“European Romanticism: A Brief History with Documents” by Warren Breckman

Read European Romanticism: A Brief History with Documents (The Bedford Series in History and Culture)

Warren Breckman’s European Romanticism: A Brief History with Documents takes an interesting approach: it allows readers to discover a topic as historians would, but reading through the actual documents of the period, including literature, essays, letters, and more. A fairly brief introduction—some forty pages—gives a very thorough overview and introduction. After that, the period is the reader’s to explore.

At the dawn of the 19th Century, one of the great cultural shifts of the modern era swept western Europe the Romantic movement. Dr. Breckman’s anthology gathers an array of insights into the history of Romanticism as more than an artistic and literary fad, but also as a politica and philosophical movement that had surprising and wide-ranging influence on modern views of art, science, and even religion.

Dr. Breckman includes both creative and critical writings from writers throughout Western Europe, and even a small (black and white, alas) selection of visual art, showing the crucial and apparently contradictory roles of swelling nationalism and transnational connections that made Romanticism a movement of such wide-reaching scope. The book also includes a detailed chronology and a selected bibliography.

I confess that, aside from the introduction, this isn’t a volume I intend to read cover to cover. Nonetheless, I have thoroughly enjoyed diving in here and there, like a culinary novice at a gourmet buffet (I know that’s a contradiction; work with me here), and sampling a little of this and a little of that. I am looking to doing more of that in the future. This is a terrific little overview that has made me curious to explore more.

I’m not really qualified to judge the skill of the collection. I can only see what’s here, and I don’t have sufficient knowledge to know what’s left out. But what’s here is fascinating, and I applaud this approach to presenting the history of a movement and its impact both to students and casual readers.

“The Magicians” by Lev Grossman

Read The Magicians: A Novel

When I first browsed through Lev Grossman’s The Magicians at Blue Elephant Bookshop, I knew it was a book that was coming home with me. The jacket blurb promised a book for adults who, as young readers, had adored the Narnia, Oz, and Harry Potter stories, and books like T. H. White’s The Once and Future King. And indeed, The Magicians draws liberally and lovingly from those sources. There is a magic school filled with eccentric professors and strange wonders, teaching by turning students into animals (as Merlyn does with the Wart in The Once and Future King), and even a hidden fantasy world accessed through a sleepy “between” world filled with pools, a motif familiar to anyone who has read C. S. Lewis’ The Magician’s Nephew, one of the best of the Narnia books.

Even the characters in The Magicians grew up reading and loving a series of fantasy books, stories of a magical land called Fillory—one filled with quests, talking animals, mythical beats, and walking gods. That fond, nostalgic love is one of the reasons we are so drawn to them. In our mind’s eyes, we find ourselves pointing, smiling, and shouting, “friend!”

But don’t get the idea that The Magicians is a mere pastiche. The Magicians is told from a decided, utterly (even ironically) original, and heartbreaking, adult point of view.

Every page is dripping with unabashed love for the stories that moved and changed us at formative periods in our lives. But nonetheless, The Magicians is utterly unsentimental. Brakebills, the magical college, is filled with marvels, of course. But it is also filled with the tedium, hard work, angst, sex, and alcohol abuse one might expect in a novel about MIT or Georgia Tech. When the characters discover that Fillory, the fantasy land they loved as children, is real, they find it fraught with very real dangers they are utterly unprepared to face. And therein lies the genius, and the heartbreak, of The Magicians.

In the fantasies we love, Harry Potter, The Lord of the Rings, and The Chronicles of Narnia, for example, the characters may seem ordinary. But ultimately, they are heroic, larger than life. They are our idealized selves, the wish-fulfillment individuals we always hope we might be, or at least might someday become. The characters in The Magicians are flawed and all to close ordinary, everyday humanity. They are broken, wounded, and petulant, and they do selfish, petty things. They don’t mean to, or even want to, but that makes the heartbreak even more poignant. They learn, in the hardest way possible, that our careless, most casual fights are like spells—when the words are spoken, the world changes and people are hurt. Sometimes forever.

The hardest lesson of all for the characters The Magicians is that fulfilled wishes don’t necessarily lead to happiness. Fantasy, regardless of the individual merits of any one particular work, is often accused of being mere escapism (Professor Tolkien famously dismissed that criticism by suggesting that the only people for whom escape is a problem are jailers), and I myself can remember reading Narnia and wishing for the secret path or hidden gate that would open up and take me away to my imagined “real life” of heroism and adventure. In The Magicians, the gates open to places where defeat is likely, victory empty, and where good people die. The true gates to happiness, to maturity, to fulfillment, such as it is, lie within. It’s up to us to open them. Or not.

Looking back over this, I think I might have painted The Magicians a little unfairly. Like I said, it is utterly unsentimental, and it’s characters are flawed in all-too-human ways. But for all that, it is a charming book, one I raced through. The world it creates is fascinating and seductive. The characters, for all their wounds, are people you’ll want to spend time with. There are beauties in this book that you will long to experience. The story is gripping. You’ll remember those long-ago nights staying way too late to read under the covers with a flashlight. In spite of your very best intentions, you’ll find yourself caring, maybe a little too much.

And it is caring, of course, that leads to heartbreak.

Grocery Items: Bacon and Tomato Sauce

When I titled the blog, I was still intending to review mostly books. But since I left the the door open, and since the weekend is the time for grocery shopping (otherwise, you miss the really long lines, and the fact that they’re out of a lot of stuff), I’m going to pass along a few tips. Specifically, I highly recommend Wright Brand Bacon for my bacon-eating friends and Dei Fratelli Brand Tomato Sauce for everyone.

As many of you know, I am not the amazing chef that my wife Carol is. She can make pretty much anything, and typically starts with, you know, flower and yeast and things she picks out of the herb garden. Her cook usually involves a trip to the Farmers’ Market. My skills are more limited, but what I do (steaks and burgers on the grill or roast beef with Merlot Wine Sauce, for example, and absolutely amazing scrambled eggs—don’t laugh, God gave me a gift) I like to think I do pretty darn well. I cook the steaks over real wood, when I can, and my eggs are light and fluffy.

Okay, qualifications established.

But being a man, my speciality is, of course, chili. Sadly, I am not at liberty to divulge all of my secrets. But I will tell you this much: I used canned tomato sauce. I know, I know. Most recipes tell you to use diced tomatoes or even fresh ones. Don’t believe it. Canned tomato sauce gives an extra dimension of flavor and spice. Up until recently, I suffered under the belief that all canned tomato sauces were pretty much the same. I generally used Hunts, or even the Kroger or Publix store brands. They were just fine. And then, one happy day, I discovered Dei Fratelli brand tomato sauce.

Honestly, I not really sure what the difference is. It is nicely spiced, has a full, rich, and fresh taste (despite the fact that it comes from a can), and it adds a surprising but subtle sweetness that blends with the chili spices in a truly delicious way. I’d thought my chili had reached a plateau—if you’ll forgive the immodesty, how does one improve upon perfection? I am delighted to learn that there are still discoveries to make. Better still, I discovered it just in time for fall: chili weather!

Speaking of scrambled eggs, they are best served with bacon (or sage sausage, but I’m not reviewing that today). When it comes to bacon, I have to go with Wright Brand. It’s sliced thicker than most (or in fact, any) other brands that I’ve tried, and has a rich, bacony flavor that actually tastes even better than it smells. The secret (aside from the thick slices, which one cannot praise highly enough) is in the quality of the pork itself and the smoke. It’s smoked over real hardwood, and the result is terrific. They have four varieties: natural Hickory Smoked, Peppered, Applewood Smoked, and Maple. The applewood is far and away the best choice. Alas, it is also the most difficult to find.

I should note that my wife thinks the Hickory Smoked—the variety we buy the most often, is a little too salty. She has, however, been wrong before. Also, the size can be an issue. You have to use a very large pan (microwaved bacon is only for emergencies, of course), and you have to move the pan and the bacon around to ensure that the ends are properly cooked without overcooking the middle. Trust me. It’s worth the trouble.

Dei Fratelli Tomato Sauce
Wright Brand Bacon

The Book of Ratings and Fail Nation: like the Internet, only on paper!

Read Fail Nation: A Visual Romp Through the World of Epic Fails

Read The Book of Ratings: Opinions, Grades, and Assessments of Everything Worth Thinking About

Two of the funniest Web sites ever to make their way through the tubes of the Internets are, without question, the Book of Ratings (part of the sorely missed Brunching Shuttlecocks) and Failblog.org. When I say funny, I mean consistently laugh out loud funny, day after day, year after year. Funny once in a while is hard enough. All the time? Amazing. I’m happy to report that the books are every bit as funny.

The Book of Ratings, as you can likely guess from the title, rates things, offering grades from A+ to a very rare F on everything from Aspects of Bowling (shoes, beer, and even bowling itself) to sports and Superfriends. The commentary that accompanies is absolutely hilarious. The more recent video versions, in my humble opinion, aren’t quite as sharp as the good old text ones, but they still rise above the excellent bar. This is Daily Show level of funny.

If you haven’t yet discovered Failblog.org, shame on you. The site is updated several times a week with photos that have to be seen to be believed. I’d describe a few, but honestly, it’s probably better for everyone if you just take a couple of minutes and take a look for yourself. Go ahead. I’ll wait. When the laugher subsides, we’ll continue.

Okay? Now then. I mention these sites because some the best content from both sites has been repackaged into books. Sort of like print outs, but conveniently bound, and at a size that’s perfect for … well, anyplace where you might want a few good belly laughs as you, as my Uncle Roger would say, relax privately while spending a little quality time with yourself. And in living color! How cool is that?

Like I said, in both cases, the books are every bit as funny as the sites themselves. That’s not a great surprise, I suppose, since the content is the more or less the same. All the same, the print versions are worth their respective prices for a few reasons. First, it doesn’t cost that much, and it’s nice to see the content creators rewarded, at least a little, for their efforts. Second, you never know when the Apocalypse might come along, causing the Internet tubes to fall forever as civilization descends slowly and inevitably into barbarism. If that happens, you’ll be glad to have a few chuckles, I dare say. Finally, again, perfect reading for the bathroom (other places, too, yes, but perfect for a few short laughs when there’s not much else to keep you occupied for those few moments). But who wants to take even a laptop in there? The risk of, um, water damage and the danger of (very unfortunate) shock would be a enough discouragement, one would think. Thankfully, the paper version is available.

For the record, the other funniest sites, Hawtness, There, I Fixed It, People of Walmart, FmyLife, and It Made My Day, have not yet been collected. Yet. Here’s hoping. Improv Everywhere would also qualify, but I doubt a site that primarily composed of (hilarious) videos will ever be collected in book form. Alas.

“Silverlock” by John Myers Myers

Read Silverlock: Including the Silverlock Companion

A couple of years ago, fantasy author Peter S. Beagle was a houseguest at our place. Before bed, he asked to could borrow something to read. In a house filled with close to five-thousand volumes, that wasn’t hard to arrange. Finding something that was both wonderful and something Peter hadn’t read was more of a challenge. As it happened, I had an old Ace paperback of John Myers Myers’ (that’s not a typo) Silverlock on hand. To my very great surprise, Peter had not read it. The next morning, he looked at me with the bleary eyes of someone who’s been awake far too late reading (a look I know all to well) and said, “My God! How could I have missed this? What else is out there?”

That’s a question I’ve pondered myself more times than I can count. How many wonderful gems are waiting to be discovered? How many treasures have I passed by, my eye diverted from just the right dusty, forgotten shelf at just the right instant? It breaks my heart, but that’s a question I’ll never be able to answer. I suspect, though, that when it comes to books like Silverlock, the answer is pretty simple. Not nearly enough. But then, the scarcity of the experience is what makes it precious, I suppose. And God, I love this book.

I’ve read more than a few books since I first discovered the Ace paperback re-release of Silverlock back in the ’70s. I’ve certainly read better books. When I came across Silverlock, I had yet to experience most of Dumas, Dickens, and Bradbury, and Proust, Cervantes (author of the very first post-modern novel, although that’s a point for another essay), Faulkner, and Joyce were still in my future. I’d read Tolkien, of course, but I don’t think I’d even begun to appreciate his work as it deserves. I’ve read more elegant prose, tighter plotting (certainly that), and more profound insights into character, the human condition, and all that. But so help me, I’ll swear before God and all His angels, I haven’t found a book I loved more than Silverlock. In fact, I’d even say that reading Silverlock actually enhanced my ability to love those other books.

When we meet the lead character, A. Clarence Shandon, he’s about as unlikeable a hero as we’re likely to meet anywhere. But Shandon, soon to be called Shandon Silverlock, is shipwrecked on a strange island called the Commonwealth. There, along with his companion, the bard Golias (who is also known as Orpheus, Widsith, Amergin, Taliesin, and pretty much every other bard name you can think of from myth and legend), he encounters the witch Circe from Greek myth, Beowulf, Robin Hood, Puck, the Mad Hatter, Oedipus, Hamlet, Pangloss, Don Quixote, Faustopheles, and … well, dozens of other characters from myth, lore, legend, and literature.

You see, this isn’t just any island. It’s an allegorical place, in the most mythic sense. It’s the Commonwealth of Letters, and it changes you. Chapter by chapter, we see Shandon awaken into personhood, tempered and reshaped, until he, at last, is left with the trembling desire to make. He begins as someone that’s easy to, well, loath, and grows into someone we can admire. And yes, someone we can relate. A little too well at times, maybe, but that’s always the danger.

The plot is loose at best. It’s episodic and meandering, and makes no real effort at world building. And there are more references than an entire university full of tweed-coated academics could hope to identify. Don’t let that bother you. You’re about to learn the joyous game of reference hunting. It’s a lot more fun than it sounds. When I read Silverlock for the first time, I doubt I could identify more than a quarter. It didn’t bother me in the least, and every time I found a beloved friend from Silverlock waiting for me in some other book, I found myself grinning, the way you do when you suddenly find a dear old friend again, one you haven’t seen in ages, but for whom time has not dimmed your love. There’s a lot of that kind of beloved nostalgia waiting in Silverlock.

And back in my day, we didn’t have the Silverlock Companion or sites like this one where one could quickly check a reference or two. I urge to read it the first time without an answer guide. You might feel that you’re at a party filled with people you feel you should know, but where no one is wearing a nametag. No worries. Everyone is friendly and ready to welcome you. You can get to know them better later on.

Silverlock is a booklover’s book, sure. But more importantly, it’s fun. There are battles, quests, love lost and won, drinking bouts, and enough adventure to fill a library. Which is, of course, fitting. There are belly laughs a plenty, and songs you’ll ache to sing. For me, maybe, the love is more personal. Maybe I read it at just the right time, or under just the right circumstances. But it has stayed with me in deeper and truer ways, and for a longer time, than many overtly better books have.

When I shared Silverlock with my wife, Carol, she grinned all the way through, loving every page. At the end, she smiled, handed the book back to me, and said, “This is your myth!” I looked at her with a slightly puzzled expression. She added: “Here’s a story about a man who sort of moves from one mythological experience to another, making friends and growing and changing with every encounter. Your personal mythology!”

She’s right, of course. So much of my life has been spent exploring the Commonwealth of letters, and I’ve been changed by it, educated deeply in the heart. Did I love Silverlock because I recognized that part of myself? Or did Silverlock teach me to love the marvels I find between the covers of books?

In his introduction to the 1979 paperback edition of Silverlock (I still have my first 1979 Ace paperback, as well as a hardcover first edition and a lovely new hardback that includes the Companion), author Larry Niven enthuses: “You’ll get drunk on Silverlock. When you finish reading, you will feel like you got monumentally drunk with your oldest friends; you sang songs and told truth and lies all night or all week; you’ll sit there grinning at nothing and wondering why there isn’t any hangover.” I couldn’t agree more.

Jerry Pournelle added, “you now have the pleasure of reading Silverlock for the first time. I envy you.” God, I love this book. I mentioned that, right? And I’m thrilled to be able to share it with you.

On a related note, be sure to see my dear friend Lee’s Silverlock Reading Journal. Also, the link above goes to the hardcover edition. You can still find the Ace paperbacks at used bookstores. I understand it’s about to be released, and a Kindle edition is available for preorder. But if you can swing it, I’d go ahead and get the hardcover. The additional material is terrific.

Two books (that aren’t quite) within other books

Alice Hoffman’s novel The Third Angel, reviewed here, features a book written by one of the characters. The text of that novel, The Heron’s Wife, isn’t given. But happily, Ms. Hoffman has released it on her blog. You can read it here. Enjoy!

Likewise, Catherynne Valente’s Palimpsest (reviewed here) mentions a book within a book called The Girl Who Circumnavigated Fairyland In A Ship of her Own Making. Again, the text of that tantalizing title isn’t given. But happily, it is available online, here, in return for whatever donation you feel is appropriate. It’s a wonderful, charming read.

It’s a joy to discover, after the last page of a good book is turned, that there is still more content to discover. Especially when the storytellers have the talent and grace of Alice Hoffman and Catherynne Valente. This kind of expanded “book within a book” content is a trend I applaud enthusiastically. I hope we’ll see more.

“Dreaming With Open Eyes: The Shamanic Spirit in Twentieth Century Art and Culture” by Michael Tucker

Read Dreaming With Open Eyes: The Shamanic Spirit in Twentieth Century Art and Culture

Normally, I wouldn’t recommend a book that’s out of print. After all, saying, “this is great, but you can’t read it, so nah nah nah!” is just kind of mean. But since you can still find a used copy for around ten bucks, and since it’s an amazing read, I’m going for it. This review is a little brief, but largely that’s because, despite the fact that I first read it four or five years ago, I’m still not sure exactly what to say about it, save that’s an amazing and thought-provoking read. I find that, years later, I’m still thinking about it. Frankly, that’s a pretty good recommendation in my book.

In Dreaming With Open Eyes: The Shamanic Spirit in Twentieth Century Art and Culture, Tucker looks at a broad sweep of modern art and finds, rather than the nihilistic cynicism, overt commercialization, and shallow objectification one might expect, a sort of hopeful ecstasy. Tucker makes a compelling argument that, at their best and most unfiltered, modern artists are the heirs to their ancient ancestors that painted on caves. They’re reaching into (forgive the pretentious cliché) an altered state of consciousness. As a result, they tap into something primal in the collective mythoconsciousness of humanity, something complex, symbolic, and profound.

In this book, Tucker has compiled a veritable encyclopedia of the literature of shamanism: literal (historic and anthropologic) and metaphorical, and draws compelling connections between the ancient and the bleeding edge. Modern artists working on the fringe of creative boundaries, Tucker argues, strip away some of the filters of contemporary experience and perceive the world in a metaphoric, archetypal way, as Aboriginal dream painters do. The result is art that reaches past the the filters of the consciousness mind to challenge the unconscious mind directly in its native grammar: the language of dreams and poetic inspiration, the language symbol. As a result, I’ve found that my own ability to understand and appreciate visual art as something more than mere illustration has grown deeper. I am beginning, at least, to appreciate that something profound happens in the communication between artist and audience, something that requires more than a casual read or glance.

Tucker argues that shamans, the first artists, have since ancient times been bridge-builders between worlds, visionaries whose journeys within the psyche bring insight, inspiration, and healing. Modern art is remarkable chiefly for what it reveals about the loss of meaning and spirituality in the modern world—and by what, at its best, it struggles to bring back. Modern art is trembling with shamanistic vision.

The language of the soul is metaphor and symbol. It’s no coincidence that, according to the Bible, God talks to us in “parable and dark passages.” The same applies, of course, to our own lives, both inner and outer. We’re not meant to understand at the most obvious, literal level, and to attempt to do so trivializes the messages of existence itself. The deepest communication, heart to heart or soul to soul, happens in a language that’s deeper. Most of the keys to that kind of understanding come from within, of course, but Tucker’s book offers some keys. He writes about visual art, but I find myself applying his ideas to music, mythology, and literature, and they work there just as well.

Dreaming With Open Eyes is a fascinating read, one that’s sure to make you question and perhaps even enrich and expand your own appreciation of the arts, and our own, truest desire to communicate and share on the deepest and most intimate levels. I urge you to pick one up while copies are still available and affordable. Check Amazon at the link above, or try abe.com. It’s worth the effort.

“The Third Angel” by Alice Hoffman

Read The Third Angel: A Novel

When I first started reading The Third Angel, I didn’t honestly care for it, despite the fact that Alice Hoffman’s prose is as lovely as ever. She is a master of a sudden and lyrical turn of phrase that seems as effortlessly graceful as a dancer’s casual step. Every line has magic and poetry in it, the kind that makes you smile and, more than occasionally, look back to reread a phrase or passage. An example: “It was that silver-colored time between night and morning, when the sky is still dark, but lights are flicking on all over the city. It was quiet, the way it is in winter when snow first begins to fall.” How perfectly and specifically evocative, concrete detail spun from froth and lace, and without a wasted syllable! Her prose has always been elegant, the way Earthbound angels would write, and she only gets better.

What bothered me in the opening pages, though, was her characters. They were a little too well drawn, a little too immediate. And they were, frankly, unlikeable. They all seemed hellbent on doing the worst possible and most hurtful things—to the people they love and to themselves.

I should have known better. I should have remembered that Alice Hoffman’s coat has magician’s sleeves. There are surprises hidden within, always. Some are magical, some are cruel. But they are marvelous, all of them. As always, there is magic in her book: blue herons, white rabbits, and, yes, angels. But it’s subtle enchantment, as in the very best works of Isabel Allende, Ray Bradbury, or Gabriel Garcia Marquez, like a hint of spice in a cake that you savor even as it fades, but that you can’t quite identify.

A few chapters in, I realized that I’d misjudged the The Third Angel and its characters, because I didn’t yet understand how deeply they were wounded. This is a book that reminds us that the heart heals itself with scar tissue, hard and ugly, but that beneath there is, sometimes, something lovely and enduring. That something is worth finding, and it makes all the difference. The novel is stitched together like a quilt from three integrally-integrated (wow, that’s some awkward alliteration) novellas, which examine the lives of three women, decades apart, each of whom has reached some crucial crossroad in her life. Don’t get the idea that these London hotel-centered stories are just part of a collection. They are bound together in devastating retrospect to form a whole that is more than the sum of its parts.

In the first, a successful New York attorney, Maddy, comes to London in 1999 has has a sudden affair with Paul, her sister’s fiancé. This was the point at which I had a hard time liking Paul or Maddy. Thankfully, I kept reading. After the night of fiery passion, Maddy copes with her sister’s impending marriage and with the hopelessness of loving the wrong man. That’s when she learns of Paul’s terminal illness—which happens to echo the cancer her mother faced when Maddy was a girl. The wounds run deep.

The next sections sifts back to 1966 London and the era of drugs, rock and roll, and free love. Now we get to know Frieda—the woman who will become Paul’s mother, and who we have just seen lose her son—as a young woman. Frieda falls for a singer trying to write a song. She knows he is doomed, and that he will break her heart. Love burns, but it is not wise.

The final section takes us back again, to 1952 and to Maddy’s future mother, Lucy Green. Now we see Lucy as a prematurely wise and book-loving 12-year-old. Lucy travels with her father and stepmother from New York to London for a wedding, where, at the same hotel, she becomes an innocent catalyst to a devastating event involving a love triangle, one that we’ve already seen echo through the other sections. Hoffman mingles the threads of these the three stories, gazing without blinking into forces that cause some people to self-destruct and others to find the inner strength that lasts a lifetime.

The novel is drenched in love, with all is beautiful, broken, and devasting glory. There is romantic love, of course. Hoffman’s characters fall in love with the wrong person, or with the right person at the wrong time. Hoffman writes about the love of parents for children. As one character puts it: “It will shock believe how much you’ll love your child. Nothing else will ever matter.” Love breaks the characters in the most devasting way imaginable, but it also rebuilds them, and binds them together in the most unexpected ways.

Hoffman writes as eloquently and movingly about death as she does about life and love. It is Frieda’s doctor father who describes, so beautifully, the Third Angel of the title. He says that when he went to visit a patient, there was always an angel riding with him: the Angel of Life or the Angel of Death. He never knew which until he arrived. But there is a third Angel, too. “You can’t even tell if he’s an angel or not. You think you’re doing him a kindness, you think you’re the one taking care of him, while all the while, he’s the one who’s saving your life.” He walks with us. He can meet him any time, anywhere. Hoffman’s characters are complex but flawed, yes, and they do terrible things, betraying those they love or even themselves. But they have heroic qualities as well. By mending their broken lives, they, themselves, sometimes become the Third Angel.

Hoffman doesn’t paint portraits; she sketches. We don’t see her characters through their whole lives. We only see moments, the most crucial and transforming ones, the moments that shape who we’re going to be. Now and then, maybe, the moments that can turn us in to the Third Angel. The Third Angel isn’t Hoffman’s best book. To me, that’s still Practical Magic. But it’s an amazing read, lovely and haunting, one that I find I’m still thinking about days after I turned the last page.

UPDATE:

By the way, the novel features a book written by one of the characters. The text of that novel, The Heron’s Wife, isn’t given. However, Ms. Hoffman has released it on her blog. You can read it here.