Can I Tempt Your Book Group?...

If anyone reading this post belongs to a book group, allow me to dangle some temptation before you.

I'll happily provide a discussion guide for any of my books. I can customize such a guide, depending upon what sort of discussions you prefer. I can also Skype with your group, or -- if you happen to be within an hour or so of Bloomington, IN -- show up in person to chat.

Also, if any member(s) can't conveniently read ebooks, I can arrange for a substantial discount on one or more paperback copies.

Books currently available: Twin-Bred and Wander Home. As of May 23rd, Reach: a Twin-Bred novel (the sequel to Twin-Bred) will be available as well.

Nu? (That's Yiddish for: well? so? waiting on you. . . .)

Cover reveal: Reach, the Twin-Bred sequel

As promised, here's the cover for Reach, the sequel to Twin-Bred. (As I mentioned in my last post, the full official title is Reach: a Twin-Bred novel, not to be confused with the "Reach" associated with the Halo video game.)

There have been some pre-publication snafus, mostly due to my absent-mindedness, but I'm still hoping to make the May 23rd release date.

New cover for Twin-Bred, with original cover art incorporated

It's cover reveal time! :-)

Later this month, I'll be publishing the sequel to my SF novel Twin-Bred. One of the sequel's beta readers, David Leek, used to do graphic design professionally, and offered to design the cover for the sequel, since the cover artist for Twin-Bred (my busy college student daughter) wouldn't be available. David's beautiful design, which I'll feature in my next post, didn't have much in common with the Twin-Bred cover. I asked him if he could incorporate the cover art from Twin-Bred into a revised Twin-Bred cover that would match the look of the sequel -- and this is the glorious (IMHO) result.

I tweaked and fiddled and came up with this ebook version:

(I'm not sure why the color is different. I'll have to see what I can do about that.)

The new cover is already on Smashwords, and will be on B&N once Smashwords distributes to them. (I pulled the book from PubIt so as to more easily make it free, as I'll be doing for at least a while when the sequel comes out.)

(OK, I'll stop being coy. The sequel's title is Reach: a Twin-Bred novel. I added the subtitle because there's a video game called Reach, and I don't want any confusion.)

Tune in next time to see the Reach cover!

Confronting the Story -- but First, Reporting It

Let me start with what I consider, at this point, beyond debate where Dr. Kermit Gosnell's abortion clinic is concerned:

(1) What apparently went on in that clinic was appalling, abhorrent, and utterly reprehensible;
(2) This is in every conceivable sense a newsworthy story.

Guilt, for criminal law purposes, has not been established, but the available evidence is quite enough to trigger -- to compel -- discussion.

The unsanitary conditions, racially discriminatory treatment, and general disregard of medical standards form a secondary backdrop to the criminally negligent treatment of expectant mothers, which again is less shocking than the repeated killing (by scissors severing spinal cords) of viable fetuses inconveniently born alive.

There is no nonpolitical explanation for the failure of major news outlets (other than Fox) to cover this story that comes close to passing the laugh test. The only plausible explanation is the pro-choice stance of those who decide what stories to feature. But avoiding this story on such a basis is terribly short-sighted. The void is filled by those who oppose all abortion, and seize this opportunity to suggest moral equivalency between an alleged serial murderer of viable infants and any doctor who performs abortions at any stage and under any circumstances.

It is probably time to show my own hand. I believe the slogan "My body, my choice" applies much more neatly to the issues of drug use and lifestyle choice (e.g. Big Gulp sodas and riding a motorcycle without a helmet) than it does to the presence of what is from its inception a separate, though dependent, biological entity. While I am, at present, somewhat reluctantly in favor of a woman's right to choose abortion in the early stages of a pregnancy, I cannot condone abortion -- as opposed to delivery -- of a possibly viable fetus. Moreover, as medical technology advances, I believe the time will come when any fetus and perhaps any embryo can be sustained and nurtured in an artificial environment -- and when that time does come, we as a society may have to find alternatives to abortion. In any case where there are parents waiting to adopt the infant-to-be, and can afford to pay for its interim care, they should perhaps have the right to do so. Where no adoptive parent exists, this may become a collective societal responsibility. While this option would be emotionally painful to many of the biological mothers, I do not believe we can ethically protect them from that pain at the cost of discarding new life that no longer depends on them for survival.

Enough of my own views. It behooves any of us who are not ready to ban all abortion to consider how we may continue to allow it, with what safeguards and limitations, without cheapening human life to the point where we slide down the proverbial slippery slope into the bloody shambles of Dr. Gosnell's workshop.

How the Postal Service Can Reinvent Itself

Last night, I figured out how to save the Postal Service. Or rather, how it can save itself, by a fairly major transformation.

People send far fewer items by post. The only answers we've seen from the Postal Service so far are (a) raising prices and (b) reducing service. Saying that these responses violate basic economic principles rather understates the case. This isn't Econ 101 -- it's far more basic and (one would think) obvious.

So what do I suggest?

The Postal Service should identify the products that people still mail, and sell those products, with postage included. (Greeting cards may be one such product; I suspect there are others.) What's more, it should sell desirable enough versions of those products that people will buy them even if they don't intend to send them by mail. The postage-included feature would be important to some consumers, a pleasant extra to others, and irrelevant to many.

Of course, they can still offer postage stamps, for the dwindling number of customers who make use of them -- so they can put my picture on a stamp, in gratitude.

Review of Ken Follett's Fall of Giants

Ken Follett likes to write about strong, independent-minded women, and about intelligent men attempting to outmaneuver their hidebound peers. We find these types again in this novel of World War I. In the largely fictional setting of Pillars of the Earth and World Without End, these characters had room to maneuver, and their resourcefulness was often rewarded with success. Given the historical constraints of a World War I setting, Follett could not do quite as well by the characters in Fall of Giants -- which made the book somewhat more depressing. Reading it, I was momentarily distracted by fancies of where the story could have gone if Follett had pursued an alternate history a la Inglorious Basterds, and allowed one or another of his characters to save the away and avert disaster.

But that fantasy faded quickly -- because Follett shows, step by step, why disaster was not, in fact, averted. We see, from multiple points of view, the logic, the rational calculations, that led each of the nations inexorably toward war. It is a sobering experience. One cannot easily assure oneself, afterward, that one would have found a different path. At the same time, various characters are trying desperately to do just that, and Follett manages to make the reader hope they will succeed, even while knowing that any such hope is in vain.

But then, around mid-book, Follett starts spending much more time dwelling on who is having ill-advised sex, or not having desired sex, with whom -- and the book started to lose me. (One could argue that historical fiction covering this period should enlighten younger readers about how seriously people in the early 20th Century took premarital chastity (for women) and marital fidelity (for both sexes, to some extent) -- but I doubt many of Follett's readers are entirely ignorant of the mores of the time.) I have nothing against romantic entanglements in fiction, but something about the transition didn't work well for me.

Follett's focus does eventually return to the war, and related events such as the women's suffrage movement in Britain and run-up to the Russian Revolution. I learned quite a lot. And I did care what happened to the characters -- but less than I might have, if the original seamless blend of individual stories and worldwide events had continued throughout.

Cover reveal -- "The Library"

Yesterday, I published my free (on Smashwords and my website) short story, "The Library," set in the same afterlife as my novel Wander Home. I built the cover around a beautiful photograph by "Robert S." (found on Shutterstock), and like the result well enough to enter it in The Book Designer's cover contest. But I need a URL for the cover -- so here it is:

How to Send a Message (That We're Pushovers)

Let's see: how can we send a message to the new leader of North Korea, Kim Jong Un, who longs to show the world that he's really, really tough and important, about whether he should go beyond saber-rattling and attack U.S. interests?

Hmmmm. Maybe we can announce far and wide that our defense workers aren't important enough for us to pay them five days a week.

That should do the trick!

A Thought Experiment re State Nullification of Congressional Action

Quite a few people are pushing the idea that states may and should "nullify" -- refuse to cooperate with, or resist as necessary -- unconstitutional federal statutes. Many of these people nominate Obamacare as a current example. Often, the response is that nullification violates the U.S. Constitution.

You can drop by The Hoosier Gadfly's recent post on this subject -- if you have time for a thorough exposition. If not, here's a short summary: Thomas Jefferson and James Madison believed otherwise, based on (in part) the reasoning that the federal government -- no matter which branch -- can't be the sole judge of the constitutionality of its own actions. Also, Article VI requires all state officials to swear or affirm to support the Constitution. If your response is that this means to follow the U.S. Supreme Court's interpretation of said Constitution, see the previous point -- and also, the following thought experiment.

The constitutional provision that establishes the U.S. Supreme Court and gives Congress the power to set up lower federal courts -- Article III -- also says, explicitly, that the Supreme Court has appellate jurisdiction (the power to review) "with such Exceptions, and under such Regulations as the Congress shall make." No amendment to the Constitution has monkeyed with this language. What this means is that Congress has the power to insulate its own statutes from Supreme Court scrutiny. If I correctly read Andrew Gold's article on how the Court has interpreted this clause, the Court has not entirely accepted that Congress may retroactively remove the Court's power to review previously passed statutes -- but otherwise does acknowledge that power, and further, that Congress' motives in taking such action are essentially irrelevant. (By the way, there's considerably less textual basis for the Supreme Court's power to invalidate any Congressional action, a power which was not universally conceded prior to the 1803 case of Marbury v. Madison.

So: let's postulate that Congress passes legislation providing that anyone insulting the President has committed the crime of undermining the stability of the government (Alien and Sedition Acts redux, more or less), and must be arrested by state police and thrown in the state hoosegow. Not only does this blatantly violate the First Amendment, but it's federal mandate enlisting state officials without requiring their consent, which would appear to violate U.S. Supreme Court precedent. However, Congress cleverly includes in this legislation a provision prospectively eliminating the Supreme Court's jurisdiction to review cases arising from the new statute. So the Supremes will not be riding to the rescue.

Under these circumstances, is the First Amendment dead, and the citizenry helpless? Or could the states refuse to perform their new and unconstitutional duties?

If so:
(a) That's nullification, folks.
(b) Where is the textual basis for confining this state power to the circumstances I've described?

(Bar examiners, feel free to borrow this hypothetical for use in bar exams.)

Review of Danusha Goska's Save Send Delete

As I neared the end of Danusha Goska's Save Send Delete, I started pondering what rating to assign it. I thought I would give it four stars, but when I finished the last page and my Kindle prompted me for a rating, I found myself giving it five. This is not a perfect book, and if five stars imply perfection, I apologize -- but it is a fascinating, moving, and profoundly thought-provoking work, and I was quite reluctant to admit it was over. (I am now rereading a book I could recite in my sleep, as a transition to moving on.)

If I understood the Preface correctly, Save Send Delete is a lightly fictionalized memoir, an account of an email exchange that became a virtual relationship between a woman and a man. The woman: Mira, a Polish-American Catholic, widely traveled, a PhD and teacher with serious health problems that have wreaked havoc with her personal and professional life. The man: Rand (short for a long name-plus-title), a well-off British aristocrat, author and raconteur, known for consistently defending atheism as superior to any form of religion.

The title reflects the form of the narrative. We see Mina's emails to Rand, as well as the emails she doesn't send (deletes) and those about which she vacillates before sending (saves). We are left to infer the content and style of Rand's replies. We are also shown exchanges between Mina and a friend, Amanda, about whom there is more to say -- which I'll refrain from saying.

Mira's and Rand's correspondence focuses on the subjects of religion and what one could call supernatural experience, but through that lens, it examines a wide range of subjects: suffering, love, hate, friendship, and how one can and cannot help one's fellows, to name a few.

Among the insights to which this book led me, by what indirect route I cannot recall: while I am an agnostic, and find all established religions unconvincing, I could not have written my novel Wander Home, set in a rather enticing afterlife, if I were absolutely convinced that no such afterlife could possibly exist.

So why do I call the book imperfect? At times, I felt that Mina ran on longer than necessary, or repeated herself in ways I could do without. These were minor and transitory annoyances, and they do not prevent me from heartily recommending this book.

Save Send Delete is available in paperback and ebook form, on Amazon and barnesandnoble.com. Here's the Amazon Kindle link.

Let me Bribe You to Review My Books

Hello, readers out there! 

If you review one of my novels on your blog, on Goodreads, or on any book-selling site, I'll give you a free e-copy of my next novel as a thank-you. (If you review more than one book, I'll provide one copy to a recipient of your choice for each additional book reviewed.)

The contents of the review should indicate that you actually read the book . . . .

Current options: my SF novel Twin-Bred, and my genre-bending novel Wander Home, a family drama with mystery and romance elements set in a re-imagined afterlife.

Just make sure I know about your review!

Load up that ereader or tablet! - Wander Home free through year's end with coupon code

If you have a brand-new Kindle, Nook, iPad, or other device that makes reading ebooks easy, here's a start to filling it up: my new novel Wander Home is free in multiple formats on Smashwords through the end of 2012! Just use Smashwords coupon code HG55Q on Wander Home's Smashwords page.

If you download, and read, and like the book, please tell a friend about it!

Here's a bit about the book, if you'd like to know more before clicking through:

Death is what you make it. . . .

Eleanor never wanted to leave the daughter she loved so much. The overpowering urge to wander -- to search, without knowing what she sought -- drove her away. She left little Cassidy in her family's loving care. But Cassidy and the others died in an accident before Eleanor could find her way home.

Now, they are all reunited, in an afterlife where nothing is truly lost: places once loved may be revisited, memories relived and even shared. Surely this is a place where they can understand and heal. And yet, the restlessness that shaped Eleanor's life still haunts her in death. Somehow, she must solve the mystery of her life -- or none of them will be at peace.

Happy reading, and Happy New Year!

Nightmares, Reality, and the Unfathomable

There are so many painful thoughts, this evening. I am a mother, and I imagine -- for just an instant at a time, before I flinch away -- specific thoughts and images that might be possessing me at this moment, if one of those children had been mine.

And of course, there are the grown men and women whose families are mourning as well.

And then there is -- or was -- the killer. I was going to say that I cannot bear to put myself in the place of his mother. But of course, he killed her too. 

From what I've been reading, which may or may not prove to be accurate, the killer was 20 years old, and "socially awkward." I don't know whether he was bullied, and if so, whether the trail leads all the way back to experiences in that same school. I don't know whether he was striking out at the school, or if he attacked children because he had to do something obviously, ultimately evil and unforgivable, to put an end to the exhausting possibility of personal redemption.

I have had dreams in which I did something terrible, and gradually started to realize it, and to wonder why, and to look for some escape from having done it. I wonder whether Adam Lanza had a moment a little like that, after it was much too late. I wonder if he looked around at the blood and the little bodies, and thought it must surely be a dream, and tried to wake up.

It does no good at all, to anyone, if he had such a moment. But the possibility lets me feel a tentative and conditional sorrow for him as well. I would rather feel that than hatred. But then, I am one of the lucky ones. My children are grown and almost grown, and I've seen one tonight, and spoken to the other.

If it were otherwise, then I would hate.

But for tonight, I will allow myself the luxury of not having to hate, and of sorrow instead.

Who might like getting the Wander Home paperback for Xmas - while it's on sale

Well, the paperback of my new novel Wander Home has made it to Barnes and Noble's online store! What's more, they've put the book on sale  -- instead of the usual $10.99, it's currently $7.01. :-) The paperback should also appear on Amazon any day now.

This seems like a good time to remind people about the book, and to speculate on which readers might particularly enjoy it.

Here's the blurb:

------------


Death is what you make it. . . .

Eleanor never wanted to leave the daughter she loved so much. The overpowering urge to wander -- to search, without knowing what she sought -- drove her away. She left little Cassidy in her family's loving care. But Cassidy and the others died in an accident before Eleanor could find her way home.

Now, they are all reunited, in an afterlife where nothing is truly lost: places once loved may be revisited, memories relived and even shared. Surely this is a place where they can understand and heal. And yet, the restlessness that shaped Eleanor's life still haunts her in death. Somehow, she must solve the mystery of her life -- or none of them will be at peace.

------------

As the blurb suggests, this book may appeal to readers interested in family relationships, unfinished business, and forgiveness. And of course, if someone on your holiday gift list is fascinated by varying visions of the afterlife, I really believe they'd enjoy adding this one to their collection.

The description doesn't reveal another point of possible interest: marriage. Wander Home contains three quite different happy marriages. There's another marriage that succeeded well enough until the principals encountered the conditions of the afterlife. As the wife put it: "We don't know how much of what we do is habit and the expectations of others, until everything is different around us, and no one expects anything."

So the book has something to offer those who like exploring different ways in which marriages do and don't work.

Finally (for now), Wander Home plays around quite a bit with the idea of what it means and how it feels to be different ages. (In this afterlife, you see, one may be any age at any time, depending upon one's mood and the needs of the moment.) The book may offer amusement, or something more, to young people trying to imagine what it would be like -- and how it could be bearable -- to get older; or to mature adults, recalling or trying to recall what it felt like to be a teenager or a child.

So there's my pitch for buying this newly available paperback, at a bargain price. The ebook is also available in multiple formats (on Amazon, the Nook Store, Smashwords, iBookstore, and I've lost track of where else), for the laughably low price of $2.99.

A final caveat: the most recent proof of the paperback had too much pink in the cover (visible in the faces), although not everyone who's seen it finds the color objectionable. I have good reason to believe that the issue is with the proof, rather than with the source file or CreateSpace's overall process. However, if anyone orders the paperback and receives an excessively pink cover, I'll cheerfully replace it with an autographed copy at no charge. Several websites that include ways to contact me are mentioned in the back matter of the book.

In praise of Scrivener

I don't exactly feel like blogging about Scrivener. I feel more like testifying, in the religious sense, with people hollering "Amen!" and "tell, it sister!" from the pews. But this will do.

Scrivener, a shareware program from Literature & Latte, is software for writers. Its purpose is to make writing anything from a novel to a screenplay to an article easier than it would be otherwise. It succeeds magnificently.

I downloaded the trial version of Scrivener for Windows for the first time at least a year ago, and found myself intimidated by all its features and options. This fall, I decided my preparation for NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month) would include getting comfortable with Scrivener. I went through the interactive tutorial at a manageable pace, not trying to absorb too much information at any one sitting. I kept the PDF of the manual open at the same time, and bounced back and forth frequently. By the time I'd gone through the tutorial, I felt that I understood the simpler aspects of the program -- and decided to leave the more exotic aspects for later on. In fact, I didn't use the "corkboard" view, "index cards" or "labels" until after I'd passed the 50,000 words required to "win" NaNo, and had the leisure to experiment.

Here's what I found most valuable in Scrivener:

1. It's easy to see the structure of your piece, and to change that structure with minimal difficulty or confusion.

You set up folders, titled however you like, and then put as many sub-folders or documents as you wish in each folder, again with your choice of title. The "binder," on the left of the usual screen (if you choose to display it), shows the folders in order, with or without their contents. I had one master folder containing my rough draft, and multiple sub-folders for chapters, with each scene a document in its chapter folder. The names of folders and documents are displayed in the binder.

Any time you decide that a scene should have been in a different place in your draft, you simply drag that document to its new location in the binder. If you've been numbering scenes, it's easy to rename the relocated scene and subsequent scenes to fix the numbering. You use the same procedure to insert a new scene -- add it wherever you like, and then drag it to where it belongs.

2.  Notes for use in later editing are easy to make and easy to see.

On the right of your screen, when you choose to display it, is a pane called the Inspector. It shows the name of the current folder or document, plus any label or status (I'll describe these later) associated with that folder or document. (This grows cumbersome -- I'll just say "document," generally meaning either.) If you've taken any "snapshots" of any version of the document, you have the option to display a list of those screenshots -- which will have either an automatically generated name, or a name you assigned at the time. There's a large area in the Inspector where you can add any notes that you want to see whenever you're working on that document in the future. You can also change this area to show Project notes that apply to your entire draft.

3.  You can pull all your research materials into one program and consult them with no hassle.

You can import images, documents, files, charts, or web pages into Scrivener, store them in a folder (mine was unimaginatively called "Research"), and display them as easily as you display any of the documents that make up your draft.

A related and extremely handy feature: you can view two documents-or-whatever at once, either side by side or one above the other. So, for example, if you're writing a description of a place, you can have the image in front of you while you write, without opening some imaging program. When  you're done, click and it's gone; if you reconsider and want to look at it again, click and it's back. I used this feature mainly to display my current scene next to my list of likely scenes.

You can also display a selection of documents pasted together: for example, all the scenes involving a particular minor character. This makes it easier to avoid contradictions and keep track of what you have and haven't shown or told the reader. Any change you make in the text of a scene, even when it's displayed as part of such a collection of scenes, is made in the scene itself.

Any time you feel your view is too cluttered, you can hide the binder and/or Inspector and switch back to the single-document view.

4.  It's easy (again that lovely word!) to export your work in any number of formats, for backup, submission  or publication purposes.

Scrivener auto-saves very frequently, unless you set it to do so less often (which can make sense if your program files are in "the cloud" and you're somewhere with a slow Internet connection). It also saves a backup of your project whenever you close the project or the program. (The default setting saves a zipped file to conserve space.) If you're planning to leave the program and project open for an extended period, you may want to do a manual backup now and then. Once you close the program, you can reopen it and the project from the backup file. (Scrivener has a setting for reopening recent projects where you left off, but at least in the initial trial version, this was buggy. I got a bit of a scare when I reopened the program and saw a much earlier version of my project, lacking several days' work. Fortunately, I had done manual backups, and restored my project from one of them.)

You can export the current document in any of a long list of formats, to any location on your computer, and under any name. You can also use the Compile function to export a selection of documents or your entire set of documents, again in any of a large number of formats, with a bewildering array of options. For example, you can compile your project in manuscript or screenplay format, with or without various headings; or you can turn it into a PDF, .epub or .mobi file, ebook-ready.

5. You can use labels to help you see various structural aspects of your draft.

Once I decided I was more or less finished with my rough draft, I reread the User Manual's sections on index cards and labels. Each document can be represented by an index card, and on that card one can place a small colored label -- which can be any color you choose and mean whatever you want it to mean. I chose to label my scenes according to the POV (point of view) or POV's employed in the scene. I could then use the "Corkboard" view to look at all the scenes in a chapter at once, and see immediately whether one or another of my multiple POV's dominated the chapter. The label for the scene also appears, along with the meaning of the label, in the Inspector panel.

Another similar tool is "Status." If you assign a document a "status," that status appears in the Inspector, and in the Corkboard view, the status is written in translucent text diagonally across the document's index card. Initially, the choices for "Status" had to do with the document's stage of completion: rough draft, etc. In my most recent Scrivener project, I've reset the options to show the physical setting of each scene and chapter. Going into Corkboard lets me see at a glance whether my several story threads are evenly balanced. (They weren't, but I'm getting there.)

Scrivener was a joy to use at the rough-draft phase, and I'm finding it even more useful in editing. As a NaNo 2012 "winner," I got a 50% discount on the $40.00 price, but I would have paid the full amount without hesitation.

In short, I love this program. Praise be! ("Testify!")

Literary Matchmaking: Mary Doria Russell, Meet Laurie King, and Vice Versa

I don't know whether two of my favorite contemporary authors, Mary Doria Russell and Laurie King, are already fans of each other's work. If not, I believe they could be. I'm not quite bold enough to contact either author directly and make the suggestion, but if either or both use Google Alerts or something similar, I may get to play literary yenta.

These authors research diligently, with a great eye for the telling detail; they create or re-imagine memorable characters; and they write beautifully, with especially satisfying dialogue.

So: Ms. Russell, meet Ms. King; Ms. King, meet Ms. Russell. Happy reading!

Book review: A Casual Vacancy by J. K. Rowling

Coming from Rowling's Harry Potter series to her first book for adults, I had not anticipated how much it would remind me of the novels of Jane Austen.  Austen famously worked with a small canvas, focusing on the foibles and concerns of residents of small and insular communities. Rowling does the same. If one imagines Austen transplanted to the present, freed from any pressure to adhere to romantic conventions, and urged to give reign to all her darker and more cynical impulses, we might have something like this novel.

To be sure, the Harry Potter series does showcase Rowling's impressive ability to paint compelling and unflattering portraits. But in those books, characters like Cornelius Fudge and the wonderfully detestable Dolores Umbridge act as antagonists or foils for likable and admirable characters.  In A Casual Vacancy, they comprise most, if not all, of the human landscape. One's response to almost every character is essentially: “My God, I hope I'm not like that.”

Some reviews have stated that the only likable or admirable character in this book is the man who dies at its beginning, and whose death occasions the entire plot. I would qualify this statement in two ways. First, there are a couple of other characters who do worthwhile jobs as best they can, against discouraging odds. However, even these characters are sufficiently flawed and foolish in various aspects of their personal lives as to prevent the reader from wishing to identify with them. Second, this limitation extends to some extent to the soon-departed Barry Fairbrother. While there are reasons (starting with the character's unsubtle name) to believe that we are intended to side with him in the dispute over Pagford's responsibility for the Fields housing project, his view of that project and of certain of its residents could be fairly characterized as somewhat one-sided and optimistic. It is even clearer that his tireless advocacy leads him to neglect aspects of his family life.

 At one point, Rowling has a character recall the W.B. Yeats line, “A pity beyond all telling/ is hid at the heart of love.” For much of the book, one might question whether Rowling feels that pity. In the end, I was more or less persuaded that she does. She ultimately succeeds in making the reader care, to a varying extent, about the fates of these deeply flawed characters. The book is thus eventually moving, rather than merely disheartening.

Preview of Hoosier Gadfly column re Civil Obedience aka Red State Evolution

My extremely knowledgeable husband, The Hoosier Gadfly (HG), is planning to do a blog post about the next step for those who still hope to preserve our republic as per its constitutional framework. However, he may not get to it for a day or three, so I am putting together this preview in the meantime, based on some notes he threw together.

Five secession petitions, concerning five states, have appeared on the whitehouse.gov petition website. Secession is hopeless, and makes for lousy PR -- but there is another state-based approach that may offer a hint of promise, if a sufficient number of states follow it.

Article VI, clause 3 of the U.S. Constitution requires all legislative, judicial and executive officers of the states, as well as of the federal government, to swear or affirm that they will support the Constitution. That Constitution includes the Tenth Amendment: "The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people."  HG paraphrases this as saying: "When we talked about a federal government of limited, enumerated powers, WE MEANT IT."

It is also worth noting, as well, the language affixed by the Speaker of the House and President of the Senate to the proposed Bill of Rights when it was circulated to the states, including the following: "The Conventions of a number of the States, having at the time of their adopting the Constitution, expressed a desire, in order to prevent misconstruction or abuse of its powers, that further declaratory and restrictive clauses should be added . . . ."

Finally, we must keep in mind that at the time the Constitution and then the Bill of Rights were debated and ratified, the citizenry as a whole was expected to be able to read and comprehend them. They were not considered arcane and mysterious documents that only exalted judges in robes could interpret.

Add all this together, and you have an obligation and responsibility for state governments to uphold the Constitution as reasonably understood, even when any or all branches of the federal government have tossed it aside as antiquated or inconvenient.

We have seen some movement in this direction in the recent election, where a number of states passed referenda legalizing or decriminalizing marijuana, a drug the federal government has (with no constitutional power as a basis) declared illegal, or proclaiming that health insurance or health care will remain a province of state government, not subject to federal fiat. HG suggests a more comprehensive and coordinated campaign, which could be called "Civil Obedience," and/or "Red State Evolution." As many states as possible should declare that they will neither enforce nor allow the enforcement of any unconstitutional federal statutes or regulations within their borders. Any federal agents attempting the latter will be restrained and escorted hence. If enough states take this stand, it will be impractical to take action against them.

If any "blue states" find this situation intolerable -- let them talk of secession. The states exercising Civil Obedience have no intention of leaving the Union -- nor of letting it be further subverted by those also sworn to defend it.

Hermione Didn't Belong in Ravenclaw

From time to time, I've wondered for a moment why the Sorting Hat didn't place Hermione Granger in Ravenclaw. After all, Ravenclaw is for the intellectual elite of the school, isn't it? And wasn't Hermione "the cleverest witch of her age"?

Pausing on the question for a bit longer the other day, I decided Hermione really didn't belong in Ravenclaw, after all. Ravenclaw is for those of an intellectual and philosophical bent. Remember the entrance riddles for Ravenclaw Tower and their solutions? Somehow I can't see Hermione caring greatly for that sort of thing. She has a brilliant and inquisitive mind, but her interests are more practical. She reads history, but in the magical world, as in ours, history often sheds an important light on current problems. I would imagine that many students in Ravenclaw read and discuss literary fiction. I doubt Hermione even makes time for novels.

Preface and Chapter One of Wander Home

As promised, here's the (very short) Preface and Chapter One of Wander Home.

PREFACE

This book is set in an afterlife: what sort of afterlife, the reader may decide.

Chapter One

  Cassidy stood tall and watched the wave approaching. Fifteen was a good age for confronting the ocean. That morning she had been five years old, playing happily in her sandbox;  from sand to beach, from beach to ocean waves, seemed a natural progression.

  The wave loomed above her, glowing turquoise and green. She dove under the crest, through the surging water, and popped up behind the swell, bobbing in the follower waves. The water held her and rocked her; over the hiss and roar of the waves, she could hear the distant squawk of seagulls. All around was the smell of seaweed and salt and sunshine.

  Once, her mother had held her, carried her, rocked her, surrounded her with love and safety. She had no idea how long it had been, but she remembered. Remembering, she let herself slip younger as she floated on the swells. But larger waves were coming, so she grew again, six, ten, sixteen; then caught a wave and rode it into shore.

  Her grandparents and her great-grandmother were waiting for her. Great-Grandma was young today, slim and blonde and straight, standing like a dancer just before the music starts. Grandma Sarah and Grandpa Jack had chosen to be older, gray-haired, with the comfortable look of a couple who for years have weathered each other’s moods and followed each other’s thoughts.

  Cassidy ran up the beach toward them. She slipped to eight years old as she reached them, so Grandpa Jack could pick her up and toss her in the air. The sun flashed in her eyes as she flew up, and again as she fell back toward his hands. He set her down again and flopped onto the sand, patting the space next to him. She sat, folding her legs tailor fashion; Great-Grandma flowed gracefully down to sit on her other side. Only Grandma Sarah remained standing, younger now, her hair in a long red braid.

  Grandpa Jack and Great-Grandma both put their arms around her. Cassidy looked at Grandpa Jack. He was blinking as if he had something in both his eyes. She swiveled around toward Great-Grandma; Great-Grandma nodded toward Grandma Sarah.

  Cassidy threw her head back, looking up at Grandma Sarah and squinting in the sun. Grandma Sarah squatted down in front of her. "Cassie, love, we have some news for you. Good, important news."

  The seabirds were calling as if they wanted to be first with the message, whatever it was. Grandma Sarah leaned forward to kneel in the sand, reached out and took Cassidy's hands.

  "It's your mother, sweetheart. She's coming. She'll be here soon. We'll all be seeing her again."

  Cassidy felt herself getting smaller, small. She was two years old. She scrambled to her feet. "Mommy!"  Her own shrill voice frightened her, and she called even louder, twisting from side to side, searching the beach and the water. "Mommy!  MOMMY!"

  Great-Grandma had slipped old, white hair shining in the sunlight, her cheeks pink, soft wrinkles in her face, smelling of flour. She pulled Cassidy close, crooning, "Hush, hush. It's all right, baby. Shhhh."  Cassidy burrowed against her and breathed the comforting scent. She thought she might feel better if she got big again, but nothing happened.

  She heard Grandpa Jack speak. "Mama, Sarah, let's go somewhere cozier."  Then the sun, the waves, the seabirds were all gone, and they were in Great-Grandma's living room. She was snuggled up next to Great-Grandma on the big shabby couch. There were shortbread cookies on the coffee table. Grandma Sarah sat on Grandpa Jack's lap in the big armchair, Grandpa Jack playing with Grandma Sarah's hair.

  "Cassidy, honey, it's time to be a big girl. We have more to talk about."  Great-Grandma stroked her cheek, then kissed it.

  Cassidy squeezed her eyes tight. "I'm trying. It's hard. Why is it hard?"

  Grandpa Jack spoke. "Well, baby, you were just this age when your mama left. You're remembering it so hard, right now, that you're maybe a little stuck. Relax, honey, and know that everything's all right. It'll come."

  Cassidy took a deep breath, and another, and another. Great-Grandma skootched away to give her room. Cassidy opened her eyes. She was thirteen years old. She reached for a cookie.

  "There, that's better, isn't it?"  Great-Grandma picked out a cookie for herself and took a hearty bite.

  "When will she be here?  When can I see her?"

  Grandma Sarah brought Cassidy a glass of milk, then sat back down on Grandpa Jack's lap. "Honey, those are two different questions. She'll be here very soon, and you can see her just a little while after that. It's going to be —"

  "Why can't I see her right away?"  She didn't want to yell at Grandma Sarah, but she felt like yelling. It was always harder to be patient at thirteen. She slipped to twenty, but it felt wrong, too big, too grown up for a little girl missing her mother. She slid back to ten.

   "Cassie, you were so young when you got here, only six years old. You weren't set in your ways yet — you expected to learn new things every day, to have adventures and surprises. Coming here was just another and bigger adventure. But it's different for older people. It's more of a shock. We think it'd be best if Great-Grandma welcomes her first, and explains things."

  "How long will that take?"  Cassidy swallowed tears and washed them away with a gulp of milk.

  Great-Grandma moved back over and hugged her.  "Not as long as it will feel to you. I'll bring her to see you as soon as I can."

  Eleanor felt very strange. Where was she? The pain that had seized and crushed her heart had vanished. She had been in an ambulance; but wherever she was now, the space was not in motion, and everything was quiet. And she could breathe again, freely and easily — no longer gasping for air, but breathing in and out as she had done for twenty-nine years.

  And the room around her kept changing. One moment it looked like a Red Cross donor center, one of the many at which she had given blood from time to time. Then the cot became a bed in a motel room: a room with orange and brown plaid curtains, a tan shag carpet, a small television, a double bed and one hard chair. She had been in that room just once, years ago, and had never wanted to see it again. And now appeared a room from long ago, with pale blue walls and a white window shade, white wooden furniture, a small and overflowing bookshelf; and Eleanor found herself sitting up in a single bed with a wooden bedstead, feather pillows, and a lavender quilt.

  Grandma's house!  Whenever she spent the night at Grandma's, it had been in this room. A room in a house that someone had bought and torn down, years ago, to put up a big modern showpiece, a blue and copper box with patios instead of grass.

  Something lay lightly on her shoulder. It was her hair, long again, its chestnut color restored. And her shoulder and arm were curved, cushioned — no longer gaunt from months of neglecting her needs.

  Eleanor felt a sudden urgency to get out of bed, to get up and go downstairs while this was still Grandma's house, before she found herself back in the horrible motel room. She pushed back the quilt and stood up, looking around wildly; then ran to the door, threw it open and stood, breathing hard, in the hall near the worn wooden stairs. She waited to stop trembling before walking slowly to the stairs and down to the lower floor. She could hear someone moving around downstairs, in the kitchen, opening and closing cupboards or drawers.

  At the foot of the stairs, she stopped, clutching the banister. For four years she had stayed away, in hotel after friend's couch after cheap apartment, assuming that home and family would always be there waiting for her. And then, after the car crash, when it was too late and they were gone, she had longed so desperately and hopelessly to see them all again — Cassidy most of all, of course, but also Mom and Dad and Grandma. She had wanted so much to tell them how she loved them, to apologize, to try to explain. Now, in this impossible place, she might have that forfeited chance — and she had no more idea than ever what to say.

  The stairs ended in the front hallway. The kitchen was toward the back, past the living room. Eleanor walked with small hesitant steps into the living room, stopping to touch the armchair, the couch, the coffee table. There was the framed poster from Grandma's ballet company, advertising one of their galas. Under the poster, on the mantelpiece, stood the row of photographs.

  Dad and his brother, camping in their back yard, lying in the blue tent with their heads sticking out of the flap and grins on their grimy faces. Mom and Dad on their wedding day, with Mom in her gown and Dad in his tuxedo, both in climbing harnesses, hanging from a cliff wall somewhere in Argentina. Grandma and Grandpa on their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Then a much older photo of a much younger couple: Amanda and Stan, no one's grandparents yet, in black and white, standing near an old-fashioned car.

  And then the picture that made her turn away, turn back, and walk closer, reaching out:  Eleanor, on the living room couch, holding tiny baby Cassidy, just two weeks old.

  "Is that you, dear?"

  Eleanor froze in place. She forced herself to speak. "G-Grandma?"

  "In the kitchen, Nory. Come on. It's all right."

  Eleanor headed on into the kitchen. There sat her grandmother, looking just the same — soft white hair, soft wrinkled face, flowered apron, thin rounded shoulders. Eleanor stumbled forward as Grandma got up from her chair. They stood for a moment, face to face, Eleanor speechless, Grandma seeming to feel no need for speech.

  Eleanor found her voice. "Grandma. I'm so sorry. Oh, God, I'm sorry."  She started to cry.

  Grandma opened her arms. "Oh, Nory. We'll talk about that later. Come here and hug me just as hard as you can! and then sit down. I've made some good strong coffee. Pour yourself a cup. I've got things to tell you."