Another installment of my sporadic series of rants and raves on book design. These’ll be relatively short.
These people look as if they’re at an air show. Todd has dragged me to any number of air shows. I do not like air shows. You stand outside in the heat with the sun pounding down on you and sweat dripping down your face, and your neck gets stiff from looking up at tiny specks of glitter flippety-flopping across the sky. Ugh.
The book cover’s quite good, though.
A similar design: photograph, people facing away from the camera, lots of sky, simple type treatment. I like it a lot. The typefaces are quite handsome.
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Today, I feel like this:
For you see, this morning’s email brought me some very good news: The River In Winter
is a finalist for a Lambda Literary Award in the Gay Fiction category.
I’ve already bought tickets for the awards ceremony and the benefit that follows. It’s improbable that mere words can express how excited I am to attend.
Happy!
That cover design I posted a couple of weeks ago just never seemed quite right. I did a little more looking around and found some photos of an old globe.
I think I may have had a globe much like it when I was a kid. My parents gave me a Replogle globe for Christmas one year. That name always seemed so strange to me: Replogle. Almost, but not nearly, a rhyme with “global.” I remember that it came with a little booklet describing experiments one could perform with a globe. With a flashlight and a rubber ball, for example, a proud globe owner could simulate a solar eclipse.
But I digress.
Here’s my design-of-the-moment for The New World and the Old:
Don’t fall too much in love with it; by this time next week, I’m sure I’ll hate it.
I finished The Big Rock Candy Mountain
last night. Here’s my Goodreads review:
I hope it’s not sacrilege to say this, but I found Stegner’s writing style a bit uneven. At times he strikes an elevated, epic tone. At other times he slips into a more casual, second-person narration. Now and again a sentence or line of dialogue is a cringeworthy clinker. The first chapter is the most polished and best written, but also (for me) the slowest and hardest to get through. If the entire book had matched its tone, I’d have respected the novel more, but I’d have liked it less.
Stegner’s at his best when he’s not too polished, not trying to hard, when he lets himself slip into second person, when his sentences are long but uncomplicated:
The farm was that feeling, too, the sense of straddling two nations, so that even though you were American, living in Canada, you lost nothing by it, but really gained, because the Fourth of July was celebrated in Canada and Canadian holidays like Victoria Day and the King’s birthday were celebrated in Montana, and you got in on both. And you lived in Saskatchewan, in one nation, but got your mail in Montana, in another.
Quibbles about prose style notwithstanding, I did actually like this novel quite a bit. After the first chapter, I was fully engrossed in the story, and I strongly identified with the characters. As the child of a man who always sought the Big Rock Candy Mountain (where the lemonade springs and the bluebird sings), I felt by the end that Bo Mason was my father.
The relationships among the characters, the actions they take, the lifelong consequences of those actions—all of this, Stegner gets exactly right. Some of his sentences may strike a false note, as I’ve mentioned, but his characterization and plotting never do. He may have been writing the story of his own life, but he did so with immense frankness and sensitivity.
It’s a mark of a great writer than in describing the specific history of one family, Stegner is able to touch upon the history of every family.
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