(Hortense as a teen, at right, with one of her best friends.)

I have news today. (It’s already being tweeted on the Twitterverse!) I’m going to be writing two Young Adult novels for Penguin Canada. The first — and possibly both — will be about Josephine’s daughter Hortense, taking me back to the Napoleonic era. The books will be published in Canada as  part of Penguin’s Razorbill line and in the U.S. as part of Viking Young Readers.

I got the offer some time ago quite out-of-the-blue. It arrived on my agent’s desk in a ribboned box containing chocolates and the proposal.

I needed time to think about it. I’d been long planning to write another (adult) novel about the women in Molière’s life — this I will still do.

But YA? I was interested. For over a decade I was co-editor of a YA series for reluctant readers. Too, many teens are fans of my adult novels. The idea of writing YA intrigued (and challenged) me.

I spent quite a bit of time reading YA and re-researching Hortense’s life, imagining what her story might be. I wasn’t sure I wanted to return to the 18th century — but then I got hooked. Hortense is a very appealing character, and her teen years are dramatic, but also very sad. It’s a truly sweet love story, as well of the story of a girl having difficulty coming to terms with a step-father (Napoleon).   

It’s going to be a very interesting few years! Somehow, I feel that I can do all of this all at once: finish This Bright Darkness, begin another adult novel set in the 17th century, write two YAs and a short novel for GoodReads, as well as launching my own e-book imprint. 

A sense of reality, apparently, hasn’t clicked in with my advancing years. 

I just got off the phone to a book club in Geneva — wonderful! The Skype connection was excellent. They were deep into the Trilogy and had lots of very interesting questions, a pleasure to chat with. (I told them secrets.) Thank you, Karen Smith, for organizing it.

If any of you reading this would like me to chat with your book club … just send me a note (sgulland AT sandragulland DOT com).

It’s so much fun!

(Drawing by Jean-Jacques Olier, image from the Confrérie du Saint-Sacrement, 1643)

The struggle for power (and souls!) helps explain the existence of extremist religious factions — and actions — everywhere.

In France, one of the things the Catholic church waged war against was the theatre, which they saw as a threat. 

Actors, by their very employment, were excommunicated, and at least one archbishop prohibited his clergy from marrying them. They were forbidden Communion and were not permitted to be buried on holy ground.

In order to be buried by the Church, actors had to renounce the stage forever and ever. A number of players resorted to this on their deathbed, but others were caught out by an unexpected demise. The 18th century actress  Adriana Le Couvreur, for example, had to be buried in a field for cattle on the banks of the Seine, as one would bury a dog. 

Molière was particularly despised by the Church. As he lay dying, the priests of his parish refused even to come to hear his renunciation. By the time one priest relented and finally did arrive, it was too late.

(“The Death of Molière,” artist unknown — at least to me.)

It was only with extreme difficulty (and likely money) that King Louis XIV was able to persuade the Church to bury Molière — and even so, the Church required that France’s most popular playwright and actor be buried at night without fanfare, in unconsecrated ground where criminals were buried. The people, clearly not in agreement with the Church’s condemnation, thronged the streets with candles and torches to watch his coffin pass. 

The “war” against theatre had been taken up by several extremist groups, including the secret society, Compagnie du Saint-Sacrament (Company of the Blessed Sacrament). Although Louis XIV is generally perceived to be an all-powerful king, he was powerless against the Church, and especially against the Company, which had insisted, earlier, that Molière’s Tartuff be banned. Both the King and his brother were Molière supporters, yet they could do little when faced with this conservative faction. The ban lasted for five years (and nearly broke Molière’s spirit) — in spite of Royal opinion.

(Vincent de Paul)

The novel I’m writing now is largely about the world of the theatre in 17th century France, and the “Company” figures as an evil force in it — as they certainly could be at times, historically. However,  they also did important good work. Vincent de Paul was of their number, and the Company no doubt contributed to his wonderful, compassionate work. 

Click here to read more about the powerful secret society, the Company, described by some as “a state within a state, a church within a church.” 

I’ve mentioned before on this blog (here and here) that I’m a fan of author Julianna Baggott (also known as  Bridget Asher and N.E. Bod).

I loved her novel The Province Cure for the Brokenhearted and read her blog — Baggott • Asher • Bode —  regularly.

She a Writer Wonderwoman! She has published sixteen books in the last decade. (Imagine that.) Her latest novel, Pure, has just come out and is set to rocket.

“A great gorgeous whirlwind of a novel, boundless in its imagination. You will be swept away.” — Justin Cronin, New York Times bestselling author of THE PASSAGE

She’s be walking the red carpet for this one: a Fox 2000 film is already under way. 

What comes through in everything Julianna writes is heart. Big time. 

And so, a few questions: 

Julianna, you’re on tour now. Forgive such a nuts & bolts question, but: How do you pack? How do you cope?

I pack badly, messily. I forget things like shoes and have to buy them on the road.  I sometimes like to talk to people on planes, other times I shut down. I’m terrible at sleeping in hotels. I don’t like germs.

I DO like people in bookstores, very much. They’re my kind of people. (But I’m not doing a huge traditional bookstore tour right now…)

You have a complex writing life (you write in a number of genres for several publishers under three names), a no-doubt demanding job as a professor, plus you have a large, young family. I know you’ve been asked this a million times, but: How do you do it? 

I’ve learned to write while not writing. I keep the work in my head.

I write lists — lots and lots of lists. Every night before I fall asleep, there are lists before I can drift off.

I’ve learned to make interruption part of my creative process. To accept it.

Do you use an assistant? If so, what does he/she do for you?

I’ve had assistants over the years and right now I’m working this wonderful smart young woman, Tara Gonzalez, who knows the world of YA literature extremely well, works at a library, and is attending college. She’s incredible. Organized, smart, and plugged into a world where I need a guide.

I loved watching this old video interview of you: A Day in the Life of Julianna Baggott:

Wow. 12 years ago. I haven’t seen this in so long. This was before, in so many ways, I had my ass handed to me. This was a completely pivotal time. I was just about to fail — very personally and professionally. And my life would change completely within one year. Everything I thought I knew here was about to be upended. Failing was about to become more intimate. Pulitzer, ha. I can’t even bear to listen to myself talk.

And yet, that was who I was and in so many ways still am.

And, God, I still love the man in that video. 18 years together. And those babies!

Your definition of success at that time was seeing someone on a bus or airplane reading your book. Has that happened? 

Nope. And frankly with e-readers it probably won’t. You don’t see jackets anymore.

What’s your definition of success now?

My definition of success now is that I get to stay on the field. I want to keep playing.

Fox acquired the film rights to Pure. Is “script writer” yet another hat you will be wearing?

I do write screenplays, but I think they’re going after someone who has a really serious track record in the industry; I like that. I really respect the producer on the project, Karen Rosenfelt, and her assistant, Emmy Castlen. They’re smart and creative people with a real eye.

What do you dream of doing that’s yet to come?

Right now, I’m one foot in front of the other. I loved the world building aspect of Pure. It’s a trilogy so I’m at work on edits for the second book and then the third is due right on its heels. I’ve got to carve out some mental space to build all of that architecture.

Thank you, Julianna!

As for myself, I’ve ordered Pure and very much look forward to reading it. From the reader comments already on Amazon.com, I’m sure this book is going to be a hit.

Check out the awesome book trailer!

Links: Julianna Baggott on Wikipedia

My husband and I have just returned from two weeks at a lovely beach in Barra de Potosí, just south of Zihuatanejo on the Pacific coast. Fourteen miles of clean, uncongested, undeveloped beach! Heaven! We saw whales!

We have been coming to this beach every January for some time. This year, the casitas where we always stay (Solocito) had a temporary problem with their Net reception, so my New Year’s Resolution to withdraw from the Net each day was made frustratingly easy. (We could get and send email, but not much else.)

I read/edited This Bright Darkness (The Next Novel) each morning while here: spent lovely, quiet mornings working to the sound of the crashing surf, broken by reflective walks along the beach. This is an ideal way to edit. We return every year, so I’m going to aim to have a MS in hand next year.

I also read a great deal (and yes, in a hammock).

For research: Ladies in Waiting; From the Tudors to the Present Day, by Anne Somerset (which made me think English history was far more randy, violent and repressive than that of the French), and A History of Mental Retardation by R.C. Scheerenberger (an amazingly interesting account).

For pleasure, I very very much enjoyed reading The Big Sleep by Raymond Chandler. What a poet! Was a master of similie! Here are a few — only a few — examples:

As we drove to and fro, we listened to Elmore Leonard’s Out of Sight on tape. He’s such a master. I think he only gets better and better.

She got up slowly and swayed towards me in a tight black dress that didn’t reflect any light. She had long thighs and she walked with a certain something I hadn’t often seen in bookstores.

Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.

His office had the musty smell of years of routine.

I’ve also discovered and very much enjoy the ByLiner series of e-book essays. The two I read:

The Getaway Car: A Practical Memoir About Writing and Life by Anne Patchett. I’d recently read (rather: read and been knocked out by) Patchett’s novel State of Wonder, so I found her account of her writing life and process particularly interesting. A few quotes:

Why is it that we understand that playing the cello will require work but we relegate writing to the magic of inspiration?  . . . If a person of any age picked up the cello for the first time and said, “I’ll be playing in Carnegie Hall next month!” you would pity her delusion, but beginning fiction writers all across the country polish up their best efforts and send them off to The New Yorker.

I did – didn’t you? 

Art stands on the shoulders of craft, which means that to get to the art, you must master the craft.

Write the story, learn from it, put it away, write another story. Think of a sink pipe filled with sticky sediment: The only way to get clean water is to force a small ocean through the tap.

I got better at closing the gap between my hand and my head by clocking in the hours, stacking up the pages. Somewhere in all my years of practice—I don’t know where exactly—I arrived at the art.

It was Patchett who inspired me to look into Chandler, a journey well-rewarded.

The other ByLiner title was Advice to Virgins, by Amy Tan. Wonderful!

I think the ByLiner series is a particularly brilliant use of the new technology.

I also began reading The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern. I’m usually somewhat resistant to magic in a novel, but Morgenstern sets the stage very well.

Here are a few photos I took, inspired by the light in the sky and on the water at sunset: 

Two weeks didn’t seem like quite enough. Adios, ocean! Adios, beach! Hasta el proximo. 

One of my resolutions for 2012 is to disconnect from the Net for one hour a day while I’m writing. I’ve two programs that I hope will help make this possible: SelfControl and Freedom.

I suspect I’ll like SelfControl best: it sits on my (Mac) dock. Also, from what I understand, it only cuts out email and Social Net. I will still be able to Google, which I use for on-the-fly writing research.

Is that cheating? I’ll see.

I’m bravely considering cutting out email until 11:00 a.m.: that way, when I begin writing in the morning, I won’t get distracted. (I can feel myself going for nine or ten already. Junkie!) 

Debbi Ohi posted a similar resolution on her Inkygirl blog. Her cartoon expresses the problem perfectly:

Do you have writing resolutions?

{Image at top: from ’Liber Floridus’ (Book of Flowers), a Medieval encyclopædia, from one of my favourite visual blogs, BibliOdyssey.}

I’m excited about the year ahead. So much will be happening!

I got a wonderful editorial memo from my editor at HarperCollins Canada on The Next Novel. The suggestions were great. I’ve work to do, but I’m excited about it. 

My wish for you: May the muses pester you like crazy! 

Here are two New Year’s blogs I loved: 

One from Lilian Nattel, who reads this blog. Do read her post: you will love it. 

The other from Neil Gaiman’s blog (which I also love): here is a poster a friend made from his New Year’s wish for his fans: 

Excellent thoughts!

Enjoy this evening! 

When I tell someone I write stories set in Early Modern French history, their eyes tend to glaze over. Early Modern? Middle Modern? Late Modern? What does it all mean? (Post-Modern is bad enough.) 

Holly Tucker, professor and historian, posted the answer to this question to a discussion group some time ago. She basically confirms that Early Modern a stretchable concept:

To answer the question about the limits of “early modern”–I’ll probably step into a bees nest here…but here are some thoughts….

I tend to group early modernists loosely around the Renaissance to the Revolution. But, of course, Renaissance all just depends on what country you’re starting from. Earlier in Italy, later in England. Of course, this is a pretty darn Western/Euro-centric way of seeing things…

I’m part of an early-modern cultural studies group at my university. We end up lumping the medievalists in there too–mostly because they’re great folks. But medievalists themselves often seen their temporal affiliations differently. A rare few will count themselves among the early modernists, others align with the “Ancient and Medieval Studies” folks, and still others don’t bother themselves with categories like this (probably smart!).

Goes to show that these categories are just problematic to the core. How can we talk about the Renaissance without evoking Antiquity? And what about the Enlightenment? Which brings up the thorniest question of all: what is “modern” in the first place?

It’s just a messy mess!

Thank you Holly! Now: how to explain …. 

Be sure to read Holly’s wonderful book, Blood Work.

{Images above by Jean Le Pautre, from the wonderful blog BibliOdyessy, “Ornamental Decoration in 17th Century France.”}

Nevertheless, it brings up something I’d like to address, which is the on-going war between the English and French. 

The review — written by Jonathan Keates and published in the U.K. Telegraph — is of When the World Spoke French, by Marc Fumaroli, a member of the Academie Française.

The reviewer is, I think it fair to say, scathing, yet accusing Fumaroli of being “distinctly provocative.” 

Gary McCollim, a historian I often quote on this blog, notes: “His review misses the point about Fumaroli’s book…that there was a time when French was the language of civilized society. Instead, he chooses to attack the French.”

For example, to quote from the review: 

“Cultural orthodoxy in France … teaches her citizens that their country invented most of what the world values under the name of civilisation. The Enlightenment, they are encouraged to accept, began in Paris under the ancien régime, while the Revolution of 1789, its ideological offspring, introduced the rest of Europe to the concept of political liberty.”

Where did the Enlightenment begin?

Gary responds: “… whole volumes have been written about where and when the Enlightenment began. Newton and Locke had a role as did the scientific revolution and the growth of skepticism as revealed by writers like Pierre Bayle. Political economics came into existence as well with writers in England and France (Vauban, Boisguilbert, Saint-Pierre, Hay du Chastelet) playing important roles. The subject is too broad for anyone serious to think that their little island is where it all began.”

Another quote from the review:

“For those of us who, whatever our regard for French civilisation, acknowledge its imperfections – why, for instance, could it produce no decent poetry between 1650 and 1800? – this book often appears complacent, displaying a calculated blindness to the wider realities of the period it purports to explore. Some of Fumaroli’s claims are inaccurate – Louis XIV did not win the War of the Spanish Succession – while others, such as modern democracy “had its birth under the ancien régime in France”, are frankly ludicrous.”

Did the French not produce any decent poetry between 1650 and 1800? 

Gary: “I guess Moliere, Racine, and a host of others don’t count for Mr. Keates.” (My thoughts exactly.)

Did Louis XIV win the War of Spanish Succession? 

McCollim answers: ”The War of the Spanish Succession was fought to prevent a French claimant from becoming King of Spain. How did that work out? While it is true that France lost a lot of battles, Spain gave up territories in Italy and the Low Countries, Britain seized Gibraltar, and France surrendered some territory in North America, all of which proves that the opponents of France were not interested in who sat on the Spanish throne; they all wanted to grab land wherever they could find it.”

Was modern democracy born under the ancien régime in France?

“Britain is not the creator of modern democracy. The writer [Keates] confuses modern democracy with modern representative government, an entirely different thing. Universal manhood suffrage did not arrive in Britain until the 1880s when property/tax paying requirements were finally eliminated to give propertyless workers the right to vote. Women did not get the vote until 1918 or so. France had universal manhood suffrage in 1848 but women did not get the vote until 1945. Meanwhile, universal manhood suffrage arrived in the United States in 1866 and, although women could not vote in every state in the nation until 1920, some states granted women the right to vote before then starting with Wyoming where women could vote in 1869.”

Historians: line up at the mike!

Have you read this book? Does the reviewer have a point? Or is the reviewer just throwing more fuel on the Anglo-French fire? 

A friend, Julie Levi, wrote asking for book recommendations, so I’ll begin with books.

I’ve read quite a few books this year, but I also started a great number and abandoned them. I’ve become increasingly particular, I notice. Life is so short! 

This list, then, is not only of books I couldn’t put down, but the ones that lingered in my mind. They are the books I urge friends to read — and, given the season, some would make excellent gifts. 

So, in no particular order:

FICTION: 

State of Wonder, by Anne Patchett. Okay, I confess that I haven’t finished this novel yet, but it’s so finely-crafted I have no qualms about including it. It’s a contemporary novel with a mystery at its core. It would make an excellent gift for the literary reader in your life (such as yourself). 

Italian Shoes, by Henning Mankell. Those of you who know Mankell will understand. The members of my book club adore him, and, now that I’ve read him, I do too. I’ve not read his mysteries, but my husband has read one and enjoyed it. It’s hard to describe his appeal because he’s a little bizarre.  

 The Reinvention of Love, by Helen Humphreys. I love everything Helen Humphreys writes. She’s one of my favourite historical authors. This spare — and just a bit strange — little novel, this twirl through the circle surrounding the French author Victor Hugo, will appeal to those who love French culture and finely crafted prose. (And don’t the two just seem to go together?) 

 The Sisters Brothers, by Patrick deWitt. This poetic, outrageous, laugh-out-loud funny and gripping cowboy novel about a couple of hit-men swept through the international awards like a flu this fall. Of all the books on this list, I think this one would make the best gift, either for a man or woman, old or young — and if you buy it now, you can read yourself it first, because it isn’t long.

Brooklyn, by Colm Toibin. If you’re looking for a delicious novel to sink into this winter by the fire: this is it.  

A Visit from the Goon Squad, by Jennifer Egan. Hip, smart, crackling with wit — and well deserving of the Pulitizer prize, in my opinion. 

Wrecker, by Summer Wood. This was my shout-out novel of the year. I bought a copy just to pass around. If you live in a back-to-the-land community (or would like to), this novel will especially appeal. Summer Wood is a wonderful writer with great heart. 

Room, by Emma Donoghue. The subject of this amazing novel scares some readers off. Persevere. Donoghue’s rendering of the voice of a young boy is simply magical, as is the ending.

The Little Stranger, by Sarah Waters. One of her best, I think. Haunting. Great for a stormy night. Prepare not to get much sleep! 

TEEN FICTION:

 Tilt, by Alan Cumyn. This is a book for the older teens on your list — but I suggest that you read it yourself. I adored Tilt. Alan Cumyn has created a wonderfully engrossing, charming coming-of-age story.

I should also mention that The Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins is a tightly-plotted apocalyptic novel that you might want to read, if only to know what everyone is talking about. It’s well done and particularly well imagined — with disturbing echos of our “reality TV” world. 

I’m going to simply list the rest of my list (without links and cover images): the day awaits! 

POETRY: 

Origami Dove, by Susan Musgrave. Wonderful.

NON-FICTION:

Steve Jobs, by Walter Isaacson: a compulsively-readable biography about an eccentric hippy who never lost the faith. Read it! 

The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating, a memoir by Elisabeth Tova Bailey. Enchanting! 

A New Leaf by Merilyn Simonds. This would be a fantastic gift for gardeners. I’m not even a gardener, but I relished every word. 

 The Tiger: A True Story of Vengeance and Survival, by John Vaillant. Terrifying! And with a strong environmental message. 

A Week at the Airport by Alain De Bottom. Simply delightful. Perfect travel book! 

IMPOSSIBLE TO CLASSIFY:

Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk, by David Sedaris. Oh, my goodness! Sedaris has done it again. This book is the perfect gift for anyone with a warped sense of humour. (That’s all of us, no?)

Enjoy!

What are your “Best of the Best”?