The Greenhousers

Part 32 - the last entry?

2009-11-16T17:40:00.002-05:00

Cee,
I didn't realize that I was lucky enough to get three-extra pages in my last section - I guess we thought of them as a bonus for not getting to be first when we were dividing things up next to the dumpster at Manhattan Mini Storage.

I just finished reading the last line a few minutes ago and am still in mild shock. It ended in such an anticlimactic whimper that I turned the page looking for more text. I thought I had mixed up the pages for at least five minutes. My section was extra dog-eared and in the process having to restack them I dropped the eight pages on the floor, so after reading page 169, the final page, I really thought I had accidentally dropped a 170 under my chair, or misfiled it between 165 and 166. But no. It ended with Matt and Rowan going to breakfast. Just like that, it was over. I became unexpectedly choked up when I realized that I'd actually finished. I didn't anticipate any sentiment whatsoever but now I am significantly teary. The last time I cried over a non-family death was during “The English Patient” years ago...and even then I was sufficiently whiskeyed-up to attribute the crying to my altered state. Now, with the clarity of ten minutes of hindsight, I'm realizing “The Greenhouse” unfolded over a very transitional time in my life. Since it started, I've been married and laid off. You've gone from New York to Hong Kong to New York...and soon to Hong Kong again. And it began on a hot, early summer day and it ends in the cold November rain, much like Axel Rose's break-up with Stephanie Seymour. I know the project isn't over, but the center of it is, the bridge to that slice of time is. I almost don't have the energy to tell you what happens at the end… it's so much more flaccid than I imagined. I wanted the conclusion to match its personal significance, I guess. It reminds me, though it's far less grave, of the night my grandfather died. My mother collapsed to her knees when she got the news on the phone. It was a Thursday night and we were watching Family Ties on television. The show kept going as we grieved and I became more angry that the laugh track kept playing than sad that my grandfather had died. It seemed so disrespectful and the jokes became unbearably formulaic. For the first time I realized that the world would beat on implacably in spite of anyone's need for a moment of stillness.

So, anyway, Reshevsky lived long enough with a gunshot wound to call in the Feds. Rowan finds him bleeding from the abdomen. There are some good dragged-streaks-of-coagulated-blood descriptions in the section. It actually gets a bit gory. Reshevsky admits his jealousy in dying breaths and then begs Rowan to put him out of his misery by handing him the cyanide tablet. He takes it. He dies. I was quite moved at this point, too.

So the gig was that Kee got Lucy hooked on heroin on purpose to make her more manipulable. I guess Lucy and her greenhouse were perfectly legit at one point, and she went derelict only after the junk took hold. Cater did some work for the "organization" in Guatemala...we never learn for sure but are to expect that it's the CIA. He recommended Chao for a job infiltrating the greenhouse crime ring, and, when he was killed, Cater felt a special responsibility to reenlist and avenge the death. Our two lovers wake in bed, schmaltz-talking (this part was nearly unbearable), calling each other "honey" and caressing and caressing and caressing. No sex though. It made me remember an article I read by this conservative journalist named Shelby Steele in the WSJ a few years ago in which he brought up a point about how if a president was overheard using the word "nigger" on a golf course in 1960 it would've been considered a gaffe, but not an unforgivable or career threatening one. By the same token if Eisenhower were caught with a woman other than his wife on that same golf course, it would've been seen as an inexcusable demonstration of moral bankruptcy, and most likely career ending. Now it's reversed; pres can get blowjobs under his desk from interns, but wouldn't dare disparage a minority. This novel is very telling in those terms. There's no sex (this was written a few years before the summer of love) but there's plenty of off-color remarks about Chinese. If it were written today there'd be semen flying around the room but our gang would no doubt be a multi-cultural non-denominational crime syndicate.

Anyway, Cater and Rowan get hungry and go get breakfast. The end. (I end abruptly for effect...so you, too, can get the effect of page 169.) I will forever use page 169 as a metaphor for being underwhelmed by way of high expectations.

I'm sad. We must redeem this story. I won't let it be over.

I'm going to go sulk somewhere now. You know, on top of it all, I put my underwear on backwards this morning and it's all bunched up. I need to press reset.

sigh,

shane

Part 31 - the beginning of the end

2009-11-16T17:28:00.005-05:00

I can't believe this is my last section - it seems like yesterday that I was sitting at home in Hong Kong in the middle of summer, opening up the first fresh pages of the manuscript... all bright eyed and bushy tailed in anticipation of the adventures Rowan would be taking us on. Who knew it would end here; stuck in a dank greenhouse, with a physically inept 24 year old heroine (oh, and heroin too).

No mice here - but I do have a nasty cold, and spent all of yesterday at home sleeping. At least Tony was around to entertain me in his union suit. We're both sick, and decided we would use our time to make homemade ginger beer. This is going to be my new enterprise - artisanal ginger beer. Definitely a luxury item, and thus if I can make my own, think of all the pennies I'll save!

Back to Rowan and her adventures. I was trying to think of a reason why you would want to get rid of your gardener by depositing his body in a mushroom patch - I wonder if anyone has done any research into the benefits of decaying human carcass as fertilizer, or if this was a common method of body disposal by any organized crime syndicate. Anyhow, as we begin my section, Lucy is requesting that she take a leave of absence to shoot up ('just a little lift'), which clearly irritates Kee. This leaves Kee, one of his Korean henchmen, with Rowan and Matt. Matt attempts to get Kee to turn himself in, apparently Matt has filed a report with his 'people' (who are these people? the government??) and they are onto Kee and Lucy's evil plot. This fails to scare Kee who is looking forward to killing Rowan and Matt and making them into fertilizer.

Just as the conversation between these two becomes almost too stifling and cliched to bear, a shot rings out! Who could it be? It's Reshevsky! He's alive! The clever bastard was only playing dead and of course wanted to come back to save his darling Rowan. Kee has two shots left, and Reshevsky has five... ah, mathematics comes to the rescue once again. Rowan is released and promptly flies to Matt's side to release the cords at his feet. A gun fight then breaks out between Kee and Reshevsky - Reshevsky fires the first two shots, the first of which kills the Korean guard, and the second of which misses Kee. Kee returns fire, and it seems as though this really is the end of dear old Reshevsky. More physical shenanigans ensue - Matt and Kee begin grappling (although Matt is still bound at the wrists, making him seem more of a lumbering rock). Keep in mind Rowan is not bound nor particularly physically injured, yet I think the extent of her participation is that of the helpless onlooker. You'd think she would have been able to find a rock or a garden rake to hurl at Kee. I'd like to think if I was ever in such a situation, I would have the presence of mind to do more than gape.

And her helplessness pays off. Matt is defeated by Kee (again mathematics must be used here - remember Kee has two free hands, and Matt has zero). Kee is now free to grab Rowan and aim his gun at her while Matt lies unconscious on the ground.... Is this to be Rowan's last few minutes? What will her last thoughts be? But no! Matt has only been playing dead and has managed to leap up and attempt to choke Kee. This dance of death continues until a great blaze of light illuminates everything. The cavalry has arrived, and somewhere a shot rings out resulting in a well timed gunshot to Kee's neck. I'm assuming these are the 'people' who Matt mentioned earlier. Whoever they are (the anti-commie brigade? a rival gardening party?), they've come to save the day, and have an ambulance with them.

So, I'm handing the last section over to you. Make it a good one.

Part 30 - the end of a marathon and a decaying foot

2009-11-16T17:26:00.000-05:00

Sea,

It was strange digging into my box of manuscripts and taking the second-to-the-last one out to read. It finally feels like we're going to make it. This rivals my first marathon in terms of the sense of accomplishment. Holy shit, I just saw a mouse and almost had a heart attack. That's the first mouse I've ever seen in my studio. I think he or she came out when I turned the radio off to write, thinking it was safe to come nibble on some tubes of Prussian blue paint. Because both my parents leaped onto furniture whenever they saw a mouse, I'm forever scarred...and scared. I've never been able to shake my fear. Seeing your brawny father nearly wet his pants at the sight of a helpless golf ball-size rodent will change a man, you know?

So Rowan is cowering in the putrid mushroom bed when her foot slips out from under her. Trying to free herself she digs into the muck and finds a badly decayed human foot. So that's macabre. This causes Rowan to scream, which gives her location away. Within seconds she's surrounded by flashlights. The thugs drag her, still retching, into a room where Cater is being held captive. He has welts on his head and cigarette burns up his arm. For such a stylized and generally inert buildup, the details of torture and death have been quite convincing. Maybe Ms. Lamb has a sadistic side that she needed to let loose.

Apparently the jellied body parts are Ah Sing's, the "laid-off" greenhouse employee. I'll say. I wonder if he qualifies for unemployment. They are Communists after all. He should at least get a state funeral. The group then conducts what played out in my head as a clichéd prisoner/captor exchange, where a pointed gun and an inexcusably long explanation of the crook's motive lasts just long enough for the captors to escape...Cater suddenly looked like harmonica-era Bruce Willis to me. Only, our captors haven't escaped...yet. Wow, though, the blood thirst of Lucy. She seems REALLY anti-social now. All the words wasted by Lamb on her inner-psyche are now out the window; she's turned from disturbed, complex, reluctant crime syndicate leader to Jeff Daumer. I think she might make a pate out of Sing's foot. I'm surprised she doesn't have cats; people that crazy HAVE to have cats. Anyway, as she's waxing sadistic with Rowan and Matt, she admits to shooting and killing Reshevksy...so that's official. Our first real loss so far. I kinda liked that guy.

In an attempt to extract information from Matt, Lucy approaches Rowan to start the torture session. It seems they don't actually believe Rowan knows anything, but are using the couple's mutual love as leverage. This actually redeems the story a bit, because there was really no good reason for the network to be hatin' on Rowan.

Just as Lucy is about to tee off on Rowan, my section ends. I don't know if it was seeing the mouse or reading the story, but my blood's flowing.

Tell me more, Cee.

part 29 - another field trip, the Immaculate Virgin and an axe

2009-11-03T19:03:00.002-05:00

I can't believe this will be the second to last section I will have to convey to you - it's become quite a pleasant part of my week. Everything from re-reading your emails to me and trying to decipher your baseball analogies, to thumbing through the typewritten manuscript with the oddly frenetic red pen editing, has been very comforting. But I admit, these last few pages have been much more fun to read compared to the doldrums of the middle 80 pages where much of the joy I derived was from Rowan's eating habits (see entry re. grapefruit).

Yesterday's semi-surreal field trip has only cemented my feeling that I have absolutely no idea what is going on in this project. One minute we're trying to figure out how to make this into a book project; the next we're at the Mission of the Immaculate Virgin on Staten Island, where happy orphans used to plant beans and cabbage on the farm in order to earn their keep. Every single person we met yesterday was like a character study from a Coen Brother's movie - from the pensioners at the diner counter to the blue haired secretary, and of course Bill D'Ambrosio. And you know what else I learned? Staten Island has some very well kept turf fields - nothing like the dust bowl where kids play football in my neighborhood park.

But back to Rowan. What on earth is the point of capturing her? Why would Aunt Lucy even invite her to Pleasant Plains in the first place? What information could she possibly have that would be worth disposing of a body for? Smart villains and heroin addictions clearly do not mix. How's that for a Public Service Announcement? 'She used to be a really good villain... really knew her stuff, could torture the hell out of anyone!... but now... all she wants to do is sit there and inject smack...'

We begin my section with her about to lunge for the axe. I am clueless as to why Reshevsky has suddenly decided to release her - are her feminine wiles that great? Regardless, Reshevsky has taken on the mannerisms of the most cliched Bond criminal (or is he now a hero?) by declaring his intentions to plunge the entire greenhouse into darkness 'with one movement!'. And with that, he throws the master switch, which is Rowan's cue to grab the axe and decapitate Kee. However, Kee has already pounced at Reshevsky and chaos ensues. Rowan is ineffective (what else is new) and only manages to slam the axe into a wall, so she flees through the dark greenhouse instead, hearing gunshots on her way out... It seems as though her count is a goner.

This section does finally let the author write some flowery (hah) prose comparing the texture of Kee's skin to the waxy feel of the unseen orchid petals that brush up against her.

Rowan is trapped in the greenhouse - unable to find a way out, with a variety of Asian henchmen (yes we make awesome henchmen - in fact I'm going to start up a business 'henchmen for rent') all out to get her while Kee and Aunty Lucy yell out orders. Unfortunately in the melee, she manages to crawl towards the poisonous plant wing, the wing with no door (cue more ominous scary music)! Oleanders make another appearance, as do some stinky fungi. Just as Rowan thinks she's safe though the stench of some noxious plant threatens to overcome her...

no rest for the weary.

part 28 - cold weekend, and a potassium cyanide tablet

2009-11-03T19:02:00.005-05:00

Cee,

No fair, you got the juciest five-page section yet. But I'll take it if it means we've finally turned the corner and the last thirty pages will be an unending string of car chases, knife fights, tipped fruit stands and boiling rabbits.

By the way, you know I feel your pain about the cold; I barely left the house this weekend. I felt crummy and still don't know if it was temperature provoked malaise or an actual bug, but whatever it was it led to an incredibly unproductive two days. And sorry for missing your open studio - that was one of my planned events. In spite of any amount of unbearably cold weather, I have to say that one should only wear UA gear if you can answer "yes" to two of the following, you: own a snowmobile and can do tricks on it, are a professional defensive back, have three boys under ten years old who need a masculine real-life role model to get them to stop watching wrestling on tv, watch Rock of Love with Brett Michaels, listen to Creed, have hit someone in the head with a beer bottle or given fist bumps in job interviews. I'm guessing "no," so I'd encourage you to go shopping for some gore-tex.

As you'd expect, the adventure continues in my section. Reshevsky proves a reluctant captor, dividing his time between guarding Rowan and professing his affection for her. I have to say, I agree with you about the strangeness of the unfolding action, but I do think it makes literal sense. The problem is not literally deciphering what's happening, but reconciling the innocuousness of Rowan's actions with the comparative severity of the consequences. I guess you could make the case that Rowan was paranoid and delusional but just happened to have her paranoid fears confirmed and then almost willed a reaction by telling Reshevsky and Cater. But I mean, c'mon, didn't one of them have to be involved? She's confessing to one-fourth of the staff. Imagine if you're a paranoid shut-in constantly thinking someone is going to break into your apartment and murder you and your family; you may sleep with an eye open for fifty years straight, confirming how nuts you are to everyone who knows you. But, out of the millions of those paranoids in the world, somewhere someone's delusional premonitions will eventually be confirmed when an axe-murderer breaks into their house, chopping them into stew meat. For 999,999 people, they'll have to end their lives thinking they might have been just a bunch of basket cases, but for that one, as the axe is coming down on his head, he's saying, "goddamit, I TOLD you so. Why wouldn't you listen to me!"

Maybe that one is Rowan. Yeah, I can hear you in my ear saying she has more reasons than my uncle Doug to be paranoid, but still, you get the idea.

Reshevsky presents something of a monologue as he's standing over a bound Rowan. He rambles about having learned to be callous as a defense mechanism, and how Rowan's sweetness penetrated his armored exterior. And, alas, he cannot allow them to torture her for the little information she has. So he unties her and supplies her with an escape route. He mentions also that he will not do anything about Cater, who means "less than nothing" to him. Aware of what will happen to him when the brass finds out he let a captive escape, Reshevsky reveals a potassium cyanide tablet that he'll take if Kee tries to get all Michael Madsen on him. But before they can hatch the plan to free Rowan, Kee steps in and questions why Rowan's mouth is not gagged. Reshevsky stands up to Kee and they go back and forth throwing insults at each other, James Bond style. During the volley, Kee alludes to Lucy torturing Cater to get information out of him, and that they are ready to waterboard Rowan into spilling what she knows.

This is the problem: the lead up to this point has been so breezy that it is shocking to find that the gang is actually proceeding with plans to torture and murder the two agitators. It is also curious that Rowan was invited to the Greenhouse for a vacation, while a top, and not well kept, secret plan was going on in the backyard. It's not like Rowan was pulling any CSI maneuvers on the farm. She cried when her beans were limp and had 37 dollars in her pocket and she STILL uncovered their criminal network. John Wayne Gacy never hosted Tupperware parties. Maybe that's a problem stemming from trying to run a criminal empire while hooked on smack.

I found myself envisioning most of the events in this section as if they were from a scene in an early 90's Tom Berringer-style action movie. I think it was Shoot to Kill with Sidney Poitier, but am not totally sure. This was no-doubt cultivated by the conventional crime-movie plot details: bound prisoners, garrulous, philosophical captors, mid-escape surprises, etc.. And that had me recall the scene in Don DeLillo's White Noise where Jack and Murray go to visit the MOST PHOTOGRAPHED BARN in America and end up taking pictures of people taking pictures; agreeing as it were to be part of a "collective perception." How can you read something afresh when you already KNOW IT as a stereotype?

Anyway...the final scene involves Reshevsky trying to give hand signals to Rowan behind his back as he's negotiating with Kee. Something about the power switch and pointing to the nearby axe.....maybe Rowan will try to steal third base and end up getting offed by her Aunt in a rundown.

Only you can tell me if she does, Cee. (I'm watching the Yankees game while writing this, clearly)

Batter up.

Part 27 - a smackdown in Under Armour.

2009-10-22T12:10:00.002-04:00

Oh Shane, my section is precious. I read it greedily over my bowl of morning oatmeal (oatmeal - not a luxury, but unfortunately I still don't find it particularly tasty), and would have laughed several times out loud, was it not for my mouthful of breakfast. And what a miserable morning it is; I had been looking forward to our field trip to Staten Island but standing around in a suburban wasteland in rainy 45 degree weather sounds terrible.

Which reminds me I need to buy some Under Armour leggings for my trek this upcoming January. I think we've bonded before over our hatred of cold weather and every additional year I spend away from subtropical climate, I am reminded that I am a creature of warmth.

None of what happens in my five pages makes sense, but I was so desperate for a change of pace - something other than the lovesick pining of a 24 year old girl - that every single delicious detail was savored, licked and swallowed whole.

Our Rowan awakes, groggy and in pain, finding herself gagged and tied at the wrists and ankles, in the shack where the generator is in the back of the Greenhouse. She finds a Korean gardener guarding her ... um, weren't they all supposed to Chinese gardeners? are we all interchangeable in 1960's America? And who else! It's Reshevsky! Dum dum dum de dum... ominous 'I knew it!' music plays... He barks at the gardener, telling him that the orders have changed, and he, Reshevsky is supposed to be in charge of the girl now. While this exchange takes place Rowan kicks herself for betraying herself to Reshevsky while simultaneously worrying about Matt. Was he being tortured? is he bound and gagged? is this supposed to turn into a weird erotic novel as I had proposed it would in the beginning?

Just as Rowan begins to worry about Matt she overhears Reshevsky imperiously tell the Korean to go tend to the other man with the questioning (and the Korean obeys, just as 'his peasant ancestors no doubt obeyed their Emperor').

Its interesting to note that Rowan never doubted that Matt was also in custody. If I suddenly found myself poisoned, gagged and held prisoner in a shack I have a feeling I would think everyone was in on the plot - but then again maybe I've never been in love with Matt Cater.

Reshevsky then proceeds to remove her gag and in the manner of the James Bond villain proceeds to tell her everything about the evil plot. What a wonderfully convenient plot device, especially as we only have 30 pages left in the novel. One tasty little morsel we discover is that Reshevsky wishes Kee would use scopolamine (a truth serum!) on Cater, rather than traditional pain.

Reshevsky, like all gentleman villains, of course confesses he thoroughly enjoyed Rowan's company, and considered her a real friend. And like all gentleman villains, he has a dark past which has forced him into his current role - apparently he dabbled in espionage (much like someone would perhaps dabble in recreational drugs?) when younger... he flippantly references some sort of 'treaty'. It was Rowan's aunt who found him, and manipulated him, which would be a fairly standard plot turn, if it not for the fact that Reshevsky reveals that her aunt is a heroin addict! A junkie! This was the cause of one of my near-breakfast accidents with the oatmeal.

Ah ha! it all comes together ... the found needle... her aunt's odd emotional turns... Could it be? Have her aunt and Kee been shipping heroin, or perhaps poppies, out of the greenhouse? Are they the modern Taliban?

It was that needle that Rowan found that made her aunt want to kill her (although exactly why Rowan needs to be tied up, and Matt tortured and interrogated is still beyond me - its not like Rowan had figured anything out). It seems like Kee and the aunt have a habit of eliminating characters though - Ah Sing's disappearance was credited to Kee, and in a crossed out section I'm able to make out that Milly's predecessor (who is that by the way?) also had a habit of 'listening at keyholes', thus necessitating an elimination.

Anyway, this is fun stuff. I'm looking forward to your next section. I have no clue how on earth Rowan's aunt, who is apparently a junkie gardener trying to smuggle things clandestinely from her greenhouse, would even bother with the trouble of killing Rowan.

Part 26 - Monopoly with Timothy Leary and Danielle Steele

2009-10-08T13:09:00.009-04:00

Cee ditty,

So, just like that, after most of 24 chapters with barely a gasp's worth of real drama, the ice is broken...

I had little hope for my section when it picked up with the Count and Rowan playing an uncompetitive game of Monopoly. The second half of your final sentence "I would have..." by the way, is, "been even more amazed at the nonchalant ease of Reshevsky at the game." So that didn't bode well for a nail-bitey five pages. It looked to be going in the same direction as the last few sections: dialing up the dramatic tension and releasing the pressure uneventfully in a rambling interior monologue by our helpless protagonist. But not this time.

The Monopoly game is interrupted by an icy dinner in which Aunt Lucy urges Rowan to be prepared for her morning flight. "We wouldn't want to miss it, now, would we, dear?" Lucy warns. Rowan responds like an impudent teenager, "I imagine not." When I read this, I envisioned Rowan as Akayla Herzberg. Rowan bolts from dinner abruptly and goes upstairs to pack her belongings "with no pretense at efficiency." She packs like I do when returning from a beery trip to Barcelona; by hurriedly throwing everything in a single bag to sort it out at a later date. In the packing frenzy, Rowan's mind drifts, as it often does, toward thoughts of Cater's arms. She wonders if it would be better to cancel the 10 PM meeting with him...no, the phones can't be trusted...and how sweet it'd be to be in his grasp one last time. Ahhhh, like a warm bath.

The passage that follows rivals Danielle Steele in its schmalziness. Rowan describes in maudlin detail her feelings of infatuation. She talks of "quickened heartbeats" and "shivering inside (changed by the editor to 'up and down') my spine" and "strange bonds of mutual acceptance..." Yuck! The whole monologue went down like a Richard Marx song. I hadn't squirmed in my seat so much since I went to see Beaches with Tracy Tapp in 10th grade. Without going to much sappy detail, we'll suffice it to say that Rowan harbors thoughts of a productive future with Matt 'the doctor' Cater.

After packing her things, Rowan heads downstairs to resume the Monopoly game in anticipation of her tryst with Matt. Rowan goes quiet and Reshevsky nervously chain smokes as the clock closes in on 10. Interestingly, Lamb initially writes, "[Reshevsky] smoked cigarette after cigarette only to impatiently stub each one out before ten puffs were taken." The editor takes the liberty of changing "five" to "ten," apparently realizing that ten puffs would come pretty close to getting through a cigarette and would therefor be unremarkable as a sign of nervousness.

Rowan finally decides to make her escape into the damp evening. Reshevsky covers her. She arrives to the copse of trees on the other side of the flagstone walk a little early and congratulates herself on her puncuality. Just then the bushes rustle. Rowan, as would be expected, assumes it's Cater. Just like that, a whistle goes off, dark figures surround her and a pair of rough hands grab her by the hair and yank her backward. She gasps in pain, kicks violently only to be subdued as a cold needle enters her bicep. She hears Cater calling for her, but not before consciousness yields to a field of rainbows and pinwheels...maybe Timothy Leary is the culprit.

Then all goes black...Maybe Rob Halford is the culprit.

We got a game. Don't go to bed yet, Cee.

Have at it..

Part 25 - roast duck and inaction

2009-10-08T13:08:00.003-04:00

Holy crap - how on earth did I get stuck with the most boring 5 pages in the entire novel? No - I cannot offer you anything that will make your blood churn, your eyes widen, nor even anything to arouse any other part of you, despite the promise of the previous chapter's sensual dancing.

My section begins with our dear Rowan wandering down to the kitchen where she tries to engage Mrs.Chow in conversation, but duck roasting isn't particularly interesting to Rowan so she leaves. Actually what I would like to do is reconstruct a whole meal based on all the food items that are mentioned in the book. I don't feel as though I've learnt anything about poisonous plants yet, but have learnt so much about haute cuisine of the late 1960's. Until then, here's a video of Anthony Bourdain eating roast duck in Beijing:

Rowan then continues her meandering, and heads towards the greenhouse. There she bumps into workmen who are busy hauling pots of orchids about; 'Cattleyas Trianae' to be exact. It appears that her aunt is preparing for some large shipment to San Francisco (or so she says.... the complete lack of action thus far has made me imagine dark back stories and plot twists into every mundane detail.). It's at this point that her aunt tells her that she's had Kee arrange for a morning flight back to San Francisco for her! Hooray! Reshevsky (who is also in the greenhouse) gives Rowan the sign for 'all is okay' - the circling of the thumb and forefinger. I was going to write the 'universal' sign for okay, but thanks to Wikipedia, I've been put straight. Do not make that sign in Turkey or Venezuala as you will be referring to the anus of a homosexual man. Unless you were maybe looking for one, in which case, you're all set.

So there we have it - Rowan's biggest problem has now been solved, thanks to Reshevsky's persuasive ways. Her aunt has bought her a ticket back to San Francisco for her. That's it. No more mention of the Reds, or of odd glass syringes and poisonous plants. All Rowan has to occupy herself with is this upcoming meeting with Matt Cater.

The last paragraph of my section becomes surreal - the author begins to comment on the complete lack of action going on in the novel. This insertion of an external evaluation of the lack of momentum of the plot is the first I've seen so far. The author has Rowan and Reshevsky converse about how they should spend their rest of the day. Should they play bridge? No - apparently Reshevsky thinks its an appalling game. They will play Monopoly instead! And that is what they did - for the next FIVE hours.My section does end with the sentence 'if I had known during the game what I found out soon after, I would have....'.

so you're up. give me something to work with other than images of consommes and roast duck.

Part 24 - a non Eureka moment, a breathless young woman and gyrating dancing

2009-10-08T13:07:00.003-04:00

Cee Mak,

Unfortunately, Reshevsky's Eureka moment is a bit of a dud, more of a Topeka moment. Problem is, like much of the story so far, there is no clear danger or restriction to have to plan around, which tends to remove the potential for creative subterfuge. I keep having to ask myself what the conflict is, and my amazement doesn't cease whenever I realize that it is simply that her aunt won't let her go home. Meanwhile she's going to discotheques with a Russian count until the wee hours. Kee isn't tailing them with a gun; no one's threatening her family; there's been no horse heads found in her bed.

Reshevsky's plan is, get this, to leave the breathless young woman A MESSAGE. Yes, do that, leave a message, Rowan. So she leaves a message that Cater should meet her at 10 P.M. Reshevsky's great idea is his choosing of a spot that would not be conspicuous: their house. Because she is staying there and no one will get suspicious. That's the clever idea! If Rowan lives through this, I'll bet she ends up dying in five years while viewing the end of Planet of the Apes when Charlton Heston happens upon the Statue of Liberty - it'll be too much of a mindfuck for her and "boom" her heart will shoot out her nose.

In the process of enlisting Reshevsky, Rowan ends up divulging some details about her situation to him, the indiscretion of which only hits her the next morning. That's because Rowan is shitfaced. Her and the Count go to a dance club filled with "oddly gyrating young men and women," which Reshevsky has a "degenerate urge to enjoy." Typical Russian Count, geez, they're all the same. Afterwards, Rowan passes out in the car (I think this is a reflex when returning to Staten Island) and wakes the next morning with dry mouth and no memory of disrobing. This part I could truly relate to.

The next morning, Millie approaches Rowan and secretively tells her that she's been instructed not to speak to her. When this happens Rowan notes that "Reshevsky is "one of them." For a moment I was very surprised, feeling that I had missed a crucial detail. And, actually, I still don't know how Millie not being able to talk to Rowan implicates Reshevsky. Do you know? For a few short pages I thought we had a real plot twist, but towards the end of my section Rowan reconsiders the circumstances, and comes to believe the restriction could be part of a "general plan" that would not necessarily suggest the Count's involvement in a conspiracy. Would SOMEONE just do something decisive, already! I need hands in blenders, bodies in bags, "paws" in car grills. Give me some action, pleeease. I'm a slow-movie kind of guy; I sat through "Windwalker," viewed "The English Patient" twice in one night on and even got through a half an hour of Andy Warhol's, "Empire," before giving up, but EVERYONE has limits.

There's a funny passage at the end of my section:

Rowan asks Kee where Reshevsky is: "He is in the Greenhouse with Mrs. Dickson today," said the Chinese.

It's been a while since I could call someone "the Chinese" and not have to regret it.

I was watching Gilligan's Island the other day - remember I'm jobless - and something occurred to me. When I watched G.I. as a kid, I anticipated them getting rescued on every show, until, of course, Gilligan would forget to fasten something and the S.S. Minnow would sink in the lagoon. It wasn't until I was 11 or 12 that I began to see the show from a structural perspective, realizing that for the show to be sustainable as a revenue generator, the crew had to remain marooned indefinitely (it was only after the show was cancelled that they finally left...an escape that somehow involved the Harlem Globetrotters.) When I realized this, G.I. stopped being interesting to me. It was a moment of enlightenment. Similarly, to this day I can't stand Liam Neeson because, around the time I stopped watching G.I., I saw him on a talk show and realized that the entire interview was scripted. I lost my media virginity to Liam Neeson and Bob Denver. So that sucks.

But about the Greenhouse; to enjoy reading it I think I have to channel my inner 10 year old that could watch Scooby Doo or read Hardy Boys all day and feel completely enveloped by the world they created. The Mystery of the Chinese Junk seemed exotic and dangerous with all the Chinese boats, smugglers and New York harbors. A few years ago I tried to read it again for nostalgia and realized that it is essentially the same as every other HB book. But when I was eight it didn't matter, all l I needed was a secure plot scaffold to hang various settings and details. The Arctic Patrol Mystery put me in Reykjavik; the Mystery of the Aztec Warrior transported me to Mexico. While the Clock Ticked put me...by a clock I guess, but it was awesome.

If I could read the Greenhouse as a 9 year old, I think it would be quite intriguing.

Now, if Reshevsky's in on it and there's actually some action going down, I'll hit my next section like a 25 year old.

Give me something good, Cee.

-s

Part 23 - porcupines and a Eureka moment

2009-10-08T13:05:00.013-04:00

Shane,

Its now my turn to be off the radar for a while. We're heading up to the Adirondacks for a 5 day camping trip in the High Peaks region. So, not so much booze-soaked, as say sweat and dirt covered, and probably craving an ice cold beer by day 2. Hopefully I'll see a couple of porcupines. Have I mention I'm now obsessed with trying to find real porcupines? Growing up in Hong Kong the extent of my exposure to animals was the occasional field trip to a 'farm', and coming across cows (which are amazing climbers by the way) when hiking.And speak of cows and Hong Kong, I came across this wonderfully cute story about a woman trying to save wild cows:

http://www.timeout.com.hk/big-smog/features/22176/hongkonger-yeung-yeung-founder-of-cows-home.html

Your note passing story reminded me of the elaborately constructed systems children concoct for themselves - how everything seemed to be so important, and every step so critical to some final, indeterminate goal. I think I was too much of a conscientious (a word that I'm pretty sure was on most of my school reports) student to pass notes, but I have this awesome memory of building this complicated structure out of rulers, pencils, books etc with the guy who sat

next to me in 3rd grade, so that we could borrow each others erasers/ color pencils/ pencil sharpener, without ever reaching over and using our hands - some type of Fischl-Weiss device.

Regarding the private/ public nature of this blog and this project in general, I often wonder how much of has to do with the nature of typing onto a computer versus say, having to hand-write all our correspondance. I'm going to demand that one of our correspondances be done via snail mail. It'll be an interesting comparison.

But even beyond the mechanics of how this project is done, the whole nature of this project is really about us inserting ourselves into what should have been a discarded, private manuscript. We've given ourselves carte blanche to freely comment (and criticize) this foetal manuscript, snidely projecting our own memories and re-enactments on this proto-book.

But hell, how awesome the ride has been.

Anyway, speaking of rides.... as we begin my section, Kee is is driving Reshevsky and our Rowan down Third Avenue to some club, where throngs of decadent young people undulate to music, and Reshevsky has some table reserved for him with champagne (sounds like a typical night at one of those terrible Meatpacking bars). Rowan is clearly very happy to have her champagne flute constantly refilled, and as the night continues, she finds Reshevsky's company more and more enjoyable, and the decadence of the club more acceptable. It's wonderful how alcohol affects all people the same regardless of what decade they live in . Under the guise of going to use the ladies room, she finds a phone that is shielded from Reshevsky and dials the number that supposedly is Matt Cater's. Unfortunately some breathless sounding young woman answers who is unable to tell Rowan where Matt is, or when he'll be back. And dear old Rowan, manages to even feel jealous for this unknown woman who may simply be his answering service.

Back at the table, she promptly BURSTS into tears in front of Reshevsky and is unable to calm herself down. She then proceeds to break down and after some cursory prodding by Reshevsky, she breaks down and tells him that her aunt won't let her leave, there's some sort of unsavoury business abound and Matt had promised he would help. Reshevsky remains icily calm, and insists that he will try to help her. And as luck would have it, at the very bottom of my last page, he has a Eureka moment - snaps his fingers and says ....

You're up. Don't let me down. I must know what Reshevsky's brilliant plan is.

Part 22 - back from Portland, high school flashbacks and fancy French food

2009-10-08T13:04:00.009-04:00

Cee,

Sorry to be off the radar for a few days. I went to Portland, Oregon and, well aware of the social (read: booze-soaked) nature of my trip, thought better of taking any sections of the manuscript with me.

I had a really interesting flashback while writing my last entry that I forgot to mention. This whole

process reminded me of how I used to exchange notes with a girl in high-school. Her name was/is Tobi Wilson. I tried to contact her to see if she saved any of them, but no luck. I remember trying to make these correspondences multi-media works of art, with lists and drawings and gossip and all kinds of ephemera stuck to them. I think I blocked it out of my mind for a long time because it's a bit emasculating to imagine myself passing fastidiously decorated notes around to girls I wasn't intimate with, but as I thought about it longer, I realized such feelings of embarrassment are just layers of affectation I've accumulated since I was 15. I think I was so natural then that it's humiliating to think of how I acted. I picture myself as a chimpanzee in front a crowd of onlooking families at a zoo with a giant erection, and completely unselfconscious. It begs the question whether socialization makes you better or worse. Kind of a Hobbes/Locke

conundrum, I guess.

I'll post the notes if Ms. Wilson provides them.

It was only after a friend of mine read the blog that the private nature of the correspondence resonated with me. I've been writing pretty much willy-nilly and uninhibited, then this guy mentioned something I wrote, and it hit me that I was doing less-editing that I do for say my Brooklyn Rail reviews, which I have to say I pour over with a lot of scrutiny. I recognized it was how I wrote when I was 15....and then I considered what I would do if everyone I knew right now got a hold of my notes from 1991 and how different that is than what I'm doing with this manuscript of the Greenhouse. Hmmmm...

These thoughts are especially true in sections like my most recent, because, though most of this book exists in the public record, the edited section feel very private. The one time my editorial notes were actually reprinted in an art review, I was mortified...though it says a lot that people couldn't distinguish them from art speak. But it still felt like a breach of privacy for some reason.

So to the plot...

Like I said, a lot of it's crossed out; it looks like some kind of pre 9/11 security briefing that was redacted. Lucky for my nosey nature, red colored pencil is semi transparent and most of it is still legible.

As I pick up, James Kee, Reshevsky and our young heroine are dumped into lower Manhattan at Battery Park. They move at a snail's pace up the west

side (how about that for realism), until Reshevsky gets impatient and jumps out of the car, escorting Rowan the last few blocks to Chez Whateveritis.

When they arrive they take a table for two and order a bottle of Graves '62, which from very basic Google-research, is apparently a classic. Reshevksy peacocks his "gastronomic pedantry" as Rowan stews about where in the joint the phone is. Because of her preoccupation, she apparently throws manners and decorum to the wind and acts, according to the Count as a "greedy little girl."

I love how in 1970 all the good food consisted of standard dishes named after a creator or a point of origin. For dinner Reshevsky had Oiseaux De Veux and Rowan picked nervously at a sole almondine. And they shared crepes suzette for dessert. I was thinking about all the throw back dishes: lobster themador, bananas foster, clams casino, etc. etc. How funny what a prescription it was. So far from clam foam with freeze-dried sweetbreads with bruised rhubarb ragout. Clearly all my knowledge of these dishes comes from Fletch...and clearly I shouldn't become a chef.

Anyway, Rowan slips off to the ladies room and realizes the phone is within eyeshot and cannot make the call without giving herself away. Yoo hoo, use your cell phone sistah!!! I don't know what just happened.

The scene ends, not with a major plot twist, but with Rowan deeply offending Reshevsky by suggesting that he's wasting his life being used as a social pawn. Reshevsky proceeds to excoriate her with all the class you'd expect from a count, which inspires a sulky interior monologue that lingers until the last sentence in my five-page section. Sorry, Cee, I wanted to give you so much more than crepes suzette and sulks.

Oh well.

batter up,

shane

Part 21 - classy French restaurant, swinging discotheques and more of those overbearing pinkos

2009-09-09T21:57:00.005-04:00

Shane,

After the slow build up of the past few sections, I keep on hoping that my five pages will be the one to break the tension. James Kee will throw something at Rowan; someone will have sex; grapefruits will be smashed against walls... Something to clear the humidity and heat from the air. But no. It's another interminable look into our Rowan's inner psyche. Oh thank god I'm not 24 anymore. I hope to God I wasn't so inane. The girl spent half an hour in a 'reverie while drying her hair'. Dreaming about Matt Cater's arms or something.

My section opens with Rowan packing alone and trying to will her way out of her situation, much like a small child would hope that if she thought about things hard enough, they really would come true. And I agree about reading the crossed out portions of text; as well as not being allowed insight into Rowan's grapefruit cutting skills we are also not allowed to find out what she had for lunch after packing (it was consomme and a salad - notice I refuse to use the accent?). She has another unpleasant encounter with James Kee, whose "quintessential Oriental reserve" continues to make her feel uncomfortable. He passive-agressively attacks her about her friendship with Milly the housemaid, who was as you may remember, injured by the mysterious glass needle. This of course puts Rowan's panties in a twist - her letter to her fiance! It's with Milly! And by the way, is this a current fiancee or a former fiancee?

Rowan waits anxiously for Milly to return from her lunch break in order to see if she was stopped by James on her way out. In fact nothing of the kind seemed to have happened - Milly went out for lunch with her mysterious boyfriend (who drives a battered panel truck), and is all giggly upon her return; mission letter-delivery accomplished. Operation sex-up Milly-the-maid accomplished as well, it seems.

I do think we should keep up the field trips though - I have a feeling that the expedition Reshevsky takes her on this momentuous evening will be a fun one to replicate. It's decided! Instead of my usual weekend brooklyn-based debauchery, I will instead demand that my man take me to some frou-frou French restaurant followed by a visit to a discotheque. And the name of this restaurant must be 'Chez Giselle'.

Unfortunately for Rowan though, James is the designated driver and chaperone for the evening, leading Rowan to contemplate whether this was a deliberate ploy on her aunt's part to spy on her... Frankly I'm disappointed with my five pages. Again none of the relevant questions were answered, and for someone who is desperate to get out of her aunt's house, she seems to be quite happy to go on elaborate excursions with Reshevsky, a man who she is supposed to feel mild repulsion for. Oh to be twenty-four again.... trapped in your aunt's house and the subject of an elaborate smuggling scheme concocted by Chinese Reds....

part 20 - Thirty Eight Dollars and Seven Cents

2009-08-31T23:27:00.010-04:00

Cee,

I agree, the terror mechanics are a little underengineered. The book keeps telling us that there's danger and terror and plotting and evil, but if you really think about it, Rowan's stay at Pleasant Valley Farms is less menacing than any of the art fairs I did with the gallery...okay, bad example. Less menacing than most of my vacations with my friends; she hasn't even landed in the ER yet. Someone did die, though, I guess that's somewhat traumatic. But since Chao's death, there's not much to suggest that Rowan is in any significant danger. What would a bunch of Communist Chinese smugglers want from a sexy 24 year old bird of a girl who gets paralyzed whenever Lucy furrows her brow anyway?

Even if Rowan did want to leave, it appears that she's a little cash poor to do so. She has thirty-eight dollars and seven cents in her purse. I'm not Chuck Schwab, and it isn't 1972, but I think it's a bad sign, when asked how much money one has, to provide that figure in any denomination smaller than a country's primary unit of currency. And, given her activities over the past week at PPF, one wonders where and how she spent the money that would've gotten her a plane ticket back to San Fran. I haven't noticed many financial temptations along the way so far - if she only brought fifty bucks to the farm as it appears may have been the case, maybe she deserves to be made the bitch of a bunch of Red Chinese poison plant smugglers.

Rowan's solution for liberating herself from the farm is to write a secret letter to her fiancée requesting he purchase her a plane ticket (BTW, I know how to type an accent aigu only from representing Nicola López at CGFA...what a treasure chest of knowledge I came away with.) His name is/was Ted, but the editor crossed out that tidbit as superfluous. This brings up another interesting note about this project and how the transparency of the editing has changed the way we process the text. I assume you've probably read most of the out-stricken sections of the manuscript. It seems to me that whenever Lamb tries to provide any kind of description that isn't immediately relevant, it gets taken out of the book by the editor. For instance, a whole section of part 20 is removed that describes how Lucy sections and eats a grapefruit half. Sure, this isn't relevant to the plot, but it is indirectly, as Lucy's psychological complexion and manner add texture to the story. Perhaps the editor would let her get away with flourishes of detail if the nuts and bolts of the story had more integrity. I'm reading that book by James Wood, "How Fiction Works," and he talks about how Flaubert was a genius at confusing habitual detail with dynamic detail. Flaubert wrote as if the narrator's (author's) remarks were passive and arbitrary when he was actually subtly shaping the structure of novel without the reader feeling manipulated. Wood talks about how this tendency is one of the defining qualities of modern fiction. This is obviously part of what makes the Greenhouse so cartooney; because we aren't allowed to see how the hands of the characters section their grapefruits, or how they spend the moments between the moments. Except, that is, for the one scene at Reshevsky's apartment, where some of the details slipped by Lamb's literary goal keeper. That's why I liked it. More grapefruit, I say!

The next day Rowan lights a ciggy and, as she snuffs it out, she notices that the glass and needle she placed next to the ashtray are gone. Can you imagine a naive, virginal heroine in a pulpy crime novel today being a smoker? Reds and Marlboro Reds, even the Cincinnati Reds, aren't what they were in 1972 (they went to the World Series that year, I think.) We must be in Western Civilization's blue period...

The needle-and glass-morsel does appear to be a key piece of information, but it seems as if, like many other seemingly significant events, to be simply getting batted around for effect...like it keeps getting dramatic close ups with evil music, but never amounts to anything. I wonder if it will ever have actual significance. Maybe the dropped keys, the needle and the first prowler will all come back around into some Usual Suspects-like crescendo of an ending. Imagine writing a whole book strung together with clichéd (accent aigu..SCORE!) images that only get deflected further into the novel and then dropped altogether. Call it an A.D.D. novel. Wouldn't that be a great act of neo-estrangement?

My section ends with Reshevsky insisting that he take Rowan out for an "opulent" evening of dining and nightclubbing. Here we go again. The social dynamic between these two seems to be the sole plot-propulsion system the Greenhouse has. It's kind of a Pepe Le Pew-fictional-activity-engine. After some of his by now characteristic flatter/badgering, Rowan submits to Nick's insistences. After capitulating she retires to her room to primp and en-route gives Millie the letter to mail to her ex-fiancée (accent aigu...SCORE AGAIN!!.)

Rowan then thinks to herself, as she often does, that she just needs to get through the evening and then things will be fine. Someday just won't come, will it?

You're up, Cee.

Part 19 - a rejection, some banana bread and a dangerous needle

2009-08-28T00:53:00.008-04:00

hey there,

It's been a week of odd ups and downs. Wednesday's trip to the Tibetan Museum was a definite highlight and of course, trying to plan out when we can visit the author is a huge motivating factor, as well. Today's email from the Sculpture Center about our rejected proposal was a bigger downer than a toxic mixture of Quaalude tossed down with a big glass of red wine. Not that I see it as a death knell for this project - in fact this project probably has more steam than I realise - but I'm getting very sick of project proposals being returned to me because the pool of applicants in New York City is several hundred times the available slots. Oh well.

I decided instead of moping around my studio where it is probably about 95F right now, I would work in the comparative coolness of my apartment and bake some banana bread. The last time I was unemployed I also took to baking. So far I've made two different types of banana bread and zucchini bread. I wonder if Rowan bakes....

It's been an exciting day its been for our heroine. Before I delve into matters about Rowan, on a sidenote, I love that the organization are the Chinese Reds. What on earth is their motive? Are they trying to gain control of the poisonous plants in the greenhouse? Take over Staten Island for use as their headquarters, ridding the land of the lawn-mowing, semi-detached house owning, bourgeoisie? Replacing well manicured lawns with proletariat run farms? Interesting side note; Reshevsky is the descendent of Russian royalty, too. I have to remember that at the time of this book, the Cold War was still very much on everyone's mind. But seriously... why on earth is Rowan in danger? what the hell is her role in all of this?

As we begin my section we find Rowan in the shower (nothing steamy, however.) As she's exiting, she hears Milly the maid knocking, asking for a band-aid for a nasty cut on her finger, which was caused by a nasty piece of long broken glass while she was sweeping the aunt's bedroom. They recover the offending instrument - it's an odd thing - a piece of broken glass attached to a long hollow needle similar to other needles she had seen in the greenhouse (this is a key piece of information.)

At dinner that night, which is a large formal affair, leaving Rowan uncomfortable in her 'tube dress', her Aunt as usual barely pays any attention to Rowan, except for when Rowan remarks that it's a shame the servants don't have access to things like Band Aids to patch up bad cuts caused by errant pieces of glass needles. this gets her aunt's attention - she becomes simultaneously menacing and frightened. this is clearly important information for the dear Aunt, and she demands to know what Rowan did with the needle.

It's clear that Rowan's Aunt is not going to let Rowan leave to return to the Bay Area either; rebuffing her attempts to leave in the next day or two and telling her to be 'more patient' (more patient for what?) These actions leave Rowan speechless (as she so very frequently is) and frozen on the staircase.

Oh, and on a final note, I actually pick up steam when I come close to the end of a book. As a child I used to stay up way past my bedtime reading, just because I couldn't bear the thought of waiting another day to finished a book, almost as if the characters would run off into the distant nebulous ether without me, if I fell asleep before finishing the book.

--

Part 18 - baseball analogies and our field trip

2009-08-28T00:17:00.008-04:00

Cee,

I've never been good at finishing books. I wasn't a strong reader when I was young and my attention span was short. Getting through the last 10 percent of a book was always a bit of a struggle. I remember ticking and repeating sentences madly when trying to complete Dandelion Wine in the 9th grade. Mrs. Ruggles to this day probably has no idea how hard it was for me. I imagine it being kind of like the helplessness some people describe in dreams where they're being chased and their legs become too heavy to run away. It's amazing that in someone's own dream they can't summon the will to save themselves. What other force is there in one's head that is sabotaging their imaginary well-being? I have a version of this dream where I'm trying to hit a 3 -2 hanging curve ball over the left field fence to win a baseball game. I see the pitch perfectly, and I hit the ball on a line toward the bleachers, but every time the ball changes directions and falls like lead from the sky. As deep as can go into my subconscious I can't figure out why, or what, is causing this; I want this home run to occur, but there is a force I can't locate that wants something else.

It always confounds me why this happens. Why would humans have any instincts that are self-defeating?

My point is that, as we approach the end, it's actually getting harder to finish, even as I'm more curious and have more at stake. But the trip to the Tibetan Museum yesterday really helped. I think it may be good to do another field trip next week. Maybe we can go to 111th and Riverside drive.

Because we went to the Museum, I had a pre-dressed imaginary stage ready for the ensuing actions to take place on. And actions and bombshells there were. In fact, this section is dense enough to do a list instead of prose.

We learn:

The "organization" is a smuggling ring run by Chinese "Reds." Lamb actually typed "Communist" and the editor switched it to "Reds." How fascinating is that?Cater and Lucy have never had sex. Cater is merely arm candy for Lucy, who only desires the superficial trappings of a glamorous life, and sex, according to Cater would be too "real" for her.

Cater believes he has been "Shanghaied" by his own government.

Reshevksy thinks he ought to have been a scholar.

According to Cater, Rowan is in big danger and should leave the next day while Cater stays to clean up the mess and try to unensnare Lucy from the Pinko Chinese smuggling network.

And, last, we learn that love is in the air between Matt "The Doctor" Cater and Rowan "Laugh-In" Martin.

I hear church bells....if the Reds don't ring their bells first.

The scene ends with Reshesvky driving Rowan back to Pleasant Plains Farms. She is, for very good reason, withdrawn quiet and stewing about what will transpire over the next 48 hours.

So am I, Rowan, so am I.

Next batter, CEEEEEEE MAAAAAAAAAK

Part 17 - shave ice, a gigolo and some kind of an 'organization'

2009-08-20T14:14:00.008-04:00

Shane,

It is quite magnificent news about locating and finding Antonia Lamb. And admittedly a giant relief that she is not:
a) angry that we scrounged through the trash to find this manuscript, and is of the litigious type (at least not yet...)
b) has attributed our collaborative project to some fortuitous meeting of the stars and moon
c) dead

Interviewing her would be a wonderful addition to our back and forth narrative. In fact, I'm already starting to imagine our conversations with her. What type of cookies would she offer us? She lives close to the wine country, so perhaps she would insist on introducing us to a particularly great chardonnay from a new winery in Napa? Or perhaps as an astrologer, we would also get a free astrology reading? (oh by the way, I'm a Saggitarean. I have no idea what you are) .Anyway, on this scorcher of a Monday morning, I'm sitting down to my heavily edited 5 pages. But before we begin, let me tell you how I've been dealing with the heat this week (my studio refuses to cool down below 85F). There's a new shave ice place on Smith and Sackett in Carroll Gardens, 10 blocks from my studio. For about 10 minutes while consuming this heap of sugary and icey goodness, my body is happy. I like how so many different places around the world have developed their own icey treats to deal with summer: from Malaysia to Japan, and Hawaii, and across the globe to Puerto Rico. Ice and sugar together appear to be a universal treat.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Snow_cone

Ok, back to Rowan: about half of my text has been crossed out and typed over - the intensity of the editing has become increasingly visible, most of which seem to involve the exchanges between Reshevsky and Rowan. It's a shame - I enjoy Reshevsky's snide comments, and the ineffective replies that Rowan insists on making.

Reshevsky opens my section by ringing the bell to the Tibetan Museum, where they are welcomed by a Mrs Carruthers, who seems to be an expert on the 'collection' as she will be giving a talk in the house in half an hour. She encourages Rowan to visit the garden first, while she leads Reshevsky to the library. The garden isn't described in much detail other than the stone animals that dot the landscape (5 elephants and some baboons). At the edge of the garden (separated from a steep drop by a wooden gate,) she is surpsied by Matt Cater. Ah ha! it's their long awaited meeting! I'm assuming that since this is where Matt was lying in wait for Rowan, this is the Tibetan Museum. (we should try to recreate this meeting on our Wednesday field trip... dibs, I'm not Rowan).

We are finally allowed some insight into the devellish plot that has been lurking in the background. It turns out Chao enlisted the help and trust of the caretaker (I'm assuming this means Mrs Carruthers), and by proxy this meant she was to trust Matt. And gasp! shock! horror! Chao was murdered! And Matt is his replacement! Apparently Matt had been doing some work for the 'organization' and they asked him to introduce Chao into Aunt Lucy's circle. Dear Rowan still cannot get her hang ups about the romantic connection between Matt and her aunt out of her head, prompting Matt to spell out to her that he is not romantically involved with her, but is merely an ornament - arm candy, as I believe the kids say today. Apparently after Chao was killed, Matt tried to leave town and untangle himself from Lucy, but she had other ideas, and apparently the 'organization' felt it was beneficial that Matt remain within her grasp. It's not made clear what on earth this 'organization' is, but Matt does make a comment where it indicates this organization is government related.

Dear Rowan, instead of asking salient questions such as 'what is this "organization" you speak of?', or 'why would anyone want to kill Chao?', accuses Matt of being a gigolo for his organization.

Apparently Lucy was not interested in love of the physical nature. Her previous marriage was to a man several times her own age, and she led a deadly dull life filled with plants and the such (although you would think such a marriage would lead you to affairs of the flesh.) My portion ends here. I eagerly await your next section... what on earth is this 'organization' that Matt belongs to? What do they want with Aunt Lucy and her plants?

Part 16 - chia pets and meeting the author

2009-08-17T13:38:00.008-04:00

Yo, Cee.

I woke up this morning and ate some barbeque chicken from two nights ago. I made coffee, brushed my teeth and then drank the coffee I just made. I watered my Chia Obama that I found under the seat of a Penske truck I rented two weeks ago. I sopped up the water that ran over the tray on which Mr. Obama sits with two used tube socks. I watched five minutes of Sportscenter. I had another bite of chicken and thought to throw away some pulled pork from last week. I put on a shirt that I got as a gift for getting the New York Times. Hmmm, I think I forgot something I did this morning....oh yeah, between the fistfulls of cold chicken I CALLED ANTONIA LAMB!!!!

I think I was shaking when I pressed "call." The experience was indeed a lot like calling Carol Yake in 9th grade to go to a dance with me, only I wasn't wearing penny loafers and a blue and red striped Gant sweater I bought at Dillards. I did have to psych myself up to complete the task, though. The phone rang three times and I got her answering machine (not voicemail, but answering machine), which relieved me for a split second. I began leaving a jittery and fragmented message when a woman picked up the phone. Then I felt like I did when my dad made me call random people for a health care survey for his dissertation; like I had a hard five seconds to disarm her with my good intentions so she wouldn't hang up and slip away forever. Much like the dance with Carol Yake, there was little to actually be afraid of, except maybe for myself. She was a very gracious, intelligent, generous and spirited soul. I'm not very New Age about how I think of forces in the universe, but if I were, I'd have to say she had a good energy.

The only disappointment was that she was so easygoing and at peace with our project that we don't really have any kind of a wrenching, tragi-romantic conflict to resolve. There's no, the-book-reminds-her-of-her-darker-days-as-an-amphetamine-addicted-writer-living-on-the-Bowery, jive. There's no, you-snarky-little-shits-who-do-you-think-you-are-prying-into-someone-else's-life, biz. She simply would like very much to meet us and talk more about our project. Probably over Toll-House cookies; actually, maybe pot-brownies would be more like it. She said she's an astrologer and a musician in Mendocino, CA. In fact, her third book was finished in Peter Tork's (the Monkee) spare bedroom as he was participating in orgies downstairs. What is the right verb to couple with orgy?? Do you engage in them? Maybe conduct? She seems happy and centered, anyway. It ain't Henry Miller or Charles Bukowski, but it sure made me happy to meet with goodwill.

So that's a little bit awesome.

As for Pleasant Plains Farms, it's significantly less awesome. At least it is in Rowan's mind. Rowan (I should've asked Antonia about the Laugh-In thing. Shit!!) devises a ruse to leave dinner and go outside. Something about leaving her pocketbook in Reshevsky's car. She takes Reshevsky's keys and heads to the birch grove where Cater awaits. It's a lot of buildup for little action, though, as Rowan merely tells Cater that the Tibetan Museum date was postponed until tomorrow, and, as a result so is Cater's transmission of whatever he knows about the events of the past week. What does transpire, however, is a kiss between the two, initiated by MCAT (I'm calling him "the Doctor" from now on.) Rowan of course pulls some coquettish disapproval stuff on him, but you can tell she really wants him. If the way to a man's heart is through his own stomach, the way to a woman's is through another woman. Rowan seems like a really smart, reflective, but naive, volatile and lovesick type. She's the kind you don't want to spurn. The editor even wrote "this girl is a mental defective!!!" in the margin. For the most part this editor has been, fairly passive, sticking to issues of grammar for most of the story, jumping in with some style comments here and there. You know it says something when she/he offers unsolicited opinions on the mental faculties of the characters.

Just prior to the kiss, the Doctor dragged Rowan to the ground to avoid being spotted by the departing Braithwaites. Covered in mud and leaves from that incident, she was then whipped in the face by a branch leaving a mark on her cheek. She has also dropped the keys along the way. So, back from a simple trip to fetch a pocketbook, she looks as if she was kept against her will at Rick James's place for two weeks. She makes up a story about tripping and being too embarrassed to come back inside with the guests still around, but James Kee gives her the twice-over and seems very suspicious.

The next day Kee says to the Count that the keys weren't on the path between the house and the car. I'm guessing this comes back to haunt her.

Reshevsky and Rowan leave together in his car on their way to the Tibetan Museum in Staten Island...

Hoo-ray for finding Antonia!!!

Your turn, Cee.

Part 15 - iced coffee, a first date and a louse

2009-08-14T11:28:00.006-04:00

Shane,

it's funny how unemployment makes one question so many of the mundane decisions that are made on a daily basis; do I really need that coffee from Grumpy's.... is hummus considered a luxury item or is it a necessary snack? Anyway, welcome to the ranks of the unemployed!
I thoroughly enjoyed our lunch time meeting today at Tillies. I'm excited for our field trip next Wednesday (oh, it's been so long since I've gone on a field trip.... i definitley remember one particularly boring one when I was 13 where we visited the sewage treatment plant).And of course, I'll be on the edge of my seat waiting to hear the results of your phone call. We have reverted back to being young 14 year old adolescents asking our crushes out on dates... 'what will she say...' 'do I need to practice my lines first?'....

Back to Reshevsky. I'm intrigued by him. Due to the large portions of text blacked out in my last section (and in this section too), I am unclear as to his exact level of odiousness. My section begins with their continued conversation in his bachelor pad, which as Reshevsky remarks 'is rather dusty'. He claims that Rowan and her aunt are victims of their own 'emotionalism', a term that when Googled leads you to the a wikipedia entry for the Avett Brother's album of the same name. Rowan is left cold and haunted by his admission that he is completely devoid of emotion. However, she is not uncomfortable enough to forego a trip with him to the Oyster Bar at Grand Central Terminal (this I'm pretty sure would be a great field trip, but one that would fall under the category 'luxury and therefore unnecessary' in my list of things I allow myself to do). Unfortunately by now, the day has slipped away from them and they aren't able to make it to the Tibetan Museum, which means Rowan is unable to meet Matt Cater.

At dinner when she next encounters Matt, he is in good spirits and entertaining the Braithwaites (whom you may remember were also present the night of the tragic death of the monk). Apparently Matt as well as being a botanist is also a published writer (Rowan refers to him as a 'louse' - she is clearly still unable to trust him).

Matt manages to sneak a note into her palm, asking her to meet him at the 'copse of birches across road left side of gate eleven-five sharp' (and thanks again for wikipedia's definition of copse: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Copse). However this supposed meeting is less than an hour away, and while Matt makes his farewells, her aunt begins to press Rowan to join them for brandy in the living room.... how on earth will our Rowan make her getaway? What will transpire in the 'copse of birches'???

You're up!

Part 14 - unemployment, Russian Tzars and grammar

2009-08-12T13:07:00.009-04:00

Yo, Cee
So, today is my first official day of unemployment and it feels a bit odd. I've been working more than full-time for six years now, and, suddenly, here I am waking up to Regis and Kelly. Last time I watched this show there was a different woman on. Kind of sad to be reminded of passing time...cue the intro to Taxi or a Supertramp song.

Funny I just got a call from Caren, and thought "I can't believe this, my first day of unemployment, I'm looking for jobs and here's my old boss calling to resolve something I've put way behind me." It turns out that it was an accident; seems she and Peter are mountain biking or hiking somewhere. I could hear crunching rocks and her shouting directions.

The Tibetan museum would actually be a nice excursion. We should do it. Only problem is, I called the Dept. of Labor and asked them about what would happen if I were to sell any art while on unemployment. To my amazement, anything I sell that was made before unemployment doesn't affect my claim. However, any work I do in the studio counts as labor to be deducted from my check, as I would be working on "salable commodities." After I found this out, I asked the agent if I could make "practice work," to which he offered me a tentative "I don't think so."

"So what about a sketch book?"

"No."

"Can I imagine art?"

"Hmmmm?"

"Can I open my eyes in the morning or should I keep closed all day?"

"Sir?!"

"Can I make love, because post-coital relaxation is really the crucible for all good thought; it's honestly more important than studio time...."

"(silence)"

Point is, I may not be ALLOWED to go to the Tibetan Museum, as determined by the NY State Dept. of Labor, but let's throw caution to the wind and go next week...if I have to claim it as a day of employment, so be it.

So Reshevsky's on the prowl. You can definitely sense that he wants to pin Rowan to a tree even though those details have been stricken from the narrative record. Rowan agrees to hit Grant's Tomb and the Tibetan Museum with him the next day. Reshevsky finally feels gratified, but he obviously doesn't know about the secret meeting with Cater.

An aside here: two days ago Heidi came home and said she had words with her intern for making a bunch of grammatical mistakes on a really important grant application. Defensively, the young intern defended herself over the use of "Grants Tomb," without the possessive..and apparently they went to the mat over it. Heidi is very passive and congenial except for some reason when it comes to style and grammar..and then she's a bobcat. I had to send her a copy of the usage to show her intern. Funny, huh?
http://www.chicagomanualofstyle.org/home.html

On her way to breakfast, Rowan sees Mrs. Chow crying. She finds out from Lucy that this is because Ah Sing was fired. Lucy holds that he will be fine because of his pension and because "the Chinese are very big on family duty." Is this true my resident Chinese sociologist? Are you "big on family?" Or is it 'Orientals' in general??

Lucy says his removal was because he was beginning to "dodder." Lucy and Rowan then exchange glances before Rowan departs telling herself that she wishes the meeting with Cater would be over so she could make some decisions and go home.

Reshevsky and Rowan head into Manhattan, where he surprises her with a sidetrip to his bachelor pad at 111th and Riverside Drive. Rowan remarks that the digs are a little meager for a count. Interestingly, Reshevsky provides us with some personal history, which is initiated by Rowan's interest in a portrait of the Count's father.This historical sidebar is really coincidental because I woke up today and decided that I wanted to read more about the days leading up to the Bolshevik Revolution through the Stalinist blackout. This impulse came about after re-reading a Peter Schjeldahl review of the 2003 Malevich show at the Guggenheim and thought how amazing the fight for geometric abstraction has been through the years. For some it was a revolution; for others it signified bourgeois decadence. It's weird how they've been marshaled by various interests to fit their agendas.

So, it seems Reshevsky's parents were probably Tzarists from the old guard. His father was "eased from this world with the aid of several pounds of lead" in 1921. His mother died in 1917 when their estate was burned. After these details are revealed, Reshevsky goes into a short philosophical flourish which is actually quite well done.

Reshevsky says basically that he does not want pity and that deprivation and bereavement have made him less vulnerable. As a result he seeks pleasure and comfort only. Rowan protests claiming that, on the contrary, Reshevsky is not cold and uncaring, to which he responds "lack of pain, my dear girl, is not necessarily pleasure."

Well done! I do like Reshevsky's character. I think Ms. Lamb might have actually known a Reshevsky...or maybe he's based on some Noel Coward character. But, whatever, he's tighter than the rest.

Back atcha Cee,
Shane

Part 13 - cheese and tubing and a daiquiri

2009-07-27T12:38:00.009-04:00

hey there,

so things are in slight disarray with the order being messed up this week - but not to worry. it appears the tale of Rowan and her adventures are straight forward enough.

Are you still in New York though? or have you disappeared to the wilds of Wisconsin, eating cheese and galavanting about? I spent yesterday drifting down the Delaware river in an inflatable tube, consuming beer and happily moving about a mile an hour.

What a wonderful way to spend a lazy saturday afternoon - I've become fairly good at not spending money on entertainment now that I'm unemployed - and let me tell you, things are looking pretty nasty out there in terms of picking up work.

But, back to Rowan, because her adventures are much more fun than discussing my future career plans. In part 13, we begin with Rowan confronting Matt Cater about his presence in the greenhouse the previous night. Matt refuses to be caught with his pants down, and actually gets angry (sort of reminding me of the idea that the best defense is a good offense; you know... go straight for the jugular etc. etc.). He almost threatens poor little Rowan, telling her that it's for her own good that she not say anything to her aunt (this confrontation is occuring in the room where Mr Chao fell to his death a week before), however Rowan manages to persuade him to let her in on the secret...but not in the house, they must meet in the Tibetan Museum (we really must take a field trip to this museum). Rowan of course gets angry at the reminder of the Tibetan Museum as this is where Matt had promised to take her, but ended up cancelling and leaving her in the hands of the smarmy Reshevsky to act as her tour guide (who I admit may be the best written character in the novel).

Enter Aunt Lucy, who is clearly unimpressed with the continued attention that Matt is directing at her niece. The two of them disappear off somewhere together. Then the delightfully wicked Reshevky enters, and suddenly the next page of text becomes incomprehensible. It is marked with vigorous pencil scribbles in an attempt to delete much of the ensuing conversation between Rowan and Reshevksky. What was also particularly interesting was the appearance of the word 'out' typed repeatedly in the margins down this entire page - an interesting way of communicating something to your editor.

I did enjoy this masked out conversation though between Reshevsky and Rowan, despite the author's attempt to delete it. Reshevsky gets fresh, pinning Rowan to the tree and accusing her of not having 'much intimate knowledge of the male sex'! Unfortunately the last paragraph of their exchange is genuinely illegible so what exactly transpired that hot morning will never be known. My section ends with the two of them re-entering the house where Matt and Lucy are drinking daiquiris, and enquiring politely about what places in the city Rowan still wants to visit.

so, back over to you. No daiquiris for me this hot sunday afternoon, but if I'm lucky, a beer and some barbeque.

Part 11.5 - candles and fireworks, and lost geraniums

2009-07-21T00:28:00.006-04:00

What a wonderful surprise bumping into you at TBD in Greenpoint. I'd never been there before, and we were only there because we had just left the concert at the Williamsburg waterfront. And the world is still intact - we didn't implode (see below)

nor did the world stop turning... apparently the cosmic universe doesn't care if we communicate with one another outside the established boundaries of Rowan and the Greenhouse. I actually had a very pleasant, almost picture perfect New York weekend - biking, a picnic on Governor's Island on Saturday, and Sunday brunch followed by a great free show by the Dirty Projectors in Williamsburg.

So it appears there was a mistake when distributing our pages - I in fact had two sections in a row, so part 12, which you just emailed me, takes place after what I read tonight! ah ha! we face our first test... is this really section 11.5? What if I had deliberately witheld this portion from you? did you even notice? was your section more disjointed than normal?

My portion continues directly along from part 11 ; as you may remember, Rowan had to go to the greenhouse to find a new pot and soil for her geraniums, and Kee was taking her (remember this is the middle of the night and our Rowan has a case of the heebie-jeebies). At the greenhouse they find Ah Sing, hanging out and reading a newspaper for which he is admonished for by Kee, for slacking on his guard duties. 'What on earth could he be guarding?' Rowan wonders...

Ah Sing leads her through a maze of locked doors, piles equipment, tubs of soil, and the occasional strange-looking plant. Rowan tries to get Ah Sing to explain what all the locked doors and chicken wire are for - what on earth could be so precious that requires a night guard? But he resists her questioning. And here we get to the second (at least in my mind) climax of the novel so far; the first being the death of the monk. As Ah Sing makes his way out of the room where Rowan found her pot, his flashlight passes over a figure, and it is ... dum dum de dum... Matthew Cater! Ah Sing doesn't notice though, and Rowan says nothing, in fact distracts Ah Sing so as to protect Matt. My portion ends with Rowan finding a very glum Aunt Lucy at her desk...

Part 12 - Billy Joel, Schwartzy and nostalgia

2009-07-20T23:47:00.005-04:00

Glad to have you back, Cee Mak.

Sometimes when I say your name I add it to the end of a line in Billy Joel's "Movin' Out": he's-trading-in-his Chevy-for-a-Caroline Mak Mak Mak Mak. Your name pops up on my phone, and, blammo, I'm belting out Billy Joel. Don't think less of me, please...just thought you like to know.We sent the letter announcing the gallery closing last week. I'm sure you saw it. Kind of sad, huh? I couldn't help run a montage through my head of all the nonsense that took place over the past two years. It's strange about nostalgia; how you can't force the sentimental component to sink into your conscious in real time, it has to steep. When Caren told me we were hanging it up, I knew the presence of CGFA would germinate into some kind of profound feeling, but as hard as I tried I couldn't discern what shape it was going to take. Only now am I beginning to sense it. It's bittersweet and very defined by the first year, mostly, when the enterprise seemed the most real; art fairs and show changes, the storage facility. Steve Reynolds, somehow. Schwartzy. Drunk man. Xenia. Jeeez, so much stuff.
This month is going to be so strange.

But not as strange as Rowan's....how's that for a segue??

I believe my five pages mark somewhat of an impasse for Ms. Lamb. Though it's not Anna Karenina or Finnegan's Wake, I'd say the Greenhouse has thus far been well-paced and resolute in its modest mission. In this section, though, I sensed a bit of uncertainty and conflict in the author's voice, mainly through how Ms. Lamb is seen through Rowan's eyes. A preponderance of the description of Lucy is dedicated to telling us about her rather than indicating the same through actions. For instance, Rowan observes, "When there were no men around her, some of her bright aura seemed to diminish, the air of ageless loveliness faded, and she became suddenly older. Just more human, closer to the realities of life and death." We've heard this general description several times now, but it feels more clumsy in this section. Such passages add very little to Lucy's character for the purposes of the story, but Lamb keeps going back and gnawing on it again anyway. It seems to me that as the story advances, Lamb is redoubling her effort to build Lucy into a psychologically complex, conflicted and paradoxical character, though, no matter how much she tells us about all her facets, it always comes across as a Jekyll-and-Hyde contrivance.
I feel sympathy for her because, I sense a sincere desire to author a deeper and more meaningful character in Lucy, though the nature of the story holds her back. Correct me if I'm wrong, but the most convincing character so far is Reshevsky, and he's also the most absurd and cartoonish. This is obviously a story that is action and event heavy, and Reshevsky serves those events faithfully. The told-not-shown portions of Lucy's character are forced and repetitive; however, to me, they seem to reflect an attempt by Lamb to explore the more touching sides of the human condition than the goings-on at Pleasant Plains would allow. You know, can't we all sympathize with the notion of wanting our art to find purchase in a more relevant universe...doesn't every weatherman for a FOX affiliate in Lubbock, TX secretly aspire to being Walter Cronkite breaking into As the World Turns in 1963 to tell us the president has died? Doesn't every session drummer for Tom Petty wish he or she (probably he) had written "A Change is Gonna Come?"
Maybe that's too dramatic, but I think there's a part of all of us that happily geeks out with our art and ends up loving the details...hell, I get really into blowing ball-point pens onto 12-inch panels. I spend days on end scrutinizing the fine marks made by drizzled ballpoint pen ink. I even get excited to show my work to visitors to my studio, thinking there's a even a remote chance that I can convey or recreate in them the same enthusiasm I feel constantly. They usually enjoy the trip through my practice, but the iridescence of the pen, the fine lines, the bleed of the resin...that's my nerdy headspace, not theirs. And even despite my overall contentment with what I do, I'd be lying if I said I never emerged from the intoxicating minutiae thinking about the possibility of taking one of those thousands of pens and instead of blowing the ink out of it, I could make it write something half as profound and timeless as the last few pages of the Great Gatsby. I think Antonia is getting the itch to create something more profound, too.
Sigh.

My section is basically a pledge by Rowan to not sit idly while mayhem and mischief consume the farm. She balks at Reshevsky's offers to take her sightseeing, as well as Lucy's suggestions and urgings to cut her stay short. Rowan is going to figure it all out...if it kills her (my words not hers.)

Did you ever see that movie with Jennifer Lopez where she's some kind of karate chopping, spurned ex- wife or girlfriend and she goes out and basically kicks every man's ass in the world who doesn't treat a lady with respect?? I didn't either, but I saw the prieviews...and they're dancing through my head right now.

Kick some ass, Rowan!

Part 11 - candles and fireworks, and lost geraniums

2009-07-10T12:23:00.006-04:00

So I'm back in the US - and made it just in time for this country's Independence Day. I realized I kept almost kept calling the July 4th holiday, 'June 4th' - referring to the Tiananmen Square crackdown, 20 years ago. I had also arrived back in Hong Kong just in time for the 20th anniversary of that, an event marked by the biggest candlelight vigil in 19 years: http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2009/06/remembering_tiananmen_20_years.html

And so a month later, I'm back in the US, in time for another '4th', this time to be marked with sparklers and bbq, rather than candles and solemnity.

I must admit, I'm feeling rather adrift. much more so than when I was in hong kong. Trying to get my studio back into order wasn't very productive (my unairconditioned space was stifling). But since it's only Tuesday morning, I have the the rest of the week to get super productive....

My section began with Rowan touring the city with Reshevsky, for what seems like a week, although there are no actual details about where they go, leading me to think that maybe our author wasn't that familiar with Manhattan; call her a bridge-and-tunnel writer. And Rowan spends a lot of time agonizing over Matt Cater - specifically wondering about his relationship with her aunt - he seems exclusively bound to the aunt, yet no obvious tokens of affection are exchanged. I do enjoy the nuggets of bizarre information that specifically locate the time and age this text was written, though; Rashevsky explains the aunt's use of Chinese workers, specifically referring to Ah Sing as 'being fresh from the burial of the last Manchu Empress' and the others as 'more recent refuees from the conflict of the two Chinas'. Wonderful stuff!!

Oh, and there is some ridiculous attempt at a marriage proposal from Rashevsky (at Rowan). I'm not sure if this detail will end up being relevant. What is clear though, is that Reshevksy and Matt Cater have a mutual dislike for one another.

And your section looks to be an exciting one. Rowan, in an act of clumsiness, breaks a flowerpot holding geraniums one evening.

This leads to her reluctantly heading downstairs to her aunt's study, where her aunt and Kee are deep in conversation and clearly annoyed to see her. Rowan insists that the geraniums need a new pot immediately, so her aunt directs to her the greenhouse to Ah Sing, something Rowan is not at all keen to do. Kee ends up leading her through the house and yard to the dark greenhouse.... dum dum de dum.... I'm looking forward to finding out what goes down...

Part 10 - Sparklers, Flying J truckstops and ominous conversations

2009-07-06T12:31:00.005-04:00

Hey there, champion.

Third of July here...I guess it is there, too, but without the cultural significance of being the eve of your independence day. Does the patriotic American part of you light some sparklers in honor of our struggle?? I'm at work. I'm actually the ONLY one at work..the rest of my co-workers are at various local beaches and Heidi's in the north woods of Wisconsin on a pontoon boat. I was a little upset (read: bitter) earlier, but I'm hanging out on a rooftop with the boys later, so that'll save me from going stir-crazy.

I went to the poisonous plant show at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden and was more than a little underwhelmed. What they advertised as a curated show was no more than the result of some volunteers walking around the grounds placing signs next to anything that could be construed as "dangerous." Not "poisonous," but dangerous. Cut grass and sugarcane were on the list; cut grass because it can slice you open and sugarcane because it can be distilled into "demon rum." Quite a stretch, I think...though maybe they saw me last week in Los Angeles and THEN made their decision to include it.

I was hoping to see some nasty-looking purple berries that would stop your heart in two minutes just from looking at them. I wanted to come face to face with plants that sprayed ricin out of their supersoaker-like flowers. I'm guessing there might have been some liability issues with my version of the show. My mind just drifted for a second and I thought how funny it was that I went to a poisonous plant show, because I'm reading this book about poisonous plants. I think I need some rum!

My section is ferociously marked up. It looks like the wall of a bathroom stall at a Flying J truckstop.Aside from being a very messy section, it is also a very intriguing section. Rowan's bitterness toward Cater is palpable. She admits to being resolved to let Reshevsky escort her through New York. Before heading upstairs, Rowan reflects about how her aunt's doting on Cater makes her seem like a fragile adolescent. After this thought Rowan heads upstairs to freshen up her clothes before her sojourn to the city. Looking for Millie the maid, Rowan happens to overhear a conversation between her aunt and James Kee in his office. James implores Aunt Lucy to "...get rid of her." We are to presume that "her" refers to Rowan.

A very interesting editor's note springs up in the margin, here. He or she wonders if the aunt is being sarcastic, believing that "disposing of her" is a bit drastic, even within the fantastical set of circumstances unfolding in "The Greenhouse."

The two go on to debate about how dangerous it is to keep Rowan around. Aunt Lucy wants to keep her, Kee wants her gone. Kee then instructs Lucy to "do as he says" demonstrating who is actually running things at Pleasant Plains Farm. Millie then discovers Rowan in the hall and the two skitter hushed into Rowan's room, agreeing each to keep whatever they hear a secret.

A few minutes after the terrifying event, Rowan's fears begin to fade, though in their place a "conviction" sets in that something is "seriously wrong" at Pleasant Plains Farm.

....like, no doi!!

The chapter breaks and the tone changes...like waves on a beach. Serene/Terror. Serene/Terror.

You know, Boz Scaggs's "Lido Shuffle" is a very underrated song...Caren's gone so I'm listening to music...low volume, though.

So the last page looks like one of my world history papers in 10th grade. It's got red lines and margin notes all over it. It's just missing the "C -." Only about twenty words survive. In the margin someone characterizes the drastic tonal shift between the end of the "get rid of her chapter" and a more positive interlude in the next with Reshevsky and Rowan running through New York like school girls (cue Diana Ross's "I"m Comin' Out.") The strange thing about the notes is that they appear to be written by Antonia; however, they are written as a third person: "An accident with overtones of murder and an ominous conversation have just occurred, building up an apprehensive mood. Now this mood is completely dispelled. The frightening events are forgotten with the lighthearted beginnings of this chapter."

Perhaps Ms. Lamb is just trying to keep the editor focused. I dunno.

That's all I got sistah.

You're up..oh one other thing that makes this whole operation so strange and serendipitous; the girl that replaced you, Phoebe, looks EXACTLY like Rowan on the book jacket. It's kind of freaky. Pictures are forthcoming - she wouldn't let me photograph her yesterday..said she wanted to get some sun at the beach first.

Ah, the beach.

Part 9 - a lone tear and a jellyfish

2009-06-28T04:29:00.005-04:00

hey there,

Glad you had a good time driving around LA, consuming burgers and the enjoying extensive freeway system. I've been rained on most days in hong kong, although I did take a pretty fun windsurfing lesson last week. Hong Kong's one and only Olympic gold medal was won in windsurfing in 1996, and since then the sport has taken off. It's wonderfully frustrating - quite easy to go straight once you've got the hang of it, but turning and trying to get back to the beach is a whole different matter. I did also see a couple of very large jellyfish that scared the crap out

of me.

My section was riddled with a large number of scribbles, scrawled additions, and typewritten 'X's. Clearly someone was agitated when correcting and editing my few pages. I have entire paragraphs that have been crossed out.

I'm not sure why - I suppose it's fraught with emotional intrigue, but not much else.. Our dear Rowan receives a phone call from Matt Cater who calls to cancel his date with her to the Tibetan Museum, due to a sudden project that has come up regarding a wing (of the greenhouse?) that he needs to see her aunt Lucy about. The competition between Lucy and Rowan becomes all the more apparent, as Rowan gets oh-so-passive aggressive when she finds this out, especially when Matt suggests that Reshevsky take her instead. To be honest - I'm not sure why she's so peeved. Perhaps I need to be dumped by an attractive older man who's first love is botany, in order to fully comprehend Rowan's angst.

Ooh - I forgot to mention, she realizes her phone call was listened in on by some other party, adding insult to injury. In fact there's a wonderful line where describing 'one small angry tear drop'.

At lunch she does her best to act icy and disdainful of Matt Cater, and appears to swoon slightly at Reshevsky (i'm assuming to make poor ol' Matt jealous), especially when Lucy suggests that Reshevsky take her on a tour of Manhattan (which made me think about what tours of New York were like in the '60's and '70's.... no one went below 14th street presumably, and Times Square had begun its descent into seediness... what did that leave? gentle carriage rides around Central Park? Jaunts down Fifth Avenue?).

The last paragraph is completely crossed out, making it impossible to read, but it has something to do with an exchange between Matt and Reshevsky.

and tag back... you're it.

Part 8 - mushrooms, Occidentals and the Brooklyn Botanical Garden

2009-06-26T02:39:00.006-04:00

Caroline,

So sorry about the delay in getting part 8 to you. In my hasty departure for Los Angeles on Friday I accidentally took the wrong sections of the manuscript with me. I just got back this morning - took the red-eye and am barely here right now. I would wait until I am more alert to give you my next section, but I feel bad that I'm behind as it is.
LA was pleasurable. We went wine tasting in Paso Robles for a day, ate at some Jack-in-the-Boxes and drove around a lot...which seems to be what one does in Los Angeles.

"Oriental" is indeed a funny way to circumscribe a group of people; you never heard the term "Occidental" thrown around even when Oriental was in its prime. And it's strange how the modifier sticks in the case of non-human things but progresses in terms of people. It kind of demonstrates some of the politics involved the ethnic nomenclature. Groups are described by color, region, and direction (so strange). I think we should define groups by time instead of place, then we could only be bigoted toward people who aren't around anymore. Imagine being time-ist toward people born before 1920....I think ideas like that are why I should avoid throwing my hat in the social ethnography ring.

That's so funny about the poisonous plant plot point (say that five times fast), because a poisonous plant show just opened at the Brooklyn Botanical Garden. I'm going to see it this weekend and get acquainted with all those sinister Oleanders.
http://www.bbg.org/exp/wickedplants/amystewart.html

My section is actually fairly packed with plot details, though it seems that mine are lacking the non-typewritten traces of our author and editor. I'll bet you get a 37 year old jelly stain....or a fingernail...or a maybe even a booger. Wow, that'd be awesome!

My first paragraph contains the following line: "She pointed out with particular pride her large assortment of mushrooms, from the familiar Death Angel that had been the bane of my biology class in high-school, to more esoteric fungi." This confused me; I couldn't tell whether the class was 'shroomin and thus became overwhelmed by the subject matter; whether they were poisoned to death, and as a result failed biology, or whether the taxonomic complexity of this family of mushrooms had alone resulted in a poor academic performance.The beginning of my section is essentially a short trip through "poisonous botany 101." The exchange about deadly plants is then interrupted by two stocky workers approaching Kee and aunt Lucy, alerting them that someone tried to break into the storage room. The two men didn't see the person trying to break in, but did see a car drive away. Lucy then gets angry and directs Ah Sing to dock the pay of the watchmen for their lax effort.

Next, we get a wonderful tell-don't-show sentiment from Rowan as she remarks about coming to her aunt's home for peace and finding only tumult and tragedy. She then notes that the events did "bring her out of herself." So, the tone shifts; the stormclouds overhead recede and the sun shines bright yellow light on the farm, the Greenhouse and its poison crop.

The final cascade of events and conversation are fairly complex, with many suggestive passages. Aunt Lucy is painted in a kinder light, and Rowan admits to warming up to her a bit. James Kee snaps at Lucy because she desires to call the police about the two successive "incidents." He suddenly seems sinister. This seems to be a Scooby Doo-like device to take the focus off Lucy and to bring in another suspect as a focal point. Rowan muses before dinner that things on the farm were getting more pleasant and when they sit down to dinner Aunt Lucy suggests that Rowan should get around the city so she's not cooped-up all summer. This raises the eyebrow of Reshevsky (literally) and brings Rowan to recall the conversation they had by the harpsichord. Rowan responds that she never planned on staying the entire summer, to which Lucy says to leave the option open. The final few lines are odd, with Reshevky quizzically, and perhaps defensively, wondering how the police could think that the events of the previous night were anything but an accident. He then says that the police have no reason to ask any of them to remain in the city.

This last line was strange because I don't remember a precedent indicating that the authorities were going to prevent anyone from leaving. I'm wondering if this becomes a Murder-by-Death type of deal, where everyone's sequestered in an old mansion and they start dropping like flies.
Whew, that's a lot to think about. A plot as thick as frozen oatmeal.

tag, you're it.
-Shane

Part 7 - 12 hour time difference, the greenhouse and poison

2009-06-20T12:34:00.003-04:00

Dear Shane,

Occasionally one of your emails to me reads uncannily similar to as if you were sitting in that beloved Aeron chair, in front of your sparkingly clean desk, with nary a speck nor paper towel to be seen, having a ten minute ramble before going about our whatever it is that we used to do in that office. Your last email was one of those, made even more odd by the fact that we're seperated by a continent and an ocean, rather than 3 feet. That and the 12 hour time difference makes this this project wonderfully disjunctive at times.

And you're right - i have an interesting 5 pages. What i've noticed is how uncomfortable I become at having to read something mid-sentence. Like I've walked into a party that I'm not invited to, or barged into a conversation (but perhaps I'm one of the few people who care about such things... cough cough). I've also found fingerprints! I have no idea what this makes me so excited - it's not like the presence of a set of grubby fingerprints will allow us to find the author easier. But it's a great side note to any conversation one could have about the indexical trace etc. It also came on a page that was riddled with scribbles by both parties (red ink, blue ink, and pencil!).

Anyway, I'm subjected to a long meandering description of this gigantic greenhouse, which is larger than the house itself. Our Rowan wonders through the hallways herself, unaccompanied by James Kee, and comes across a variety of exotic looking plants, all tended to by my peeps. And when I say my peeps, I mean my forebearers who were all gardeners. I must admit it's very odd to see the term "Orientals" bandied about when not referring to carpets. Its neither offensive nor funny; I seriously do mean I expect to see the word 'carpet' after it.

Her aunt is somewhere in the greenhouse and Rowan goes in search of her, passing by a wooden shack that has a door marked ' Keep Out', which of course our protaganist tried to open, to no avail. In the left wing of the greenhouse, Rowan comes across a number of plants she doesn't recognize, and is startled by an old Chinese gardener brandishing a pair of sharp garden shears, who yells at her to not touch them, frightening the crap out of Rowan, who proceeds to yell for her aunt. Apparently, Ah Sing (the old gardener) was just being protective; the plants being his babies, as well as being poisonous (ah hah!! the plot thickens). One of the particularly innocent looking ones, an oleander, is apparently 'nerium indicum', which can cause something resembling a heart attack.

And I admit, i have no idea what oleander looks like but apparently it's quite common, and varieties can be deadly when ingested. check it out:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oleander

So! We have poisonous plants in a gigantic greenhouse, a locked door, a secretary who apparently chases way tourists when they come too close to the house, a potential love affair, and hoards of chinese gardeners. Dum dum dum dum..... back to you...,

Part 6 - Jean Tinguely, John Galt and an omelette

2009-06-17T00:06:00.007-04:00

What's happening, kiddo??

Caren's coming back soon and it had me thinking about management strategies of all things. Sitting in my black Ergo chair, and ruminating about this very compromised situation, my focus ricochets from work duties to existential musings to menial tasks to asking myself why I do anything of it at all, given what I know is the fate of this place. Just as my turmoil hit a crescendo today, 6 PM came and I felt an immediate urge to finish my part of in our project. I thought how amazing it is that some people (ahem) spend every ounce of their will trying to bend the world to their liking...and because that world has a will of its own, it fights back. Yet, because of my general respect for this project, my contribution, your opinion, etc. etc., I would go to great lengths to make sure that none of it is ever compromised on my account. So much bending, so much exerted will, and sometimes all you have to do is stop trying and give in. "Who is JOHN GALT!!!"

Just a thought...I've had a lot of time to generate them.

Another unforeseen quality of this project has been how simultaneously stressful and beneficial the lack of direct contact has been. I feel much more fluid and inspired when I write because I don't exhaust all my thoughts in a wild verbal flourish from 10:41 AM to 11:14 AM. I think it says a lot for the value of restraint, time and routine....and probably, "silence," I hear you say!

So, about the Greenhouse...oh I forgot one thing from section 4. I neglected to mention that there was a Jean Tinguely contraption in the salon where Mr. Chao died. A little bit of familiar content creeping into things, huh?

The dramatic wavelength of this book seems to be about 7.5 pages long, making every othe section for us fall at either a crest or a trough of action. This time, mine was a trough, so your next section looks to be a doozer. Part 6 begins with Rowan trying to settle down to bed after the mayhem from the night before. She wakes up after a long sleep "like the proverbial log" at 11:30, and then heads downstairs to the dining room for breakfast (if this concept is unfamiliar, Caroline, "breakfast" is what we now refer to as "brunch" but without alcoholic beverages and hangovers.) The room is empty of life but for a placesetting and a note. It is written in her aunt's handwriting, handwriting that seems to slant in "several different directions at once" - I'm not Carl Jung or that doctor on HOUSE, but I'd say this description is suggestive. Rowan is instructed in the letter to head to the Greenhouse after eating and that James would give her directions. Mrs. Chow makes Rowan breakfast -- at this point, I too thought I had caught a typo: o-m-e-l-e-t, which I spell omelette; however it seems both are correct.

RATS! Ten dollars to the first person to catch a typo?? Would that be Hong Kong or American dollars??

Chow reveals that the previous night's death was deemed an accident by the police, as the balcony rail was loose. "Mis' Dickson, she always putting off fixing balcony rail. Now too late." Rowan offers her two-cents worth of forensics science, proposing that Chao would have known that the balcony was unstable since he'd been around for a while. But Mrs. Chow rebuts the suggestion by noting how big the house is and that the deceased was more of an outdoors guy.

Rowan finishes breakfast and goes to find James Kee, who is not in his office, and then determines that she should find her Aunt on her own....

Dum da dum dum
Dum da dum dum

Dum,

Part 5 - acid attacks & diplomatic immunity

2009-06-16T23:42:00.006-04:00

Shane,

Wow! I must admit I've become very caught up in this ridiculous murder/ love mystery.

First - I figured I should tell you a bit about what I've been doing while in hong kong, and I thought it should be time for some anecdotes. I met with one of the professors at one of the big universities here the other day; a sort of 'shoot the shit' session, and he showed me around his students' thesis shows. I've been interested in purusing the Hong Kong art scene, which is very small. And it's reflected by how small their MFA programme is; they only accept between 2 and 4 people a year! Everyone is fully funded of course. We also got into an interesting discussion about the different aesthetics espoused in various East Asian countries; with hong kong artists falling into an interesting sort of interstitial space due to their recent history; definitely not looking like art from the Mainland, which has a very specific, flashy, over-the top extravagance (as I'm sure you've noticed from the various art fairs etc), and very different from say, artists in singapore, where the government actually end up being fairly controlling of what images are seen by the public, so the artists end up reading quite a fair amount of theory and create works that are conceptually more poignant then they are visually aligned with say, artists in China.

OH! And there's a serial acid dropper. 3rd attack in a year - the culprit has been dropping acid from a height into crowds of shoppers, and has injured several of them. Totally random acts of violence, check it out:
http://www.time.com/time/world/article/0,8599,1903746,00.html

And speaking of murders, there was a murder in the next neighbourhood over. A woman was knifed to death in her own home, probably by her live-in domestic helper.

But, back to our dear Rowan. I'm actually quite bummed I missed out on the murder scene. All I got in my 5 pages was a protracted conversation between Rowan and Matt Cater - I'm pretty sure that's where our love interest will be coming from. Basically in the aftermath of the murder scene, the detectives attempt to interview everyone, but the Russian diplomat claims diplomatic immunity and storms off, while Aunt Lucy apparently takes her bedroom in hysterics. Rowan feels alone and bewildered, prompting Matt to sit down next to her, where he reveals more of the complicated social dynamics that you've begun to tap into. He basically says that Rowan has a led a fairly sheltered life, and life with her aunt is much more complicated, and thus may feel more comfortable back in her own environment. This was not something our dear Rowan took to kindly - our lady has been engaged, been to parties and traveled, and will not be spoken to in such a manner! They make up however, when Matt agrees to take her to the Tibetan museum the next day. Matt also reveals that there Reshevsky and Lucy are an item, and that he is only interested in her aunt as a friend, and professionally (what on earth he does however, is still beyond me. Is he a greenhouse specialist???).

Oh, and I was really quite excited when I thought I had spotted a spelling mistake that neither our writer, editor nor the owner of the blue pen, was able to catch. But it turned out it was merely the difference between the British and American spelling of 'stor(e)y' - as referring to the horizontal section of a building.

part 4 (indexical traces and a murder)

2009-06-15T04:07:00.006-04:00

Hello hello.

So, I'm alive..and apparently a raging hypochondriac. No more twitching symptoms or near-fainting episodes since.

Caren's still in Basel, so things are fairly low key here. I'm actually feeling rather balanced and positive despite it being Tuesday morning. I got your text last night instructing me to "rage against the dying of the light.." It brought back great memories of our take-back-Monday-night solidarity.

Keen observation about the blue edits...I think you're right...we have our first indexical trace of our young author combing back over her writing. I was also struck by how superficial the edits are; it seems to me this is a very late draft. Though I'm still due to produce my first major novel, and have never edited one myself, I assume early drafts of even the most fastidious writer's manuscripts end up in a tangle of arrows and margin notes. This one is really clean. I'm also wondering what that mark is that the editor puts whenever Ms. Lamb uses a double dash --. My Brooklyn Rail edits are all done within the program. I don't think I've seen red pen-style correction since gradeschool. Isn't it amazing how different everything is with computer programs? We find a manuscript with real writing on it and it's like we've entered in a cave in Lascaux, France...

You keep getting setting details about Staten Island? I haven't read anything yet that would indicate a specific place or time, other than the reference to the "Eastern Seaboard" and something about "modernism" that would place it in after 1900 pretty much. So with the bridge being build it would have to be post WWII, pre 196-something. Staten Island sure has changed, it seems. I might have overlooked some setting details, though. I tend to read for theme. Our project is actually doing wonders for my comprehentsion from having to sort through all the minutiae.

There I go blabbity blabbity, talking about nonsense, while I withhold the bombshell that was dropped in section 4!!!

So, after dinner Rowan is whisked from the dining room into the salon by Mr. Reshevsky. He says in a very suggestive way that she could get "hurt" at Pleasant Plains Farm. What you sensed as Rowan's fondness for Cater was confirmed Reshevsky's warning that Aunt Lucy can be downright "ruthless" to those she dislikes and that Rowan might want to avoid making her jealous. Interestingly, the mishmash of styles (modernist mixed with colonial) in the estate - a detail offered in section one that I didn't think was important - was a gesture of sabatoge toward her husband, the "late" Mr. Dickson, who cared very much about the stylistic integrity of the colonial mansion.

Just when things were heating up, Chao came in to get jiggy on the koto, chilling the situation down a bit.

As he began his practice session, Rowan and Reshevsky left down the hall where aunt Lucy stood frowning in a doorway. As the three stood there, Mr and Mrs. Braithwaite brushed by on their way to Chao's recital. After a clamor and thud, (keep in mind Reshevsky, Lucy, Rowan and, it seems, the Braithwaites are all accounted for) Chao is found dead from an apparent ten-foot fall over the 1st floor balcony. Kind of a fragile man, I'd say.

Though there has been a death, probably a murder, I can't get the tone down. I thought it was some Agatha Christie "And then There were None" shenanigans, in that people-die-bloodlessly-and-now-we-have-a-cirme-to-solve way, but it seems that it could turn into something more macabre...or, it could go the other direction, the trauma turning into an armature from which to drape a love story. For all I know, It could be a book about aliens at this point, who knows.

All very intriguing.

You're up!

Part 3 (we meet the dinner guests and find out what consomme madrilene is)

2009-06-14T22:24:00.007-04:00

Good to hear from you. Sorry to hear about the insanity of your twitching thumb and the pins & needles. I'm flattered by the idea that my emails can be a stand in for my voice, and for what you remember of me (although hopefully less grumpy and happier).

I must admit, I'm at a loss as to what genre I'm reading too - I'm inclined to believe it will end up being some sort of mildly tawdry, semi-erotic work of fiction. Thanks for informing me that Rowan is the protagonist's name. I have no clue who this Rowan Martin is, who she's supposed to be named after; the only Rowan I know is the British comedian Rowan Atkinson, probably

best known in the US as Mr. Bean.

But! back to the story. We are introduced to her physical appearance - she's 5 ft 7, has long hair and has chosen a tasteful black paisley shift dress for dinner. And the dinner introduced us to a host of new characters: Matthew Cater who is blessed with a 'slightly crooked face' which he attributed to his mixed heritage of being Chinese (or a chinaman as he prefers to call himself) and Irish (and something about a drunken bar brawl, resulting cracked skull); a Colonel Braithwaite with his blue-haired wife Suze; a Russian diplomat named Semenov; and 'old Chao' a Buddhist wearing saffron robes.

I must admit, I was somewhat intrigued by what they had for dinner which included something called 'consomme madrilene', which thanks to Google, I was able to determine is:

http://www.whiskblog.com/2008/08/whisk-wednesdaysconsomm-madrilne.html
The dinner conversation honestly seemed rather boring to me. I think i took a lunch break somewhere in between page 16 and 17. It was however interesting to be reminded of the fact that Staten island used to be much more isolated (the guests were bemoaning the construction of that 'awful bridge', see: http://www.mta.info/bandt/html/veraz.htm). The guests continued their slightly meaningless chit-chat, and through it, we find out Mr. Chao is a philosopher whom the aunt met at the Tibetan Museum on Staten Island, and that Rowan has finished college and is about to embark on her studies for her Master's in the fall. We also find out that Matt Cater (whom Rowan has taken a slight liking to) is leaving the next day for Toronto, after failing to convince the aunt that she should open her spare wing for research again. My section ends with the guests leaving for brandy and other post dinner activities, including a koto recital (whatever that is) by mr. chao.

My guess is that Matt Cater ends up stealing our dear Rowan's heart... and I'm still placing bets on there being some ridiculous sexualised encounter in the greenhouse.

Someone else though has entered the editing game - the writer uses a blue ballpoint pen and corrects occasioanally using capitals (perhaps i'm looking at Ms. Lamb's handwriting?). Let me know this continues through your section. I've become attached to the handwritten remarks.

PS. berlin was awesome - i'm posting photos on facebook now as we speak....

Part 2 (written with a twitching thumb and all about Rowan)

2009-06-12T04:44:00.006-04:00

Dear Caroline,

It's great to hear from you! How was Berlin? Any lurid stories or great adventures to pass on?

As you can imagine, the psycho-social dynamics here are getting stranger by the day. I'm in employment purgatory. How do you motivate when you know it's all ending? And how does one simply languish when they have any amount of pride in what they do? Oh well, I'll file it away as great raw material...for what, I don't yet know.

Ok, now to the project. First, an observation about my reaction to receiving your email this morning. I initially anticipated having.... I just had the STRANGEST thing happen to me. My left arm went numb...not numb like anesthetized numb, but like pins and needles numb. It felt gimpy and half alive, and my thumb started twitching. Then a bunch of adrenaline flowed through my body and I couldn't tell if I was having a panic attack or if something was really happening. But I looked at my thumb and it was jiggling and thought, "this is NOT psychosomatic, because my eyes are watching my thumb wiggle!!"

....back to my thought: Initially, I anticipated your email arousing my curiosity about the Greenhouse, but, because of your two-week absence, and a general fondness (and probable withdrawal) from our morning conversations It's hard to separate your voice from your account of the story. It's like having your mother read to you at night, you know? Your text is freighted with all kinds of personal associations I didn't expect...

Well, before I die, I should tell you about the story:

My section brings the aunt's character into higher relief. It also lays out more about the protagonist, who we learn hasn't seen aunt Lucy in thirteen years and that this aunt is her last surviving relative. We also learn the protagonist's name - or I assume we do in this section because you wouldn't have avoided mentioning that it was ROWAN MARTIN, as in Rowan Martin's Laugh-In, a show that was at the height of its popularity when this manuscript was written. I've looked over the pages four times to make sure it's true. If and when we meet the author, we need to ask her about that.

The nuzzler, Count Nick Reshevsky (yes, "Count"), makes eyes at Rowan, who we learn looks a lot like her aging aunt. Reshevsky, it seems, is a bit of a hound dog, and his flirtations are completely within his character. After some more flirting and strangely Victorian banter, Lucy admits to having one of the "best (the editor changed it from "most-well known") greenhouses on the Eastern Seabord." Aunt Lucy then makes some disparaging remarks about Rowan's father, an archaeologist, that insult Rowan.

After a chapter break, Rowan is escorted upstairs to her room by a Ms. Chow, where she meets the maid, Millie, and reflects a bit before the scheduled 7 'oclock dinner in the dining room.

The aunt has a bit of a sinister twinge to her, but I can't tell if it's going in that direction or not. Reshevsky sounds like a very one-dimensional Jane Austen-like gentleman with a randy side. Other than that, I can't tell how I quite grasp the tone of the novel.

This is the first book I've ever read without having the slightest clue about what genre it fits into. It really causes you to look at details more closely, doesn't it? I guess it'll have to be as I assume there are no Cliff's Notes for it.

Over and out,
Shane

Part 1 - And so we commence....

2009-06-11T00:07:00.010-04:00

Dear Shane,

And so we commence this project. Was suddenly gripped by a wave of anxiety this morning about writing the initial email, but that could have been due to the insane sleep (ahem... non-sleep) schedule that I maintained during my time in Berlin.

I realized that along with Antonia Lamb, we will be reading Eileen Dent of the Editorial department at Pyramid Publication. Her red pen scrawls are usually matter-of-fact, but occasionally she'll punctuate one of the type written lines with a little smiley face. Do I choose to ignore the words she has crossed out? Of course not, otherwise why else did I end up smirking at the spelling mistakes made (for christsakes... 'Mecican'??).

I digress - the point is to convey pages 1 through 5 to you, not give you a breakdown on the significance of crossed out text, and my ramblings on Eileen's handwriting. Told in the first person, we're introduced to this young lady as she stands in front of her mysterious aunt Lucy, who is her official guardian, now that both her parents have died (in some unnamed tragic accident in Mexico, or rather 'Mecico'). Our narrator battles with feelings of apprehension and guilt, while standing outside her aunt's farm house in Staten Island, a borough I previously had thought was only inhabited by drivers of giant SUV's, all with vanity plates with almost-clever contractions.

The remainder of the four pages introduces us to a host of characters; from the laconic and inscrutable Chinese secretary (I was secretly hoping for a bombastic and verbose Chinese secretary, but oh well...I can't have it all) who opens the door, to the cleaning lady (also a fellow member of my ethnic group; her 10 words didn't allow anything other than a cursory insight into her character, except for the fact that she serves tea and smiles).

Our protagonist's (I just spent a couple of minutes on g-chat debating the use of the term protagonist, versus raconteur, or narrator) unease and discomfort comes to a head when she finds herself suddenly gripped by a pair of masculine hands and nuzzled (yes, nuzzled). One spilt drink and a stained rug later, it appears that this is merely a case of mistaken identity. Her back and neck resemble her aunt's, apparently, according to this mysterious goateed man.

And just as I am about to be introduced to the aunt (only the dulcet tones of her voice have so far made an appearance), my page ends, leaving it up to you to continue.