Saturday

By the way. I'm thoroughly enjoying Ian McEwan's latest novel Saturday. It's an odd thing, but I have more of an affinity for British novelists than I do for American writers. (My appreciation for my righteous MFA classmate Doug Heckman notwithstanding.) I suppose the connection for me springs from a shared interest in incorporating scientific discourse in narrative. I like exploring the ways in which science affects the way we think about, and talk about, one another, and the Brits just seem to work that theme harder than Americans do. Amercian fiction writers seem to be, for the most part, either uninterested in or afraid of science, and I find that sad. While I've lost interest in being a science fiction writer, I think that writers do themselves and their readers a terrible disservice if they cut themselves off from that segment of the academic conversation. Charles Johnson, my mentor at the UW, puts it, not surprisingly, better than I do:

"If you are a writer who regards literary creation as, not merely a possible profession, but as a passion, there is always something to do. If you are not writing fresh material, you are revising; if you are not revising, you are reading--litearture, philosophy, mythology, the sciences--everything that employs the world."

McEwan's novel employs the world. He takes it all, literature, medicine, the arts, terrorism, civilization, and puts it on the page. It's something I always try to do in my own work, and it's an inspiration to see him do it in his. Check it out.