Welcome Gev Sweeney to May Movers and Shakers Promotion with her stunning novel "The Scattered Proud"

Bio:

I live in a tiny cottage in a slightly larger Victorian town at the Jersey Shore. I have a master's degree in communication, worked as a journalist, and actually bought a guinea pig so I could get work editing books about small mammals. The job didn't last, but the guinea pig did. I’ve had four in the past nine years. The current two are Philip Baby-Boar and Baby Auden Baby-Boar, plump cuddlers whose chief joy in life is burrowing through heaps of timothy hay. Sigh. If only I was small enough to join them!

“His words were the echo of loss, and I was the place where that echo would end in an answer …”

Philadelphia, 1793: As yellow fever empties the city, fearful, young Janet Watters lives at the mercy of others, comforted by her secret love for Kid DeWaere, a rector’s son who believes that doing little or nothing to help people would be an abuse of God’s trust in humanity.

Kit’s sometimes-rash acts of service earn him a position as vicar to a covert Episcopal mission in later Revolutionary Paris. It’s a dangerous time to be religious or American in France, which has banned Christianity and is at war with the United States. And it’s a dangerous time for Janet to be reunited with Kit when her father brings her to Paris to work at the mission. Kit’s sense of justice  ̶  and his marriage to a mercurial emigrée  ̶  lead to an illusion that will change the nation and drive Janet from the boy of her dreams to the man of her heart.

Book Review on Amazon and B&N

A tender tale of longing and disappointment. Beautiful!

The only thing I regret about buying this book is that it sat on my 'to read' shelf for as long as it did. From the moment I was introduced to the heroine, Janet Watters, as she looks down from her window upon the coffin filled streets of Philadelphia, I was captivated. The imagery is so crisp, so poetic. The book begins in 1793, when "the yellow fever was emptying Philadelphia with the zeal of a child gouging out a pumpkin." Janet, a mere thirteen at the opening of the story, is painfully aware of her insignificance. At the same time, she is painfully aware of the longing she bears for the young Kit DeWaere, a friend of the family, and a young man several years her senior. Beyond her reach, "Kit DeWaere was a cherished agony," destined for greater things than she could ever aspire to.

One tragedy follows another as we follow our heroine from plague infested Philadelphia to the tumult, terror and chaos of Revolutionary France, where she is, after a long absence, reunited with the now married Kit. No longer a child, Janet has grown into a young woman with her own ideas and aspirations, humble though they may seem. Subtly and by small means, Janet becomes, through trial, heartbreak and experience, and almost without our realising it, a figure of great significance in the lives of those of her acquaintance, the shining light in the lives of those fortunate to be touched by her selflessness and kindness. And yet, as a true heroine ought, she never suspects that this is so.

This is a tender tale of love and longing, of frustration and disappointment, of heartbreaking tragedy and suffering. Of overwhelming joy despite the obstacles that beset us on life's journey. I found this story, and the gorgeousness of its telling, a refuge from the confusion and conflict in my own life.I was sincerely sad to close its final pages.

The Scattered Proud is a beautiful, beautiful book. A tale masterfully told and eloquently written. A gem among modern historical fiction!

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 The story of the story:

The Scattered Proud isn’t a story as much as it is the Dream That Wouldn’t Die   ̶  but that wouldn’t keep its original form, either. It grew along with me, starting on the night of April 15, 1986. I was with friends in the Honey Tree tavern in the Gramercy Park section of New York City when the TV over the bar blared news about the United States Air Force bombing Libya in retaliation for Libyan terrorists’ bombing of a discotheque in West Berlin. At the time, I’d been writing a historical novel about Americans in Paris during the Russian invasion of 1813, but when I heard about Libya, I thought things were going to trend toward the Middle East; I’d have a better chance of getting published if the book were about something in that part of the world. So I started writing The Lessons of Darkness, a story about a young American girl whose father, a Byron-like adventurer, disappears in Egypt during the French expedition of 1798. She falls in with an Italian opera troupe in Paris and is befriended by a young composer who defies the French government’s ban against Roman Catholicism by writing a rescue opera about the Egyptian campaign and setting the Holy Wednesday service of Tenebrae, the Lessons of Darkness, within the score. The agent who read the MS said she regretted the market wasn’t right for historicals but kindly predicted the story would one day be published.

Thinking she meant the MS wasn’t good enough for publication, I gave up and put the thing aside. But the setting of the tale  ̶  post-Revolutionary Paris and the rise of Napoleon  ̶  stayed with me, along with several character names, if not the characters in their original form. For example, Merit, the teenage heroine of The Lessons of Darkness, became Merit, Malachi’s mother, in The Scattered Proud. And while the fate and hubris of Malachi, the young composer of The Lessons of Darkness, remained unchanged, for The Scattered Proud he became a life-loving but dependent, hormone-driven teen instead of a romantic hero. The only character from The Lessons of Darkness who joined The Scattered Proud intact was Pierre DuCray, the Bonpartist army surgeon whose name is a spoof on the alias “Pierre DuCré,” used on one occasion by French composer Hector Berlioz.

Characters weren’t all that changed in The Scattered Proud. I looked at the original elements of The Lessons of Darkness and felt I could do better. I don’t remember why, but I thought the use of music was a tired device. By the time I took yet another look at The Lessons of Darkness in 1998, I’d been involved with living history and re-enactment groups as a publicist-participant. I’d been immersed in the clothing, manners and minutiae of life between 1775 and 1865, and I’d also spent hours reading bound original volumes of the Moniteur universel, the official government newspaper of Revolutionary and early Napoleonic France. I took everything I knew about France and America in the late 18^th century and combined historical details into something that had more depth than what I had come to regard as a petty diversion based on obscure classical music. The vehicle behind the conflict went from music to the arts of war and all that the phrase suggests, and the tale was told in third-person, from multiple points of view. Still, I wasn’t happy with the story. I couldn’t decide whose story I wanted it to be. I doubted my voice, my honesty, my authority.

I suppose, actually, that for the longest time, the story that became The Scattered Proud simply wasn’t ready to be told until two things happened: In December 2005 I survived an “ohmygod-I’m-going-to-die” kind of car crash. A few months later, I was on the message boards of a major romance author. The first gave me a sense of urgency, while the second let me write my heart out and reap surprisingly lovely feedback and encouragement from other site members. I’d always had a block about writing romance and always preferred the harsher realities of life where matters of the heart are concerned. I wanted to make The Lessons of Darkness “grow up” into the kind of life-affirming, soul-searching, no-easy-answers classic that people didn’t write any more. I knew that whoever the hero of that particular tale was or would become must be a tragic hero, possessed of that one, fatal flaw that manages to change everyone’s life, as well as his own. He had to earn Napoleon’s climactic observation: “From the sublime to the ridiculous is only a step. It looks to me like somebody stumbled,” lines that came at roughly the same place in The Lessons of Darkness. I managed to find that human-romantic ideal in a figure not even I expected: a gentle young vicar whose faith in his abilities was founded in a faith that would prove as damning as it was sustaining. I called him Kit DeWaere, and when he passed inspection by the admiring ladies on that romance writer’s message board, I gave the story its own site, started blogging chapters, and began to suspect that, after more than two decades, the story I first sensed amid breaking news in a smoky pub in Gramercy Park just might come to something after all.

But I didn’t come easily to the tale’s first-person narrative. The snippets I presented on the romance writer’s site were initially in third person. I’d always rebelled at first person. Thought it vain. Self-centered. Like running around the neighborhood without a stitch of clothing. People would see too much of me, especially bits I didn’t want to be seen. I yielded to first person only when I realized how much better the story worked as a memoir and that it’s not me that the readers are seeing. They’re seeing a woman growing up in love with a man beyond her reach. It’s just that I’m not sure her name’s not really Gev …

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Topic: "Censorship In Literature; should it be imposed upon us, or self imposed?" My guest, Author Dan Holloway.

Please join in the discussion with my guest, Author Dan Holloway

Banned Books

Banned Books Week is a fabulous movement (this year, coinciding with this series, it runs 24 September – 1 October) and website (http://www.bannedbooksweek.org/) that, among other things, contains a truly scary map (http://www.bannedbooksweek.org/node/2) of schools and libraries that have withdrawn books in response to protest.

The thing is though. Um, what is the thing? Well, the thing is this, to be frank. Most times I see censorship discussed by writers I see a whole hoopla of hypocrisy. Censorship is bad. It’s Satan’s spawn… “but of course…” after which there’s the whole thing about responsibility and self-censorship and duties and how sex should never be censored “only I’m of course not including xyz.”

And I genuinely think a lot of people don’t see the hypocrisy, and think that they really are being open-minded. But this is way scarier than overt censorship. Most explicit censorship decides on a line it wants to draw, draws it, and enforces it. “But of course” censorship genuinely thinks it’s not drawing meaningful lines because the lines it draws are “obvious”. Am I the only one who thinks stating that something is “obvious” is *way* more dangerous than whatever that something may be?

The fact is the most fucked-up paraphilia is only “obvious”ly beyond the pale to those who consider it fucked-up and paraphiliac.

I’m not calling for an end to censorship. I *do* think we are most likely to win people over to the same revulsion at what we revile if we expose those things to scrutiny – if we really revile them, why be afraid? Is it that we don’t trust our fellow humans? Or do we not trust our own judgement? And if we say something is beyond scrutiny surely the message that sends is that it’s not up to scrutiny?

But that’s by the by. Like I say, I’m not calling for an end to censorship. I’ve yet to meet someone who called for an end to censorship who actually had a coherent position. What I’m calling for is an end to hypocrisy. There are things that truly repel me. Racism and homophobia, stereotyping of mental illness. Some of them I’d happily remove from the shelves. But on the grounds that what they depict is wrong? Well, no. On the grounds that they repel me. That I hate them. That *is* the reason.

What I’m saying is simple. Write about something I find repugnant, shame on you. Pretend I find it repugnant because it’s “wrong”, shame on me. So come on. Let’s quit pretending there’s a moral high ground, and acknowledge the central, perfectly natural, and actually essential place of hate.


Take a look at what Dan has on his agenda for October.

October 18th 7pm, Blackwell’s
for one night only, introducing you to the finest poetry, prose and punk commentary in Oxford. Bringing you:
Lucy Ayrton, Hammer and Tongue finalist
Joe A Briggs, Oxford’s voice of punk
Anna Hobson, Oxford International Women’s Festival and Oxford Pride poetry MC (author of Tales of Unrequited Love)
Dan Holloway, Literary Death Match Champion (author of (life:) razorblades included)
Clarissa Pabi, 2010-11 president of the Oxford University Poetry Society
with special guests
Neil Anderson, Oxford Arts Group
and introducing the winner of the 2010 Tower Poetry Prize
Emily Harrison (author of Typewriter on the Bed)
with music from Grey Children
tickets £2 from Blackwell’s shop, customer service (01865 333623) or on the door

http://eightcuts.com/2011/08/27/this-is-oxford/

Topic..."The Relevance of Sex in Literature," Join my Guest JD REVENE.

Hello and welcome to author J D Revene...my first Guest Blogger in the month long discussion of "The Relevance of Sex in Literature in 2011"

These posts are open to discussion.

What are your thoughts on the topic? What feedback would you like to give on the article?

The Relevance of Sex to Literature in 2011: JD Revene a personal perspective

Introduction

When Sooz asked me to write a post about sex and literature I jumped at the chance. You see, I don't consider myself a writer of erotica, I just happen to have written one work that has significant—and explicit—sexual content, but when Harper Collins reviewed that work-in-progress, Appetites, in late 2010 their review included the comments:

I feel that ‘Appetites’ is a little confused about what sort of book it wants to be. It’s not straightforward erotica as the sexual scenes are unromanticised and often unflinchingly honest. In other words, they are more sordid than arousing . . .

and:

The main thing you need to do is decide what you want your book to be, not least because it would present a publisher with considerable problems as to how to market it in its current form.

And so the issue is one dear to my heart.

It seems to me that there are two questions tied up in Sooz’s prompt for this post: first, what is the relevance of sex to literature; and second, how, if at all, has this changed in recent times. I shall consider each in turn.

Everybody’s doing it

Funny how sex always attracts attention. Consider how—at least here in Australia—American Pyscho (1991) is sold in cling wrap, whilst Red Dragon (1981) is freely available. Here we have two protagonists who are both psychopathic killers, but it seems that the sexual aspects of the former makes it more threatening than the latter.

After reading my review, academic, author, publisher and literary thinker Dan Holloway (check out his website here) made some interesting posts about transgressive fiction—American Pyscho is an example—which according to Michael Silverblatt, as quoted in Wikipedia :

graphically explores such topics as incest and other aberrant sexual practices, mutilation, the sprouting of sexual organs in various places on the human body, urban violence and violence against women, drug use, and highly dysfunctional family relationships

It and the related genre of blank fiction have been around since the 70s, though its roots can be traced much further back. ^[1]

In fact, sex in literature is nothing new (that's right folks, we didn't invent it). Whilst the bible may have been the first work off Guttenberg’s press I wouldn’t mind betting it was quickly followed by some piece of smut—and, just quietly, even the bible contained the odd bit of nooky. Erotic verses have survived from ancient Greek and Roman times and the genre is represented throughout the history of literature, even Shakespeare wrote a poem or two that could be considered erotic, see for example Venus and Adonis .

There are any number of reasons that writers may include sex scenes in their work. The aim may be to titillate, to shock, to educate, to amuse or to realistically reflect life.

It is that reflection of life that most interests me, as a reader and a writer, though each has its place. I’m a fan of what has been coined Dirty Realism, where the focus is on unexceptional characters and the seamier or more mundane aspects of ordinary life (See Wikipedia for a little more on this). And, let’s face it, sex is a part of our mundane lives. To exclude it from consideration results in a depiction of the world that simply is not true to life.

Of course, the writer's intention and the readers experience may not be aligned. I remember as a child sneaking Mantissa off my parents' book shelf for night-time reading; I'm not sure titillation was John Fowles intention. And there were scenes in Frederick Forsyth’s Day of the Jackal that were more riveting—and puzzling—to a young teen reader than any surreptitiously obtained copies of Mayfair magazines.

For me sex is relevant to literature to the extent that a work requires it, no more, no less. One might as well ask: what is the relevance of car chases or ‘deep and meaningfuls’. None of these are mandatory, but none should be forbidden and none should attract particular attention for any reason other the quality of the writing. Like all other action sex in literature should serve to advance plot or develop character. I’d advise all writers who include sex in their work need to exercise caution, if only to avoid the bad sex writing awards. Those interested in writing sex scenes could do a lot worse than getting their hands on a copy of Elizabeth Benedict’s The Joy of Writing Sex, one of the best books on writing I have read.

Wherever my adult work is displayed I make sure that it is marked as adult and that the sexually explicit content is noted. When I was pursuing the pot of gold at the end of Authonomy's rainbow that is an ED review I guided readers uncomfortable with sexual content to chapters of the work that were PG (well G anyway). Of course, there is always a danger that warning of adult only content will serve to attract younger readers rather than discourage them.

I believe strongly that there should be no prescriptive dictums as to what is or is not relevant to literature or any other field of the arts and that, as writers, we should all resist any attempt to tell us what we can and can't include in our writing. However, I also believe that rights imply responsibilities: I will defend any writer's right of free expression, but I also hold that we each have a responsibility to do our best not to cause harm, which must affect how we exercise our rights.

The times they are a changing (or are they)

So what of the second question, what’s the state of play in 2011? Realism and the impetous for more honest consideration of sex in literature is certainly not new, this is a movement dating back at least as far as the nineteenth century. And we’re long past the obscenity scandals of works such as Tropic of Capricorn or Lady Chatterley’s Gardener. So what has changed in the early twenty-first century?

One often hears that Gen Y have shorter concentration spans and higher thresholds to being shocked and we are told that society has become more permissive, but is this true?

If I compare 1985s Less Than Zero with 2010s Imperial Bedrooms, it seems to me that the former is more reflective of fragmented attention and self-conscious angst than the latter. Of course that may simply reflect Brett Easton Ellis’s own maturation, but I see little to suggest that readers today are any less capable of following an intricate narrative than those of yesteryear.

It may be true that what once shocked now seems tame—anyone read Madame Bovary recently?—but the fact remains that there are those who continue to object vociferously to any mention of the act.

At the recent Sydney Writers’ Festival there was some considerable controversy regarding pornography. And it seems to me that many don't differentiate between pornography and erotica or even passing mention of sex: it's all tarred with the same brush. There have been similar signs of rising conservatism in other fields of the arts, for example photography where a 2008 Sydney display of the work of Bill Henson generated much media attention, if not hysteria. I fear that rather than living in more permissive times, the baby-boomers’ Iiberalism is being challenged by a new conservatism.

It is interesting that this is an area where elements of the feminist left are united with the Christian right. Men who write about sex risk being accused not only of moral interpitude, but also of objectifying women.

And yet, off course, explicit literature is not only produced by men. From The Delta of Venus to The Bride Stripped Bare women too are writing about sex. I spoke earlier of transgressive and blank fiction, genres dominated by men, but it strikes me that Nikki Gemmel's sex scenes ares more explicit than those of Ellis, Palahniuk or Houellebecq, and more real. And the same applies in popular fiction: boys, I’ve got to tell you the sex scenes in chick-lit are way hotter than anything I’ve seen in the crime and thriller genres—try pretty much anything by Marian Keyes, you’ll be surprised. Interestingly, lad lit (I'm thinking Nick Hornby or Tony Parsons) seems to have much less sexual content.

There is, I think, a tendency for us all to believe that we live in times of particular significance—that we are in some way different from all who have gone before us. I’m not convinced. Throughout the history of publishing there have been works that have challenged the conventions of the time and there have always counter movements decrying the erosion of morals standards: Plus ça change, plus c'est la même chose.

Have you finished yet

It seems to me that writing about sex—now or at any other time—is dangerous, but then the same could be said of politics or religion (and I’ve probably sinned in both those areas in this post). However, if the job of literature is expose the truth, then that’s always a dangerous exercise.

With regard to my own work-in-progress, I’ve taken Harper Collins advice on board, to a degree; there’s less sex and I’ve worked on character development (though a certain distance is deliberate, after all it worked for Camus) but there remain explicit scenes—though I hope that they are honest and serve to advance the story.

It is my intention as a writer to be confronting and I make no apology for that.

[1] For those interested in finding out more about transgressive fiction and other anti-establishment literary movements I recommend the paper Postmodern Nihilism: Theory and Literature

JD Revene is an Anglo-Australian writer. His style is minimalist. You can find the first five chapters of Appetites, his work-in progress, here. He also has two short stories in the collection Words to Music (which also features contributions from Sooz and Dan) available in paperback and for Kindle.

www.jdrevene.weebly.com