Marie Mutsuki Mockett

It's been a busy weekend--more on that soon--but I did have time to visit with some friends I made at Bread Loaf. Here is poet Tomas Morin, whose gorgeous poem "A Model for Priesthood" recently won a prize at Narrative Magazine. Here, too, is writer Hasanthika Sirisena, another Bread Loaf Scholar, who is a winner of the prestigious Rona Jaffe award. If we look particularly happy to you in this photo, it's because we've just eaten at Moustache, scene of many a happy meal for artists in particular!

A fun request--I was asked to list five books I'm currently reading. To be honest, I have not been the best reader of books this year--my attention span has been curtailed by the pregnancy. And as a result, I have tended to read the things I feel I just have to in order to keep the creative part of my mind working. But this was a fun exercise, and I was very pleased to share. Over at the Campaign for the American Reader, you'll find my recommendation for Hiroko Sherwin's wonderful "Eight Million Gods and Demons," a book that, to my mind, is one of the most under-appreciated novels I've ever come across. Then at Writer's Read, you can see the entire list (of five books).

A sample:

Ambiguous Bodies: Reading the Grotesque in Japanese Setsuwa Tales by Michelle Li

I do my fair share of reading literary novels; it's important to be supportive of your fellow artists. But I also do a lot of nonfiction reading. In particular, I will engage in what I sometimes call my "weird" reading. This year, I've been re-examining Japanese fairy tales in part because I realize just how much they impacted me as a child and subsequently as an adult, but also because I've started to deliver a one hour lecture on the subject. In this talk, I cover everything from animated poop cartoons, to Miyazaki's Spirited Away, to the classic Japanese fairy tale about the "Bamboo Princess." One day, while browsing on Amazon, I came across the title you see above. The product description is as follows: "This book aims to make sense of grotesque representations in setsuwa--animated detached body parts, unusual sexual encounters, demons and shape-shifting or otherwise wondrous animals—and, in a broader sense, to show what this type of critical focus can reveal about the mentality of Japanese people in the ancient, classical, and early medieval periods." I'm always trying to deepen my understanding of Japan--and consequently, find new and creative ways to tell stories. My own novel has demons and ghosts and I find that if I read good scholarly work on the things that are attractive to me-the bizarre and strange-and understand how they fit into the culture, then that will make my own creative work more precise, and more convincing. This book sounded like a fantastic read, and I'm eager to get started.

You'll note that the first book on my list was by Colum McCann, who just won the National Book Award. I've been a fan of McCann's for a long time, and was thrilled to see him honored. I don't know him at all, but know some of his students/friends, all of whom speak highly of him as a person. And that's always nice to know--that an artist you admire is one of the good guys too.

My last post for Keplers--a little advice for writers.

Last month, at Wordstock, Portland’s marvelous gathering for writers and readers, I taught a class on “The True Business of Writing.” I took about 30 class participants through the thorny parts of my career, trying to show them how—creativity aside—I got to the point now where I have a book. I told them that there were plenty of other places where they could go to discuss craft, and the art of writing. I wanted to talk practicalities, the things that no one really wants to discuss.

I showed them my original query letter.

I had asked my agent for query letters she'd rejected from her slush pile and shared these with my class, asking them to try to point out the predictable errors the rejected had made. (In this I guess I drew upon my experience as an SAT tutor, when I would teach kids to look for "predictable errors." It's not a bad skill to have.)

I let them read my own rejection letters from editors, then asked them what they would do if they were in my shoes.

I showed them my submission stats for a short story that ultimately did pretty well (it generated two readings, one of which had an audience of something like 150 people, and a Pushcart nomination). The stats weren’t pretty: I’d been rejected 29 times before someone took the story. Six of those rejections came from editors who said they wanted the story but didn’t have enough room in their journals, which at the time, rather felt like the people I knew in high school who told me they would love to have taken me to the party with them, except there hadn't been enough room in the car . . .

In other words, I tried to share with these writers all the things that I had learned, and wished I’d known before embarking on a real career.

The lovely LA Times review for Picking Bones from Ash was reprinted this week in New York Newsday. A refresher:

Some fiction makes the world a little smaller. In this debut novel, a little girl grows up in a small Japanese village with her mother. The other women in the village are suspicious of the mother's beauty; they ban her from the public bath. But the daughter is a talented piano player and this earns the little family some respect.

Over the summer, while at Bread Loaf, I was inspired to try my hand at more non fiction--in part at the urging of our instructor, Patricia Hampl. So, even though we were all advised not to really do any writing while up on the Mountain, I sat down and wrote a short essay on video games and love quests.

The result has just been published over at The Morning News. An excerpt:

From the beginning, my character was an ideal version of me, a ravishing Asian ectomorph, who was handy with her weapons and who had a mysterious past that seemed to haunt but not completely cripple her—any issues she might have were easily slain by that great Jedi power, Force Push, which involved using the Force to knock an opponent back five meters, and stunning them for three seconds during which she could utilize her light saber. I crash-landed on a planet and soon met a handsome virtual man with a husky voice to keep me company. I assembled a crew of aliens, Wookies, and droids, and battled futuristic space gangsters. I trained at the Jedi Academy under the tutelage of a short, pointy-eared creature who looked a lot like Yoda. And I talked. All the way through the game, I was given dialogue options. I always chose the righteous and noble path for myself, making sure that I insulted no one, that I defended and saved the innocent, and correctly solved all puzzles, which curiously resembled dumbed-down standardized test questions. My part-time job as an SAT tutor was good for something.

Give it a read if you like--and learn all about my virtual courtship (and how Gordon helped me).

The folks at Fictionaut were kind enough to ask me some questions about writing (and trees!) Check it out. A sample:

Q (Meg Pokrass): What story or book do you feel closest to?

A big part of me is always going to identify with stories and books I read and loved as a kid. Even as an adult, I’m looking for that experience of being transported, and it gets harder and harder to find and is complicated by the fact that the adult part of me wants complexity from fiction, from language, situations and character. But if there is one story that I’ve turned to again and again, it’s the myth of Psyche, as told by the Greeks. Most of their mythology concerns male heroes, but Psyche is intriguing. She’s the only mortal to turn into a god. She travels to the underworld and survives. She forces the gods to reveal their true nature to her. And it’s telling that her name is the one we use today when we talk about the complexities of the mind.

For more, on how I try to stay creative, or on my mentor, etc, head over here. (Note: I'm not sure if you need to register to read the blog or not. If you do need to register, I think you need an invite, and you need to be an actual writer).

Post number two for Keplers went up today: it's on Japanese fairy tales and a bit of my personal background. Also, there's a link to the lecture I've been delivering in NYC (and its environs), and will give in Berkeley, CA, on November 30th.

A sample of the post:

"Fairy tales cast a spell on the mind. And not just because they often feature magic cauldrons or evil witches. We imprint on fairy tales when we are young. We learn about brave men on dragon-battling-quests and women yearning to get out of towers. Over time, the predicaments of these princes and princesses don’t seem too far from the psychological reality of the real world.

Something else happens too—we learn to expect certain things from stories. They will unfold in a certain manner. We will encounter danger, but this tension will resolve. And even though the modern novel has come a long way from ending either in a wedding or a funeral, I think there’s still something in our culture that looks for and yearns for this kind of conclusion: the prince and princess end up together, or we will find redemption despite loss, or even death.



My mother, who is from Japan, tried to teach me her language. I resisted, but she had a powerful arsenal: Japanese fairy tales. Seductively, she’d pull out the story of “Kaguyahime: The Bamboo Princess,” who was discovered by a poor bamboo cutter inside a fat bamboo stalk. The baby grew up to be the most beautiful and accomplished woman in Japan. Men came from all the corners of the island to try to woo and win her love. Except, unlike a western fairy tale where someone would eventually succeed, no prince ever managed to capture the bamboo princess’ heart. The story takes an unexpected and dramatic turn when Kaguyahime reveals her true identity—she is from the kingdom of the moon—and flies away, leaving everyone broken-hearted. Something about this accomplished but unattainable woman always captivated me. My mother and I would sit together and she would read a line in Japanese. Then I would read a line. Then I would read a page. On we would go until we were finished, and then we would begin again."

For more, head over here (where the weather is always about as perfect as it can be . . .)

I had lunch today with two other Graywolf authors--we like to call ourselves "The Wolves." Which perhaps we ought to rethink, given the impending "New Moon" release. Anyway, while there, I had a text from a friend who had just passed the Barnes and Noble in Union Square, and seen my book in the window along with Gunther Grass and Dave Eggers. So we went by to take a look. And there it was!

Barnes and Noble has been tremendously supportive of my book, which I appreciate. But it is something to walk by a window, and to see the your own book staring at you . . .

I was invited to blog for Keplers, the venerable South Bay bookstore--which I love. A portion of my blog post appears below.

In an early interview I did before my novel was published, I was asked: "Are there enough women in leadership positions in your field?"

I said: "Publishing is full of women. Most readers of fiction are women. Stephanie Meyers and JK Rowling are, by all accounts, millionaires. And yet don’t most men win the high literary prizes?"

Fast forward to about a week ago, when Publishers Weekly announced its best books for 2009. All were by men.

"It disturbed us when we were done that our list was all male. There was kicking and screaming for a science fiction title. A literary ghost story came so close, it squeaked."

Ever since, the internet, that new hub of literary discussion, has been up in arms. Furious bloggers challenged readers to create their own alternative lists. SheWrites, a recently created online community for women who write, urged participants to take action. Twitter is aflutter. There’s a lot of digital noise.



I feel like paging Dorothy Parker who famously wrote: "Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses." Is it too crude, if true, if I add: "Literary prizes seldom make passes at tits and asses"? The sad thing is, I accept this as a reality of my industry. The majority of fiction published by prestige magazines—okay, I’ll name one name: The New Yorker—isn’t by women. Some have complained that male authors get more marketing dollars from publishing houses, and that’s why “the smart people” are generally men. On a practical level, I can understand why this happens. If men win prizes, and prizes are good for publishers, why wouldn’t you, the publisher, support your most likely candidates?

Head over to the Kepler's blog, The Well Read Donkey, to read the rest of what I have to say.

The Bread Loaf website (conference?) has just announced the release of conference readings from this past summer. If you already have iTunes, then you can listen here. My reading isn't up yet, but I'll post when it is, and figure out the timing for you. I heartily recommend the lectures; all the ones I attended were wonderful (and then there was David Shields, who got everyone's dander up. This is good for people to experience, from time to time).

I didn't know it at then--but this reading prepared me so much for all the readings I've done since. The lights were bright. I couldn't see the audience. We were being recorded. There was a podium and a microphone. I was pregnant and sick. I could only read for five minutes and I wanted to make an impact. And I thought, "Well, if I can do this, no other reading will be a problem." And truly, it hasn't been.

Thank you once again, Bread Loaf.

I'm going to be doing a reading in December at the Knitting Factory in Brooklyn. It's part of the Largehearted Boy Reading series, and you might remember that I did a playlist for the Largehearted Boy site--complete with lots of J-pop.

Well, I was craving one particular pop tune today, and looked at Youtube to see what I could find. And lo and behold "I Feel Your Breeze" (my comments on this song here) had a new upload! So I listened . . . and aside from the English chorus, could not understand a thing. It's been a year since I've been in Japan, and my language skills have degenerated--next year I'll be coming with the baby. Believe me. But I didn't think I could possibly be this bad.

And then I realized, this version of the song is in Korean. The song has had a remake.



And the original, with subtitles and scenes from Gokusen.



When I eventually get back to dance class, I'm thinking of recruiting some friends to recreate this with me after a reading some time . . . Hmm. Oh, and music friends. Which key do you like better?

I was asked to read a portion of my novel at Centenary College, in Hackettstown, New Jersey, and to deliver my lecture on Japanese fairy tales. I've given the lecture once already, at Adelphi University, and will do so again at the Hillside Club in Berkeley on November 30th.



It's a fun lecture--and particularly entertaining for college kids, many of whom know all about Hayao Miyazaki and manga and anime. When I show them this still, for example, they know that I am referring to "Spirited Away." When I talk about how evil characters in Japanese fairy tales often shift shape, and don't remain purely evil, they know exactly what I am talking about. And they are also curious about the origins of this kind of storytelling-and like learning how to put it all in context.



People pay pretty close attention too when I go through the first of the fairy tales-Urashima Taro, which involves, among other things, our hero looking inside a box he has been forbidden to open.




And that's a fun contrast to the story of Bluebeard, which also includes a forbidden chamber. And I'll just point out here for anyone lurking, that I do give much credit to Hayao Kawai, who worked hard to analyze the relationship between western and Japanese fairy tales.

I really enjoy giving this lecture. When I was a child, my mother worked hard to teach me Japanese in part by reading these stories to me, and then making me read them to her. It was a challenge at the time. And yet I realize now just how much they entered my brain--in the same way that western fairy tales did. And I'm quite sure my imagination and storytelling were, in turn, shaped by these experiences.

After the lecture, it was on to the readings, with writer James Hannaham, whose book "God Says No" was published earlier this year, reading first. I loved his excerpt, and loved meeting him too--and, not surprisingly, have since learned that we have friends in common.



And then, it was my turn.