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My character-driven historical fiction grips readers' emotions and surprises them with unexpected twists. “The social realism of Jane Austen meets the Southern Gothic of Flannery O’Connor” in The Silk Trilogy, set in the Lowcountry of South Carolina. Sign up for my free newsletter on the right-hand sidebar.

Tuesday, January 16, 2024

Cats Galore in 'Park Avenue Vet' by Dr. Camuti and Lloyd Alexander

 

Author Lloyd Alexander with one of his cats.

One hundred years ago this month, my all-time favorite author was born.  I’m not saying Lloyd Alexander was truly the best author in the world, only that that’s been my decided opinion ever since I was in the third grade. My teacher read the Chronicles of Prydain to us at the excruciatingly slow rate of one short, perfect chapter per day, emblazoning his words and artistry upon my mind. I’d ponder the daily chapters and couldn’t bear to miss a day of school.  Lloyd Alexander was born the 30th of January in 1924, leaving not only an array of award-winning fantasy novels but also his prior nonfiction works—sprinkled with tongue-in-cheek, self-effacing humor, always polished. Here I am reviewing an early work entitled Park Avenue Vet (1962).

Author Sophia Alexander with
Lloyd Alexander's Park Avenue Vet (1962)

For this year of Lloyd’s 100th birthday, I am at last reading the four remaining books that I’ve never gotten around to reading (or didn’t finish, in one case). I do believe three of the four are now out of print. I collected these volumes long ago but never felt drawn to them, in particular, tending to instead go back to my favorites time and again. This first was written in collusion with Dr. Louis J. Camuti, a veterinarian who at the time (1962) had already been making house calls exclusively for cats for forty long years.

Dr. Camuti certainly lucked into getting Lloyd Alexander to work with him on his cat tales.  Lloyd had already written My Five Tigers, a charming book about the stray cats who adopted Lloyd and his wife, Janine. Park Avenue Vet did not turn out to be quite so delightful as its predecessor, for all that Lloyd’s style pervades the writing.  It starts out well enough and is full of interesting cat anecdotes from beginning to end—cute enough that I contemplated trying to order another copy for my cat-loving daughter. Soon, however, one realizes that although Dr. Camuti has a certain understanding about cat sociology and a decided affection for cats, he’s not particularly broad-minded and is nowhere near the intellect that Lloyd is. It seems obvious in the passages where Camuti insisted on keeping something in the book, as it’s suddenly less tasteful and falls flat, as if even Lloyd simply couldn’t muster the charm to make it flow as well as the rest of the writing. After all, it can be literally impossible to transform puffed-up insularity into ‘charming’. Besides, I do believe Lloyd himself was in some way offended by the old-fashioned perspective. Camuti comes off as a pompous, name-dropping know-it-all, and this happens increasingly towards the end of the book.  Camuti co-authored another book a few years later, but he had to use another author to polish it for him, as by that time Lloyd Alexander was working on his more successful fantasy novels (Newberry Award-winning!)—but also, I suspect that Lloyd Alexander had already had more than enough of Dr. Louis J. Camuti in the writing of Park Avenue Vet.

Still, for all that, it’s not the absolute worst (so far) of Lloyd Alexander’s books. That dubious soubriquet goes to another commissioned biographical work: August Bondi: Border Hawk, so dull as to seem to be written by someone else, quite devoid of Lloyd’s trademark wit.  It’s truly as if Lloyd Alexander were pinned down and forced to write lines!  Mind you, I read that book well over a decade ago, and I’m almost curious enough to give it another go, to see if it really was that bad.  But clearly I don’t recommend it.

My all-time favorite Lloyd Alexander work is Janine Is French, which is about his beloved Parisian wife and is utter charm from beginning to end. I’m quite sorry it’s out of print.  For most people, and definitely for the underage crowd, The Chronicles of Prydain is where to begin. These five novels are inspired by Welsh legend. Not only does Lloyd’s wit and polished style enchant the reader, but his characters wrestle with ethics and lofty ideals about truthfulness and finding their purpose; these come through in his novels in a way that his nonfiction anecdotes simply don’t do.

Park Avenue Vet may not inspire the reader with idealism, but it will make the reader love cats all the more. Even non-cat-lovers will find themselves enchanted with felines, at least for a while.  As for the devoted and now-disparaged cat veterinarian, Dr. Camuti—I’m sure I’d have enjoyed meeting him and hearing his stories first-hand.  He loved cats very much and never stopped attending them. He continued to work as a cat vet until he dropped dead at the age of eighty-seven, on his way to a house call.  Now that’s devotion.


Wednesday, December 6, 2023

3 for 3 Shelf Unbound Awards for the Silk Trilogy!

 'Homespun' has been honored with this 2023 award, along with a 4-page spread in their current e-magazine (I had to keep it under wraps until now). The Silk Trilogy now has the distinction of each of its novels being independently honored—in 2021, 2022, & now 2023—by Shelf Unbound as an overall finalist in their Best Indie Book Awards! https://issuu.com/shelfunbound/docs/a
wards-issue-winter2023-dec-jan-feb_?fr=xKAE9_zU1NQ

Saturday, December 2, 2023

'Tapestry: A Lowcountry Rapunzel' Awarded Coffee Pot Book Club Bronze Medal

I'm tickled that Tapestry: A Lowcountry Rapunzel has been awarded a Bronze Medal from the Coffee Pot Book Club in the category of 20th century historical fiction! https://thecoffeepotbookclub.blogspot.com/2023/11/





Wednesday, November 22, 2023

Atmospheric Essays in 'House of Steps' by Amy Blackmarr

"Good heavens, honey... it's a hippie house!" -Amy's mother regarding her temporary Kansan home
Sophia Alexander with
House of Steps by Amy Blackmarr

I’ve just consumed The House of Steps while visiting my dear friend Kelly in North Carolina. Kelly keeps an ‘Amy room’ with a sort of shrine to her sister's award-winning books in it—and I don’t blame her one whit, as they are that well-written. In fact, their mother is thought to be descended from the national poet of Scotland, Robert Burns, so perhaps Amy did not pull her writing genius from nowhere!

The House of Steps is an anecdotal collection of short essays about Amy’s experience of moving (for a few graduate-school years) to a remote, cobbled-together house in Kansas with her dog. It’s a worthwhile follow-up to the raw authenticity of her first essay collection, Going to Ground, which sprang Thoreau-like from her pen during her pond residence at her family’s remote, south-Georgia cabin. Both essay collections, quite atmospheric, remind me of those by fellow Aries Southerner, Barbara Kingsolver. Blackmarr's essays fill me with a love for Georgia's natural environment, though I sense no equivalent appreciation for her temporary Kansas surroundings.

In fact, my favorite tales from The House of Steps actually relate back to her family and girlhood in Georgia, but this may be personal bias, since I’m familiar with the family. Nevertheless, I particularly enjoyed reading about their mother’s genteel reactions to Amy’s strange new Kansan house and Amy’s perverse defense of it.  Yet while Amy does allow isolated glimpses into her past life, they come only as she mulls her existing environment and life itself—and I do so enjoy hearing Amy’s unique take on her world. In summary, I do recommend Amy Blackmarr’s books, including House of Steps, as quirky, rich, perception-expanding, sometimes-amusing, regional, atmospheric reads.



Friday, October 27, 2023

Visiting the Yucatán Peninsula

My 'crybaby' necklace from the Ixchel ruins.
Last month, I traveled to the Yucatán Peninsula for the very first time with my son, daughter, and niece in tow. We spent our first week relaxing at our time-share on Isla Mujeres, an island just off the coast of Cancún, and our second week traveling across the Yucatan, swimming in cenotes, visiting a friend on the northern coast, checking out towns, and touring Mayan ruins. It’s only a few hours from the east to the west coast, so we usually spent no more than a couple of hours in the car on any given day.

A statue at our time-share, the pool
behind her and a dock in front of her.
I did go in part for inspiration. I’ve only recently realized how very near we are to this very different country, where there’s a different government and a different language, and it’s a welcome reality check.  I also wanted to give an eye-opening travel experience to my children, who grew up in the American South and have spent precious little time outside of it. Furthermore, I do have some Native American heritage and have contemplated writing a novel inspired by those ancestors, though if I do, that will be years into the future.  Still, I thought that visiting the native ruins in a nearby place currently peopled primarily by North American natives (in this case, Mayans) might help grant me vision.

Iguanas were everywhere!
As pretty as it is, our time-share on Isla Mujeres is not one of those all-inclusive resorts, but this gave us the opportunity to mingle with the locals a bit by eating in their restaurants and shopping at their supermarket. Apparently, many Americans travel for just a few days to Cancún simply to enjoy the beach and resorts, having no more agenda than to have a good time!  For those folks, it seems to work fine to just fly into Cancún, take a taxi straight to their all-inclusive resort, paying in American money and speaking in English, and then leave a few days later the same way.  At least, that is what a friend who’s been to Cancún many times finally told me when I kept trying to pry her tips for traveling in Mexico from her.  She basically had no tips except, “Have a good time!” I spoke with another blissed-out woman on the plane back who had also been there, staying only four days to celebrate her birthday with friends at an all-inclusive resort. That sort of travel seems absolutely valid for R&R, but ours—while it had R&R, too—was also about culture and adventure.

The Turquoise Coast isn't named
that for nothing!
This was our view from the ferry
as a man crooned
Mexican songs for us!
I overheard a man in departures at the airport saying how he’d thought that it sounded like a good idea to explore the Yucatán, but that they’d had a hard time of it.  I can imagine, especially if he doesn’t speak Spanish! (I didn’t ask.)  We stuck mostly to the more popular tourist routes and still found our basic Spanish to be essential.  Turns out that most locals have a Mayan dialect as their native tongue, and Spanish is already a second language.  Conversing with taxi drivers on Isla Mujeres was interesting, and they were quite nice about chatting with me during our rides, but it was in crossing the Yucatán that I wondered what tourists would do who spoke no Spanish!  My son and I had been prepping on Duolingo in Spanish for months beforehand (refreshing our high school and college Spanish), and we used it everywhere we went, out of necessity much of the time. Even though my Spanish was atrocious, far worse than it should have been—conjugations forgotten, along with the polite form of ‘you’ (Usted), which is very much used in Mexico, nobody criticized me for it. I imagine they have to deal with a lot of tourists who can’t communicate with them at all. As it was, I was delighted to be somewhat functional there!
I'd never seen frigate birds before.
They're huge coastal birds.

Mostly we relaxed at the resort that first week, our single group outing being a snorkeling trip.  It was everyone’s favorite experience, all those brilliant tropical fish swimming in droves around us in azure waters. Absolutely marvelous. The kids were amazed. We were all burnt, though, despite buying the most expensive American-brand sunscreen.  I’d also bought a Mayan-Sun brand sunscreen for a fraction of the cost. Later I put the American sunscreen on one foot, and then, running out, put the Mayan-Sun brand on the other foot—and my Mayan foot wasn’t burn at all, whereas the other foot had gotten pink while out at the ruins of Ixchel--a healing, midwife-type goddess whose modest ruins and an extensive statuary are at the very easternmost point of Mexico on Isla Mujeres.

This statue of Ixchel shows
her seated on her symbol,
the crescent moon, which
depicts her crone aspect at the top
As I was leaving the Ixchel ruins, I wandered into a vendor booth, and the woman told me to pick a stone, any stone, and she would tell me my energy and how the stone could help me.  (She spoke English.)  So I looked at the array of necklaces and chose a tiger's eye stone.  She put it on my neck, and then she told me that I'm a 'crybaby'!  Of course, her sheer pluck made me have to buy the necklace!  I should probably wear it more often...

Anyhow, I don’t know if that would be your experience with the American vs. Mayan sunscreen, but it was mine.  And unfortunately, my son ended up with sun poisoning and blisters, so please do be careful out there!  I wore a hat and a thin long-sleeved top most of the time when outdoors and not swimming.

Worried about ‘Montezuma’s Revenge’ hitting us, I'd ordered big filter straws online, and we did use them for drinking glasses of water in the restaurants. We mostly drank bottled water, though, going through countless big containers (sometimes used to refill our bottles), and each of us took a Metagenics Supergarlic supplement daily.  Fresh veggies were still our daily fare (I can’t function without), so I felt blessed that we got through the vacation without any upsets that way.  I’d heard some horror stories from a couple of people who traveled there!

It’s said there’s less risk in the resort area on the coast, and I have my own theory of why that is:
  Once we crossed from the state of Quintana Roo (where Cancún is) into the Yucatán state, the toilets generally do not take the toilet paper, and used TP is placed in open trash cans, even at the nicest hotels and the most beautiful homes!  I was so dismayed and still can’t get over that.  Our ex-pat friend lives in a gorgeous home on the beach, with a courtyard and her own private pool, and yet even she has to do that. So while my daughter and niece were thrilled with the place, talking about ‘Life goals!’, I just shook my head, thinking how even the poorest trailers in the South can flush toilet paper—apparently a luxury I’d taken for granted but cannot happily live without.  Again, can you imagine if one of us got sick with Montezuma’s Revenge and had to put the toilet paper in the open trash can? We were all sharing a single hotel room, generally for more than one night in the same place. Agh!

We swam in two cave cenotes with stalactites overhead.
On our way across the Yucatán, we went to two different cenotes, Dzitnup and Suytun, one each way.  These are fairly pristine bodies of water (connected by underground rivers) that dot the limestone peninsula, which is fairly free of surface rivers and is flat like Florida. Some cenotes are open for swimming (for a fee). Stalactites hung over our heads as we swam—though not all cenotes are in caves—and fish were swimming with us. My niece had never been in a cenote, nor a cave, so it was doubly special for her, and she was the one who asked to go to another cenote before we left.  I chose cave cenotes mostly so as to avoid the penetrating sunshine, which had already burnt us.  I was upset, however, by the cashier cheating us at Dzitnup, which made me too nervous to leave my bag and go in the water, but I was delighted with the cenote itself—bats flew far above the swimmers.  Eventually I was a swimmer myself, as my son insisted on taking my things on the substantial trek back to the car so that I could swim, too.  Seriously, the people running it seemed poor and shady, and I didn’t like having to give them my license in order to get a life jacket. They, too, had numerous vendors at booths.  So… apparently I like a more commercial setup, as Suytun was far more in line with the theme parks that we all know and love!  It was cleaner, and they had lockers to store your things, didn’t demand my license, didn’t cheat me, and didn’t have all those vendors.  I mostly remember just a big gift shop there.  Suytun’s cenote didn’t seem quite as lovely itself, perhaps, as Dzitnup—which was quite wonderful and felt more ‘natural’—but perhaps I just missed the bats circling above, maybe due to increased lighting.  I did see one, though!

Our guide was amazing with 
the camera!
My son is jumping 'over'
the pyramid of Kulkulcan!
The Mayan ruins were meant to be the pinnacle of our trip. Chichen Itza and Uxmal were well worth seeing, paying for guides, and everything.  Chichen Itza is the only new Seventh Wonder of the World in all of North America, but we couldn’t touch anything, and the walkways were saturated with so many vendors that I was sure they outnumbered the tourists.  How guilt-inducing having to ignore their continual pleas to buy something.  The first vendor I came to actually tricked me into buying a whole marble mini-chess set (so heavy for toting around there—and in my return luggage) by telling me he’d carved the pieces himself!  “It’s my yob!” he assured me.  Not long after, I passed booths with identical chess sets.  

The Magician's Pyramid at Uxmal
That said, the Temple of Kukulcan is remarkable, and I enjoyed having some of its mathematical and astronomical designs pointed out to us.  I won’t repeat the wonders, as you can watch videos on YouTube about it, but do clap your hands sharply in front of both the Temple of Kukulcan at Chichen Itza and in front of the Magician’s Pyramid at Uxmal, as they reverberate a sharp, distinctive sound that is like the Quetzal bird’s cry. Our second guide, the one at Uxmal, didn’t mention this, and I wouldn’t have known it was true of that pyramid, too, if I hadn’t overheard another guide demonstrating it to a party of tourists.

View from the top of the pyramid at Mayapan
Certainly it’s fascinating to see all those magnificent ruins, but I would encourage you, if you’re anything like me in enjoying a more tactile experience, to visit some of the less-traveled ruins, too.  We stopped at the Mayapan ruins—oh, but be careful to specify ‘ruins’ when you’re looking it up!  We first drove to the town of Mayapan, about 45 minutes away from the ruins!  Mayapan was once powerful enough that at one point it had subjugated both the larger ancient Mayan cities of Chichen Itza and Uxmal. Its ruins were contained in a relatively small area, and they even had a somewhat diminished ancient replica of the Temple of Kukulcan that we were able to climb up on!  I was thrilled to get to do that, and at one point all four of us were on the top of the pyramid. It was breathtaking to be up there, to actually climb those stairs and touch the stone.  We were the only ones at the Mayapan ruins aside from another family and a small film crew for what appeared to be a French-language documentary.  The entrance fee was just a pittance of what it cost to get into the famous ruins at Chichen Itza and Uxmal, too.  There were no guides, though, so I do recommend the famous ruins, vastly bigger ‘cities’, for that experience.

Piramide Hun Pic Tok ruins, in a hotel courtyard!
The yellow city of Izamal was our favorite find, though.  Not that it was the grandest town that we went into. When I mentioned that I'd read that there was an all-yellow colonial city—most of the colonial cities were colorful like Charleston’s Rainbow Row—my daughter had to see it, yellow being her favorite color.  We idled into a hotel’s café on one of the main squares, entering a gorgeous courtyard within. I’d been sitting there for a few minutes before I realized that the ‘wall’ behind us was actually a… pyramid!  The ruins of one called 'Piramide Hun Pic Tok'.  I was amazed.  
Note the preponderance of scooters
and motorcycles in the Yucatan. The
church in Izamal is in the background here.
On top of the pyramid of Kinich Kakmo
in Izamal (my daughter, son, me, and niece)

Izamal is perhaps the oldest continuously operating city I’ve ever been to here in North America. It’s built right on top of ancient ruins, which are simply incorporated into the everyday structures.  Absolutely amazing that we have this city nearly as old as Rome (possibly older), so close to us!  

Izamal’s yellow church, the Monastery of St. Anthony of Padua, was built in 1561 on a stone foundation that previously held a Mayan temple—the destruction and church construction ordered, to my understanding, by the very same bishop who had all the Mayan books burnt (only 3 codices are known to have survived).  

My legendary embroidered macaw 
bag on the pyramid of Kinich Kakmo
A couple of blocks away, right inside the city, a whole block is taken up by the Pyramid of Kinich Kakmo, built in 400 AD.  And you guessed it… we got to climb that immense pyramid, too.  It was even free to go in the gates (which closed by 5 p.m.). I’d happened to buy an embroidered tote bag with macaws on it in the hotel gift shop, not even thinking about the city’s legend—that a flaming macaw would swoop down daily to accept the god’s offerings from the top of the pyramid—and then I went and climbed the pyramid with the vividly embroidered birds in tow!  I was delighted to realize it once I was up there.

Our hotel at Valladolid preparing for Mexican
Independence Day
Valladolid was the final and most beautiful city we stayed in.  A quite nice vegetarian restaurant featured a phenomenal guitarist in the courtyard, making our last evening in Mexico the loveliest.  We slept at a Spanish-style gorgeous hotel there, its balconies already decorated with flags for their Mexican Independence Day. Given that the guitar music had also been contemporary Western, it was more about enjoying being there than ancient Mayan anything!

These charming, modest benches
were common in the parks. This
is in Valladolid.
The colonial cities did remind me vaguely of historic Charleston, SC, in their construction.  I was stunned at visiting the cathedral at Merida that was built in the late sixteenth century, so much earlier than anything of the sort that we have in the USA!  It was massive.  Also in Merida still stands the façade of the Yucatan conqueror’s home, which still has mounted sculptures of Spanish soldiers standing on the heads of Mayans.  Amazing that it’s still there—what a bit of history!  I’d never have noticed, though, if I hadn’t read it in an old guide book.

Check out the broom this fellow
is using to sweep the sidewalk
around a church in Merida!
There were so many places we did not see.  I’d have loved to visit the walled city of Campeche, the pink lakes, Edzna and Ek-Balaam ruins.  There is much to see and do in the Yucatán, and it is fairly affordable to visit.  Even the flights were fairly inexpensive.  On the umpteenth time that I marveled about the ancient ruins, my daughter (an archaeology major) pointed out to me that the reason we don’t have those sorts of ruins in the US is that we don’t have so much stone. Our American Indians built with more perishable items. Such had never occurred to me!

The carts in front of motorbikes
I highly recommend visiting the Yucatán, especially if you know at least a bit of Spanish. Be forewarned that much of it is rundown, especially in the more rural areas, though I was charmed by the thatched huts and the carts that villagers drove around in front of their motorcycles, even as their ‘school buses’. We actually got to see a whole parade of them leaving school one afternoon, the children in their uniforms, sitting on the benches in the carts.

I was glad to get back home, though. In comparison, my folks’ rural town in South Carolina suddenly seems quite grand!  All is relative…