Monthly Archives: March 2017

Shelf Awareness — Amanda Curtin

Here’s my contribution to ‘Shelf Awareness’, a great new blog series created by my friend and fellow writer Maureen Eppen. If you happen to be a compulsive checker-of-other-people’s-bookshelves (which makes you one of my tribe), take a look at posts by Norman Jorgensen, Jane Rawson, Jennifer Ryan and Natasha Lester (as well as Maureen’s own), and sign up for the many more to come…

MAUREEN EPPEN -- WRITER

amandaThe first time I read the opening lines of Amanda Curtin’s novel Elemental I was utterly captivated by its protagonist, Meggie Tulloch. The wee Scottish ‘herring girl’ has rich red hair, which makes her a target of suspicious fishermen in the village where she lives, at the turn of the 20th Century. By the time I’d finished this poignant, sometimes harrowing but exquisitely crafted story, I knew this book deserved a place among my all-time favourites. I am now also utterly captivated by the gracious, soft-spoken and incredibly talented woman who created the tale. Amanda Curtin is a freelance book editor, occasional workshop presenter and an author of immense talent. Her other books include The Sinkings, a novel inspired by a mysterious death in the campsite of the same name, near Albany, Western Australia, in 1882, and Inherited, a collection of finely wrought short stories, as well as other…

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March 27, 2017 · 10:47 pm

In praise of the ordinary…

This week’s research reading unearthed a quote from James Joyce that I reacted to strongly in positive and negative ways.

I dislike the opposition it sets up. Joyce apparently did not accord much respect to journalists, and it’s clear here that he had an elitist view of who and what ‘writers’ were and were not.

Also, it’s a lofty, arrogant piece of ‘advice’—perhaps no surprise that Joyce was giving it to a female writer, Djuna Barnes. It made me wonder about who Joyce’s cosy little of club of ‘writers’ might actually be. I suspect that it would not include too many women.

And yet, and yet…Joyce’s words express something I believe about fiction, although not in the absolute and exclusive way Joyce seems to have intended it. They acknowledge the unremarkable, the quotidian, the minutiae of life as fundamental subjects of fiction.

A writer must never write about the extraordinary. That is for the journalist.

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