Author Archives: Karen Kittrell

My Just Deserts – A Little Free Library

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Westminster Church serves and delivers turkey dinners to the hungry. On Thanksgiving morning, Detroit police, mostly older and maybe even retired, load large quantities of food into the trunks of their police cruisers. Beyond the curbside cars, two lines form–one to eat and one to serve. I join the serving line and notice a hunger for reading served with two Little Free Libraries by the sidewalk. Inside the church, orange table clothes, festive center pieces and individual Thanksgiving cards drawn by children adorn tables decorated for today.

 

My Just Deserts

Volunteers are directed to the kitchen, meal delivery or wait staff. My son and I are assigned to packaging desserts and must wear plastic trash bag-like aprons. We stand in the doorway to the unheated dessert room and inhale the scents of the season–cinnamon, nutmeg, cloves and chocolate. This room houses thousands of single-serving Styrofoam containers stacked on trays in carts towering from floor to ceiling and front to back–more Styrofoam than I’ve ever seen in one place. Our work today is the culmination of days of preparation.

 

Is There an APP for This?

Our first orders are for quantities of 218, 63, 42, 28, several threes and several twos. Notes taped to each cart indicate the quantity–196 on this one and 360 on another with some trays already removed or partially emptied. We multiply and find a standard thirty-six per tray. Several pre-packed boxes bare labels for fifty-four, eighteen and then varying amounts of whatever number fit into whatever random box was available. We pack eight desserts in plastic bags and combine boxes with bags to fill the orders. Who knew there would be so much math? Then, we lose track of our count and have to start over. On holiday, our brains weren’t caffeinated enough for mental work. We resort to staging our orders–gather the quantity, pack the nearest cardboard box and label before we forget. It would be terrible to short change an order and accidentally leave out dessert.

 

An Accidental Milkshake

During our shift, we witness many dinners served–most bundled for delivery to the homebound. We are a tiny piece of a big operation at Westminster Church of Detroit. On our way home, we pass several open restaurants before deciding to stop for a hamburger. This is the coincidence, KARMA or “one good turn deserves another” part of the story. As our order is bagged, an employee sets a milkshake next to the tray and says it was made by mistake. “Do you want it?” My son and I–who spent the entire morning surrounded by desserts–realize we forgot to order dessert. The accidental milkshake feels much bigger than an accidental dessert and more symbolic of “just deserts.” My son rolls his eyes at my speculations and changes the topic. It is all connected. We find cause in coincidence, correlation in chaos and hope in desperation. When hungry and tired, as many are, accidental is welcome, and charitable is divine.

The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Film – Part 2 of 2

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the-revenant-picA screenplay bridges the gap between novel and movie and converts the story into images and dramatized action. In the narrative-heavy novel, The Revenant by Michael Punke, readers know Hugh Glass’s thoughts and motivations as if inside his head, third person point of view close. Although this works well in the book “The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Novel,” on the big screen, viewers would see Hugh Glass and be clueless. What is he thinking?

Screenwriter, Michael L. Smith converts the novel into scenes that comprise a screenplay. The motives and conflicts are visible with dialogue, action or flashbacks. The director, Alejandro G. Inarritu, morphs the screenplay into award-winning creative expression. Smith minimizes the object story of the stolen Amstadt and maximizes the relationships, injustice, and personal loss. The screenplay shows theme, motivation and key conflicts in ten pages translating to ten minutes of screen time. In a quick comparison of the first ten pages, see how the movie builds on the screenplay scenes.

It’s a Good Movie When . . .

  1. The opening scene draws viewers into the character. Smith begins the screenplay with Glass whispering “not yet” to his sweat-soaked shivering son. The film takes this touching scene and places it in the aftermath of an attack where Glass finds his injured son and reveals his own motivation in the words, “Don’t give up. As long as you can grab a breath, you fight.” Contrast this to the novel which uses in medias res (beginning in the middle) to show Glass experiencing Fitzgerald and Bridger in the act of abandoning him and stealing his gun and knife. Each opening scene shows injustice – a sick child, a burned village, and an injured man left behind. Each version begs to know what happens next to this character.
  2. The antagonist is a worthy adversary. The screenplay, scene two, begins in the middle of a campsite of hungry and homesick trappers. Dialogue centers around Fitzgerald challenging and undercutting the leadership of Captain Henry who wears a buckskin jacket with long fringe. I visualize Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett; the Captain must be a good guy. We know Fitzgerald will be trouble. In the film, scene two luxuriates with precious minutes of water running in trees and nature sounds with camera angles the Sierra club would envy. The camera catches the quiet step of Glass and two others creeping toward an elk. Scene three opens to Fitzgerald ordering the trappers to bundle more furs together. He appears to have some authority. Then when the Arikara chief attacks, Fitzgerald proves to be a fighter. So far, the chief has my vote for the antagonist. In scene four on the boat and scene five at the next camp, Fitzgerald challenges the Captain and insults Glass. Now it is known. He will be a problem when left to care for Glass. In the novel, Glass pursues Fitzgerald regardless of dangerous weather or hostile tribes of Arikara warriors. These two immediate threats are far more interesting than the eventual meeting of Glass and Fitzgerald at the end of the story. In the film, the meeting of Glass and Fitzgerald is a Hollywood big ending.
  3. Art is not forgotten. Inarritu deserves his Academy Award for his choice of setting alone. The scenery behind the blood and mutilation is ruggedly beautiful. My in-house cinematography expert reports the crew filmed only with natural light in many Canadian locations and in Argentina. Cinematographer, Emmanuel Lubezki, also wins an Academy Award for his efforts on this big screen epic. The film sports many talented actors, but only one can win, best actor at the Academy Awards. For the record, Hugh Glass did not sleep inside a horse; it is a Hollywood stunt. If you haven’t seen the film, do it for this scene — Leonardo Dicaprio, horse, cliff and snow.

Contrast Inarritu’s production with Jason Blum and his low-budget film production company (films with price tags in the thousands and receipts in the millions). NPR’s Ari Shapiro recently interviewed Blum. A 2013 Forbes article by Mark Hughes puts Blum’s movies in perspective. Blum is responsible for Paranormal Activity 1, 2, 3, 4 and however many he produces after the sixty plus films already on his resume (including Whiplash). He says production costs are contained by restricting the number of locations, eliminating big stunts, and using unknown actors.

The filming of the Revenant did none of these. The Revenant is big budget, multi-continent, 156 minutes, and a makeup artist’s dream for blood, wounds and semi-frozen big star talent.

The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Novel – Part 1 of 2

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screenshot-2016-10-05-06-39-34Michael Punke found enough good ideas in the journals about Hugh Glass to write a novel. At the end of the book, the author acknowledged his historical uncertainties. Alejandro G. Inarritu also found good ideas in The Revenant about the life of Hugh Glass. Inarritu strayed far enough from the Punke story to barely (or shall I say bear-ly) resemble the novel. For weeks, I wondered why Inarritu changed the story. Why mess with a good thing?

The answer to that question came unexpectedly in a screenwriting class. In this two part series, Part One explores the highlights of the novel.  Then, Part Two will show why the screenplay requires a different story and where the screenplay excels. In terms of the classic elements of story, The Revenant is rich in conflict, characters and resolution, which is the structure of the story, the plot.

It’s a Good Book When . . .

1) The action scenes are hazardous to my health.  Mesmerized by each blow of the grizzly bear’s paw, I listen to the audio book, slowing in my driving speed. Other cars are whipping past at 90mph. My car rocks in their wake until the bear’s final swipe. Punke’s novel drops stunning action into almost every scene. Action is conflict. And in this novel, the conflict is evenly spread between nature, man and self. In one scene, a snake strikes with deadly poison. Visualizing the scene, I can hardly grip the steering wheel. Also, I’m thankful I tackled this story in the heat of summer, because I feel cold in 90 degree weather. Other hazards include the frontier skirmishes with different tribes–a few fur trappers against what seems like an Arikara army. I want to duck for cover under the dashboard from the assault of arrows. For self-conflict, Glass battles his own desire for revenge when he finds Bridger, one of the volunteers left to care for him. Bridger’s haunted and tortured thoughts echo in my memory foreshadowing what is to come. Punke writes, “Stunned silence filled the room as the men struggled to comprehend the vision before them. Unlike the others, Bridger understood instantly. In his mind he had seen this vision before. His guilt swelled up, churning like a paddle wheel in his stomach. He wanted desperately to flee. How do you escape something that comes from inside? The revenant, he knew, searched for him” (p. 201).

2) The characters’ problems are larger than life. As I open the refrigerator to pull out a ready-made dinner in my heated house with clean running water, I lose appreciation for the survival challenges of two hundred years ago. The Revenant is written about fur trappers in 1823. Survival requires creativity, skill and courage. Glass must somehow find food without a knife, gun or a fast food restaurant on every corner. The descriptions of ways to trap small animals, catch fish and defeat other predators draw in the mystified urban reader. Along Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, Glass must find shelter and eventually transportation. I marvel at the “live or die” mentality that forces Glass to confront wolves feeding at a buffalo carcass. Without food, Glass will be too weak to heal, to live, and most importantly to seek revenge.

3) When revenge is not so sweet. The Revenant is an object story. This revenge-fueled obsession is because of a stolen gun. Punke devotes pages to describing the Anstadt, “a so-called Kentucky flintlock, made, like most of the great arms of the day by German craftsmen in Pennsylvania” (p. 18). Two hundred years ago, a gun was life, and Glass trusted his life to his reliable and beautiful gun. That’s why the novel’s bear attack has Glass drop to one knee and aim to shoot the bear’s heart at exactly the right distance to kill. Punke builds rich backstories for Fitzgerald and his motive to take the gun and continue in his corrupt ways. The stolen knife, however, fills Bridger with guilt. As for resolution, stories end with the character either accomplishing the goal or not. Glass finds both Bridger and Fitzgerald (not much of a spoiler). Each reader will have to decide whether Glass is satisfied with the non-Hollywood ending.

In summary, the novel adds a rich historical perspective of life on the frontier. Scenes with French voyageurs, Yellow Horse and an unlucky Captain Henry heighten this storytelling. A quick internet search on Hugh Glass brings poems, songs, historical accounts and movies. The lore and fictional accounts elevate Hugh Glass to legend. Each fictional remake of the fur trapper and mountain man adds to his story. In Part two of “The Revenant – A Good Idea for a Film,” the legend shifts in a new direction.

 

This Is Your Brain on Sentences

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the-high-mountains-of-portugalWords express emotions, actions and sensations. Both short Hemingway-ish power sentences and long clause-embedded beauties force me to marvel at the craft, inventive structure and grammatical placement. I go back, reread and savor an author’s phrase word by word. Reading is good food for the brain.

Now science proves what literature already knew. Neuroscience News reveals a study about predicting the areas of the brain activated by words in a sentence. Previous studies mapped the brain on the meanings associated with words. For example, the article cites the word “play” which triggers brain areas associated with biomotion and arousal. With a deliberate thought to brain play, it’s time now to hunt for some examples of brain tingling responses.

A perfect source of material is Yann Martel’s The High Mountains of Portugal. For readers of Life of Pi, Martel’s latest book combines unusual characters with somber themes, apes, and a special something extra of magical realism on the top. I listened to the audio book first and then sought the written copy to reread my favorite parts. Heck, I pretty much reread the whole book. The pure escape of Martel’s writing saved me when I had an unpleasant chore to tackle. Plugging my brain into Martel’s Portugal transformed the experience.

Lingering Despair

The novel begins with a quirky character Tomas who is heartbroken from the death of his son and the woman he loved. “ . . . he is ambushed by a memory of Dora, smiling and reaching out to touch him. For that, the cane is useful, because memories of her always throw him off balance” (Martel 2).

Martel uses the uncle to ask, “Why? Why are you doing this? Why don’t you walk like a normal person?” (9) My brain sympathizes with Tomas’ sadness and his peculiar manner of walking. Martel explains that “what his uncle does not understand is that in walking backward, his back to the world, his back to God, he is not grieving. He is objecting. Because when everything cherished by you in life has been taken away, what else is there to do but object?” (12).

Pestering Itch

Tomas begins his own quest for a sacred artifact in the high mountains. Preserving the past, the legends, and the myths, the mountains are also primitive and resist the modern. Soon, Tomas “is itchy all over, in a manner that is absolutely maddening, precisely because he is a tornado of vermin, with a civilization of lice, fleas, and whatnot dancing upon his head” (Martel 82). And ten pages later, my own skin crawls with imaginary lice. I feel Tomas’ relief when “he raises his ten fingers in the air. His blackened fingernails gleam. With a warlike cry, he throws himself into the fray. He rakes his fingernails over his head-the top, the sides, the nape–and over his bearded cheeks and neck.” And the scratching and grunting satisfaction continued for several pages, but I turn down the volume and glance around to see if any of the neighbors have come to find the source of such groans.

Nauseating Unease

Autopsy is common on the prime time television series. Martel cleverly calls “every dead body . . . a book with a story to tell, each organ a chapter, the chapters united by a common narrative” (137). My lessons in anatomy are limited to life drawing classes. Dissections ended in ninth grade biology with a starfish and frog. And my experiences with decay are limited to the latest zombie movie or the refrigerator crisper drawer. Martel lures squeamish readers, like me, into the examiner’s office. The coroner, Eusebio, “is used to being greeted by the Mortis sisters when he comes to work. The oldest, Algor, chills the patient to the ambient temperature; Livor, the middle sister, neatly applies her favourite colour scheme–yellowish grey to the top half of the patient and purple-red to the bottom half, where the blood has settled–and rigor, the youngest, so stiffens the body that bones can be broken if limbs are forced. They are cheery ones, these sisters, eternal spinsters who ravish innumerable bodies” (Martel 190). From here, the author dives deep into the stages of decay in the days after death. He pushes the descriptions to the limit; I can’t take any more. My brain on full revolt warns to avert my eyes and cover my ears. It was almost too much. It was too much. But then, before I look away, something unexpected happens. Something magical. Something beautiful. Something unreal. I want to believe. However, I also wanted to believe the notion of Pi training a tiger on a rescue boat in the middle of the ocean.

The High Mountains of Portugal is a successful storytelling rich for study. Other areas of study might include theme, structure, and magical realism. In every post, I highlight an author’s unique writing with a specific goal to avoid spoiling the reader’s full enjoyment of the plot and the story.

For Better or For Worse – Fates and Furies (Part 3/3)

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Lauren Groff’s Fates and Furies falls into my newly created genre of relationship, or quite simply, “apres romance.” This novel begins at the most extreme height of passion, usually where most romance plots end. Yet does this relationship feel real? With the help of Professor Mark Leary at Duke University, I apply Understanding the Mysteries of Human Behavior to separate fact from fiction.

Love is A Drugunderstanding-the-mysteries

FACT – Lotto’s love at first sight is actually a psychological term called “excitation transfer.” After his stage performance, he sees Mathilde, relabels his excitement to her and falls in love. BOOM! Groff captures the passionate love of newlyweds.  Apparently, the brain in love is a brain on drugs.  Pumped full of dopamine and phenylethylamine (PEA), the brain is excited and exhilarated in the early phase of a relationship. Then, as the neurotransmitters chill, the relationship shifts to more compassionate love and douses the brain with oxytocin, leaving a warm fuzzy connected – all is right with the world – feeling.  Groff succeeds here in portraying the shift to career, financial and family concerns.

Opposites Attract

FICTION – Relationships run into problems based on personalities and character traits. In general, happy people tend to have better relationships. According to Leary, people who are disagreeable, hostile, suspicious and selfish will have less satisfying relationships. In Fates and Furies, Lotto narrates the first half of the book. His personality and basic nature attract followers and fans, and Mathilde may be the only one to deal with his alcoholism and bi-polar tendencies. She keeps Lotto hinged and producing plays. Mathilde, who seems opposite of Lotto, may succeed because of her stealth-like dominance in running their lives. As Lotto describes, she runs on the passive-aggressive side.

Marriage is Hard

FACT – Expectations are higher in modern relationships according to Leary. Our previous experiences make our comparison levels higher. There’s even a theory for this – Interdependence Theory. The criteria for rating current relationships is based on previous relationships. For the same amount of effort or “costs,” what are the rewards with someone else? Lotto and Mathilde’s relationship exceeds previous relationship experiences which make them satisfied. Since other alternative relationships do not compare, the couple stays committed.

Until Death Do We Part

FICTION – As a relationship ages, the perceived costs increase. Successful relationships manage to incorporate increasing rewards to adjust for the current costs. Lotto accepts the cost – his childless marriage. Mathilde increases Lotto’s rewards by using her leverage to make him successful and lets him naively believe his talent triumphed. Responsiveness is also a key to marriage success. Mathilde’s anger at Lotto’s speech about her role in their relationship made her pull back. Lotto came to her in apology, and they reunited. Had he harbored a grudge about being abandoned after his speech, the rift between them would have grown. Unsuccessful marriages foster an environment where each partner alternately disengages further and further.

Overall, Groff represents the ongoing challenges of a long-term relationship. If anything, the Lotto and Mathilde relationship is so three-dimensional that the other relationships in the story are flat.

This concludes my three-part series based on the novel Fates and Furies. When a novel succeeds on so many levels, I want to know why. How did the author accomplish so much? What was unique about this story? If there is any doubt, I confess a writer’s respect and a reader’s admiration for Lauren Groff’s creativity in structure “Give It To Me Straight“, mastery of style “It’s Greek to Me” and realistic depiction of a relationship over the span of two life times “For Better or For Worse.”