 Cellists!

This story emerges as a comedy and a statement of a world fluctuating in artistic and social change, Appel leaves us smiling, perhaps thinking the world isn't so bad after all. It's a tight, well-knit narrative, attempting to celebrate the grandiose, and recognizing that bigger is not necessarily better.

WILL TRY ONE MORE TIME

Will try one more time to make this blog work. Will read strings tonight and write blogpost tomorrow

WHY---INDEED, WHY?

 "WHY? "is a good question to ask yourself. 

I believe you are mistaken that the story "resonated' with me. I wanted to explore it to see why, in my estimation, it was flawed. This is a story in which Appel is showing off how bright and intelligent he is. I find the dialogue and story line somewhat tedious. I was a bit annoyed that he was using the battle between the couple to take us to no resolution. 

As for the sections, it seems obvious from his cinematic ending that they are the equivalent of "scenes" in a film. This is not a practice exclusive to Appel. Different authors use similar devices to denote either the passage of time or the ending of one scene and the beginning of another.

Even so, I can't concoct a better ending than the one Appel offers, even though it leaves me a little bit angry that I bothered to finish reading this affair of the tragic sadness of hedghogs...indeed, Josh and Adeline are just a couple of hedgehogs marinating in the tears of their own sad lives.

LAST QUESTION

Why did Appel leave the ending of La Tristesse Des Herrisons on a cliffhanger? At the end of the story, he leaves us, as you say, in a "polaroid moment." This is quite an unusual, though not uncommon, way of ending a story. Why did Appel end the story in this manner?

I'd also like to ask why Appel used sections in the story. The divisions convey a sense of progression around Josh's relationship with Adeline, but it didn't resonate with me the same way it resonated and interested you.

FARE THEE WELL...

Sorry that EINSTEIN'S WRITERS DEN didn't turn out to be your cup of tea.

I thought you were doing well, and that you made some very fine observations and comments. I just couldn't understand why you wouldn't carry on a conversation.

I won't kill this Blog. It can hang for a while. 

I'll check it from time to time to see if you post anything. 

I think there was a lot you could learn from Appel, as he has good points and serious deficits. We learn can from his mistakes as well as his fine points.

Even though you stop contributing to this Blog, I may continue my reading of Appel. It has been a good source for a number of writing techniques and devices, including determining differences between narratives and plots. 

Some of Appel's technique is naked and brutal---signs of his conflict between emotion and intellect. I'm sorry we didn't get to "Limerence," as that story defines a psychological condition that wasn't officially recognized until recently by the Psychiatric Association. It was my affliction all through elementary, middle school and high school, but I thought it was just life.

Please keep writing. You do have something to say. Maybe someday you will discover what it is. 

Yes. Even now.

Keep writing, and it will come through.

DENOUMENT

I'm not providing the dialogue you desire. May we please pause this project? 

FEEDING BACK

 You wrote:

"I need to do this correctly. I'm writing a list of feedback I'm supposed to give back, but knowing what feedback I owe you have been difficult to discern from your posts."

This is a subtle feature of your personal and scholarly stance. It is very formal, and seems to clutter your thinking and your reading, with a somewhat stultified outlook, as though if you outline it, you might understand it.

Right now I am responding to you. 

You don't owe me anything specific except an intelligent reading and reflection upon what you've read.

Your source of reading is twofold: Appel's Einstein stories, and my entries to our Blog.

Since you began to Blog, each of my entries acknowledges and comments on what you blogged about.

Your entries basically focus only on Appel and there is no give and take with my observations of Appel or my responses to your writing.

I'm trying to have a dialogue. You seem to prefer monologue.

YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS...

What do you mean "write it out again"?

Each of our entries are there as a permanent entry. That was the point of using this format. 

You can revisit (and reread) any entry. 

You can write a response to my first entry, or any other entry. That is why we have a dated index of our entries on the right side of the Blog.

If this is too much for you, I am truly surprised, but stranger things have happened in my life. 

Have you read "Strings?'

Do you want to continue, or does it seem pointless to you?

It's not too late to do DROP/ADD and find something that is more meaningful for you. I was hoping we would establish a line of communication with this Blog.  

I wish you had read and comprehended my first entries for this Blog. It was an informal drafting of a plan for us both to learn something about the craft of writing and about ourselves.

I had high hopes as the old Frank Sinatra song used to say:

Next time you're found, with your chin on the ground
There a lot to be learned, so look around

Just what makes that little old ant
Think he'll move that rubber tree plant
Anyone knows an ant, can't
Move a rubber tree plant

But he's got high hopes, he's got high hopes
He's got high apple pie, in the sky hopes

So any time you're gettin' low
'stead of lettin' go
Just remember that ant
Oops, there goes another rubber tree plant!  

I know you may not know who Frank Sinatra was, and that's okay. You know many things that I don't know...that's why conversations such as this Blog can be meaningful and productive... or they can just die.

Up to you.

DIALOGUE

I need to do this correctly. I'm writing a list of feedback I'm supposed to give back, but knowing what feedback I owe you have been difficult to discern from your posts.  Given that this is not a class, it would be unfair for you to write it out again, even though that would help me tremendously. I feel guilty that this experiment is not turning out as you imagine. Do you mind restating the feedback and specific things you'd like me to discuss?

 

"LA TRISTESSE DES HÉRISSONS"

Sometimes just the act of reading teaches us about ourselves as well as absorbing, concomitantly, awareness of technique and skills. Our reading informs and transforms us. Your response to Appel's homage to sadness is well done, concise, and illuminating. It suggests to me that you have learned a great deal from the technique of the story without articulating this acquisition specifically. You might find it useful to try to elicit from yourself how Appel's craft could be informing your own technique.

I have always thought of this story as an "Ode to Sadness." I always assumed "La Tristesse des Hérrisons" was an old French saying, but so far I haven't been able to verify this. Using this as a title tends to lift the story into an abstraction. Appel's use of dialogue to advance the plot and develop character is really outstanding.

On the other side of sadness is anger. So it seems inevitable the pent-up tolerance of unreasonable demands would erupt in a violent act of seizing the hedgehog with malicious intent. To end the narrative with Adeline, Josh, and the hedgehog, whose razor sharp quills have sliced Josh's left hand to shreds, standing together on the ledge outside their apartment window, about to plunge to the street---with the hedgehog leading the way, slipping from Josh's bloody grip, followed by Josh and then Adelaide---but we can only assume, because Appel has left them framed as if in a Polaroid moment, for the reader to determine what happens next.

This story also uses sections as part of the structure. The first story also employed the same device. I asked you then, and I ask you now, how you think using sections advances or affects the narrative?

Let me conclude that I really take issue with you not engaging my comments, especially when I have asked for your response to specific points and issues.

Go back and reread my entries and give me some requested feedback. Otherwise, we don't have a dialogue, just inconsequential speeches that fail to achieve an exchange of ideas.

It's time to move on to "Strings." See you in cyberspace.

 

DISBELIEF

The second Story of Einstein's Beach House is set in Manhattan. The protagonist, Josh, is a former lawyer who owns and operates a relatively successful restaurant. He is in a failing relationship with a neurotic woman suffering from more than a few traumatic events. The protagonist, while not wealthy, is successful enough to afford his pet's healthcare needs, including buying medication and expensive lights for his hedgehog. 

To enjoy the story, a reader must suspend his disbelief multiple times. Adeline is clearly going through serious issues and does not seem to receive any necessary treatment for her sadness or more profound dissatisfaction. Nobody, even her boyfriend, encourages (much fewer asks) her to sort out her issues. Taking care of the hedgehog grows to become the only outlet for her frustration. Despite knowing it only drives them apart, Josh keeps indulging her obsession with Orion. Josh not only buys medicine without insurance but also spends his time and treasure soundproofing and darkening the house. He only snaps when Adeline accuses him of purposefully damaging Orion with the refrigerator light. The ending is foreshadowed several times but is still unbelievable. The sight of Josh having squeezed the hedgehog to death, with him and his girlfriend on a ledge together, is harrowing. Is this a metaphor for death or the struggle of rebirth? 

Appel crafts excellent sentences. Some of my favorites included his description of Adeline's mother. The dialogue between Josh and Adeline is similarly robust and cutting. Some illustrations, including Josh's lament of firing the pretty waitress after being seen sharing some calamari with her, are excellently written. I'm deeply envious of Appel's ability to create evocative images.

 

ABSENT WITHIN

We each dwell within an absence of being that can be terrifying. Being present within our awareness is the journey each takes in discovery of ourselves. This is the theme of The Odyssey, and we seem to always be at the center of our quest. Your absence is not from this Blog, but is centered within your being, and it will manifest itself in many ways, but at some point you pause... and suddenly remember "I am Here."

FORGIVE ME

 Forgive me for my absence.

For some strange reason, my sister-in-law decided to spend her boys' precious vacation time touring colleges in the United States. They crashed at my home for a day and a half, making it hard to read anything or reply to your last statement. I was going to ask a few questions about Walt Whitman and New York City. 

I'll read the following story and write a post on it.

NOT A ONCE-IN-A-WHILE PLACE

 It's been a while since your last entry. Since that time I responded to you with a number of questions and observations that invited your attention. 

I know you're busy. So am I. 

I never felt this was to be a long-term project. Choosing a modest book of eight stories put a finite frame on this exchange. If we spent a week on each story, we would be done at the end of 8-10 weeks, and maybe we both might have learned something worthwhile. 

Maybe you're writing your response even now, but it occurred to me that I should clarify what I was hoping might emerge from our dialogue in this space.

If you can add to Einstein's Beach House commentaries, do so quickly, because there's a critter waiting up the path that has a bizarre tale in "La Tristesse Des Hérissons." My first reading was one of disbelief. I'm still not sure what I think of this tale about "The Sadness of Hedgehogs."

Read the story, and in the meantime, I will give it another reading. I notice it is also divided into sections as was the first story. You never commented on how you thought sections function in structuring a narrative.

STYLE AND NARRATIVE

You make cogent observations about Appel's style. Your entry is right on target in what I was hoping to get from you, even though I was left wanting much more of your observations about his narrative technique. I appreciate your noticing Appel's similarities with Hemingway and Salter. It might be more convincing if you had offered some examples. I believe that critics have observed that Hemingway tried to be careful and sparse in the use of adjectives.

If you are writing continuously, it's hard to stay the same. Maybe style evolves as you develop more command over narrative. 

Narrative is about "what happens"...and Hemingway moves slowly and deeply in allowing each of his narratives to find its own voice. If you've read The Old Man and The Sea, you encountered a deep narrative style that focused on minute tribulations of action unfolding, whether it be the sea, the old man's thoughts, his struggles with the elements, his boat, the giant marlin lashed to the side of his boat.

The Old Man and the Sea is his ninth novel. His first novel was The Sun Also Rises in 1926, ten years before I was born. The Old Man and the Sea was published in 1952, when I was a sophomore in high school. I include my chronology to note that Hemingway served as a teacher for me in the way that I appropriated his work to understand my own writing process. 

Some observe that Hemingway prefers verbs over adjectives, but that may be an oversimplification.

I really appreciate how much you have improved your writing with regard to this Blog. But I have asked that you acknowledge the content I wrote specifically for you because it frames a foundation for some ground rules for our mutual inquiry. None of your entries acknowledge anything I've written and addressed specifically to you. All of my entries in this Blog are addressed specifically to you. And when you have submitted your writing, I have referred to the content of your entry.

A dialogue begins when you respond to someone who presents an idea or asks a question.

Please write a more or less diligent entry in response to the several points raised for you by me in the initial entry of this Blog.

Thanks for using a title, and I'm glad you used caps so our Blog starts to take on a certain consistency in style. 

Using Verdana set as a medium-sized font also provides a standard for style.

Currently I am engaged with Walt Whitman and following him on his journey walking the streets of lower Manhattan as he did every day, writing and publishing newspapers and journals and gradually establishing a new literary style. Those days were stormy days in the history of the republic, and Whitman, I think, was the Hemingway of his day because of his prolific prose and poetry was shaping a new style for a new world.

APPEL'S STYLE

 Some Similarities

I'm starting to make my way through Jacob Appel's writing. In addition to publishing tons of books, he also writes a column for a unique medicine website, MegPage. Appel's sentences are filled with adjectives, which helps him tell stories in a specific and personal manner. In "Hue and Cry," he describes the two 13-year-old girls and other characters through enough backstory "I've taught you too much grammar" and physical traits, "Legs deep in the grass." Appel has a particular talent for distilling whole pages of adjectives into beautiful, sparse sentences. In this respect, he's similar to Hemingway and James Salter. Both writers wrote beautiful sentences that encapsulate an entire world of adjectives into simple phrases. 

When I started writing, my prose tended to use a litany of 10-dollar words that were both unnecessary and condescending. After five or so years of experimentation, my writing style became leaner and sparser. However, that did not mitigate any longstanding weaknesses. Reading Einstein's Beach House reminded me of my writing coach's most important lesson, settling on your most robust and authentic voice. For me, that meant writing essays that were personal and specific. Unfortunately, that also meant experimenting with artistic license. You once said that accuracy was essential to me. That may be true, but you can't stay the same forever in writing. You're only as good as your last sentence. 

AT LAST...

GODOT or least some version of that elusive figure did arrive. At long last, let the dialogue begin. Please drop the "Dear Wyzard" salutation. We are not writing letters.

Just begin your conversation. I'm still waiting for your acknowledging any of the content that was written entirely for your benefit and no one else. All of that commentary was intended to launch several conversations, but alas, we are still bogged down in HUE AND CRY--- Oh, the wonder of it all!

Hue has a double meaning as it can refer to color, or it can refer to the quality of one's values. Cry might be someone shouting, or it might be someone weeping. This hadn't occurred to me until now, although I've read this story before, and now I can see that Appel's ambiguity is deliberate.

PLEASE: TITLES IN CAPS! Let's have a sense of style.

Godot did arrive

 Dear Wyzard,

Forgive me for my absence, I’ve been struggling with time consuming tasks. Reading, for some reason, is quite a laborious task. I’ve yet to master the art of speed reading, much less reading carefully.

In my opinion, Godot did arrive. The two men, Vladimir and Estragon made him (whoever Godot is) into someone we desire to meet. In that sense, Godot (who may not have existed) become a person 

WAITING FOR GODOT?

I've come to this space twice since our email exchanges. I find no response to my entries. 

Maybe you should schedule some of your Messaging and FaceBook time to a regular interaction with me on this Blog. An attractive feature of a Blog format is that it allows an asynchronous conversation between or among participants.

So I am waiting. I hope it is not for Godot. I don't think he ever arrived.

HUE AND CRY

 

I can't read HUE AND CRY for you. It is written in intelligible English. The gist is about a community's reaction and a particular family's reaction to the public notice that a convicted Sexual Predator has moved into the community. It happens that this person has moved back home with his mother who is ill. The girls decide to break into the home and see what they can find out about this "predator." You may recall that the father invited the sex offender to dinner. This act prompted the "Hue and Cry" of the community as residents direct protests at the family for treating the offender with respect.

Maybe you need to read it a couple of times. I can't see that there is anything in the prose that is incomprehensible. I don't think there is anything beyond your intelligence.

 

Some things worth noticing: How does Appel use dialogue in this story? Why do you think he wrote this story? Do you think he believes the community might be the offender? 

 

You probably noticed that Appel divides the story into six sections. How does that organize the narrative? Who are the characters in the story? How do the characters relate to each other, and what is the significance of the father?

What is the ratio of dialogue to narrative? What devices are used to identify who is speaking? Conversation in stories is often an issue. One of the best writers in handling dialogue is Hemingway. How many stories have you read of Hemingway?

After reading the introductory material in our Blog, how do others make distinctions between essays and short stories?

One of the things that impressed me the most when I first met you was that you were informed through extensive reading. It appeared that the bulk of your reading was not fiction.

 

 

IDEAS GOOD & BAD & MOVING ON

I would not characterize my entries as "annoyed." Rather, I was disappointed, because I think you are smart, and quite capable of original ideas, as well as grasping the ideas of content that you read. So far, I see no evidence of that in your entries, no acknowledgment of a discussion written and shaped entirely for your benefit.

The question now, is whether you have read "CRY AND HUE" and are there things you think are effective in the narrative? How does Appel approach plot? Is this simply a narrative, or is the author trying to make a point? I will hold back my specific thoughts on the merits and features of this story until you read and post about it.

I hope you bothered to go the link provided for examining the issue of the difference between stories and essays, to read that article.

By the way, if you wish to focus on essays, then that's fine. But try to read some really excellent essays. Anything by David Foster Wallace is exemplary and fun to read. His collection of essays Brief Interviews with Hideous Men is a masterpiece of narrative essays teeming with literary devices and tricks. 

I would also suggest that another feature of Wallace's work is satire. Satire can transform our perspective of reality and dig deep beneath the surface. I find Wallace's literary skill astonishing. He should be better known, more widely read.

From what I have observed in our various exchanges is that you might have a gift for satire.

By the way, an annoying shortcoming of this Blogging App is that you must select your Font style and Font Size each time. I have been setting the Font as Verdana and the font size is Medium. There should be a way to make that part of the Blog's default, but for now, try using those settings.

Please give titles to your entries that characterize the content of your entries. It's good practice.

 

Reply

 Hello,

I'm sorry for not understanding the purpose of this blog.

I understand that you are annoyed.

Why don't we discuss the book's first story, Hue And Cry?

If not, why don't we chalk this up as a bad idea?

Fire Man

START YOUR OWN BLOG

Your take on NYC in decline is well-noted. 

I had a similar conclusion when while sitting outside at a restaurant on LaGuardia Street, a car came down the street with someone inside firing a gun randomly at the sidewalk... or was it when I was coming out of Chow House on Bleecker, the street was crowded with homeless young men, and when I had a conversation with one near the entrance, I could see he in his eyes he was not where he wanted to be. 

But I have to say that I am disappointed you ignored my question and everything I had understood might be a mutual quest, and a dialogue about writing. You apparently care nothing about discussing Appel and seeing what we might discover about writing as we measure his successes and mistakes. 

I did address our exchange about what constitutes an essay and a short story. Apparently that is not worthy material for your comment, although it was an attempt to contextualize our past brief exchange of messages.

So your goal of a paragraph a day or whatever is laudatory, but if you are refusing a dialogue and taking into account all of the prose we are generating, then my advice to you is to start your own Blog and send me the link, and I'll try to visit once in a while.

Otherwise, let's end this conversation, because so far you have not related to one thing that I've written.

New York Cleanliness disaster.

 Dear Wyzard,

My aim is to write a short paragraph every day on this blog.

Here is today's paragraph.

2 days ago, I went out for a nice meal at an Australian Cafe with a new friend. I was thirty minutes late, but he didn't seem to mind. My new friend, Nick, is an entrepreneur and podcaster in Berlin. He spends most of his year traveling around economic centers raising money for his new venture capital fund, and preaching the gospel of progress and productivity. However, despite his deep affection for our fine city, he was taken aback by its recent troubles. "New York has declined, but it is unlike San Francisco." We started walking down the street after we finished our french fries. After three or four blocks, he realized he was walking the wrong way. After we went our separate ways, I began walking down towards a lovely pre-war building and ended up in Gramercy. Unlike the nearby neighborhoods, the streets were spotless, and the buildings looked fresher and better maintained. New York City has always been divided along economic and ethnic lines, but it never felt this stark and blatant. The city has long stopped cleaning everyone's roads and keeping every neighborhood safe. 

The Fire Man

 

GOOD TO HEAR FROM YOU, FIRE MAN

In writing an introduction to provide a setting for our conversations, I thought you might have some response. I deliberately tried to set it up to provide a context for a dialogue.
I suppose "waking up" is a good start, especially if we take it metaphorically.

But when you make an entry, PUBLISH IT. By clicking on Publish at the right. When you publish, I will respond. You can edit anything you publish. Have you Blogged before? 

Give a Title to your entry. That way, the Blog will log our conversations in a way that they will be easy to find..

My first question for you is which story in Einstein's Beach House would you like to discuss first? 

My second question is: Did you read what I wrote to initiate this project? Is this something you take seriously? If not, let's be done with it as of now, and we will chalk it up to a bad idea.

 

2/9/2023

 LG: Dear Prof Gilbert,

Today, I woke up ...

...FIRE MAN

 

EINSTEIN'S WRITERS DEN

This Writer's Den is inspired by EINSTEIN'S BEACH HOUSE, a book of stories by Jacob M. Appel. It is a place for discussion about the craft of these stories. Two aspiring writers are using this space as a workspace. All of the stories were published earlier in Reviews or Journals, so they were refereed to a certain extent. They were collected in this volume and published in 2014.

Allison Lynn, author of The Exiles and Now You See It, comments in the frontispiece: "Impossibly keen... a collection that takes a sharp look at the moments when we, whether child or adult, see who we truly are, and the inevitability of who we will become. Appel's achy, skewed, sometimes heartbreaky world is dense with truth and humor---the stuff of great literature."

High praise, indeed. My own experience in reading the book was one of amazement at the originality of the style of the stories, but distinctly feeling they were not all equally well-written. I detected flaws (of course from my particular perception), and I felt I was learning from the flaws as well as the excellence of his story telling. I was especially impressed with the range of subject matter. Appel is clearly an intelligent observer. Regardless of the verdict of excellence or not, I think observing the craft of his stories might help my friend and me as we pursue writing projects on our own.

So when a young friend of mine indicated an interest in becoming a writer, I was intrigued by his wide-rage of interests and that he impressed me as an intelligent observer. At the this point in his young career, he writes what he describes as essays. For me, an essay suggests a work of non-fiction. At one point essays were topical such as Yoshida Kenko's ESSAYS IN IDLENESS (1332), Ralph Waldo's SELF-RELIANCE (1841), William Hazlitt's ON THE PLEASURE OF HATING (1823) Joan Didion's ON KEEPING A NOTEBOOK (1968) or David Foster Wallace's CONSIDER THE LOBSTER (2005). Not too long ago, in noting how definitions sometimes change over time, I came upon Ashley Shannon's THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN A SHORT STORY AND A PERSONAL ESSAY, which in itself is an essay published on the Internet.

I suggested we might mutually explore the craft of writing by focusing on Appel's book of short stories. Jacob M. Appel is a very interesting author who wears many hats and pursues diverse careers, possessing medical, attorney-at-law, scientific research degrees and more, at the doctoral level. Wikipedia describes him: "Jacob M. Appel (born February 21, 1973) is an American author, poet, bioethicist, physician, lawyer, and social critic... he is best known for his stories..."

 

I have a background as a composer, poet, professor, administrator, blogger, researcher and writer---many different hats because I am enjoying a long life. 

 

This Blog is intended as a private conversation, a dialogue, maybe even dialogical inquiry. I'm interested to see where this experiment takes us.