I love a good story. Excellent fiction is a portal to another world, populated with characters so real you can touch them in your mind. When reading a wonderful book, I can close my eyes and picture the characters... and in a truly well-written novel, I can even imagine those characters outside of their world, and in my own. I can hear their voices, understand the way they think. They become friends.

On this page, I feature what most would call classic fiction, truly good literature. I have a separate page for science fiction, which some might call a "trash" genre in their ignorance, but amidst the flotsam, some of the finest books in history are found. Some science fiction authors cross the line between traditional sci-fi and genuine literary fiction. I will include some of these here.

I know people who don't read fiction, because it isn't "real." But I find, in the pages of a beautifully written novel, the emotion, the lessons, and the passion of real lives and real people. I learn from the experiences of people who have never lived as flesh, people who are comprised of ink, paper, and my fertile imagination. I hope you enjoy meeting my imaginary friends here, on this virtual page. Your suggestions and thoughts are appreciated -- send me and email!
 

Winter's Tale
By Mark Helprin

Winter's Tale may well be my favorite book -- which is truly saying something. I first read the book when it was published, in 1983. I was 15 years old. I had never read anything like it. It was so beautiful, so magical, the prose so lush and rich in detail and imagery -- I was awestruck not only by the amazing story, but also by the sheer loveliness of the language. Mark Helprin is a master writer, a true wordsmith. As a budding young writer, I suddenly knew who I wanted to be when I grew up.

 The story begins around the turn of the 20th century, and moves through to the millennium. It is a millennium tale, and a work of magical realism, both in vogue in the literary world in the 80s. But this book goes far beyond publishing trends. Helprin has been the recipient of numerous awards for his writing, and his other books are also excellent. But this one somehow touches people, and continues to do so.

From Wikipedia: "In May 2006, the New York Times Book Review published a list of American novels, compiled from the responses to "a short letter [from the review] to a couple of hundred prominent writers, critics, editors and other literary sages, asking them to please identify 'the single best work of American fiction published in the last 25 years.'" Among the twenty-two books to have received multiple votes was Helprin's Winter's Tale."

The book is a love poem, a tribute to New York City -- and like that city, it is rich with color and characters. It is the story of a man named Peter Lake, who, like the city, lives on and on, into the millennium. In the early 1900s, perpetually pursued by a New York gang called the Short Tails, Peter Lake falls in love with a beautiful heiress -- Beverly Penn (Yes, Beverly!). She has consumption, and her death causes the hero to pursue justice in this world, and the next.

I can't describe this book, nor do it justice. What I can say is that I re-read this book every few years, and get something new from it every time I do. One Christmas, when I was in my early 20s, I was so passionate about it that I gave copies of the book to everyone on my gift list, just to get them to read it.

Look, if you love the sparse, sometimes even brutal prose of Hemingway, this book isn't for you. But if you can allow poetry into your prose, read words simply to let them soak into your soul, then read Winter's Tale.

Helprin's writing is nothing short of divinely inspired. Reading this book, for the first time in my life, I read a sentence that was so lovely, so elegantly constructed, so perfectly placed and structured within the context of the chapter, that tears came to my eyes. Not because the sentence was sad -- no, it was triumphant -- but because the combination of beautiful words and the meaning they represented simply took my breath away. It was prose and poetry fused with astonishing perfection. I dreamed that one day I would master the language, and write like that. I still hope to, someday.

Read this book. Please. And when you get to the chapter in which Peter Lake is trying to remember the color of Beverly's eyes, once he remembers, you'll have finished reading my exquisite sentence. 

In the Company of the Courtesan
By Sarah Dunant

In the Company of the Courtesan is, without question, one of the best pieces of modern fiction I've read in years. It was on the New York Times Bestseller list, so I approached it with some trepidation -- most bestsellers these days kind of suck, really (I cite The DaVinci Code by example... entertaining, kind of, but total hack formula writing.) But in this case, the title was irresistible to me (for reasons which are, I trust, obvious).

I was hooked on the first page, and by the time I got to the author's historical notes at the end, I was enchanted. Dunant's fluid, eloquent writing is nothing short of brilliant. It begins in 1527, at the sack of Rome. Fiametta, a highly successful courtesan, and her dwarf companion, Buscino, barely escape Rome with their lives. They make their way to Venice, where Fiametta was born. Using a few jewels they swallowed in order to smuggle them out of Rome, they set about rebuilding their fortunes -- with the help of a blind healer, LaDraga.

The story is told from the point of view of Buscino, Fiametta's dwarf companion. To her clients, he is merely a wonderful oddity, an amusement. But in private, the two are best friends. He is her companion, her business advisor. He helps manage her life for her, takes care of her in every way.

The character of Buscino really resonated with me. There are some who would call him Fiametta's "pimp," though in truth he does not profit from her work, other than the fact that she supports him. Further, he does not control her, or force her to make choices she doesn't wish to. Fiametta is fiercely independent, and makes her own decisions. But she does listen to Buscino, and values his opinion and their friendship. He is her partner, her best friend, almost like a husband, yet without the sexual element.

The reason I found this relationship so intriguing is that I have a similar relationship with my housemate (the drag queen, for those not familiar with my life). He is my Buscino. He takes care of me. He is my friend, my advisor, my favorite companion. Much as Fiametta supports Buscino, I support my housemate (he has a genetic illness that makes it impossible for him to work). I am utterly independent, and certainly my own woman, but my relationship with my housemate is part of what keeps me sane, and the same is true for Fiametta's character.

What is sad is that our modern society has chosen to legally define "pimp" as someone who lives off the income of a prostitute. Even in places where prostitution is legal, in Canada or Australia for example, there are laws against being a "pimp." Meaning that Buscino, and my housemate, would be breaking the law, and be referred to as "pimps." This makes me more furious than I can express.

Many of us need help, support, companions. I have known women with real pimps, who not only lived off their income, but took every dime they made, forced them to do horrible things, beat them, raped them, performed hideous psychological abuses that left these women scarred both inside and out. Real, true pimps, are sick, selfish, truly evil people. This recent fad using the word "pimp" for all kinds of things ("Pimp My Ride") fills me with unbelievable anger. That people think it's cute to dress up like pimps for Halloween is disgusting and shameful. To make something cute or funny, when the reality is so ugly, is just beyond wrong.

The Fiametta character was fascinating, also. Dunant got so many things about being a courtesan so very right, I am forced to speculate that she had some kind of personal connection with a sex worker -- or she did amazing research. And the latter is highly possible. Dunant's research for the book was nothing short of staggering. I felt as though I really had been in 16th century Venice. I could see every detail in my mind's eye, with an uncanny clarity.

Once I'd finished the book, I read Dunant's historical notes, and discovered many of the characters in the book were actual historic figures. She had researched their lives so well, she was able to weave their real-world stories seamlessly into her fiction. She brilliantly spun reality with imagination, and it was impossible to tell where one began and the other ended. Even the cover of the book itself is part of the story.

I can't recommend In the Company of the Courtesan enough. Like all great historical fiction, it is beautifully written, impeccably researched, and touches issues that were not only true then, but today as well.

The Club Dumas
By Arturo Perez-Reverte

The Club Dumas is an incredibly enjoyable read. Somehow it manages to pay homage to the classic serial, as typified by The Three Musketeers, and also the mystery/thriller genre (think Sherlock Holmes) -- and yet also is beautifully written literature.

Further, The Club Dumas is a book-lover's book. Literary references, and sly bookish humor, are throughout. After reading this book, I realized how many books I still need to read... and here I thought I was fairly well-read. I suppose I'll have to add to the "to be read" pile in my bedroom. I may never be done. "So many books, so little time." [sigh]

The main character, Lucas Corso, is a kind of book mercenary. He tracks down rare books for dealers and collectors, for a price. In this case, these rare books are nothing like my first-edition Ray Bradbury. These are 16th and 17th century books, beautiful illuminated manuscripts. The story begins with an original manuscript from the Three Musketeers by Alexandre Dumas, and an extremely rare and valuable occult book, said to hold the key to summoning the devil. Corso's adventures, and his friends and enemies, begin to suspiciously mirror the Musketeers tale, with a bit of Sherlock Holmes thrown in. The parts dealing with the occult are deliciously creepy.

I found much to identify with. At one point, Corso seeks out a man named Victor Fargas, a fanatical collector of rare and beautiful books.

I adjusted my clock on my computer desktop to match the inscription above the sundial at Fargas' home: Omnes Vulnerant, Postuma Necat: They all wound. The last one kills. I love vicious latin.

Fargas was practically penniless, living in a disintegrating old mansion, almost all of the furniture sold, including the bookshelves. Fargas' amazing collection of books is laid out carefully in rows on the threadbare carpet. All he cares about is his books. Once every six months, he is forced to sell one, in order to eat, and "to keep the others [books] together." Having to choose which book to sell is pure torture for Fargas. He'd rather sell anything, than sell one of his precious books.

I had to laugh uncomfortably at poor Fargas. I myself have over 2,000 books. And there have been times in my life when we were pretty poor. I sold jewelry, all kinds of things. Anything to keep from selling one precious book. Hell, I even have a few books I bought, when times were good, specifically with an eye to selling them if times were bad -- books by authors I cared nothing for, autographed copies of terrible books with philistine fans, that sort of thing. A couple Stephen King first editions, for example. And yet I couldn't bring myself to sell them, even disliking King as I do.

Those of us who truly love books are an odd lot. For some of us, certain characters have more depth and reality than some people we know. We treasure these funny constructions of paper and cardboard, ink and imagination. They give us experiences we've only dreamed of from the comfort and safety of our best reading chair (the one with the good light). They take us to worlds we might have never imagined, allow us to meet amazing characters that delight us, frighten us, educate us. We fall in love over and over again, and can recreate the perfect relationship simply by picking up the book again.

Perez-Reverte's writing was wonderful. The prose was neither too lush, nor too sparing. His metaphors were wonderfully odd and yet utterly, perfectly descriptive. I was lost, enveloped in his world, which blurred the lines between reality and fiction, as Corso begins to realize that he is indeed lost in a fictional world. It's delightful to have your fictional protagonist become aware of his own fictional self. And how the reader must remind himself that the awareness itself is also fiction.

I really, really enjoyed The Club Dumas. I look forward to catching up on my reading, exploring texts mentioned in the book, and then re-reading it, with a deeper understanding and perspective. Are you ready for a truly intelligent mystery? Enjoy!