Today, it’s a review of This Thing Called the Future over at Books From Bleh to Basically Amazing.
Archive for the 'writing' Category
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Check out J.L. Powers’s teenage years at Hopelessly Devoted Bibliophile.
My 2 week blog tour begins today. To find out what I think about this or that, go to Books Complete Me.
On the 17thof April, 1980, at Zimbabwe’s independence celebration, Bob Marley sang his famous song for Africa’s independence: “Every man got a right to decide his own destiny, And in this judgment there is no partiality.”
Out of the Shadows
Part of the problem, of course, was that in Zimbabwe until 1980, blacks were denied the right to vote, were offered inferior education by the white minority in power, and were unable to own land, which had been appropriated by white settlers a century earlier. Black Africans in then Rhodesia were not masters of their own destiny. But, after a decade long war for independence, they now hoped that Zimbabwe could become a symbol of African pride and democracy.
By now, we all know what happened. Robert Mugabe, the prime minister who shone like a bright beacon of hope and promise in 1980, became a despot as early as the 1980s—terrorizing and killing the Ndebele peoples. In 2000, he began appropriating white farm land for his thug cronies and expanded his brutalization of the population to include all ethnicities, black and white, in order to remain in power.
Jason Wallace’s Out of Shadows bravely navigates this shifting terrain of power politics, deeply embedded in the problem of race that has plagued southern Africa for centuries. In 1983, Robert Jacklin moves from England to Zimbabwe with his family and attends an elite boarding school. Despite his father’s allegiance to the liberal party line—or perhaps because of his father’s almost rote preaching about the virtues of the new black government and the evils of the former white government—Robert quickly falls under the sway of a charismatic young man, Ivan, whose palpable anger over the loss of white power and prestige makes him a dangerous friend.
Robert soon realizes that lines at the boarding school are drawn between those who are willing participants in bullying the black students and those who befriend them. Robert absorbs his new friends’ racism and rage, rejecting his father’s beliefs and embracing the distorted but compelling world view of disaffected white Rhodesians. Ironically, his new-found racism and his alliance with young men whose terrifying values lead them to engage in questionable activities probably saves his life, a part of the plot I won’t divulge.
Though Robert never quite emerges from the philosophical and moral racial quagmire he’s sunk himself in, he does eventually jeopardize his own life when he comes to understand Ivan’s commitment to a radical and shocking plan of action to restore Zimbabwe to its former glory under white power. An epilogue with an adult Robert, who returns to the boarding school a couple decades later, demonstrates that though he’s managed to leave Zimbabwe and the virulent racism he encountered there, its impact reverberates, leaving him still confused about some of the moral issues raised by the book.
In Out of Shadows, Wallace has waded into a confusing political situation with admirable honesty. At times I longed for a strong black character to clarify the issues and effectively demonstrate, to the reader if not to Robert, that though Robert Mugabe turned out to be evil, African independence itself was both just and necessary. At the same time, moral realities are almost never black and white and are often gray. I appreciated Wallace’s ability to hold back and let the reader experience the reality of obfuscated moral realities, such as the one unfolding in Zimbabwe for the last two decades.
Ever since I became a mother, I’ve been referring to myself in the third person. “Mommy loves you,” I tell Nesta, or “You can’t bite Mommy!” even as I think, How weird. It’s like “I” don’t exist. Only “mommy” exists. And who the hell is she?
There is a certain amount of truth to the thought that “I” ceased to exist when “Mommy” came into being. Your identity collapses for your child into one thing, and that happens a little bit for yourself as well, at least for awhile. Humans spend time with the things, events, people, and activities that define them, that make up their identity, and a new mother spends more time with her child than she does anything else. Or at least, this new mother does. (Here I go again, referring to myself in the third person.) In the past 10 1/2 months since my son was born, I’ve probably spent an average of twelve to thirteen hours a day with him. This is more time than I think I’ve spent with anybody else, ever, except my own mother. Naturally, my identity at the moment reeks of motherhood, is saturated with the daily grind of it, soaked in those juices.
Who am I now? How did I get here? And will I ever be able to get my creative life back?
My blog and my writing life have suffered the most. Bill-paying work always gets done because it has to. The writing that does get done is mostly because of deadlines and public appearances, not because it brings in a lot of money. It’s been hard to work on my next book. I feel a little lost, swimming around in this sea of nursing, diapers, and lack of sleep. Though I didn’t exactly get what many people might refer to as “mommy brain,” I have discovered that I have very little patience for some things that absorbed me in the past, and my conversation is dominated by parenting talk, a trend I hope will pass as my baby grows and I have more freedom to become the “old” Jessica again. Or, not exactly the “old” Jessica, but a new (and certainly improved) Jessica.
I am making a commitment to try blogging here again regularly, that is, once a week. So I hope you’ll drop by and spend some time with me as I muddle my way through this new period where my identity as wife, mother, writer, teacher, and editor/publicist are being shuffled around and re-mixed. Not entirely sure what will come of the re-mix but I know it’ll be an interesting process. Thanks for being here for the ride!
Emily Wing Smith and J.L. Powers-Kepler's Books
This past week, I had the extraordinary privilege of doing three book events with young adult writer Emily Wing Smith. Our second young adult novels each came out within a week of each other so it seemed like a natural to have her fly out to the Bay Area and do booksignings together.
I met Emily a couple of years ago at the annual SCBWI conference in Los Angeles and fell in love with her immediately, which to be honest, probably happens to everybody who meets Emily. She’s quirky, honest, and beautiful. Spend even just a few minutes with her and you’ll notice that all these random things fall out of her mouth, except it turns out, they’re not exactly random–they’re hilarious critiques on life, herself, her Mormon faith, and the world around her.
It’s no surprise to anybody who knows me that I’m fascinated with religion and Mormonism is no exception. One of the things I love about Emily is how quickly she understands and acknowledges the difference between Mormon culture and Mormon faith. A long long time ago, I left Christianity because I was sick of Christian culture and it seemed to me that 90% of the Christians around me couldn’t distinguish between the culture and the faith. Well, Emily’s had the same experience within Mormonism–but she stuck it out and she stayed. And now she writes about it. Her first novel, The Way He Lived, takes place in Haven, Utah, a town where 96% of the population is Mormon and does things a certain way because “that’s Mormonism.” Her second novel, Back When You Were Easier to Love, is a romantic comedy. It also takes place in Haven–and this book is a more direct analysis of the difference between being Mormon culturally (right down to drinking Sprite all the time) and being Mormon because you agree with the church’s theological teachings. The main character Joy is obsessed with her boyfriend, Barry Manilow, and the fact that she hates hates hates Haven. There’s a road trip, a surprise birthday gift, Las Vegas, and one of those awful open-mic poetry readings that we’ve all suffered through. It’s a book about discovering that the person you thought you loved is not the person you thought he was nor is he the person you love (and most of us have been through that experience.)
The book is funny and awesome and I’m happy to give one copy away to one of my readers. To be entered in the contest, please write about a time in your life when you thought you were in love and found out that maybe things weren’t quite what they seemed. The contest is also taking place on my facebook page, under notes, but I’ll keep track.
I asked Emily to share a few thoughts with me and here they are.
Tell me how you thought of your main character Joy. Is she anything like you? Or totally different?
Readers have used the word “stalkerish” to describe Joy—the same word, ironically, that has been used to describe me! Okay, so maybe not so ironically. I’ve always been the obsessive type, especially as a teen—about my writing, my friends, and yes, also guys. A guy, more specifically. People called me obsessed, but they weren’t bothered by it as much as some readers are bothered by Joy.
I think some of us don’t want to be reminded of how that kind of obsession exists, because it’s scary and somewhat pathetic to remember being that dependent on someone else for our own happiness. But for a lot of people, it’s been true at one point or another. The trick is learning to depend on yourself. It’s the same for the characters whose journey we share–whether they figure it out in one-third of a book or it takes them the whole thing.
Don’t name names, but surely you’ve known someone like Zan. (Haven’t we all). Tell us about it!
I met “Zan” in high school. Actually there were two guys who made up Zan—and one of them actually did wear his grandpa’s shoes! The other guy did make up his own language and didn’t fit in well with the rest of the student body. I thought he was cool, but most people didn’t share my opinion. He ditched town as soon as he could.
You’ve told me you moved to a town just like Haven when you were about Joy’s age. (Maybe it was Haven, I don’t know.) Was your experience anything like Joy’s? What was it like, going from California to Mormon Utah?
When I was a teenager, I moved to a city almost identical to Haven. It wasn’t far from where I’d grown up–both areas were suburbs of Salt Lake City–but it was like a different world. Mormons are divided into congregations (wards) via geographical location. Instead of asking me where I lived, kids would ask me what ward I was in—before even asking if I was Mormon. I am Mormon, but I wasn’t used to it being a given. I wasn’t used to the city’s quirks that were so natural to everyone at my new high school. It got me wondering: if these quirks were so jarring to me, who had only moved thirty miles, how jarring would they be to someone who’d moved from a different state? That’s when the character Joy Afterclein was born.
So….why young adult literature?
I’ve wanted to write young adult fiction since the time I was a young adult myself. I read YA literature in junior high and high school, studied YA literature in college, and specialized in YA literature in graduate school. I feel the same way a lot of YA authors feel: that in my heart, I will forever be seventeen years old.
This Thing Called the Future by J.L. Powers
Set in an impoverished South African shantytown where post-Apartheid freedom is overshadowed by rampant AIDS and intractable poverty, this novel takes a loving, clear-eyed look at the clash of old and new through the experience of one appealing teenager. Khosi, 14, lives in an all-female household with her sister, Zi, and frail grandmother, Gogo, subsisting on Gogo’s pension and Mama’s salary as a teacher in the city (she comes home on weekends). Everyone in Khosi’s world is poor. Where the struggle to survive is all-consuming, family loyalty trumps community. Clashes between Zulu customs and contemporary values further erode cultural ties and divide families. A scholarship student, Khosi loves science, but getting to school means dodging gangs and rapists hunting AIDS-free virgins. After a witch curses Khosi’s family and Mama falls ill, Khosi and Gogo seek aid from a traditional Zulu healer, which Mama dismisses as superstition while fear and poverty keep her from accessing modern medicine. As stresses mount, Khosi’s ancestors speak, offering her guidance. Supported by them, her family and classmate Little Man, Khosi vows to create a better future by synthesizing old and new ways, yet the obstacles she faces—some inherited, others newly acquired—are staggering. A compassionate and moving window on a harsh world. (glossary of Zulu words) (Paranormal fiction. 12 & up)
Read an interview with J.L. Powers at Through the Tollbooth!
Q: What about this novel makes you most proud?
There is absolutely nothing on the market like it! It is young adult magical realism, set in a poverty-stricken township of South Africa. It is a love story but it also deals with the clash between science and traditional medicine in Africa, and it highlights and focuses on the HIV-AIDS epidemic in the part of the world with the highest rate of HIV infections—the heart of the epidemic.
This past weekend, while I was at the Tucson Book Festival, a fellow young adult writer told me that my new novel, This Thing Called the Future, was beautifully designed. “But,” she added, “you do know that only a publisher like Cinco Puntos Press would publish a cover with a picture of that young lady on the cover of the book.”
I knew what she was saying without saying it: The young lady on the cover of my book is too black. In fact, the young lady on the cover of my book is all African; the photo was taken by a friend of mine in a Cape Town township.
It reminded me of a controversy a few years ago with the young adult book Liar by Justine Larbalestier. Though the protagonist of Justine’s novel is black, the publisher initially released a cover depicting a white girl. What’s interesting to me, however, is that though the publisher finally did release a cover with a picture of a black girl, she is still pretty light-skinned and pretty in all the traditionally anglo-cized ways.
This has been a raging controversy for the past couple of years. According to Colleen Mondor on Bookslut,
Specifically regarding the cover controversy issue, the blogosphere conversation seems to have overlooked a key component to the issue: taking time to fully examine WHY the publishers whitewash the covers. From what I’ve read, all the time is spent talking about why they shouldn’t. But why do they? Obviously: To Make Money. And someone, somewhere has convinced them that whitewashed books sell better.”
Ms. Mondor goes on to say that it’s more complicated than that. Sometimes publishers do suggest appropriate images for covers, and gatekeepers, or the authors themselves, convince them not to go down that path. She says,
“From the many conversations I had over the past month, the only thing that is clear when it comes to diversity and publishing is its utter and complete lack of consistency.”
Because I am a new mother working at home with limited childcare, I have been thinking lately how I have no models for how to do this in a healthy and productive manner—healthy for my relationship with my 5-month-old son, productive for my work and my career.
Growing up in the church, I knew very few married women who worked, period. Those who did were usually not professionals, and there was this vague sense that floated from and towards them that they had to work because their husbands didn’t make enough money. I might add that their children were not the best behaved on the block, which added to the sense that their situation was less than ideal. Among the professional women I knew, one was a physical therapist whose husband had lupus; I had the impression that, once again, she was in a situation where she needed to be the breadwinner because her husband could not and this is what made it acceptable.
My mother is a writer, and she did write a weekly parenting column while I was growing up. But we didn’t rely on her income (I think it paid the princely sum of something like $25 a week), she was able to write her column on Thursday afternoons so she wasn’t trying to put in more than two or three hours of work a week, and her stay-at-home mom-ness contributed 100% to her ability to write the column.
I grew up feeling rebellious—like I was a bad Christian girl—because I knew I didn’t want to be a stay-at-home mom. I wanted a career, as a writer, and I wanted it to be a successful career—with multiple books published and magazine articles and long essays and lots of short stories. For a long time, I thought I wouldn’t have children because I wasn’t sure how I would manage both.
Though I think there are more professional and non-professional women in the church who work these days than there were when I was growing up (it is hard, sometimes impossible, to make it on one income these days), I know some of those women feel judged. My sister-in-law, for example, mentioned a melt-down she had in church one day when a man pompously informed her that God expected her to stay at home with her children. I’ve known since I was a little girl that I was supposed to be a nurse, she told him. I feel called by God to be a nurse. And I am a very good mother. So just shut up.
But among all the women I know, I personally know exactly one other woman doing what I’m doing: work at home with limited childcare. (I have someone come in six hours a week to babysit. This lets me make business phone calls without interruption.) The limited childcare is due to two things: one, I don’t really want to put my baby in childcare; two, we can’t afford it anyway. The working is due to two things: one, I love my job(s) as writer, teacher, and editor/publicist; two, we need my income anyway.
I was talking with a friend of mine yesterday and she mentioned that the feminist revolution betrayed us. “It told us that we could have it all,” she said. “But what that really means is that you have to have a career, and you have to put your children in daycare. There are very few jobs that allow you to work and have your children with you.”
That is so true. I had the fortune to jump on the online teaching bandwagon early, which means I have more experience teaching online than just about any professor I ever meet. And it allowed me flexibility for my writing career long before my baby was born. Now that I’m a mother, my dean, thankfully, doesn’t care that I have a child at home while I work—as long as I am still an excellent teacher and do what I’m supposed to do in a timely fashion.
I am lucky, too, that my publisher welcomes both me and my baby when I go to publicity events and book signings. I had Nesta lying in a stroller or I was holding him throughout the American Library Association’s mid-winter conference. As I talked to librarians outside of Cinco Puntos Press’s booth, I gently rocked him to keep him happy. And guess what? Those librarians love babies. He is my best marketing tool, hands down. But I know I’m lucky. Not all publishers would be so welcoming or so understanding.
But it’s hard. I need to be putting in more hours than I currently am, especially writing. It is easy to be interrupted from grading papers or writing a press release. It is not so easy to revise my current novel when I’m interrupted so often.
Still, I would like a few models of women who manage successfully to work at home and keep their child out of daycare. I know you guys are out there. Please share your stories, your tips, your best practices! And especially for those mother writers out there—I need to hear how you’ve done it, and how you’ve balanced the appropriate time with your children and the appropriate time doing work, and how you’ve learned to write while being interrupted.
