The Anatomy of Story, 22 Steps to Becoming a Master Storyteller, John Truby (2008)

I read this book late last year for the first time, but like Ivanhoe, this too, only for different reasons, deserves repeated reads. Truby is not a particularly gifted writer or anything. Very little is quotable or well stated as such. But the instructions are invaluable. I won't give away his secret recipe. Instead, I'll summarize this way. Truby outlines the elements and techniques inherent in great storytelling by pointing to the universal themes classics and otherwise successful novels, television shows, and films adhere to. He breaks these elements down into sections – premise, character, plot, dialogue, moral argument, symbolism – and forces the writer to evaluate what kind of story s/he wants to tell, how to maintain theme, how to evoke emotions in the reader through scenes, how to design convincing characters and so on.

Before reading this book, I'd done what I imagine lots of writers still do – redraft a manuscript until a story begins to take shape. Whereas now I apply Truby's instruction: first asking myself what the protagonist is all about and how his ultimate goal relates to his nature, his motivation, his desires versus his need versus his weakness, how the cast of characters play off these traits, how allies and opponents affect the results, how ultimately the character, not the plot, must dictate what happens next, and then outlining the entire story before beginning a first draft.

Even if you're not a writer, this book will change the way you view storytelling. You'll never watch another tv show or movie or read another novel without gauging its merits based on Truby's insight, which, by the way, bares some similarities to the hero cycle made famous by Joseph Campbell and later Christopher Vogler's The Writer's Journey. At least I can't read novels anymore without the templates this book espouses in mind. For what it's worth, this has improved my storytelling efforts a hundred fold. Four out of five stars.

The Children of Húrin, J.R.R. Tolkien, edited by Christopher Tolkien

Like The Simarillion, this was an unfinished work J.R.R.'s son Christopher completed. Unlike The Simarillion, this is a legitimate novel. Tolkien evidently attempted several iterations of the story. So Christopher had several partial manuscripts (some going as far back as 1916) at his disposal. In one iteration, the master approached the story as a lay (or long poem). While it's impossible to know precisely where the master's prose end and his son's begin, the result is a riveting tale with a clear protagonist, though damned, and reads deliciously well. I was surprised to discover it follows the hero cycle faithfully, though it strays often in its results: Túrin heeds nearly no one and consequently digs a deeper hole for himself as the story progresses. I'm reminded of a Game of Thrones fan who wrote that, to its detriment, The Lord of the Rings (probably the movie versions) lacked the betrayals, gore, and perversions Thrones offered. That critic might want to read Children. The prose and pacing is certainly superior to Thrones, and the other issues, like the incest, are rendered in ways that minimize the dreaded gag-reflex such a subject tends to trigger. Lean prose, fast paced scenes, exquisitely well written, but dark and tragic. Included are additional maps of Middle-earth, genealogies, and other notes. Five out of five stars. R

A Gathering of Hope, by Helen Hayes

Like the few aforementioned books above, this is another I found hiding in a box in a closet in my garage. I'm not a fan of inspirational books. Sure, I've had my share of dark moods. But words of inspiration have always struck me as sappy. After flipping through this little book, however, and discovering poems and sayings by writers Robert Frost, Dickinson, Shakespeare, Emerson, St. Augustine, Byron, Whitman, and Keats, as well as the Psalms, I couldn't resist reading it.

Hayes suffered the loss of both her daughter and later her husband. She knows grief and includes the writings of classic poets and poems that helped her through these spells of despondency. Not a bad collection. My favorite quote is probably Stevenson: “To travel hopefully is a better thing than to arrive.” My favorite excerpt is Hecuba's lines from “The Trojan Women” by Euripides, which is too long to include here. It's very moving. Three out of five stars. G

Dictionary of Problem Words and Expressions, by Harry Shaw (1975)

Ever since I became an avid reader and consequently fell in love with words, I've been trying to master the language much like a musician might memorize chords, scales, arpeggios, and other musical phrases. Beyond its more visceral rewards, I believe such a pursuit is worthy of my time and energy. Partly for this reason, I abhor sloppy writing as a substitute for clear, lucid prose.

I should mention that both in conversation and on social media (Facebook, Twitter), I'm that guy who frequently corrects people when they abuse our otherwise wondrous language. Probably why I'm so damn popular. (Incidentally, Shaw correctly identifies the preceding statement as irony, not sarcasm, which is more derisive irony, something along the lines of “What a great friend you turned out to be!”)

Because I love the English language and am grief stricken when it's abused or treated with indifference, while reading this treasure I was pumping my fist in the air and affirming this and that entry with a “Thank you, Shaw!” and a “In your face, illiterates!” Not really, but at this point you can probably imagine me as the type.

Beyond the most commonly misused words such as then and than; there, their, and they're; less and fewer, effect and affect; exercise and exorcise; stationary and stationery; incisive and decisive; allusion, illusion, elusion, and delusion, Shaw distinguishes between exceedingly and excessively; effective, efficient, and effectual; urban and urbane; lie, lay, and lain; wake, awake, awaken, awoke, awoken; felicitous, fortuitous, and fortunate; meticulous, scrupulous; ingenious, ingenuous, and naive; inhuman, unhuman; precedence, precedent; and decent distinctions between (not among) myth, fable, and legend.

I've long since given up correcting people who all too often opt for the word literally when they mean to say figuratively or practically or virtually, or, better yet, veritably. I no longer waste my time pointing out to the alleged educated the difference between evidence and proof. And I've become inured to a certain family member who unerringly errs with pronouns: “Between you and I ...” etc. However, I, too, was given a valuable education regarding other words I've misused. Egoism and egotism; dissemble and dissassemble; prescribe and proscribe. And for those who struggle with who, whom, whoever, and whomever, Shaw offers the easiest method I've found for understanding which pronoun to apply.

Some differences between the entries are minor or vary only in degree (refute and deny); some are interchangeable within certain contexts (relatively and comparatively); some appear similar but are antonyms (enervating and invigorating); and some entries are mildly amusing:

corespondent, correspondent. These words differ in spelling, meaning, and pronunciation. It is usually safer to be a correspondent (KOR i spon dent), one who writes letters, than a corespondent (KO ri SPON dent), one charged with adultery in a divorce proceeding.

With the exception of the above example and a few others, Shaw begins an entry by listing the similarities between the words in question, whether the words share a Latin, Greek, or Gaelic derivation, highlighting where they differ and in what way, frequently including the words in examples (phrases, sentences), and finally, occasionally providing synonyms for each. This book is a valuable resource. One I'll probably keep and refer to often. Four out of five stars. 

The Cat Who Talked To Ghosts, Lilian Jackson Braun (1990)

This novel offers what every good mystery should – fine writing, engaging characters, an unsolved murder, and a sleuth driven to determine what happened. All of Braun's novels deserve this recipe. Unfortunately, not all of her books provide it. Braun clearly knows how to apply tension, intrigue, and suspense. For that reason, I can't understand why so many of her books often lack these winning elements. It's as if she's merely stumbling on these devices blindly. Which I refuse to believe. Yet in some cases the contrast appears too great to be otherwise. 

Some of her novels convince you this is a mystery writer to follow. Others make you wonder whether this is the same author. I mean, how do you go from a well-plotted novel with engaging, intriguing characters, tension, an unfolding of events and clues and sleuth-work to a satisfying finale in one novel, such as this one or her novel The Cat Who Saw Red (which is also excellent) and then on to the next novel that chronicles (stress free), irrelevant conversations, summaries of menus and luncheons, soirees, benefits, charities, and just about anything else that would serve a personal diary, as her novel The Cat Who Smelled a Rat does? I acknowledge that not everything a given author writes can be a masterpiece. But with Braun, the difference between the two, the contrast from a keeper to a throw away, is staggering. 

Still, ...Talked to Ghosts is good. Four out of five stars. PG 

Ivanhoe, Sir Walter Scott (1820)

I've read this novel twice now for two reasons. One, it's a classic that demands repeated reads, and two, my first manuscript was influenced by this period, as is my sequel-in-progress. So I wanted to immerse myself in the cast's diction again. 

Most writers of fantasy fiction set their stories in a period that mirrors our own middle ages. Yet despite their adherence to its form of government (monarchies), its mode of transportation (horse, mule, wagon, carriage), its architectural structures (castles, towers, temples), its tools of war (sword, spear, bow), and its dress (tunics, robes, bodices, armor), when it comes to dialogue, these same writers tend to assign their characters the contemporary colloquialisms of today. This has always struck me as lazy. Granted, creating dialogue that approaches the lexicon of a begone era is a challenge. But ever since reading the gracefully worded dialogue in Donaldson's Covenant Chronicles, Ben-Hur, Don Quixote, The Iliad, as well as Ivanhoe, I've been enamored with that lofty, archaic speech and have wanted to reproduce something similar, what I refer to as the pseudo-authentic, namely not the diction people of such a period spoke (since we can't know for certain), but certainly something we as readers come to expect from knights and courtiers of a similar age. I'm convinced that contemporary writers of this genre who dismiss this important element do their characters and their setting a disservice. Five out of five stars. PG-13

The Adventures of Pinocchio, by C. Collodi (the non de plume for Carlo Lorenzini) translated from the Italian by Carol Della Chiesa (1883)

From what I remember of the Walt Disney animated film Pinocchio, this original version is comparable to how the Brothers Grimm might treat the material. It's a dark fable, a fable because of its cautionary lessons and its supernatural elements, including talking animals. Pinocchio is a mischievous urchin fast approaching that of a reprobate. Not until he faces potential death (which he does in nearly every chapter) does he appear mildly remorseful, and that remorse is short lived as yet another temptation appears which, again, distracts him from the sagacity of his elders.

Despite the darker tone, this story is still amusing and fun. I caught myself smiling throughout and even chuckling quite a few times. An intermittent, interactive quality abounds. We've all probably experienced those stories in which the author stops his narrative to flatter us, calling us his “gentle reader” or his “dear reader.” Something along the lines of “As it happened, dear reader, Sally sold those sea shells to the stentorian steer for seven silver smackaroos” or some such. But I've never read anything quite like this. One can see the crowd of children gathered round the animated adult, their small hands clenched, eyes wide, mouths agape, as she reads aloud and gesticulates.

Everyone, at one time or another, has found some surprise awaiting him. Of the kind which Pinocchio had on that eventful morning of his life, there are but few. What was it? I will tell you, my dear little readers. On awakening, Pinocchio put his hand up to his head, and there he found –

Guess!

He found that, during the night, his ears had grown at least ten full inches!

I couldn't help but grin at these delightful moments. At the same time, the tale could double as a sermon to wayward boys, since Pinocchio is constantly warned against sloth and disobedience and, sure enough, encounters trouble whenever he chooses vices over virtues. Then, while either dying of starvation or imprisoned, wallowing in despair and self-rebuke, he's reminded of his selfishness by some tradesman or talking animal, cautioning him of the hazards of ignoring the creeds of those who themselves have learned the hard way the lessons they seek to impress upon him. A cautionary, but adventuresome, tale, to be sure, full of both high jinks and endearment. Four out of five stars. Rated G