Historical Fiction At Its Best

Robert Harris needs to write more novels. The former journalist and BBC reporter has but seven fiction titles to his credit. Considering how well-researched (at least they seem so to me) and how well-written they are, though, maybe that does constitute a lot of books.

But still, I'm greedy and want to read more of his stuff.

I recently read Conspirata, known everywhere outside of the United States as Lustrum, because apparently publishers think we Yanks are too dumb to be interested in a book named after an obscure Roman concept of time. Lustrum - ahem, Conspirata - is the second in a planned trilogy about none other than the greatest orator of all time, Marcus Tullius Cicero. This book, Conspirata, chronicles his year as consul and the following four turbulent years of Cicero's life, while the preceding volume, Imperium, gives a rollicking account of his rise to power. I can only assume the final book will be about Cicero's exile, few remaining years, and (SPOILER ALERT) execution.

Imperium and Conspirata are both wonderful books that bring a fascinating period of history to life, and while one can easily draw parallels between the events in these stories and political happenings of today, Harris does a good job of not forcing any comparisons. Both stories are told through the eyes of Tiro, Cicero's faithful slave, who is credited with, believe it or not, the creation of shorthand. Tiro as a narrator is mostly passive, reminding me of some of Dostoevsky's narrators, who mostly observe and rarely cause any major things to happen in the story. Though Tiro does manage at times to be important to the story and offers Cicero sagely advice from time to time.

I've read some of Harris's other books, including Archangel, The Ghost, and Pompeii, this last one being about Mount Vesuvius's eruption and destruction of the eponymous city. I've enjoyed all these books immensely, but Harris takes him game - to borrow one of the many overused sports' cliches - to the next level in his stories about Cicero.

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I've blogged before about Bernard Cornwell, whom many consider to be the best historical fiction writer working today. Cornwell is a great writer, who really excels at describing combat tactics and bloody battles. And like I said before, I consider the Warlord Trilogy to be one of my two favorite trilogies of all time.

Harris, on the other hand, excels at telling cerebral stories brimming with political intrigue. Is one writer better than the other? It would be unfair to compare the two, since they're trying to do different things with their stories, but needless to say, I recommend both authors to all fans of historical fiction.

(Interesting tidbit: Harris's book, The Ghost, was recently made into the movie, The Ghost Writer, directed by none other than Roman Polanski.)

(Interesting tidbit 2: I share a birthday with Cicero. Now if only I shared his wit, eloquence, and oratorical skills.)

Oscar Picks

Here are my predictions for tonight's Oscars.

Best Picture: The Hurt Locker

Best Director: Kathryn Bigelow

Best Actor: Jeff Bridges

Best Actress: Sandra Bullock

Best Actor in a Supporting Role: Christoph Waltz

Best Actress in a Supporting Role: Mo'Nique

Best Original Screenplay: Inglourious Basterds

Best Adapted Screenplay: Up in the Air

Best Editing: The Hurt Locker (I think Avatar might nab this one, but the tight editing of The Hurt Locker was awesome.)

All Other Technical Stuff: Avatar

Best Skit You Won't See Aired: Ben Stiller and Sasha Baren Cohen riffing on Avatar

How about everyone else?

Bizarre Query Response

I've just started sending queries out on one of my projects, so I've got the proverbial fingers crossed. As anyone who's done this knows, it's a tedious yet exciting, hurry-up-and-wait, dancing in the dark process.

As to be expected, the responses have been mostly no's, but there have been a few bites here and there. One positive response was a bit baffling, and I wanted to share it with everyone to get their feedback. The name of the agent has been redacted to protect the (perhaps not-so) innocent, and what follows is the agent's response to my query:

Dear Brian,

Thank you for your query (I ordinarily do NOT look at queries by email). But I actually read your query and thought it very intelligent. If you are not sending this simultaneously to other agents or publishers, then you may send this same query, a one page synopsis and the first three chapters or first 50 pages to me if you like. (Please tell me if you’ve sent this to other agents or publishers previously and if so which ones and what sort of comments or feedback did you get.) Mark the outside of the package “Special Request – per XXXXX.” Then in your cover letter be sure to mention I asked you to send this after reading your electronic query. Include a list of books (with dates and publishers) of books you think are competition. Include an author bio and list of other books you’ve written (with dates of publications and publishers). These are things I must know in order to give your project its best consideration. Finally, how you found my agency and this email address. It is usually unpublished, but I recently changed my email address, so it would help if I understood how you found this email. I always need to know ALL this information. Thank you for your cooperation.

If you have any questions, feel free to call me. I appreciate your thinking of my Agency.

Let me explain why this response is so strange. For starters, this particular agent's website lists the email address I sent the query to and specifically advises writers to send queries to that address. So I was left scratching my head when the agent asked me how I got the email address and stated that he/she does not generally look at e-queries, when the website says otherwise.

The request for a list of competing books is a bit off-putting. I know a few agents ask for this information up front from writers, but at the same time, aren't they supposed to be the experts on the market? The oft-repeated advice from agents is to write what you want to write, the idea being that writers shouldn't chase some market or trend for a dollar. Agents say they'd prefer writers create something personal and thus unique. Also, I get very little time to read anymore, so I know for a fact I'm not as up to speed on the market as an agent would (should) be. I'd be hard-pressed to compile a credible list of competing books, and it would be mostly guesswork on my part.

But, the most troubling aspect of this agent's response is the request for a list of other agents/publishers I've queried, including their feedback on the manuscript. Why should this agent need that information to do their job? I have no idea, but he/she should be able to form their own opinion on the manuscript without having to review what other people have said.

After a little more research, I discovered this agent used to charge a fee for reviewing a manuscript. I don't know if that's still the case, and the agent did not ask me for any money, but that's obviously a big no-no. (To any non-writers out there: money is always supposed to flow TOWARD the writer, never away.)

I'm not going to pursue a professional relationship with this agent based on this response. It seems to me this particular agent wanted me to do his/her job: figure out the market and then supply him/her with an accounting of what other agents and editors have said about the manuscript.

Has anyone else ever gotten this kind of response, one asking for detailed information about other agents/editors and their feedback?

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By the way, Blogger has gone crazy apparently. It seems that all comments left on posts pre-dating the January 30, 2010 Gene Hackman post have mysteriously vanished. So I'm going to ask you all a favor: if you've ever posted here before, please leave a comment on this post. Reason I ask is, agents and editors might be checking out this blog now and in the near future, so it would be a big help to be able to show them people do read this blog. Thanks!

Happy Birthday, Mr. Hackman

Today, Gene Hackman became an octogenarian, believe it or not. I found some clips on Youtube of his appearance on Inside the Actors Studio. The episode is split into five parts, and unfortunately, part four is missing. But still, it's a good watch, well worth the time if you like Hackman. Despite his success and many accomplishments, he remains a truly humble human being. He comes across as personable, thoughtful, shy, and at times vulnerable.

Hackman may just be my favorite actor of all time. The guy has tremendous range and managed throughout his career to be both a huge box-office draw and a serious actor. He won the Oscar twice, the first time for bringing Popeye Doyle to life in The French Connection and the second time for his turn as Little Bill Daggett in Unforgiven. What's neat about these two roles is that they're almost the antithesis of each other. Popeye Doyle is the tough cop who bends the rules to see that justice is done; Daggett is a tough sheriff who adjusts the rules as he goes along to see that the status quo isn't upset.

He's given many great performances, but I think my favorite scene of his comes in French Connection II. (I tried to find it on Youtube, but couldn't.) The scene takes place within the tiny confines of some dingy cell in a French police building, and Hackman has just spent the last week or so tied to a bed and being forced to take heroin by "Frog One," the guy he's spent the last one-and-a-half movies hunting down with little success. In order to help the French police, and obviously himself, he has to get off the junk that he's become involuntarily addicted to, and what follows is a gut-wrenching, harrowing performance as Hackman goes completely cold turkey. It's so good it's painful to watch.

By the way, I think French Connection II is one of the finest sequels ever made. It's a taut police thriller with wonderful acting, great locations, some nice action set pieces, and it has one of the most satisfying endings ever put on film. I won't spoil it for you, but I will say this. The ending is brilliant because it plays against your expectations, as established by the ending of the first film.

As an added bonus, here's the car chase, the one that needs no introduction. I listened to a commentary once by William Friedkin, director of The French Connection, and he said that yes, that was Hackman behind the wheel of the car, doing about seventy under the El.

I Made It to 31

I'm being lazy, but as a new Dad I think I've earned the right.

So anyway, I turned 31 today. Here's a link to my post from a year ago, in which I divulged my perfectly rational fears that I wouldn't live past 30.

Happy 2010 everyone! Thank you all for the birthday wishes. Hopefully soon I'll get back to writing posts that are little more clever, humorous, or in the very least, momentarily diverting.

Season's Greetings From Fiona

Fiona's first day on Earth.



In her favorite place, the newborn napper.

Happy Festivus

A colleague at work pointed me in the direction of this great great wiki entry. Check it out if you get a chance.

Apparently, this holiday was created long before it became popularized by its infamous appearance on Seinfeld. There are some potentially great traditions associated with it, especially the Airing of Grievances, which, if done right, could be therapeutic and constructive for all parties concerned.

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Sort of off-topic, but in college one of my friends nicknamed me "Jerry," as it was his opinion I strongly resembled Mr. Seinfeld. I didn't see much of a resemblance back then and still don't, but my buddy was not alone in his view. As recently as last winter, while at a restaurant with my wife, a party waiting for their table approached me just to say I looked like Jerry Seinfeld. This is not the first time this has happened, though I hope it is the last. And several years ago, at a holiday party, a friend of the family pulled me aside and suggested I try to earn some money being a celebrity look-alike. Thinking she was joking, I broke into laughter, only to discover too late her advice had been given in earnest.

This picture of me was taken a few years back. I don't see a resemblance at all, though I'll let you decide for yourselves.

A Good Review of The Unearthed

Bitten by Books, a paranormal book review site, recently gave The Unearthed a good review. If you're on the fence about buying it, check out the review. It doesn't spoil the story, and it gives you a good feel for what it's about.

I can't believe it's been nine months since the book came out. As far as unmarketed e-books written by first-time authors go, it has done well. Looking back now, I wish I had marketed it more, but in all fairness to me I didn't (and still don't) have the time, resources, or bank account for it.

It also doesn't help that I can't stomach shameless self-promotion.

That being said, I'll take this opportunity to once again thank everyone kind enough to buy, read, recommend, and/or review it! I see The Unearthed as a stepping stone really, something I'm proud of and can use as a marketing tool in query letters for future manuscripts. And, as far as first books go, I think it's pretty good. Even the agents and other publishers who passed it up had nice things to say about the story. Sure, when I look back at it now, I can think of a few things I'd like to change, but I'm certain all authors feel that way about most of the books they write. As the saying goes, you don't really ever finish a book; at some point you just have to abandon it.

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People have asked if there will be a sequel, and I'll answer by saying, yes, at some point there probably will be. But it will definitely be a very different story - I'm not interested in re-hashing the haunted house tale again.

Me? A Dad?

Apropos of my last post, about people using the internet to share all manner of personal information, I'm thrilled to say that Fiona Helen O'Rourke arrived last week, on December 9, 2009.

She and Jenna are doing well, as am I. Fiona came in weighing 8 pounds 13 ounces, and unfortunately for her, it looks like she may have gotten her feet from her father (I wear a size 15).

In my estimation, Jenna and I have averaged about four hours of sleep a night for the past week. I'm fairly delirious at this point, so I hope this post makes the least bit of sense.

Now I know what it feels like to be a Muslim detainee at Gitmo, being woken up every couple of hours.

In terms of this blog, well, I won't be posting with much frequency for the foreseeable future, for obvious reasons. I hope you all can forgive me, and by "all," I mean: Seana Graham, Nate Green, Marco, Adrian McKinty, Nicklas Hughes, Rita Vetere, and any lurkers (?) that might be out there, including dear old Dad. But I wanted to thank you for taking the time to read my otherwise inane ramblings and comment on same.

A bientot.

Information Overload

It's time we brought an end to this so-called Information Age.

I was reading this article this morning, about a groom who stopped his marital proceedings mid-ceremony so he could update his Facebook and Twitter pages.

Are you effing kidding me?

Why do so many human beings feel the need to alert hundreds, if not thousands, of mere acquaintances of the most personal, intimate details of their lives, in real-time nonetheless?

And conversely, why do so many human beings soak this sort of thing up?

In this day and age, we are bombarded with information, from blogs (yes, including this one), yahoo groups, tweets, facebook pages, myspace pages, text messages, and so many other different emerging "news" sources, most of it inconsequential at the end of the day. I don't think we were meant, as a species, to be barraged by all this stuff. But for whatever reason, people are spending inordinate amounts of time transmitting the most random (and often) meaningless information to one another.

The pervasive nature of this information overload - both the giving and the receiving of it - seems to be an addiction of sorts. My uneducated guess is that the ability to tell hundreds of people something about oneself makes one feel important.

But far be it from me to shake my finger at everyone else. Despite the fact I think Tiger Woods's "transgressions" (to use his word) should remain a private affair - for the sake of his family - I'll admit I've checked up on the developing story every day since it broke.

Shame on me for perpetuating this gossipy nonsense that passes for news.

Inane status updates on social networking sites bug me the most. Oh, you're having your third coffee of the morning? Good for you, as Christian Bale would say.

Oh, you don't know what to do with your day, so you decided to tweet about not knowing what to do with your day? That's awesome, thanks for the update.

Oh, you have a hangover because you were out partying last night? Actually, that's pretty cool, which bar did you go to...

I don't know what we can do to reshape the cultural zeitgeist, but I'd like to see us enter a new Age, whatever it is. Like, let's say, a Second Space Age.

Hell, I'd even take another Bronze Age over what we have right now. Okay, just kidding. But seriously, I'd love to see us enter the Think Before You Speak/Text/Tweet/Blog Age.

Rex Quondam Rex Futurus

I'm an admitted King Arthur nut. I've read Mary Stewart's books, T.H. White's classic The Once and Future King (including its oft-forgot final chapter, The Book of Merlin), and yes, even slogged my way through some of Malory's Morte D'Arthur. I own Boorman's Excalibur, which is a mostly excellent film, and even "borrowed permanently" Dad's copy of the 2004 film King Arthur.

I still have to read Marion Zimmer Bradley's stories, but Mists of Avalon is near the top of the To Read List.

Having hopefully established my bona fides, I can say without reservation that the best Arthur stories I have ever read or seen remain Bernard Cornwell's Warlord Chronicles, three books consisting of: The Winter King, Enemy of God, and Excalibur.

Cornwell is a consistently fantastic writer. His stories are vividly descriptive without being flowery; poignant without ever dipping into sentimentality; and sheer, visceral, rollicking good fun without ever turning campy.

I have read many of his other books, which are all good, but the Arthur books in my humble opinion are a cut above the rest. In these tales, Arthur is the king in all but name; Mordred is not his son but rather his half-brother; Lancelot is a gutless, manipulative, vain, back-stabbing, power-hungry cad; and the narrator and unabashed hero of the saga is a Saxon-born man named Derfel, raised by Merlin.

All three stories are thrilling, gripping adventures. If you've never read Cornwell before, his bread and butter is his ability to draw realistic battle scenes. Cliche as this is going to sound, you feel like you're standing in the shield wall with Derfel as the barbaric Saxon hordes, outnumbering Arthur's men by the thousands, charge. Life, even outside of the battlefields, can be nasty, brutish, and short, to steal a phrase. His characters are real people, heroic, flawed, often well-intentioned, and fighting to carve out a happy existence.

I can't recommend these three books enough. I consider them one of my two favorite trilogies, the other being Adrian McKinty's kick-ass Dead Trilogy, which I've posted about before.

2012? No Big Deal. We've Got Bigger Problems!

In anticipation of Roland Emmerich's upcoming latest mega-disaster flick, 2012, I give you the most depressing website ever.

Okay, depressing might not be the right word for it, but Exit Mundi is a fairly expansive catalogue of the diabolical ways the world/the Universe might come to an end. Here are some of my favorite theories from the web site:

-The Universe is just a computer program, which at any time, and for whatever reason, could simply be switched off by the programmer.

-We are going to turn into the Borg. (I kid you not! Check this page out.)

-The Earth's magnetic field is flipping over and will someday disappear entirely.

-The fundamental constants will reach their critical values, and everything will just get all screwy.

What say you? How do you all think this will end?

The Long And The Short Of It

Last weekend, we surprised the wife with a baby shower. Family and friends were all extremely generous - I've never seen so many presents in my life - and Jenna spent the better part of four hours just opening everything. Thanks again to everyone!

One of the more interesting gifts was a copy of War and Peace. I thought it was a pretty cool gift, being something Baby Girl O'Rourke wouldn't use until she's a bit older.

War and Peace is notorious for its length. Rick Reilly, famous sports writer, once described how far John Daley hit a golf ball by saying, "He's longer than Tolstoy." I have yet to read WaP, but I did enjoy Anna Karenina, which itself is not short by any means.

Anyway, I found a wiki link to the world's longest novels and was amazed to find this. Marienbad My Love, a self-published work, spans over 17 million words. I will never even attempt to read this book, but here's the blurb for it:

Coppell, TX - Texas writer Mark Leach has published an expanded edition of "Marienbad My Love," the world's longest novel, that tops 17 million words and also sets new records for the world's longest word, sentence and book title.

The Coppell, Texas, writer has been making a run at the record books with his still-growing story of a Christ-haunted filmmaker who believes he is called on by God to bring about the end of the world by producing a science fiction-themed pastiche of the 1961 French New Wave classic, “Last Year at Marienbad.”

And here I thought my book, The Unearthed, was a bit long-winded at 80,000 words!

The Signs Point To An Invasion!!!! And More On The Legend of Zelda

First, I find out that Captain Lou Albano passed away. Then I read about this strange cloud hovering over Moscow.

Are the two connected? Absolutely. How couldn't they be? What do they mean? Well, I'll tell you: an alien invasion is imminent. Either that or it's just a meaningless coincidence. But one can never be too prepared, right?

For those of us who don't remember or never knew of the Captain, he was a fixture in the WWF in the 80s and also appeared in the Super Mario Brothers Super Show, a strange hybrid of live action and cartoon. The best part of SMBSS was, once a week (usually Fridays), they would air an episode not about the Mario Bros, but about the continuing adventures of Link, our hero from The Legend of Zelda. On The Legend of Zelda TV show, Link divided his time by going toe-to-toe with the evil wizard Ganon and his minions and trying to score with the Princess, who just wouldn't give it up, no matter how great the heroic deeds he performed.

For more on Zelda, check out my previous post, The Greatest Video Game Ever Made.

Anyway, back to this invasion...

I Kept My Appointment With The Wicker Man, But He Wasn't That Cool

Sorry to be so flip about what is considered a cult classic, but I can't help but wonder why this flick is held in such high regard. And no, I'm not talking about the remake with Nicolas Cage, I'm talking about the original movie that so many people love, venerate, and ironically worship with a religious fervor.

This movie falls into "the hero is so stupid that I don't even care what happens to him" camp. Why we're supposed to like the policeman protagonist is beyond me, as every step of the way he's dumb, not the least bit cautious considering the circumstances, and appropriately pig-headed. The defenders of this movie will retort by saying, "Ah, yes, but we're not supposed to like him." To which I respond, "If we're not supposed to like him, then why do I care if (SPOILER) he's burned alive at the end of the movie?"

Huh? Why do I care? That's right. I don't.

In all fairness, this movie may have been overhyped for me. A few people previously told me it was the scariest, most terrifying movie they'd ever seen. But I found very little about it scary. The plot essentially evolves around this policeman trying to locate a young girl who a) is missing, b) doesn't exist, c) is dead, d) may not really be dead, e) who is alive, and f) who may be sacrificed in a pagan ritual. The cop reaches the summit of his stupidity when, in an audience head-smacking moment, he divulges his findings and his plans to Lord Summerisle (played by Christopher Lee), the man who at least the audience is smart enough to know must be at the center of everything.

The score doesn't help. A 70s soft-rock, easy-listening melody plays at various points, which seriously undermines any tension or creepiness, and which calls attention to itself in all the wrong ways.

Like I say, maybe this was a case of a film being overhyped. Though, I think much of the male admiration of this movie has to do with the fact there's a lot of naked women dancing and/or fornicating throughout. Christoper Lee and the lead (as unlikeable as the character is) turn in solid performances, but on the whole this movie is just okay.