#GreeneForGran

A quick post to spread the word about Greene For Gran - an initiative started up by Simon Savidge.  If you're a fan of blogging Simons, chances are that you've also been over to Savidge Reads - his tastes are quite different from mine, but of course I love his blog - and through that, got to know the tastes of Dorothy Savidge, aka Simon's Gran.  We were all sorry to hear about her illness, and that she passed away recently. It is only befitting, for a woman who loved reading, that people get reading in her honour - and Simon S hit upon the excellent idea of #GreeneForGran - that is, reading some books by an author Dorothy loved: Graham Greene.

He mentioned it on Twitter, and a few of us thought it sounded like an excellent plan and spurred him on - and now you can read all about the plans. Basically, read something by Greene during August, and maybe post or discuss during the last few days of the month.  Vintage Books will also be doing the odd giveaway over at Simon S's.

I've only read a couple of Greene books (Travels With My Aunt and Brighton Rock) and strongly recommend the former.  I have a few others on my shelves, and I intend to grab at least one of them during August and have a read.  I do hope you'll join in - and that you'll spread the word.

Publicizing One Book While Writing Another And Living My Life—It's Not A Joke. It's My New Normal!

by Amy Sue Nathan

It has taken me until the middle of summer settle to meld doing publicity for my debut novel, The Glass Wives, with my writing schedule for my new novel.

Better late than never, right? Let's hope so.

In writing and in life, I'm a big proponent of do what works for you.

But what if you don't know what that is?

Yeah, that.

I stopped working on my new novel around the time The Glass Wives launched in May. I was promoting the book, thinking about promoting the book, traveling to promote the book, and worrying about promoting the book. So, I didn't get a lot of writing done. I didn't get a lot of anything done outside book promotion, except the mandatory life stuff. Like lunch.

When things settled down a bit, I tried different ways of getting back to the work-in-progress: word counts, hours in front of the monitor, outlines, bullet-points, brainstorming sessions.  What I needed was a plan for forging ahead with the new book while I was still promoting the first book with verve. Can't stop doing one to do the other. Usually, I'm a great a multi-tasker, but I couldn't figure out how to immerse myself in writing one book while I was talking and writing about the other. How was I going to be involved with two sets of characters? How was The Glass Wives not going to bleed into the new book (as of yet untitled, argh).

Every time I wrote a bit of the WIP, I worried I was losing time and energy to promote The Glass Wives. Every time I got inside the head of my new main character, Izzy Lane, I worried she was too much like the one already on the bookshelves. And, every time I was talking or thinking about The Glass Wives, ideas struck me for the WIP and I scampered for a pen and paper (which I can never find). The stories and characters are different, I had to keep them separate, but couldn't.  These books were equally important even though they were, and are, at different stages.

But I couldn't stop promoting The Glass Wives to write more of Izzy's tale. Must write new, promote old. Heck, I hope one day to be writing, editing, and promoting simultaneously, so I figured I better get a handle on it before I have to get a handle on being an empty nester, which is in four weeks. Not that I'm counting.  And you might be thinking: HEY! She'll have all the time she needs. Remember, we are all more than writers. And when life shifts, so do our mindsets, priorities and emotions.  When my daughter went to kindergarten (my son was in second grade) I walked around the house for three weeks wondering what to do with a whole day to myself.  So you see, I'm going to have to also reconcile the writer, promoter, editor, and blogger with the empty-nester.

Luckily, what I realized just a week or two ago, is that I needed to really compartmentalize. Completely. I am still fortunate to be working from home and be the master of my own schedule so I decided that because I am the kind of writer who needs to be all-in, that different days would be dedicated to different parts of my life. So far, so good (except when I forget something). While this is a snapshot of the bulk of my energy, every single day I'm making lists about things that need to get done on other days. I'm alway on Twitter. I answer emails the same day I receive them. But having a focus has allowed me to consciously let go of big things in small bites, because I know where they fit back into my week. The fact was, I knew I was always going to promote The Glass Wives. What I didn't know how to do was everything else.

So, now on Mondays I'm looking for jobs outside the home, paying bills, taking care of anything related to my house, because there's always something. These things exhaust me emotionally. There is no writing energy. But what I have found is that on Mondays I do have energy for reading. For someone who usually just reads on weekends, that was a bonus.

On Tuesdays I write the new novel all day. All day!! I make notes if something about job-hunting or promotion hits me, but it's a day I have given over to Izzy Lane. She loves me for it. I'm hoping readers will too!

It's on Wednesdays that I divide time between the new novel and blogging (eh hem). I run Women's Fiction Writers (WFW), and write for several group blogs. Mid-week is a great time to make sure things are lined up, scheduled, on-track. It's also the day I'll grocery shop. (Yes, seems I have to schedule it.)

Thursdays I'm back to Izzy Lane. Writing, revising, polishing. Sometimes outlining and planning. Whatever I'm doing (taking out the trash, showering, playing with the dogs, college shopping) I'm also in the new novel mindset without feeling guilty or like I'm neglecting The Glass Wives.

On Fridays I plan the weekend and finish up things undone. Because schedules are great but life gets in the way. Sometimes a friend is need. Sometimes I need a nap (it's true). If I need to do a major push with promotion, have an interview to complete or a guest post to answer or a speech to write, it gets done on Friday.

On Saturday and Sunday mornings I read. And I'm talking for hours. Or, I read again. I didn't read at all for those first months after my book came out. I couldn't concentrate. Once Saturday comes, I do whatever I want. Usually what I want has something to do with writing. (Am I the only writer who dreams of a vacation and that means more writing?) I often write essays and that's a great day for it. Even though my weeks bleed into my weekends, Saturdays have their own vibe. Sometimes that vibe dictates I just watch TV. I love TV. On Sundays after I read, I write interviews for WFW and make sure I'm on track for the week with everything. There is much list-writing involved.

And on Mondays, I get that businessy stuff out of the way again so the rest of the week I can concentrate on the work that makes me happy! (that would be writing)

The truth is, I dip in and out of promoting The Glass Wives all the time, writing or not. I can't imagine I'll ever stop. Not until there's a new book to promote and then I'll probably say, "Hey, did you know? I wrote this other book too!" And hopefully I'll also say...and I'm also working on book number three!

AMY SUE NATHAN lives and writes near Chicago where she hosts the popular blog, Women's Fiction Writers. She has published articles in Huffington Post, Chicago Tribune and New York Times Online among many others.  Amy is the proud mom of a son and a daughter in college, and a willing servant to two rambunctious rescued dogs.

Oranges (flash fiction)

I've been vaguely intending to include some short fiction on here ever since I started up Stuck-in-a-Book, but wondering how to go about it - it might be a bit of a jolt to those of you expecting a review.  But since I've put up some jovial poetry of late, I thought I might indulge myself with this, called 'Oranges'.  I actually wrote it with my friend Mel's flash fiction site The Pygmy Giant in mind, but that's on hiatus, so... it will be here instead! Be kind :)

The ‘five a day’ campaign was a real blessing to folk like me. I can see people slowing down as they walk past, probably on their way back from a day in the office, counting in their heads (and occasionally on their fingers)… and realising they’re one short. Next thing you know, you’ve sold an apple or a pear or an orange. Half the time it’ll probably go uneaten, put optimistically on the table and left to shrivel up – but that’s not my problem, of course. Once it’s sold, it’s sold.

It’s mid-morning and I’m doing ok today. I’ve stacked up my oranges nicely, and that’s not as easy as it looks. You have to have larger ones towards the bottom, to keep the structure secure – but, of course, customers don’t want to be cheated, and there are plenty who’ll spend five minutes trying to get the largest orange from the bottom of the pile. But today I seem to be doing better with strawberries – two pound a box, bigger and juicier than you’ll get in the supermarket – because the sun’s out. It makes a real difference to our work.

Andy beckons me over. He sells veg on the stall next to mine, and he’s a good lad – although the price he tries to get for leeks is a joke, believe me. I have a quick glance around, to make sure I won’t be missing any sales, and pop over to say hello. But I don’t get the chance – as soon as I’m in whispering distance, I hear the words I always dread.

“They say he’s in the area.”

Oh no. Not today – not with the sun out, and a good day’s business ahead of me. But of course, the sun always is out when he makes his appearances.

“Are you sure? Who’s said?”

Andy just shrugs – but nine times out of ten he’s right, and I know better than to ignore his warning. But what to do?

I sell a couple of boxes of strawberries to a nice old dear who’s a regular, and an apple to somebody who looks late for work, but my mind isn’t on it. I start packing up a few bits and pieces, and Andy has boxed up some tomatoes, but we know there’s nothing we can do really. There isn’t a proper way to prepare for what’s coming.

And, suddenly, it’s all happening. The first sign is the shrieking and shouting, but that only gives you about two seconds of warning before it’s too late – he’s here, he’s on you, at the speed of light – this time on a motorbike – heading straight for (ALWAYS straight for) those beautiful oranges I spent all morning arranging. Fruit is flying everywhere, the awning is torn to shreds, and he doesn’t give a monkey’s. He’s gone as soon as he came, destruction everywhere in his wake.

It doesn’t make any difference now, but I can’t help shaking a fist at the already-distant motorbike.

“Damn you, Mr. Bond!”

Are You a Plotter or a Pantser?

By Erin Cashman

I am a pretty organized person. I love my to-do lists. Sometimes I write things on my to-do lists that I’ve already done just to cross them off! I love the immediate feeling of accomplishment. I also make to-do lists for my husband and children, which largely go ignored. In high school, college, and law school I was the queen of outlines. I felt in control, knowing what I needed to know. Everything was boiled down nice and neat, with bullets, highlighting, and Roman numerals.

So when it comes to writing, I want, no I yearn, to be a plotter. Each time that a new story idea pops into my head and won’t go away, filling my mind with dialogue and settings and characters, I sit down with a crisp, clean pad of paper, and start my outline. I make a list of characters with brief descriptions, and I write not one, but two outlines -- one of the entire book, and then I outline the first five or six chapters in detail. I keep this notebook next to my laptop, and then I start to write.

And then I never look at the outline again. The characters hijack my brain, and I follow them down dark and twisty paths that lead me into unchartered territory. My villain is actually just a bit of a rogue. The nice, milk-commercial cute guy has a dark side.  My main character isn’t flawed in the way I thought. And secondary characters evaporate. New ones pop up. I dream about these characters, their voices fill my head during quiet moments, and months later I have a draft. A terrible, awful, messy draft. I have not followed my neat outline, or even glanced at it. My story arc is more of a zigzag.  But I know my characters better.  I know what their deepest desires are, and what they are trying to hide from me.

So I revise, and revise and revise some more. I write huge amount of back story that I cut. I write tangents that I cut. I write endings that I cut. I write and write and write, and I cut and cut and cut. But with each draft my characters reveal more of themselves, and I learn what makes them tick. Right now I am actually on my eleventh draft of a novel! But I’m not sick of it yet, and with each pass I like it better. By the time I’m finished I am pretty sure I will have cut as many words as I’ve saved. It is a very time consuming, inefficient, torturously painful way to write a novel. But it’s the only way I can.

So, I have come to realize that in most areas of my life I’m a plotter. And I really want to be a plotter when it comes to writing. I love the orderliness of it. I love starting on page one and knowing where I’m going to end. But try as I may, I’m not a plotter.  I’m a pantser.  The only way I can really know my characters is by writing about them. It’s everything I don’t like – messy, unorganized and chaotic. But it’s just how I write.

What are you?


_________________________________________________________________

Erin Cashman is a YA author. Her debut fantasy novel, THE EXCEPTIONALS, was published by Holiday House in 2012 and named a Bank Street College of Education Best Book of the Year. You can find her at the group blogs The Enchanted Inkpot, BookPregnant Blog, and on Twitter,Facebook, and her Website

Dumb Witness - Agatha Christie

I've mentioned a few times that I have spent the past couple of months immersed in Agatha Christie, being the only author who was able to circumnavigate my reader's block - everything else I tried was abandoned after a page or two, but I could tear through a Christie in a day or two.  Thankfully (for my general reading) I'm now having more success getting past p.1 with other authors, although it's still a bit impeded, but I did enjoy getting into Christie mode and wolfing them down.

I haven't blogged about them, partly because Christie novels are often very similar and partly because you can't say much without giving the game away - but in the spirit of my Reading Presently project (reading and reviewing 50 books in 2013 that were given to me as presents) I shall write about Dumb Witness, because my lovely colleague Fiona gave it to me when I left my job at OUP (which, incidentally, I am missing furiously.)  It was (is?) published in the US under the rather-better title Poirot Loses A Client.

We had quite a lot of chats about Agatha Christie over the months, but the reason Fiona picked Dumb Witness as my leaving gift wasn't only because she knew I hadn't read it - it was because of the dog on the cover.  We had lengthy cat vs. dog arguments (publishers, it turns out, tend to prefer dogs - librarians and book bloggers definitely fall down on the cat side) and this was Fiona's funny way of making a point - so, of course, I used a bookmark with a cat on it.  Sherpa, in fact, painted on a bookmark by Mum.

Dumb Witness is a Poirot/Hastings novel, which is my favourite type of Christie after a Marple-takes-centre-stage novel (she is sadly sidelined in a few of her own novels).  You may recall an excerpt I posted from Lord Edgware Dies, in which the delightful relationship between Hastings and Poirot is perfectly illustrated.  More of the same in Dumb Witness - Hastings constantly makes suppositions and conclusions which Poirot bats away in frustration, never revealing quite why Hastings is wrong (other than his touching readiness to believe what he is told by almost anyone) and holding his own cards close to his chest.

I shall say very little about the plot, because (unlike most novels I read) the plot is of course crucially important in a detective novel - so I'll just mention the premise.  Poirot wishes to follow up a letter he has received Miss Emily Arundell, asking him to investigate an accident she had - falling down the stairs, after tripping on her dog's ball.  Her letter isn't very coherent, but she seems to be suggesting that it may not have been an accident... Although she recovers from the minor injuries sustained in this fall, by the time Poirot receives the letter - mysteriously, two months later - she has died from a long-standing liver complaint.  Poirot decides to accept the posthumous commission into attempted murder...

As far as plot and solution go, Dumb Witness has all the satisfying twists, turns, and surprises that we all expect from a Christie novel - it certainly doesn't disappoint on this front, and this is one especially excellent twist, albeit with a few cruder details that are not worthy of her name on the cover.  But, alongside that, I loved Poirot's determination that attempted murder should be investigated and prosecuted, whether or not the victim was dead - Hastings, for all his gentlemanly bluster, can't see why it is a matter of importance.  Poirot's moral backbone is one of the reasons I find him such a fantastic character.

And the dog?  Yes, Fiona, the dog (Bob) is rather fun, and Hastings is predictably wonderful about him - although I did find the amount of words put in the mouth of Bob a little off-putting.  It reminded me of Enid Blyton's technique of including passages along the lines of "'"Woof', said Timmy, as if to say 'They've gone to the cove to fetch the boat'."  There, I believe, I have spotted the major flaw with Dumb Witness - or at least, an aspect where it could be improved.  It would be a far superior novel, had it featured a cat.

Song for a Sunday

I'm a big Siobhan Donaghy fan, so was delighted when I heard that she would be reuniting with the other original members of (hideous band name alert) the Sugababes.  For those not in the know, Mutya Buena, Keisha Buchanan, and Siobhan Donaghy founded the Sugababes when they were about 15 with the fantastic song Overload, then left and were replaced one by one, so that the Sugababes now has no original members.  So the originals reformed, under the nicer but less imaginative name Mutya Keisha Siobhan, and will soon be releasing this lovely track - Flatline:

The Red House - Mark Haddon

What with reader's block, moving house, and not having internet for a bit, it's been a while since you had a proper review from me.  And today is no different, because I'm handing over to somebody else to write about The Red House by Mark Haddon, which I was sent as a review copy.  Tom (who recently married my best friend) spotted it on my shelves, and commented on it, so I decided it would find a better home with him.  Whether or not he ended up agreeing, you can discover below... Tom, by the by, can also be found at the blog Food, Music, God.  Over to you, Tom!

I promised Simon a while back that I'd read Mark Haddon's The Red House and review it for him, and have sincerely been reiterating that promise to him ever since whilst getting distracted by other tasks like getting married or trying to qualify as a teacher. However, the other day my mother rang me up and told me that my father had recently read The Red House and she had just started it, and so it occurred to me that now might be the time to take action and stop anyone else having to read it ever again. That way, we can pretend that it didn't happen, that Mark Haddon can still write novels with razor-sharp characters and compelling narrative, and that this clichéd series of adolescent writing exercises is the work of someone else.

The novel is about two families united by estranged siblings who are trying to reconnect with one another after the death of their ferocious mother. There's Richard, the hospital consultant who remarried recently but doesn't really know how to talk to his new wife Louisa, and may have A DARK SECRET. His estranged sister, Angela, who's haunted by the ghost of her stillborn daughter, but of course she can't tell anyone about that, and married to Dominic, who seems reasonably normal but may also have A DARK SECRET. Richard's kids - Alex, a sex-obsessed teenager; Daisy, a buttoned-up Christian who also thinks rather more about sex than she'd like; Benjy, who is eight (I think) and I can't remember much more about. Angela's daughter Melissa, who is a self-obsessed cow who's kind of hot and whom Alex fancies, of course. Then there's the house itself, allegedly the conduit for all of these stories for some reason, although that's arguably just an excuse for the fact that Mark Haddon couldn't decide which character to focus on. The house seems to know quite a lot of poetry, and it talks like a travel guide written by James Joyce.

If you think that sounds like a lot going on, you'd be right, and that's part of the problem. It's a shame, as there are some good ideas here, especially with the teenagers in the cast - Daisy's struggle with her sexuality and where it fits with her faith is clearly aiming for some wider significance, for example. Alex and Melissa's teenage angst is sharply drawn, if rather aimless, and the differences in Angela and Richard's approach to their upbringing and the effect on their families could have been channeled into something effective in the manner of Jonathan Franzen. However, it just doesn't feel like it's been edited into any kind of coherent shape. It's this huge splurge of styles and influences and this, rather than seeming ambitious, comes across as amateurish instead. It doesn't build, it doesn't have much of a climax to speak of, and the central narrative just isn't strong enough to provide any real mooring.

It's also overwritten and laden with unnecessary detail. What is one supposed to make of a passage like this:

Louisa works for Mann Digital in Leith. They do flatbed scanning, big photographic prints, light boxes, Giclée editions, some editing and restoration. She loves the cleanness and precision of it, the ozone in the air, the buzz and shunt of the big Epsons, the guillotine, the hot roller, the papers, Folex, Somerset, Hahnemühle. Mann is Ian Mann who hung on to her during what they called her difficult period because she'd manned the bridge during his considerably more difficult period the previous year.

It's like Cormac McCarthy's "Blood Meridian", that, only about photocopying. And that's not even the worst linguistic crime in the book - reading about Angela reading modern poetry, with snippets of Robert Browning woven through the text, is pretty painful, as is Richard's attempt at reading ancient Greek poetry, not to mention the inexplicable quoting of something that seems to be an encyclopaedia about lorries.

Or what about this:

Richard slots the tiny Christmas tree of the interdental brush into its white handle and cleans out the gaps between his front teeth, top and bottom, incisors, canines. He likes the tightness, the push and tug, getting the cavity really clean, though only at the back between the molars and pre-molars do you get the satisfying smell of rot from all that sugar-fed bacteria. Judy Hecker at work. Awful breath. Ridiculous that it should be a greater offence to point it out. Arnica on the shelf above his shaver. Which fool did that belong to? Homeopathy on the NHS now. Prince Charles twisting some civil servant's arm no doubt. Ridiculous man.

If you can find another novel in which you can find a narrative reason to justify spending this much time on one of the characters brushing his teeth, I'd be interested to hear about it. It's a testament to the way that The Red House is written that the author thought that this belonged, but it is apparently a novel about the mundane and the ordinary (or so the blurb says), and so there's plenty of that. Again, perhaps it's an attempt at being clever; to impart some wonder into the everyday processes of how peoples' minds work. If you feel a sense of wonder at the above, I'd be interested to hear about that too.

You should not read The Red House. Tell your friends not to read it. If people suggest taking it on holiday, don't. If you find it in your holiday home, leave it there. It's not a good holiday book. It's not good literary fiction. No, it's not lightweight, and yet it also doesn't seem to mean anything. It's shockingly dark in places (and shockingly dull in others) and it doesn't seem to known what to do with that darkness. Curious Incident was (and still is) magnificent, thanks to an exceptionally strong narrative voice. A Spot of Bother was flawed, but still gripping and surprisingly visceral in places - and the characterisation was second to none. In The Red House, despite a couple of strong passages such as Richard's disastrous run out on the moors, there's nothing to make this stand out. It's an ambitious experiment, and perhaps an admirable one; to his credit, at least Mark Haddon is still pushing his craft and trying new things. However, it's a huge disappointment that in doing so he has moved so far away from his strengths.

Time with Teachers-- or What I Did on my Summer Vacation

I am a tenured professor, and this is July of my first-ever sabbatical.  According to many critics of higher education, I am currently sunning my buns on the shores of Bermuda, sipping cocktails and snacking on brie while the taxpayers labor at home to pay my salary.

On the contrary. I've just returned from a three-day trip to Indianapolis, where I joined more than 85 members of the Madison Metropolitan School District and the Boys and Girls Club of Dane County spending their unpaid time participating in AVID Summer Institute. Furthering their effort to get more students on track to college and career, these teachers and administrators spent their days actively focused on learning new pedagogical practices and acquiring new tools to bring home and put into place by fall.

They are nothing short of remarkable.

As we traveled to and from Indianapolis on a couple of big busses, sat in school team meetings around big conference tables, shared breakfast, lunch and dinner together, and waited in line for coffee, I got to talk with more public school teachers than I've ever encountered before in my life.  I listened closely to their casual conversations, hoping to gain insight into the sources of the laziness and ineptitude I've heard so much about. I waited to hear the voices conveying the soft bigotry of low expectations of their students, especially those students of color.  I watched and waited for them to doze off, unengaged as always in their work.

Ha!  As if. Let me tell you what these folks talked about, nonstop.

• How to help the dozens of students for whom there isn't sufficient space in their under-funded, high-demand programs
• How to spend adequate time with the long lines of students seeking help--now--at the end of each class period, while still making it to their next class
• How to balance the desire to get involved in new programs while also covering their existing teaching loads
• How to talk to parents about college possibilities without making them feel like failures if they could not afford to send their kids
• How to explain to administrators why those chose to take on the "hardest cases" even though it would be "easier" to leave them behind
• How to cope with racism in their communities without getting angry, so that they could help their students do the same
• How to integrate innovations like AVID into their practice as they also cope with the Common Core, how to do it efficiently, and how to help others do the same

I compared notes with these teachers and found that compared to this university professor, they work very comparable hours, receive far more professional development and critique, have much less autonomy, and get paid but a fraction of what I earn.  I'm boggled that we can sleep at night knowing that we do not invest more in ensuring they will continue to do this hard work and are rewarded for it. I'm stunned that people pay so much money to higher education professors while demanding so little in the way of training, professional development, and evaluation of pedagogical practice in return. 

My time with teachers was one of the best moments of my summer.  My time with teachers was just the beginning.  In three days they made me their pupil.  I will continue to learn. 

Our future king is born!

Moving house has had its usual effect on blogging, but I just had to put up a celebratory post for the royal prince!

Very, very thrilling - a great and momentous day in the life of our nation.

Comments on "Racial Segregation Patterns in Selective Universities"

Peter Arcidiacono of Duke University has been publishing a steady stream of papers examining the role of race in college admissions, with a particular focus on the effects of affirmative action.  I've discussed his work on this blog before, and given the substantial attention that generated, I'm sharing thoughts on another relatively new piece.

In the new paper, Peter and his colleagues suggest that friendships among students attending selective universities are no more likely to be interracial in composition than friendships in high school.  Of persistent racial segregation, they write:

"This is particularly true for blacks where on average their share of friends who are of another race is no higher in college than in high school despite their colleges having a much smaller share of black students than their high schools. However, the extent of interracial friendships, both before and during college, vary significantly depending on academic preparedness. The percentage of black friendships that are same-race is lower for those with SAT that are relatively low given the college they attend. Ordered probit estimates of the number of friends of different races show that, within a college, increasing one's own academic preparation makes inter-racial friendships with blacks less likely while increasing friendships with whites and Asians.

The multiple waves of friendship reporting ... tell a story of substantial racial isolation among blacks that slightly increases over time. Despite only comprising eight percent of the Duke student body, Black students report on average that 68% of their friends are black during their freshman year, a number which increases to 72% in their senior year. Ordered probit results again suggest that friendships with other races are more likely to occur the more similar one's academic preparation is to those of other races.

Taken as a whole, our results suggest that similarity in academic background is an important
determinant of interracial friendship formation. That black friendships are no more diverse in college
than in high school, despite blacks being substantially less-represented in their colleges, points
to a potential cost of a ffirmative action. Namely, by introducing a mismatch between academic
backgrounds of di fferent groups, interaction between these groups is discouraged."

I have several concerns with how the authors reach their conclusions and the policy implications they draw.

1. Their assumption seems to be that where educational settings have fewer black students, those students will be more likely to have interracial friendships.  Why expect this and not the opposite?Couldn't scarcity lead to a survivalist instinct to focus on key friendships among people who might seem to come from similar places?

2. The (very modestly) increasing isolation of the black students at Duke could be due to any number of factors, including campus racial climate. In this paper there are no tests for competing explanations other than academic mismatch. And the authors make nothing of the increasing segregation of white students from black friends as well- the % of white students with black friends as freshmen falls from freshman to senior year.  Moreover, the biggest increases in isolation are among Asian students-- as freshmen, 41% of their friends are Asian, but by senior year that is up to 48%.

3. There is no evidence that the observed relationship between academic "mismatch" and friendship composition is causal. It is quite a leap to suggest that racial segregation of friendships directly results from affirmative action.  In other words, there is little overlap between the empirical tests in this paper and the policy conclusions.  The authors conclude the paper with some words that suggest they know this-- and yet they make the policy statement in their opening abstract with direct and inflammatory language, stating that affirmative action plans "drive a wedge between the academic characteristics of different racial groups" creating problems for friendships.

4. The authors do not explain what their intended alternative policy might be.  Without affirmative action there would be fewer minority students on campus at all-- given their concern with friendship integration, what would the authors suggest happen then?

Song for a Sunday

I've spent the past few days packing, and must have listened to this about forty times.  It just gets better with every listen - 'Losing You' by Solange.  (N.B. do not interpret this mournful title with my feelings about moving house - this time, I'm actually really excited!)

Leaving OUP (and which Jane Austen character are you?)

It feels as though it's only just started, but my time as blog editor of OxfordWords came to an end yesterday.  I was there on maternity cover, and the lovely woman who'd had her beautiful baby came back to the fore.  Although I was only there for just under six months, I've made some very dear friends, and was incredibly touched by the leaving gifts and cards I got.  As you'll see from my selection, I certainly didn't keep my love of the Queen (and kittens) quiet...

Notice also that my friend Fiona is feeding my Agatha Christie habit - and deliberately picked one with a dog on the cover, because of our long-running feud of cats v. dogs.  (This feud manifested itself almost entirely in sending each other cute pictures of our preferred animal.)

Luckily for me, they say I can still write for OxfordWords now and then, as an external writer, and I have one in the pipeline which isn't at all literary.  Today, though, to commemorate the anniversary of Jane Austen's death, my parting gift to OxfordWords was a 'Which Jane Austen character are you?' quiz - go and take it, and let me know who you ended up as!

(I'm Mr. Darcy, it turns out. Since I wrote the quiz, I could be accused of making sure of this... but I actually would have preferred to be Mr. Bingley...)

J.K. Rowling and the "Discovery Problem" in Crime Fiction

By Nancy Bilyeau

There are not that many novelists who would be delighted with selling 500 copies of a book in four months. J.K. Rowling is one of them.

The gig is up, and "Robert Galbraith," debut author of the detective story The Cuckoo's Calling, is proven to be J.K. Rowling, creator of the Harry Potter series and multi-millionaire. The novel hit No. 1 on amazon and shall soon rule the print bestseller lists with the vigor of a vengeful Snape.

Right now everyone is taking a peek at the writing of "Rowlbraith:"

"The buzz in the street was like the humming of flies. Photographers stood massed behind barriers patrolled by police, their long-snouted cameras poised, their breath rising like steam. Snow fell steadily on to hats and shoulders; gloved fingers wiped lenses clear. From time to time there came outbreaks of desultory clicking, as the watchers filled the waiting time by snapping the white canvas tent in the middle of the road, the entrance to the tall red-brick apartment block behind it, and the balcony on the top floor from which the body had fallen."

I think that's a damn good opening paragraph--and I'm not alone. The crime novel earned good reviews and glowing recommendations from authors while, all insist, they thought they were reading the work of Robert Galbraith, vaguely defined as "ex military." That is surprising. It's extremely difficult for a debut author without a "platform" to garner this attention. Galbraith couldn't be interviewed or show up for a photo op at a bookstore launch, since I assume drag isn't Rowling's thing. Although this sounds fishy, I am determined to be generous and attribute the critical success to Little, Brown being a very good publisher.

On her website, J.K. Rowling said, "I hoped to keep this secret a little longer, because being Robert Galbraith has been such a liberating experience. It has been wonderful to publish without hype or expectation, and pure pleasure to get feedback under a different name."

Right now everyone is focusing on Rowling's being able to pull off this magician trick, while pointing fingers at the commissioning book editors who last year didn't want to buy the novel when they thought they were assessing Galbraith. The game of gotcha is afoot.

But I keep thinking of those 500 sold copies. (According to The Guardian, 450 were sold in England.) The book was well reviewed, with a smart cover. Yet that was the best it could do.

Which brings me to last weekend's Thrillerfest, the annual conference in New York City bringing together hundreds of published authors, aspiring writers, agents, editors, and reporters. I had a fantastic time, happily serving on the panel "Who Killed Jack the Ripper? Putting the Mystery in History," moderated by bestseller Steve Berry and populated by fellow historical writers C.W. Gortner, David Liss, William Dietrich, David Morrell, and M.J. Rose.

It was M.J. Rose, author of the enthralling Seduction: A Novel and founder of Author Buzz, who first told me about the "discovery problem" in fiction. Novels by debut authors keep hitting the shelves, but some are having a hard time finding readers, no matter how well written. Newspapers and magazines have eliminated their review sections; bookstores are struggling; fiction fights for people's attention as twitter, Facebook and cable TV series beckon.

Still, The Cuckoo's Calling was well reviewed and it received bookstore placement. Something else is at work here, and it was M.J. Rose again who shared something interesting at last Friday's International Thriller Writers' membership meeting of Thrillerfest.

M.J. said that according to research conducted by the Codex Group, new thriller authors have the greatest challenge of all in finding readers, when compared to other genres.

Wait a minute, you're thinking. Don't thrillers (or "crime fiction," as the category is called in the UK) have a lock on the top of the bestseller lists? Yes, they do--the ones written by established authors, often called the franchise or brand name writers. The newbies have a rough time getting attention in the shadow of these brands.

I reached out to Peter Hildick-Smith of the Codex Group to go deeper.

"Among fiction fans, thriller and suspense fans are the most obsessed of all--telling us they primarily read authors they know and love most, to the exclusion of trying new writers," Peter emailed me. The debuts "have the greatest challenge trying to reach a new audience that simply isn't interested in reading unknown authors."

Romance readers are "more open to new voices," Peter explains. Of the number of books bought last year by fans of the thriller genre, 19 percent were written by unfamiliar authors--but when looking at fans' purchases of erotic romance, a whopping 45 percent were penned by new authors.

"Fans read their favorite category to satisfy different needs," Peter says. "My personal view: thriller fans want guaranteed, consistent entertainment with minimal risk of disappointment--romance readers want new experiences, to experiment and take risks."

At first I had a hard time relating to these statistics. I've always been open to new voices. I love to discover an author, and years before publishing my first novel I would make a purchase based on the cover design, the jacket copy and a scan of the first paragraph. But then, I don't confine myself to thrillers. I read historical fiction, literary fiction, young adult, nonfiction. You name it. I'm also a newsstand-magazine editor living in New York City, and so am part of a tribe that loves to discover: the new independent film, restaurant, rooftop bar, weekend bed-and-breakfast, shoe store. I'm not obsessed with minimizing risk.

Masterpiece Mystery's "Endeavour"

But then I remembered Sunday night. A new mystery series was on "Masterpiece Mystery," called Endeavour. At the last minute, my husband and I, mystery fanatics, wavered between Endeavour and a classic episode of Columbo starring Ruth Gordon. Endeavour won--and I'm happy it did. I'm enjoying the series'  acting, deft layering of clues, and 1960s-era detail. But then, Endeavour isn't even totally new, it's an "origins story" of Inspector Morse, written so well by Colin Dexter and portrayed so memorably by John Thaw. What if the "Masterpiece Mystery" had been a completely new character and story? Might Columbo have won, even though I've seen that episode at least three times? I was tired Sunday night, and perhaps on some level I craved "guaranteed" entertainment.

I'm beginning to see why Robert Galbraith didn't stand a chance.


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Nancy Bilyeau's historical thriller The Chalice is on sale in North American and the United Kingdom. The first book in the series, The Crown, reached No. 1 on amazon's bestseller list and was on the short list of the Crime Writers' Association's Ellis Peters Historical Dagger Awards for 2012. The Chalice received a "Top Pick" review in March 2013 from Romantic Times and was praised by the Historical Novel Society: "The Chalice is writ large across England and the Continent as history and supernatural mysticism combine in this compelling thriller." For more information, go to www.nancybilyeau.com.

Touchstone Books/U.S.

Orion/UK

Will the Campuses Crumble? A Dream of the Future involving Detroit, Mad Men, and Samuel Clemens

This post is authored by R. Thomas, a graduate student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison.

There’s a lot of talk these days about university reform, and coursing through it I see a beautiful and tragic dream of the future.  Dreams, of course, meld idiosyncratic images and mine blends Detroit, Mad Men, and the great speeches of Samuel Clemens. 

We all know the story: Boosters of online education suggest that American higher education should rely upon a small group of superstar lecturers, computer-based grading systems and thousands of adjunct graders to deliver content to the masses. To benefit from economies of scale, some say we ought to have centralized national committees that decide what gets taught and who gets to teach it. Advocates claim online education will cut costs, improve educational outcomes, and bring higher education to underserved populations.

Such efforts carry the excitement of novels for me. As in Mad Men, the details of work and visions of the future are riddled with action and curiosity.  Much of the drama, of course, comes in waiting to see what will happen. Will we break social hierarchies, educate every American, and revitalize a lagging economy?  On the job front, will employers readily hire people with online degrees?  Will we create an exceptionally creative and dynamic economy with online education or add to the legions of overeducated and underemployed young people? And what will happen to the humanities, challenged as they are to bring engaging discussion online? Will they be too expensive to deliver and thus rendered irrelevant?   Finally, how will professors respond to these online reform efforts? Some Harvardprofessors have pushed back against EdX, but will they succeed? 

Of course, as in Mad Men, many of the characters are compelling and hard to ignore. Most players pursue admirable aims, while a few see profit at every turn. Technical wizards test the boundaries of possibility on a daily basis. Finally, for intrigue, we have one prominent voice whose book describes his genius and 6’8” stature as well as his passion for greater access.  And don’t forget the eminent MOOC professorwho aped Wal-Mart management when asked to address his responsibility to the academic community. Finally, I’m sure if we looked hard enough, we'd find plenty of romance.

 

Woven through this drama are the fantastic lectures of Samuel Clemens. In the future, students will have nothing but the most exciting, engaging, and informative professors. We've all had amazingly inspiring teachers but also think of the dull ones: the ones that mumbled, yawned, or trailed off into empty confused space, blankly staring back at their audience of students. With MOOCs everyone will be taught by Samuel Clemens. Just as he regaled audiences around the world with stories of adventure and love, dynamic professors like Ann Swindler and Harold Scheubwill turn tedious degree requirements into something exciting, engaging, and memorable.  University education will be as entertaining as it is informative. Students will have not just a few memorable professors but rather four consistent years of intellectual challenge, adventure, and stimulation. Graduates will emerge with minds polished sharp and appetites expecting the best. Why shouldn’t universities be as good as multiple seasons of Mad Men?  Perhaps they will be…

However, the specter of Detroit and other post-industrial cities looms just out sight, haunting these dreams.  Walking around campus at the University of Wisconsin-Madison the place would seem to last forever. Grand and bland buildings alike bustle with life, looking impenetrable to change. Construction never stops and thousands of eager applicants are rejected each year. And yet, I imagine this same assurance was felt by workers in Detroit, Cleveland, and Milwaukee during the 1950s and 60s. On their evenings off from Pittsburgh steel plants, my grandparents drove new cars around a dynamic city, stopping here to eat an ice cream or there to dance the jitterbug.  On weekends, they strolled down crowded Braddock Avenue for Catholic mass and later Sunday brunch. All of this is gone of course. Much of Pittsburgh, like Detroit, is a wasteland. Braddock Avenue is an icon of post-industrial America, its crumbled buildings photographed as ruin porn. My grandparents’ cathedralsnow have collapsed roofs, and the mansions of the elite lean on dilapidated foundations, smiling back with broken windows. 

Will lecture halls, our hallowed cathedrals of learning, sit dormant, fade, and eventually crumble to the ground? Of course they will.  Why should a thousand different sociology professors teach Introduction to Sociologyevery fall when the best professors from Berkeley, Princeton, Yale and UNC-Chapel Hill could take turns teaching to the entire country?

Will universities become internet-photo-curiosities, idle distractions from work-a-day routines? It’s quite possible.  As undergrads, friends and I explored abandoned amusement parks along the Jersey shore, photographing roller coasters and conjuring various ghosts creeping through fun-homes and tunnels-of-love.  You may have explored other ruins, forgotten castles or asylums perhaps.  It’s easy to imagine wealthy young people doing the same years from now, walking around abandoned campuses with overgrown grass and broken windows.  They will photograph the collapsed arches of our lecture halls and wonder what it was like to sit for an hour in those hard wooden chairs.  They’ll do their best to envision crowds of students rushing to class. 

Like any good historical drama, this dream’s actors are vividly human, their efforts creative and disturbing. Such a future is exciting and beautiful, but it is also tinged with tragedy. Poised as we are on the brink of a new future, you can almost see Samuel Clemens watching us in white with a bushy mustache, smirking, “Never let the campus get in the way of your education.”

Oh, Hastings

I seem to be experiencing a bit of reader's block at the moment, struggling to 'get into' any novel I pick up (and it doesn't help that most of them are in boxes, as I'm moving house this weekend.)  One author is working for me, and I am chain-reading her... it's Agatha Christie.  I've read five in quick succession (Five Little Pigs, Crooked House, Cat Among the Pigeons, Lord Edgware Dies, and A Pocket Full of Rye) and I've just started The Secret of Chimneys.  I shan't blog about all of them, because they've gone back to the library, and anyway it's very difficult to write about a detective novel properly, but I did want to share an excerpt from Lord Edgware Dies.

Is there anybody who has read an Agatha Christie novel in which he appears who does not love Captain Hastings?  He is so adorable - yes, he is essentially a Watson to Poirot's Holmes, but without Watson's adulation of Holmes.  Hastings can't ever quite shake the feeling, during investigation, that Poirot's best days might be behind him, or that his European ways are letting the side down.  I love their dynamic, and nowhere is it better illustrated than this fantastic exchange:

"No human being should learn from another.  Each individual should develop his own powers to the uttermost, not try to imitate those of someone else.  I do not wish you to be a second and inferior Poirot.  I wish you to be the supreme Hastings.  And you are the supreme Hastings.  In you, Hastings, I find the normal mind almost perfectly illustrated."

"I'm not abnormal, I hope," I said.

"No, no.  You are beautifully and perfectly balanced.  In you sanity is personified.  Do you realise what that means to me?  When the criminal sets out to do a crime his first effort is to deceive.  Who does he seek to deceive?  The image in his mind is that of the normal man.  There is probably no such thing actually - it is a mathematical abstraction.  But you come as near to realising it as is possible.  There are moments when you have flashes of brilliance when you rise above the average, moments (I hope you will pardon me) when you descend to curious depths of obtuseness, but take it all for all, you are amazingly normal.  Eh bien, how does this profit me?  Simply in this way.  As in a mirror, I see reflected in your mind exactly what the criminal wishes me to believe,  That is terrifically helpful and suggestive.

I did not quite understand.  It seemed to me that what Poirot was saying was hardly complimentary.  However, he quickly disabused me of that impression.

"I have expressed myself badly," he said quickly.  "You have an insight into the criminal mind, which I myself lack.  You show me what the criminal wishes me to believe.  It is a great gift."

What Constitutes "Satisfactory Academic Progress" in the 21st Century?

I often receive email from students who've learned of my interest in the contemporary college experience and want to provide a window into their own.  Recently I heard from a man who initially enrolled at UW-Madison in 2007 and subsequently took an educational pathway that is increasingly normal.  His efforts to find ways to learn new things and make college affordable are notable, and he challenges us to think about the ways in which traditional forms of higher education align with today's students.  With his permission I'm sharing a letter he wrote, and at his request, I am identifying the author.  The following essay is by James Kasombo, who will be re-entering Madison this fall. 

'Our education system is predicated on the idea of academic ability.'

            Upon graduating from high school in the top five percent of my class, being ushered into the university's honors program, and finding a wholeheartedly welcoming dormitory community off the shores of Lake Mendota, in many respects it felt as though I had made the rightful transition for my life. Granted, no guidance counselors had openly foretold the high costs of a college degree versus the varying returns on investment different majors would create. There was an intense barrier of advanced math and science within the initial semesters of post secondary education if one were to pursue careers in medicine or engineering, stymieing the aspirations of many gifted students having streaked through their K-12 schooling. Convening each night in the communal bathroom to brush our teeth, the floor community would reflect on the day's lectures, discussion groups, and assignments with strikingly different opinions of how this task at hand, that of earning a bachelors degree, was making an impact on our development into adulthood.

            And so it was halfway through the fall semester of 2007, shortly after TED had started an ameliorative experiment of freely posting talks from its conferences on the internet, that I stumbled upon Sir Ken Robinson's now transformative argument for how we look upon education to prepare adults for an unknown future. At that same time, I had successfully tutored a cohort of students through a philosophy midterm, yet failed a calculus exam, and watched as more and more fellow teenagers began the process of withdrawing from their studies altogether.  

            “Students must successfully complete a cumulative 2/3 (67%) of all credits for which they enroll.” Over the course of my three years living in Madison, I would not meet this standard. Instead, I became the youngest person on a team of New Student Leaders for the university's summer orientation program after my freshman year, receiving high marks for engaging with incoming students and relating with the parents who would be sending children their children away. Instead, I produced the Marcia Légère Student Play Festival during my sophomore year. Organizing amateur playwrights, directors, and actors, who would collaborate with drama & literature faculty to create a student driven performance, lead to my reception of the Union Trustee Leadership Award from the Memorial Union Building Association. Instead, I attained an internship with the nation's eleventh largest library system by way of ISIP. Instead, I served as a resident assistant at Highlander House for Steve Brown Apartment's Campus Connect program during my junior year, and also happened to help the UW Model United Nations team win an award at AMUN.

            During those years I would enroll in classes and later withdraw because I did not or could not see a clear connection between my then liberal arts program of study and tangible, substantial opportunities in the labor market. This symptom is seen across the board of postsecondary education as the idea of 'college for all' has collided head first with the reality of costs increasing by sixty percent just over the last decade. Meanwhile, our parents have made zero gains in their income. State institutions of higher learning have watched their funding reduced (such asUW-Madison losing almost ten percent of its budget by way of state taxes, in the space of five years) for the sake of propping up quite arguably the end products of disjointed education,health care and incarceration. Sure, our access to credit was [inappropriately] increased, but in my gut the idea of student debt becoming the new normal was a recipe for disaster: too many college students of today needing to cover growing gaps in their funds by both working and borrowing.

            By the summer of 2010 I had fully withdrawn from the university, personifying yet another data point of those failing to gradate within six years. But as I explained to my parents, it was an opportunity to experience for myself the visceral chasm between my skill set, what I really needed from a college education, and the careers needed to traverse the gap between low skill/low pay work and the upper middle class of the contemporary American economy. Of course, that very summer I would fracture my jaw, requiring surgery covered by my parent's health insurance, and spend several months recovering. This became an all too vital introduction into the treacherous alliance of employment and health we must accept when determining survival, in every sense of the word. Later that year I worked for a luxury hotel in downtown Madison, experiencing significantly higher wages than hotel employees across the capitol square. Being so young and green with employment, it took detailed explanation from the union's representative for me to understand the power of organized labor in service jobs. Yet, I would still fall behind on paying rent, and in lieu of eviction, would move back home to Milwaukee in the spring of 2011.

            Over the following two years I would obtain six different jobs, four of which being full time, with transitions in between being of my own volition. I'd witness the leveling effects the world of retail has on human capabilities. The often direction-less management had detrimental impacts on workers who'd show up day in and day out for the sole task of feeding their kids, and paying interest on loans taken in pursuit of a lifestyle they couldn't afford in the first place. Whether it be a warehouse, bookstore, or banquet hall, I have seen with my own two eyes middle skill laborers becoming prisoners of circumstances, chiefly byway of technology+globalization's effect on productivity. And so, when I was given an opportunity to leap from the role of an hourly worker to that of a manager, I knew my journey into the mindset of real world workplace dynamics was about to become complete. Therefore, in the spring of 2012, I was hired as an assistant manager for a children's museum in downtown Milwaukee, and within a few months was promoted to manager of the visitor services department. This professional experience would finally validate a core reason I stepped out of college and answer the question: Minus the credential of a B.A., did I possess qualifications and life skills necessary to build a fulfilling career?

            At the age of twenty four, I had a job nearly any college graduate of our time would figuratively kill for, management in the non-profit sector. Indeed, I savored every ounce of responsibility placed in my hands, from carrying keys to open the facility, being in a select group of people with safe access, overseeing all front desk operations, handling inventory of the gift shop, to supervising a staff of part time employees and being on the forefront of children's safety & wellbeing. Acting as a hiring manager, looking over the resumes of those jockeying for a job that paid minimum wage yet required significant skills, bringing on those flexible enough to work mornings and weekends, then getting to know the lives of those who would be reporting to me, was an extremely humbling endeavor. Working alongside adults ten, twenty, thirty years my senior with strengths and flaws more seasoned than mine, yet being treated as an equal peer, was wholly invigorating. Yet, after almost a year of sixty hour work weeks, treating injured toddlers, consoling distraught parents, and stressing over six figure budgets, it became apparent that while the answer to the preceding question may have been yes, the real question I had come to answer was how consequential the vehicle of a college degree is in attaining positions of power, influence, and sensible compensation.

            The College Board has made remarkable statements regarding the relaxation of a high school-to-university model many [academically gifted] students assume is the lock step pathway into adulthood. They've advocated creating admission policies for delayed entry after high school, making withdrawal & re-entry policies as clear as possible, and fostering an environment that understands for some students there comes a time when it is appropriate to take a break in their education, when their talents could better flourish in alternative venues. Sadly, these revelations come from a report written over thirty years ago in 1981, and it's safe to say their recommendations have not become mainstream. Ask any Millennial, and we will tell you that when coming of age, preparation for college and preparation for a vocation are indeed mutually exclusive.  In the space of just one generation, the gap between annual wages for a college degree versus a high school degree has increased from fifteen thousand to twenty-five thousand dollars, mainly because the high school graduate has seen negligible gains. Yet, the chance of someone from the top income fifth staying up there without a college degree is higher than someone from the bottom income fifth reaching the top with a college degree. The overarching fact is for those of us in the middle, a bachelor's degree evenly exchanges the probability of winding up in poverty with that of reaching the top, but odds are you stay in the middle depending on your field of study. In other words, placing a magnificent amount of faith in debt which cannot be discharged for the sake of a credential which inherently doesn't acknowledge the wide variance of human capital, has been the harbinger against completion of my degree ever since discovering voices of educational revolution.

            You know that the college degree is not affordable. Two-thirds of college presidents believe a degree is not affordable for those who need it most.  Unfortunately, federal student aid programs have performed poorly, trying desperately to fund accordingly with merit and income, juggling the balance between institutional subsidies and individual aid. Such struggles are why I have wound up appealing for my aid package. Though, it should be made clear, this is a process I support. Public monies should not be loaned nor spent on causes to which there will be no significant return. But I do hope it is inferred from my writings that my time in school was an incredibly formative portion of my life. Lessons learned inside the classroom transferred directly towards my life as an employee. Leadership positions attained at the university were the linchpin towards my success within stressful situations of the workplace, especially in management. And now, I look to return to Madison with aspirations to graduate in the winter of 2015 with degrees in Computer Science and Philosophy. I've spoken with my advisor as how to organize my classes over the coming semesters. I've gained skills in self discipline and persistence to assure academic achievement. Most importantly, I've gained the real world experience necessary to assure my studies not only relate to career goals, but towards my aspirations of leveling the playing field for those residing within the downside of advantage.

            Rising tides of the American economy do not lift all boats. The college degree has become less a sail, more the life jacket in terms of being buoyed by gains of our free market. My time away from the university was an exercise in coming to terms with this well researched conclusion, thanks to tangible successes and mistakes in real life. Once the goals I have set for myself come to fruition, the resulting tributes will acknowledge a proud alumnus, proponent, and advocate of UW-Madison.

 On Wisconsin!