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Thursday, October 1st, 2009

October 1, 2009
Washington, DC

TimOBrienBookFestWeb

Tim O’Brien read from his memoir-in-progress (on fatherhood) to a capacity crowd in the NEA Poetry and Prose Pavilion at the 2009 National Book Festival in Washington, DC. Photo by Tom Roster

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TIM O’BRIEN! O’Brien’s The Things They Carried is certainly a book about the Vietnam War, but it is also a book about how to tell a story. In this interview excerpt, O’Brien shares his thoughts on fiction and the difference between what he calls “the story truth” and “the happening truth.”

Well, I can make an effort to distinguish between the two. There are times in life when an event occurs and you go to tell about it. And you’re utterly and absolutely factual in your effort to recount what occurred.  But when you’ve finished, it feels as if, somehow, a part of the truth is missing, even though the facts are there.  And there are other times in life when you begin exaggerating and revving up the facts, maybe adding a little bit here, subtracting a bit there; it is a way of trying to get at an emotional or spiritual or psychological truth. 

So, for example, there’s a chapter in The Things They Carried called “On the Rainy River.”  And it’s a story of a fellow who bears my name, Tim O’Brien, who gets drafted and heads for the Canadian border. He spends six days on the Rainy River, which separates Minnesota from Canada, trying to decide should [he] cross that river and go to Canada or should [he] go to the war.  Well that never happened.  I did not get in my car and drive to the Rainy River, although I was drafted.  I didn’t spend six days there.  In fact, I’ve never been there in my life.  The characters that are up on the Rainy River don’t exist. 

And yet, although the story is largely invented, it feels to me truer in a way than the literal truth that I could recount about that terrible summer I was drafted. The literal truth would be to say I played golf. I worried a lot [and] had trouble sleeping. And that pretty much would be it.  I could tell you about my pars and my bogeys, and it’d all be true.  And I could describe the golf course, and that would be true.  But it would have little to do with what was happening inside me the summer I was drafted.  That horrible squeeze that I felt on my psyche or my soul. 

And that’s probably as close as I can get to explaining the difference between the two.  It has to do in the end with why I write fiction. I make things up, yes. And invent a whole bunch of stuff. But it’s an effort to get at, you know, certain emotional or spiritual truths that I can’t get at by recitation of fact.       

 Here’s who’s reading, discussing, and celebrating The Things They Carried this month: Kaskaskia College Learning Resource Center Library (Centralia, IL); Lewis & Clark Library (Helena, MT); Scranton Public Library (Scranton, PA); Shrewsbury Public Library (Shrewsbury, MA); and West Plains Council on the Arts (West Plains, MO).

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From The Big Read mailbox

Monday, August 17th, 2009

August 17, 2009
Washington, DC

 

 

tootsie-rolls1

Photo by Oskay from Flickr

A couple of weeks ago, I posed this question to folks around the office: What would you carry as you headed—literally or metaphorically—into battle? Here’s a response sent into the blog by Susan Gregory of Pioneer Library System in Norman, Oklahoma. (A Repeat Reader, Pioneer Library will host a Big Read of The Maltese Falcon next March.)

A 1928 Book of Common Prayer that my dad gave me when I was eight; a large hunting knife (in case the prayers are taking too long); Mace (does it work on snakes?); photos of my son and my brother’s family; pens and notebooks; a mirror, to signal for help and to check for jaundice; Immodium A-D; Tootsie Rolls; toothbrush; St. Francis medal that my son brought me from Assisi; did I mention Immodium A-D?

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The Things We’d Carry, Part 4

Friday, August 7th, 2009

August 7, 2009
Washington, DC

inmybagaug709
A look at what’s in my bag today.

Here’s the final installment in our series of responses to the prompt: “Marching into battle—literally or metaphorically—what things might you carry? It’s your choice to tell or not to tell why you select what you do.”

I’ll lead off today’s answers . . .

From Paulette Beete:

I’d carry my Bible, as many ruled Moleskine notebooks and blue ink pens as I could, a photograph of my sister and me taken in my grandfather’s shop in Trinidad when we were about two and five respectively, poems by Mary Oliver and Yusef Komunyakaa, postcards of New York and Chicago, and an 80s mixed tape that my friend Michelle gave me when I graduated from high school

From David Kipen:

Marching into battle, I’d carry a copy of The Things They Carried. Somebody must’ve suggested that already, right? Then I’d bring copies for my whole platoon, and start a  Big Read right there in the foxhole.

What would you carry? Let me know at bigreadblog@arts.gov, and it might make it onto the blog.

Want to read more in the series?

The Things We’d Carry, Part 1

The Things We’d Carry, Part 2

The Things We’d Carry, Part 3

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Things We’d Carry, Part 3

Monday, July 27th, 2009

July 27, 2009
Washington, DC

What's in my bag

(Photo by spinnerin from Flickr Creative Commons)

Here’s more in our continuing series of responses to the prompt: “Marching into battle—literally or metaphorically—what things might you carry? It’s your choice to tell or not to tell why you select what you do.”

Today we’ll hear from  staff in  the NEA’s Office of Communications.

From Pepper Smith:

I would bring assorted prayers from 1927 Book of Common Prayer, the Bible, AA Big Book, plus three pages of quotations on how to cope with fear.
Photos of my wife inside the Dalvey Pocket Compass she gave me.
The best toothbrush I can find.
Patagonia lightweight hiking socks.
Tiny Olympus Digital Voice Recorder
Encouraging letters from friends.
SAS Survival Guide
Hunting knife
Claritin

From Victoria Hutter

My stash of special cards and letters especially the one my dad wrote to me when he couldn’t travel to my college graduation. The voice mail messages left by my niece and nephew that I keep resaving. A pair of special order pointe shoes circa 1983. Copy of Upright Hilda and the manuscript for Dexter the Dragon both by Donald Hutter. The beanbag frog that used to sit on the back of my grandmother’s reading chair. The stenciled Sucrets box she painted for me that used to hold my hair pins, barrettes, and rubberbands. And lots and lots of photos.

From Adam Kampe

Swedish fish.  As many packs of mint Stride as my pack could handle. A copy of Actual Air by David Berman to slow my mind down, a nano pod filled to the brim with podcasts to tune out the chaos, a copy of Chris Rock’s Rock This to keep me laughing all the way to the bank, a picture of the lake I practically grew up on, a picture of my family and best friends.

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The Things We’d Carry, Part Two

Friday, July 24th, 2009

July 24, 2009
Washington, DC

Words, Post-Election.

(Photo by e_walk from Flickr  Creative Commons)

Here’s more in our continuing series of responses to the prompt: “Marching into battle—literally or metaphorically—what things might you carry? It’s your choice to tell or not to tell why you select what you do.”

Today we’ll hear from Liz Mehaffey, Sarah Cook, and Laska Hurley of the NEA and Angharad Guy and Susan Chandler from Arts Midwest.

From Liz Mehaffey:

I would carry pens, journal, a safety kit, ipod that doesn’t need charging, and philosophy books so I can ponder what marching into battle really means.

Oh, and maybe my blackberry so I can tweet about the experience every few minutes.

From Sarah Cook:

The first thing that comes to mind is my grandpa’s “memoir.” We recently worked together to document his life stories. He was raised in Ohio on a farm, served in the military, and then continued the family farm his whole life. His words inspire and remind me of the values and work ethic of my family.

 From Laska Hurley:

 Here is a list of my going into battle kit:
1. Family photos
2. A map
3. Water tablets – don’t ever underestimate the state of good healthy drinking water
4. Gerber knife survival tool set
5. Two diplomatic passports – US and Swiss (One might work better than the other depending on which countries are in the battle.)
6. Computerized multi-language pocket dictionary
7. A giant empty duffle bag to carry all the cool crap, collected on the way
8. An ice cream machine with all the fixings – You can stop a war dead in its tracks by serving ice cream.  (I’ll ask Amy to carry it. She’s bringing a load of stuff anyway.)
9. A  Do-Over Button
10. Sure as hell won’t need my imagination…Between Amy’s imaginary friend and battle fatigue, I’ll be pretty exhausted to think much.
11. A shovel to dig trenches. I guess we’ll be supplied with thos. Also guns, tanks and stuf. I might want a horse and a cool outfit, something with a feathered hat. Maybe some of them cool boots and spurs.

From Angharad Guy:

I would carry a notebook and pencil, some stamped addressed envelopes, a photo of my beau, a necklace that my parents gave me for my 18th birthday and a copy of my favorite book.

From Susan Chandler:

I’d carry a photo of my daughter, husband, and me; and a small stone from Smooth Stone Beach on Lake Michigan, both of which would remind me of what’s good in the world.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Thursday, July 23rd, 2009

July 23, 2009
Washington, DC

The title of  Tim O’Brien’s novel The Things They Carried comes from the book’s opening section in which we are introduced to First Lieutenant Jimmy Cross, Henry Dobbins, Dave Jensen, Ted Lavender, Mitchell Sanders, Norman Bowker, Rat Kiley, Kiowa, and the narrator Tim. “The things they carried”  is a refrain throughout the section, so we feel the literal and, ultimately, symbolic weight of what each man carries—or humps—as he makes his way through the Vietnam jungle.  As O’Brien writes, “They carried all they could bear, and then some, including a silent awe for the terrible power of the things they carried.”

I recently posed the same question to some of my colleagues: “Marching into battle—literally or metaphorically—what things might you carry? It’s your choice to tell or not to tell why you select what you do.” I’ll share their answers over a few posts starting with these from two of our lit staffers –Dan Brady and Amy Stolls (who by the way wrote The Big Read Reader’s Guide for O’Brien’s novel).

 From Dan Brady:

machomanweb

I’m trying to think of something my wife gave me, some memento of home that might make me feel safe, but what actually comes to mind is an action figure of the Macho Man Randy Savage. For whatever reason, I’ve held onto this thing since I was a kid. It currently is tucked away somewhere in the back of my nightstand along with some failed poems and old notebooks. I don’t know if I could call it a talisman, but it’s something I can’t get rid of and maybe there’s a reason for that. If I wanted to invest it with some power, I could say it’s kept me safe this long, but ultimately I think it’s just nostalgia. Then again, nostalgia might be just what I need when soaked to the bone, pinned down in a Vietnamese jungle with the world setting itself on fire all around me. PS – Attached is a picture I took of [the action figure] last night after I saw your email. 

 

 

From Amy Stolls:

I’d carry a copy of the reader’s guide for everyone in my platoon, because it’s the best piece of writing currently in existence.

I’d carry tweezers and a tiny mirror that says “you’re pretty.”  I have a fear of being out in a jungle and not being able to pluck my eyebrows.

My lap top, new Iphone, and probably a Kindle.  (In fact, I’m pretty sure the Kindle was developed for just this purpose.  It fits nicely slipped in behind a round of ammo.)

Literally (the obvious) — a journal and pens, a few paperbacks, photos of loved ones, an audio of my seven-month-old giggling, an Ipod (with songs ranging from The Decemberists to Arvo Part to my dad’s banjo arrangements).

Literally (the not-so-obvious) — a plastic coin showing Winnie-the-Pooh and Piglet holding hands, which I’ve had since I was 3 or 4 years old and have kept ever since as my own personal good luck charm.  I sent it to my mom the day she was diagnosed with leukemia two years ago.  She’s currently in remission and thriving. 

Metaphorically (the obvious) — my imagination and memory of every book, film, play, poem, painting, song, mountain, forest, café, meal, conversation, and personal encounter I’ve had that has made me feel human and lucky to be alive.

Metaphorically (the not-so-obvious) – my invisible friend.  She’s been hibernating for about 40 years, but I bet I could convince her to go away with me.

This all, of course, on Day One.  What heavy burdens I’d end up carrying all the days after I can only imagine (in part thanks to O’Brien)    

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FROM PAULETTE’S DESK

Wednesday, June 17th, 2009

June 17, 2009
Minneapolis, MN

It’s about 7 a.m. and a steady stream of Big Read grantees are making their way to the Hilton’s front desk to check out and store luggage before day two of orientation. We’re going nonstop from 7:45 to about 3 with only a quick break to grab a boxed lunch and keep on moving to the next session. I’ll be staying put and moderating a panel on public relations x 5.

About 670 grantees plus staff from IMLS, NEA, and, of course, Arts Midwest gathered in the Hilton’s ballroom last night to swap strategies and talk books. After welcome remarks by Arts Midwest’s David Fraher and a shout-out — especially for the Big Read librarians — from IMLS’s Abby Swetz, David Kipen gave a six-degrees-of-separation tour of The Big Read writers. Louise Erdrich and Tim O’Brien are native Minnesotans, for example, while Marilynne Robinson and Tobias Wolff both had roughly two decades between their first and second novels. My favorite “connection” — Mark Twain and Henry James by way of Twain’s quote on James’s work, which goes something like, “I never read a Henry James novel I couldn’t wait to put down.”

The highlight of the evening was Tim O’Brien’s humorous, poignant, utterly spellbinding keynote on the art and craft of fiction. My pen couldn’t quite keep up, but here are a few of the quotes that really struck me:

“Trust your own story. Above all that means to tell it…to conquer the fear of plunging headfirst into choices and the consequences of human choices.”

“In a story miracles happen.”

“To trust a story means, at least in this writer’s view and probably most writers on The Big Read list, to avoid editing your own imagination. You don’t edit what you want to think…Give it the freedom to be.”

And finally, this bit of advice for writers, “Read widely. Toughen up your psyches. Ration out the booze. And don’t forget to write a little.”

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Tuesday, June 16th, 2009

June 16, 2009
Washington, DC

As you read this, I’m in Minneapolis for The Big Read orientation. I can’t as yet divulge who’s getting a grant in this round*, but I can tell you that I’m here with nearly 800 people who are gearing up to read big starting this September.

Tim O’Brien, author of Big Read new addition The Things They Carried, is giving the keynote address at tonight’s welcome dinner. I’m reading the book for the first time, and what I find extremely interesting is the mix of storytelling about the Vietnam War and storytelling about the writing of the book, that is telling the story about writing the story. Here is a snippet from the novel’s narrator on the craft of writing:

“You take your material where you find it, which is in your life, at the intersection of past and present…As a writer all you can do is pick a street and go for the ride, putting things down as they come at you. That’s the real obsession. All those stories.”

*We’ll be announcing The Big Read grants for 2009-2010 on June 23rd. Start the countdown…

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Thursday, June 11th, 2009

June 11, 2009
Washington, DC

Warning: I’m currently reading The Things They Carried, so you’re probably going to be seeing more than a few related posts over the next few weeks. I am already completely gobsmacked by the opening section, not just the story, but the skillful use of rhythm and repetition to drive the narrative, a technique that has the poet in me quite envious.

Speaking of poetry, after reading the novel’s opening section, I found myself grabbing Yusef Komunyakaa’s Vietnam-themed poetry collection Dien Cai Dau off my shelf. According to the jacket copy, the future Pulitzer Prize winner served in Vietnam as correspondent and editor of The Southern Cross and received the Bronze Star. (Komunyakaa received NEA Literature fellowships in 1981 and 1988.)
Here are the closing lines of Komunyakaa’s poem “Tunnels,” which echoes O’Brien’s narrative around tunnel missions in “The Things They Carried.”

“. . . he goes, the good soldier,/on hands & knees, tunneling past/death sacked into a blind corner, loving the weight of the shotgun/that will someday dig his grave.”

Check out some other poems from Dien Cai Dau (and other works by Komunyakaa) at the University of North Carolina’s Internet Poetry Archive.

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Friday, June 5th, 2009

June 5, 2009
Washington, DC

Another sneak peek this morning at Thornton Wilder, who is debuting on The Big Read list this fall. As I read through an advance copy of the Reader’s Guide to The Bridge of San Luis Rey and Our Town, I was struck by the opening quote, taken  from a 1929 letter by Wilder: “It seems to me that my books are about: what is the worst thing that the world can do to you, and what are the last resources one has to oppose it. In other words: when a human being is made to bear more than human beings can bear—what then?”
Wilder’s description of his work aptly describes the central conflict in several Big Read titles, The Grapes of Wrath, The Things They Carried, and A Lesson Before Dying, to name a few. It also resonates with one of my favorite passages from another Big Read author, Ernest Hemingway. This quote from A Farewell to Arms seems perhaps a kind of answer or corollary to Wilder’s.
 

If people bring so much courage to this world the world has to kill them to break them, so of course it kills them. The world breaks every one and afterward many are strong at the broken places.”
Your thoughts?
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