From a reader:
When I ran across Solitaire, I had forgotten where I’d heard your name before (Outer Alliance), but the jacket copy looked interesting, and I was in the mood for something science fiction-y-about-fully-fleshed-people, not better machines.
I’m sure it’s no surprise to you that it’s a good book. I’ve enjoyed books that had plot flaws but compelling characters, or badly written narrative but compelling plot or great ideas not quite fully-realized. Solitaire was none of the above. I think the only thing I found surprising about it was that the corporate drones were sometimes human in good ways as well as bad, and you made me believe that was possible.
In another way, it was all surprising. I love that the book is so strongly grounded in the real; in the smells in the air, the feel of the wind, the movement of water and muscle, the almost-touch, and the taste of things. There’s a density to the writing that I found incredibly compelling.
Now I’m feeling I’ve gotten overblown and pretentious, but I thought you might want to know that I found Solitaire touching, and valuable, and I’m very glad I read it.
Any author who would find such a lovely response overblown and pretentious ought to be taken out back and hit upside the head with copies of Jonathan Franzen’s new book. Happily, I am not that person. Thank you very much indeed for your kind words, and for taking the time to send them.
I’m particularly pleased that the reality works for you. That’s a harder part of the work for me. I get fascinated by the emotional and psychological reality of the characters and relationships, sometimes to the point where my early drafts can feel like stories about balloons in space. Some writers work hard for the emotional truth; I work hard for the physical truth, to literally ground the story. Because of course all these things are connected, and the beauty of fiction is the chance to intertwine the internal and external experience of characters into something that reverberates through readers on multiple levels.
And I knew that Jackal was destined to spend a lot of time in her own head (smile). I wanted her, and the reader, to have as much physical input as possible.
I have always been a late bloomer in just about every way, and so I do much of my learning at the most awkward times (sigh). I have just recently discovered that I like wearing short skirts and high heels, and am now wrestling with all sorts of what the English would call “mutton dressed as lamb” issues. Why couldn’t I have done all this in my 20’s and 30’s like any sensibly-gendered non-troublemaking woman of my time? Because I am fucking awkward, apparently. And so the older I get, the more I live in my body and in the physical world. I’m sure that I’ll be in a Very Old People’s Gathering one day where everyone else will be busy being all intellectual and wise and Buddhist-ly detached, and I’ll be rolling around in the avocado dip, drinking good wine, and still trying to dance to Pink.
And I will certainly still go on trying to give my characters the same discoveries. Thank you very much for reminding me of it. And thank you for reading Solitaire. I’m glad it connected with you, and I very much appreciate your connecting with me to tell me so.
A richly deserved response to Solitaire, and a nice reply (though those of us who “knew you when” might quibble with the “late bloomer” idea). Since you mention Franzen’s new book, I’m curious what you think of it. I personally found it a fun read, and a sharp cultural critique. But I’m not sure he knows a lot about love.
It’s helpful to hear about the things that you know you have to work on. I can relate, and it’s encouraging again to hear from you that it’s simply a matter of doing the work. 🙂 Also, I am looking forward to reading Solitaire! Ordering now!