Seven Types of Ambiguity, by Elliot Perlman

Only about ten minutes ago, I finished this book, with tears in my eyes.


The basic plot to the book is simple. A guy named Simon, who is obsessively in love with his ex-girlfriend from University, Anna, stops by her son's school one day after school and takes him home. It seems crazy, and Simon accepts that it's an irrational act, but he does it anyway. He can't even explain why he does. The boy, Sam, is returned only a few hours later, not at all worse for the wear.

What makes this book such an intriguing read is the way its laid out. There are seven parts, each written from the first-person perspective of one of the characters involved in the plot. The interweaving of the characters is amazing...it is in this that it feels a little too overdone. Everyone is too connected to everyone else. But it does do a lot to add drama and tension as each part advances the plot of the story. One of the parts is just dialog. About sixty pages of just dialog.

It is full of esoteric bits of wisdom, which just sound right and you take for granted. I don't know enough about psychology to say whether it's carefully researched (which I suspect it is) or if the author was just making it up, but the way it's presented really draws you in. It's written in a very simple style, lulling you into a complex weave of events with eloquently simple sentences.

The characters are people that you can feel for. You can identify with Simon's obsessive love, Anna's devastation at being in a completely broken marriage, and the rest of the cast trying to make it through whatever misfortune life has set on them. There aren't really any bad guys in this book, but I can't say they're all good guys either. They're...well, they're just people.

The ending is ambiguous, to some extent. The reader is left with the feeling that they know what happened, but hope and wish that they are mistaken. The ending that is hinted at is not one that anyone could want.

At 620-some pages, it's a bit of a hefty read, but it's such a wonderful style that I got through it in 3 days...and enjoyed every minute of it.

The Urge, Part 2

So my novel, the mortal gods (affectionately known as "the novel from hell"), isn't going so well. I get these spurts where I am just so sick of the damn thing, put it aside, and (almost) vow to never look at it again. Then it comes back with a vengeance whenever I have a new plot idea or a way that will just make it better. Better, in my mind, being entirely subjective. I finished writing the draft of it last November, and I've known it needed serious rewriting for a while, based on a stupid, stupid plot point halfway through. And, of course, this necessitates a COMPLETE rewrite. Bear in mind that this thing has already been fully written out (and subsequently scrapped) at least 4 times. This is the fifth run-through. Yeah, yeah, I know I'm procrastinating, and I know that the more times I rewrite, it's not actually getting me anywhere towards publishing. Fine, I'm aware of that, and I'm working on overcoming that. I think this one might be *gasp* the one, though (and I say that only being 5000 words in). It just feels better to me. Smoother.

I was sitting in my Russian Literature class today, and I honest-to-God was trying to pay attention. But then an idea hit me, and so now I've got 2 pages of looseleaf writing to type up because I couldn't stop myself from writing. Yeah, this is a very bad habit as I need to pass my classes, and to pass them, it would be great if I actually paid any attention in them, which I very much didn't today.

I don't even like writing by hand! Try typing up a 300k novel that you wrote all by hand and you'll feel the same way. The only upshot of doing that was that it has done wonders for my typing speed. But that's really not the point.

When the urge hits, it's like trying to stop a train. It's going to come, and do whatever it wants, no matter what I do. That's just life. So, now I'm off to go and type up these pages and maybe it'll give me the spur to get some more writing done tonight. I'm kinda in one of those writing moods right now...

The Urge

Well, I've been sleeping pretty badly lately, for a number of reasons. I tend to sleep too much one night and not enough another, and try to compensate for it all by pulling the occasional all-nighter. As you can imagine, this only works for so long before my body decides to just pack it in and call it quits. So far, I've avoided this happening. But I was just about to treat myself to a long, early night, sitting in bed, reading the stuff for tomorrow morning's class, when it happened.

I suddenly started thinking about when I was in the store today, and how I had a story idea while I was standing in line. I dismissed it out of hand - I wasn't in any position to write it while carrying a soda and bag of goldfish and came back home, and promptly put it out of mind.

Then it came back, and demanded my attention, right when I was about to go to sleep. I found myself reading the same paragraph in my textbook five times and getting no more out of it from one read to the next. All I could think about was the opening line to the story, sounding it out in my head and playing with it.

So the damned story got me out of bed and to the computer (which I had to turn on, mind you). I've written 1000 words in the past twenty minutes. Not bad. Of course, it's probably mostly crap, but stories tend to be like that on the first draft. Then there's the fact that I'm not a short story writer, and this particular story is nothing like the novel that has thus far consumed six years of my life.

But it's fun to write. And maybe it'll become a workable something at some point in the future.

But damn, I hate it when writing gets me out of bed when I'm tired because I literally can't do anything else except put the words down. Stupid story.

A Writer to Be?

I have been writing for a gazillion years.

No, really.

I have.

Don't believe me? Ah well.


Anyway, this ancient writer-of-tomes has recently relocated to here and from here, I will dwell on what the hell this whole writing business is (inasmuch as I know about it, which isn't much) and shall weep and shout with joy at my various writing failures and successes, as appropriate. But don't expect too much shouting with joy. I've still got to finish the book, after all.