Review: Matt Bondurant's 'The Night Swimmer' #nightswimmer

I've never been to Ireland, but I've always imagined it as a magical land of green hills, men in kilts and quaint little pubs, ready to satisfy my thirst for good ale, my love of tales of lore and a rousing game of darts.  And because of this romantic ideal, I have to admit that in The Night Swimmer, novelist Matt Bondurant had me at the first line: "It began with a dart, a pint, and a poem, three elements that seemed to demonstrate the imprecise nature of fate."  However, from that point, Bondurant took me on a journey to 'another' Ireland, to an isolated small town frequented by birdwatchers and fishermen and a mysterious island where non-natives are shunned.  He held me there with his lyrical prose, his attention to detail and a story filled with mystery and tension.
 
After winning title and deed to an Irish pub, Fred and Elly Bulkington travel from Vermont to the southern coast of Ireland to begin their new life as the owners of the Nightjar.  A chance at a simpler existence and a dream, where Elly can open water swim in the North Atlantic and Fred can work on that novel he's always wanted to write.  As Fred tries to get the pub in order for the seasonal traffic that promises to keep the Nightjar afloat, Elly swims the waters around Cape Clear, an island southwest of Baltimore.  It is here that the couple become tangled in a web of mystery and intrigue, and begin to drift apart.

Matt Bondurant

Elly has a skin condition that allows her to stay in cold waters for extended periods of time.  She becomes fascinated with a lighthouse on Fastnet Rock, four miles southwest of Cape Clear and is determined to swim to it against the warning of unpredictable waters and dangers that can't be explained.  As Elly says, "Fastnet drew me on, as if it was attached somewhere to part of me I didn't understand or couldn't locate."  Some of the most powerful scenes are the times of thoughtful isolation that Elly experiences while swimming, which is not surprising since Bondurant is himself a competitive long distance swimmer.

While Elly is drawn to Fastnet and to the history and intrigue of Cape Clear and its residents, Fred is working the pub in Baltimore and 'working on his novel', which appears to be random thoughts written on bits of paper. One of my favorite scenes,  a foreshadowing to their unraveling relationship, is of Elly and Fred swimming naked at night at Cape Clear.  Fred wants to dive into the cold water from twenty feet up, and as Elly instructs, they will have to make a huge reach to clear a few feet of rocks below.    "We counted down and launched ourselves into the air, still holding hands at the peak of our flight.  We didn't let go until we began to fall."

There are also things about Cape Clear that "cannot be explained."  The island hides ancient secrets and is victim to a mysterious tragedy that grips the residents.  Additionally, Elly and Fred are caught up in a struggle between the all-powerful Corrigan family and Highgate, an old, blind, goat farmer.  The Corrigans are not above violence and murder to maintain their hold on Cape Clear.  Highgate is fighting to protect his livelihood with the help of a small group of foreign volunteers.

 Setting is a character itself.  Bondurant's attention to detail brings the land to life, alternating between the beautiful and the ominous: a land of curious wildlife and breath-taking scenery, of high winds, menacing storms and perilous ocean swells.  You can almost taste the salty air, feel the cold gusts and hear the waves crashing against the rocks. 
 
Amidst the changing relationship between Elly and Fred, the dark and somewhat mystical secrets of Cape Clear and the conflict between the Corrigans and Highgate, The Night Swimmer is powerful, emotional and captivating…even if there are no men in kilts. 

I couldn't resist...

 

Mirror, Mirror-Character Description

Every time a character looks in a mirror or sees their reflection in a lake and describes what they see, I cringe just a little.  It's boring. It's not very realistic. It's cheating.

When I look in the mirror, I don't notice hair the color of an Indian moon AND eyes that match my mother's jade pearls AND large, pouty lips AND cheek bones that...whatever, I don't think I've ever noticed my cheek bones.  No, when I look in the mirror, all I notice is that one wrinkle on my forehead that has now gotten bigger and if I don't smile, I can barely see it at all.  So, if a real person doesn't do this naturally, why would your character?

I know.  She is, after all, the protagonist, and you would like for your reader to get a visual early on.  But, as writers, can't we be a bit more creative and describe them in more interesting ways?  I think so. 

 
First: I suggest, don't give it to me all at once.  A bit here, a bit there, let the image come to me slowly and naturally, instead of giving it to me.  In fact, leave something for my imagination.  As a reader, I think I have a pretty good one, and enjoy combining the writers words and my own interpretation to come up with a visual that suits my idea of the character.
  
Second: Ask yourself what characteristics are even important.  Do her cheek bones mean anything to me?  I can't imagine how they would, and I'm certain I could read an entire trilogy without knowing that a particular character has perfect cheek bones.
 
Third:  Action speaks louder than words. Is there a way to 'show' a physical attribute through action or dialogue?  Of course there is, so use it.


Examples:

The Mirror Trick:

 I met Jim at the junkyard, anxious to see what he had found.  I caught my reflection in a discarded mirror and stopped.  My black hair complemented my blue eyes, and had a way of distracting from the scar on my chin.  I looked harder and shook my head. Even my face is fat.  (So boring, I almost fell asleep writing it)

 

Description through dialogue and action:

I met Jim at the junkyard, anxious to see what he had found. 

Jim laughed. "When did you dye your hair black?"  I glared at him, hoping my stare burned through him like a blue flame.

He waved his hand toward a drainage pipe, no more than three foot in diameter.  "Come on, it's in here."  I traced the scar on my chin with my forefinger.  "You know there's no way I can squeeze through that." 

Jim shrugged. "Oh, well, at least you have nice cheek bones." (Sorry, couldn't resist)

Of course, there are a zillion ways to describe a character without using the Mirror Trick and these are but a few suggestions.  What are some other ways to avoid mirrors?  

First Valentine

 I have a picture that was taken when I was six years old.  I remember the day, at least in the way anyone can remember forty years past.  My dad had just taught me my very first song, ‘Lovesick Blues’ by Hank Williams, and told me if I kept practicing, I could be a professional yodeler someday.  In the picture, he is sitting in a chair and I have my arms around his neck.  He always had a way of making me feel special.

 

I have another, taken when I was twenty.  There was a party going on, I don’t remember the occasion, but he and I had ended up in the kitchen, away from the crowd, having a drink and telling each other jokes.  He made fun of my boyish haircut.  I called him Sonny Bono.  He’s sitting in a chair and I have my arms around his neck.  He always had a way of letting me know that he loved me.

The night before he died, he told me how proud he was that I had grown into a good mother. A good woman.  I put my arms around his neck.  I remember it well.  I don’t need a picture.

 

It has been twelve years and Valentine’s Day has never been the same.  It was his birthday and this year would have been his seventy-fourth.  If he were still here, we'd have a drink and tell a few jokes.  He would make me yodel for him and I would make fun of him for being so old.  Then I would walk up behind him and wrap my arms around his neck.

 

I still think of him every single day.  My father, my daddy, my friend...

My first valentine.

And They Call Me Crazy

Almost two years ago, I sat in a workshop given by the amazing Joyce Maynard.  I had just finished her book Labor Day (and loved it) and so of course my ears perked up when she started talking about the process of writing that particular novel.  Afterall, I was in the middle of writing Ragtown, and wanted to know everything I could about the process that others, read as, 'great' writers go through, hoping to find some similarity, something that might ease my mind about the blood I was sweating over my keyboard.  Then she hit me; a slap wouldn't have produced such a sting.  Eleven days.  It took her eleven days to finish the rough draft of Labor Day.

I wasn't sure I'd heard her correctly, and verified this with her later in the day.  Slap, slap. Yes. Eleven days.

It took me two years to finish Ragtown.  Granted, it is my first major piece of work, and there was a lot of historical research involved.  But two years versus eleven days?  I'm not worthy.

Every November, National Novel Writing Month, better known as NanoWriMo, comes around.  It encourages writers to write a 50,000 word novel in 30 days and offers peer support and encouragement along the way.  I've never participated, basically because I didn't see how it could possibly be done.  I know people do it, but me? Never.

A friend of mine, Leif G.S. Notae, finished his 50,000 words in three days.  Then wrote an article titled "How I Wrote 50,000 Words in Three Days (And You Can Too)".  I read it and thought, no, I can't. 

One of my favorite authors of late is Russell Blake.  I've been devouring his books and one of my favorites is King of Swords, which was followed by the prequel, Night of the Assassin.  Then I read an interview with Russell---King of Swords, fourteen days.  Night of the Assassin---eleven. 

Granted, the novels I've mentioned above and the time it took to write them are pre-editing, but still, two weeks? Eleven days? THREE days?  No way. NO (insert your favorite curse word) WAY! At least not for me.

On January 10, I pulled out a very short story I had written last year, thinking I would pretty it up and send it off to some journals.  I sent it to a good friend, Darren Leo, for editing.  I also mentioned the possibility that I would, one day, write a novel and use this piece as the first chapter.  One of his comments really caught my eye. "I would definitely like to hear more about these characters."

I knew where I wanted to go with this piece.  I thought about Joyce and Leif and Russell and all the NanoWriMo-er's, and again thought--- No. I can't. 

Then on January 11, I wrote five thousand words.  By the end of the day, I was starting to say, 'well, maybe I can.'

Three days and 20,000 words later, I realized: Yes, I can.  And even better: Yes, I will.  My mojo was working overtime, my muse was on speed dial and I knew my story.  I couldn't type fast enough to get it all down.   

And I did it.  55,362 words. 16 days. THE END.

  

Sure, it's rough, and I'll be revising and editing for several months, but I did something I had thought was out of my reach, something I thought was only reserved for really 'great' writers, something I thought I could never do.  All I had to do was find my story and start typing; and like the little engine that could, start saying 'I can' instead of  'I can't'.

I recently talked to Joyce Maynard, two years after that workshop.  This time, instead of feeling that sting, I found myself nodding my head when she said "all of my books have been written in short, intense bursts...But I believe in getting in the zone and staying there."  

And now I get it. Story. Zone. Butt to chair. Fingers to keyboard. Yes, I can.

Yes, I did.

For more about And They Call Me Crazy, check out my 'Work in Progress' tab above. 

Holidays and Deadlines

I'm not a big fan of holidays.  I have a reason to dislike each, but I'll example the upcoming Valentine's Day.  Lucky for me, I am someone's Valentine, which means flowers and an overpriced dinner out.  Chances are, I'll feel more like a bowl of soup that night, but, I'll go out.  I'd much rather have flowers on, let's say, February 7.  Why the 7th?  Because absolutely nothing is on the calendar for that day, which means if I got flowers it would be because someone wanted to send them, not because 'everyone else was doing it.'  And I don't even want to think about that feeling of 'nobody loves me' that comes from a February 14th when you aren't someone's Valentine.  Lame. Lame holiday.

           

I am a big fan of organization. I make lists, I keep up a calendar, I plan just about everything ahead.  If I go somewhere for more than a day, I guarantee you I will have a binder with brochures, schedules, maps, travel information and the like.  Yes, a binder, tabbed and color-coded.  And I'm serious about it.  If something makes it on my schedule, I can guarantee, save malicious intent or an act of God, that that task will be performed by said date and time.   

While I was in school, I had deadlines to meet for manuscript submissions.  Never missed one, didn't even come close, in fact, I think I was ahead by more than a month a few times. 

But school is out, and I have no more deadlines.  I have instead, holidays, coming at regular intervals throughout the year; and did I mention I hate holidays? 

So I have decided, in my dislike of holidays, to embrace them and use them for good instead of evil.  I am a writer, and I want deadlines.  It forces me to say, "I have work to do, got a deadline to meet," and in just saying that, I will work. Hard.  So my holiday schedule for this year looks something like this:

Valentine's Day-First draft done on WIP

St. Patrick's Day-1st half revised

Easter-2nd half revised

Etc., etc. etc.

And in doing nothing more than coming up with this little idea, I've done two things. I've committed myself to writing and I have found a reason to celebrate every month. 

So as each holiday rolls around this year, I won't be the Debbie Downer who goes on and on about how disgusting green beer really is or how Columbus didn't actually discover America.  Instead, I will raise my glass to whatever it is we are supposed to be celebrating.  Another deadline met.  Now that is a reason to celebrate. 

Chopsticks and Changes in a Digital World

When my sons were children, one of our favorite books to read was The Musical Life of Gustav the Mole by Michael Twinn.  The book follows Gustav's rich and diverse musical education as he learns not only about various instruments, but the importance of music in our lives.  The best part; It came with a cassette tape (hey, at least it wasn't an eight track) that allowed the reader to hear the sounds of the instruments being played in the book and to sing along with the songs Gustav's mother would sing. 

 

Author Jessica Anthony

Of course, at the time, there were other books that also offered an enhancement to the reading experience.  'Touch and Feel' books like Pat the Bunny come to mind, pop-up books and even scratch and sniff.  I loved these variations for my children because it allowed them to use their other senses while reading a story.

 

So interactive books, in one form or another, is not new to the industry.  Fast forward twenty-some years to the now.  Sure there are still books that come with CD's and other 'accessories' to complement the hard copy.  But we have entered a new age in books---the digital age.  And honestly, how do you scratch and sniff your Kindle?

Easy. You write a book that is also a digital app.  Actually, it isn't 'easy' at all.   In a recent article in the Wall Street Journal, author Jessica Anthony discusses the process involved in creating her newest novel Chopsticks, a collaboration with graphic designer Rodrigo Corral.  It incorporates video clips, IM messages and photo albums to tell the story.  The book is scheduled to be released the first week of February and I can't wait.  I've already pre-ordered the digital version and the hardcover.

 There will always be opponents of any type of 'reading' that doesn't involve picking up an eight hundred word tome and flipping through pages.  But let's admit it, the world is changing, and so is the way we read.  According to Bowker Market Research as mentioned in the article above, "digital titles accounted for 14% of books sold in the second and third quarters of 2011, up from 4% for all of 2010."  Oh, yes, things are changing and they are changing very quickly.

   

Are books like Anthony and Corral's Chopsticks the answer?  Possibly.  They are definitely a turn toward the future and authors and publishers should be paying attention.  Readers are.  I am, too.

So I will be anxiously waiting for my two versions of Chopsticks in the coming weeks: the traditional book version (which isn't, incidentally, traditional at all) and the interactive, enhanced digital version.  Yes, I am a fan of Jessica Anthony's writing, but I also want to 'see' what she has envisioned for the future of digital books.  This is the beginning, and Anthony is one of the pioneers.

 

And in the words of the great philosopher Kevin Cronin: "if you're tired of the same old story, turn some pages....(and) roll with the changes."

 

Hello, Mojo

The word 'mojo' has taken on several meanings throughout history, from the moco medicine men of Cameroon to the amulets and charms of Mississippi African Americans in the 1920's to Austin Powers sex appeal to the Urban Dictionary's definition of self-confidence, self-assuredness and ability to bounce back from a negative attitude (among other things, if you are familiar with the Urban Dictionary).      

Whatever it is, for the past six weeks or so, I had lost mine.  At least when it came to writing.

My lucky charms

Maybe it was the fact that I had just completed a novel that has been my life for the past two years and exhaustion had finally set in.  Maybe I had rubbed my 'mojo's' or lucky charms so much that the magic just wore off.  Maybe I was worried that my writing wasn't good enough, so why bother. Maybe, Maybe, Maybe.

I stared at blank pages day after day, recycled old stories that had been discarded, lit my candles and said my prayers. Nothing. Nada. Nichts. I could barely write a grocery list, much less a story or, heaven forbid, start on the next novel I had in me. 

For all my self-doubt, all my negative thoughts, all my misdirected anger I knew I had to get my mojo back. 

I just didn't know how.  

As Austin Powers would say: Yeah, baby!

It began at The Gun Store in Las Vegas.  For Christmas, I had bought gift certificates to a shooting range for my sons and four of their friends.  They convinced me to go with them, even though I had never shot a gun in my life. I took some of my frustration out on a clown target, and discovered that I actually liked the feel of the gun.  My pen is usually my gun, the tool that allows me a certain release.  I gained some of my self-confidence because as a novice, I wasn't bad at shooting. I didn't hit the target every time, but when I did, that clown quit laughing. I recognized the metaphor.

Then I went 'snowglobing', a term I have to credit my good friend, RWW Greene. Inside a fabulous hotel in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, I could look out at the snow, while inside the characters ran wild.  Five days, outside of my element in a world I could fantasize, play, write, people watch.  A new world. A created world.  Although I was in the company of several old friends, I met new friends, with different experiences and found some inspiration.  It comes from strange places, you know.

Scene from inside the Snow Globe

Last Saturday night, my confidence level shot to an all-time high.  I graduated with my MFA in Fiction from Southern New Hampshire University and was introduced by one of the four men I admire most: The Father, Son, Holy Ghost and Craig Childs. When he introduced me, his first words were "Kelly Stone Gamble kicks ass." Getting praise for your writing from someone like Craig Childs kicks ass.

I came home on an all-time high and again, stared at a blank page.

Then I had an idea and started to type.

 

In three days, I have now written six chapters on a new novel.  Yes, six rough chapters, but my mind is turning  and I pretty much have the story line in my head, and with the help of a friend, have created a few very interesting characters.  I can't wait to see what they do. 

So somewhere between a gun shop in Las Vegas and a snow covered mountain in New Hampshire, I found my mojo; and it's working overtime.

Or maybe it isn't mojo at all. Maybe I just needed to get out of the ordinary, needed a little change.

 Maybe I just needed something to relight that fire.