And what an achievement it is. I've had the honor of reading the novel in proofs, which makes me feel like a cool insider, and I'm working on a review. But I wanted to post about the book here so that my writerly Readers could dash right out and order your copies from Amazon. Oh, I forgot: you don't have to dash right out. You can just open another window.
Every Past Thing emerges, dream-like, from Mourning Picture by Edwin Romanzo Elmer, a painting which hangs in the Smith College Art Museum. Because of that last little detail, I've known this painting for over half my life, and once you've seen it, you can't get it out of your mind. The couple in black perched on the lawn in front of an incongruously grand house is unsettling enough, but then there's the little girl in the foreground, petting a sheep and staring off into the middle distance. Only the title of the painting alludes to her story--she, little Effie Elmer, is the one the artist (and his wife, Mary) are mourning.Thompson's story belongs to Mary Elmer, and follows her stream-of-consciousness musings about a mother's ultimate loss, distance from her struggling artist husband, encounters with the artist's brother and new wife, flashbacks to a young lover who stirred Mary's loins, and more recent stirrings for a young anarchist whom she encounters in a Manhattan cafe. Her state is so recognizable--conflicted, irrational, yearning--that I would get completely lost in Thompson's voice, forgetting where I was, as it swept me along.
It feels pretty strange to refer to Pam as "Thompson," even if it's correct to do so. I met Pam in my poetry class one evening in 1991--she was a prospective student to the MFA program at UMass Amherst, I was an old-timer of two years. She was effortlessly gorgeous in rumpled thriftstore clothing, no makeup, and librarian-style glasses, with a smile that, then and now, makes it seem she's always on the verge of laughing. Murmuring some inquiries to my neighbor, I learned she was actually a fiction writer, and that another student, Kevin, was planning to host her that night. As soon as I heard that, I felt honor-bound to intervene. Kevin was fine, but I'd spent a lot of time in his apartment in an earlier phase in my life (I was dating his roommate) and knew I could not subject an unknowing innocent to his version of domesticity. Somewhat bossily, I introduced myself to Pam and informed her she'd now be staying with me, as I could offer her the superior lodgings (that would be my extra futon, on the floor of my living room.) She was surprisingly gracious, and accepted immediately.
In the morning, Pam announced she was taking me to breakfast, to thank me for my hospitality, the kind of good manners I never think of myself. I had to be at a morning class, so I told Pam to take her time packing up. Just as I was rushing out, I said "This was fun. I hope to see you in the fall." She smiled and said, "You've already helped make my decision easier."
Now, if the Pamster had ended up at UT Austin (they were offering her a full scholarship, because they knew a good thing) her comment might have stung a bit, but in September, I walked into my teaching orientation and there was Pam, still in the cool glasses, waving me to the empty seat beside her. Turned out she must have really liked my living room, because she was now living in a house at the end of my street, and we were classmates, colleagues (both new to the writing program) and neighbors. And though I ended up 3,000 miles away when I graduated, we've never really been out of touch.
Here's what kind of friend Pam is. She asked me what she could cook for my 25th birthday dinner party, and I said, "All I really want is chocolate mousse, but that's too hard, because I want it from scratch." She shrugged, whipped up a dozen servings in these bitchin' glass goblets, and it was divinely decadent, covered in real cream, scented with brandy.
Of course, you shouldn't read Pam's book because I love her. You should read it because it's a revelation in contemporary fiction. Her style might make you think of Virginia Woolf (which would be just fine with Pam; she's a big fan.) You'll find out lots about 19th century American painting, the essays and poetry of Ralph Waldo Emerson, Emma Goldman and the cafe culture of New York City at the turn of the 20th century, and much more. But you won't feel like you're learning anything, because it will feel like you're living it instead.
Check it out. And then drop Pam a line, because writers hardly ever know who's reading them anymore. You can tell her I sent you.
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My novel Every Past Thing is just out.
Help me celebrate at a reading at the excellent Amherst Books this Friday, October 5, at 8 pm (where I can promise wine, Cathy Ciepiela, and a surprise guest from Jerusalem).
Come to the panel and reception at the Lower East Side Tenement Museum in New York next Thursday, October 11, from 6 to 8 pm (“Feminist New York” with Laurel Thatcher Ulrich and Deborah Siegel)
Read my editor Fred Ramey’s blog, in which he makes my day, week, year.
Go ask for it at your favorite bookstore.
Write a review.
Forward this.
Thank you. Thank you.
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Posted By Pam Thompson to girl with glasses at 10/01/2007 06:19:00 PM
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