NYC Limbo

Hello from NYC! The kids and I are visiting friends and family here on our way home to Maine. I can’t believe I’m back in the USA. As for culture shock, Manhattan couldn’t be more different than Oxford. My son summed it up as we walked through Times Square, “Nothing’s older than 400 years.”













We stopped and stared up at the sky-scrapers. The sun was shining. Traffic was honking. Lights were flashing, and people were shouting. If I hadn’t grown up in NYC, it would have been an assault upon my senses. This is home, and yet it feels foreign.

Why are strangers saying “hi!” to me and smiling? When people bump into to me, they don’t apologize. Cars and buildings are super-sized. Food comes in portions too large to finish. I needed the ice cubes in the drinking water. The temperature is in the 90’s today.

Yesterday I met my old school friends for lunch at Cipriani Dolci in Grand Central Station. The food was good if not great. The train station setting was fun. The iced cappuccinos were perfect as was the company. I felt very welcomed home. The prices only made me smile when I converted the dollars into pounds.

Perhaps that was how I managed to overcome my sticker shock and buy a digital SLR camera. I have a backlog of paintings to add to my website, but my circa 1985 Nikon SLR isn’t working. I miss the manual control of an SLR. I like to pick my aperture and even prefer focusing myself. Scanning slides for my portfolio costs money too.

My son and I headed to the photography mecca. B&H Photo is near the Empire State Building. It’s enormous and quite the New York experience. Many of the salespeople are Hasidic Jews, and they all know from cameras. You can research and buy a camera on line, but at that price I wanted a test drive and expert advice.

I had originally planned to buy the Canon Rebel XSi as it gets top reviews, but the NikonD80 can take my old Nikon lenses (in manual,) and it’s more of a professional grade camera. You couldn’t go wrong with either camera, assuming you would really use the manual features of an SLR.

For most people, I’d recommend my point-and-shoot Canon Elph. It’s small, versatile and affordable. The image stabilizer allows for nice indoor shots without flash or a tripod. I’ve taken all my blog photos to date with it, and I’m sure I’ll continue to use it for every day blogging. I won’t have my new SLR camera until I get back to Maine Friday as I shipped it to avoid sales tax.

To reach B&H Photo, my son and I walked downtown through Central Park. It was our first day in NYC. There was a light breeze and low humidity with temperatures in the mid 80’s. Summer at long last!

Back in England, people still had the heat turned on, and the rain was relentless. Everyone said it was the worst summer ever. I reminded them of last summer with all the flooding, to which the reply was that was very unusual. Yeah, right. We did at least have a gorgeous last day in England. We took the dogs for a favorite walk “between the fields.”

The landscape was bucolic English, but the wheat against the bright blue sky made me think of the American Midwest and the novel I’m reading now.



Jane Smiley’s A Thousand Acres is set on a farm in Iowa. The story is Shakespeare’s King Lear. Many have called this Pulitzer Prize winner a “Great American Novel.” I loved Smiley’s Moo, which poked fun at academia.

A Thousand Acres is more serious and beautifully written. The characters are quintessentially American. They are ambitious, hard working and tied to their land and family. The farmers might be parochial, but they are far from simple.

I’m enjoying the novel so much, I bought another copy for my parents as a visiting gift (I’m staying with them in NYC .) I also bought them Ellis Avery’s The Teahouse Fire set in 19th century Japan which I reviewed in April.

On my mother’s recommendation, my son and I went to see the Louise Bourgeois exhibit at the Guggenheim Museum. Bourgeois’s installations worked so well in that space. I preferred her earlier work, especially the skinny sculptures. Giacometti worked in a similar way only he got the recognition that would never go to a woman. Understandably much of Bourgeois’s work challenged the notion that women were only housewives and sexual objects. She’s still working now in her 90’s. NYC has such amazing art.

It is wonderful to be back home, but I’m already missing England. Somehow we didn’t realize that we had grown roots until it was time to yank them out. My children had been counting the weeks but then felt sad to go, just when they’d finally been accepted into their new schools and made new friends.

Even our dog, Stella, was anxious about the move. She crawled into suitcases, terrified we’d leave her behind. Rest assured, we even remembered her lamby. Her crate had more legroom than we had on the plane.

Henry flew to Boston with Stella Tuesday and then drove to Maine. American Airlines only charges $90 to fly a dog to the USA, but you need to produce a vet certified well-pet certificate (NOT mentioned on the AA website.) It’s odd to think of them home without us.


Our last few days in Oxford were full of ups and downs. Literally, ups and downs. I let Stella out into the garden one night and left the door open while I ran my bath. Henry came home later that night to find the house hopping with baby frogs. He caught and released 20 of them. I wasn't much help because I was laughing too hard. Henry was very good natured about the whole debacle.

On our second to last night, we stayed with my in-laws in their wisteria covered home. The cousins raced around and had a brilliant time. We donned thick fleeces to have a barbecue outside until it rained. At least we got to see a double rainbow. Our parting was bitter sweet.

For our last night in England, we stayed with friends in Cambridge to be near Stansted Airport. My father called from NYC. He couldn’t find our flight number on line. When he called American Airlines, they told him that AA no longer flew out of Stansted. We had printed out our flight info the day before without problem. I called to reconfirm.

AA had cancelled our flight, and said they had called our home phone in the USA! Can you believe it? Our last flight change in May, they had e-mailed, so why not this time? We had to wake up before 4am to drive back to Heathrow. Still, it was worth it to say goodbye to our friends. Talk about a stressful departure.

I’ve needed the time in NYC to recover. Jet lag is much worse when you’ve lived abroad for a year, and the transition back to “normal” life isn’t easy. It’s a relief to be looked after by my parents in a familiar setting.

Plus I’ve had some comic relief. Here’s an oxymoron my son noticed on the West Side:

Only in NYC would you need to insult the customer to sell produce:

Actually the Turkish shop owners were very friendly and the fruit was excellent. Perhaps something was lost in translation.

This morning I relaxed, taking a walk along the East River. Do you recognize the bridges from my opening shot? Tomorrow we’ll cross back over the Triborough Bridge on our way to the airport.

Poor Henry is already back in Maine unpacking boxes and getting us connected to the internet so I can keep blogging. You may have noticed that I posted twice today. If not, check out Oxford Index for a trip down memory lane. Once I resume work on my novel NOT CRICKET, I’ll need to refer back to my Oxford sabbatical posts, and the archives are hard to navigate.

Another expat American blogger, Just A Plane Ride Away, came up with the best solution to my dilemma. She created a blog page to index her vacation to Germany and Austria. JAPRA, I hope you don’t mind that I borrowed your brilliant idea. Check out her blog and other expat bloggers on my sidebar. I guess I’m not an expat blogger anymore….

It’s only been 3 days since I left England, and already it feels like a dream. Henry just e-mailed to say our boxes arrived (in 6 days!) and the internet is reconnected. We’re meeting friends at the beach on Sunday. Home!

Shakespeare's Rose

My favorite venue for Shakespeare, especially with kids, is the Open Air Theatre in Regent’s Park. In June Queen Mary’s Rose Gardens are in peak bloom.

Doves flutter across the stage and coo from trees. What better place to hear Juliet ask Romeo:

What's in a name? That which we call a rose
By any other name would smell as sweet.

Timothy Sheader’s Romeo and Juliet was dynamically staged with as much Leonard Bernstein as William Shakespeare in spirit. The 1950’s gang member costumes and the elaborate dance routines were very West Side Story, but the language was from the Bard.

It was visually stunning and engaging. The acting was good too if not as seamless as the Royal Shakespeare Company.

Nicholas Shaw’s Romeo brought a youthful vigor and handsome charm to his role even if Laura Donelly’s Juliet was too girly in her pink gowns, teddy bear and tears. Amazingly Claire Benedict stole the show as the nurse. She was laugh out loud funny, attractive and endearing – her body language, timing and delivery were natural. I was amazed so much could be done with such a stereotypical role. Benedict made it her own. Another star in both performance and humor was Oscar Pearce as Mercutio, and Dale Superville was hilarious in the bit part of Peter.

Watching open air theater in England is a gamble. It’s best to come prepared as if for the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Raincoat, sweater, hat and sunglasses: I used and removed them all. Your kids will get the action better if they know the score, but what if they’re a bit young for reading Shakespeare?

My husband found a manga edition of Romeo and Juliet (U.K. and U.S.A.) that used only true lines and nothing more. Did it work? As we left the production, my ten year-old-daughter asked, “Why didn’t they kill Paris?” We assumed she had that wrong until we checked. The comic book was truer than the abridged performance! My husband explained that most Shakespeare is edited for performances as was the Bard’s intention. Both kids enjoyed it all the same as did their parents. Romeo and Juliet is playing now through August 2, 2008.

After the matinee we strolled through Regents Park. The light is amazing at this time of year in England. The sun (when it shines) rises before 5am and sets after 9pm. The rain and mild climate does make everything so lush and green.

Queen Mary’s Gardens were fragrant with roses in many more hues than you could imagine.

The only down side was that dining options were limited. We had a quick dim sum meal at Ping Pong, which we enjoyed although it’s not as good as Dim-T or China Town elsewhere in London. The restaurant did at least have as many Asian clients, always a good sign. Not such a good sign was when I ordered sake, the waitress brought a cup for my 13-year-old son! He’s grown a lot this year and his voice is dropping, but does he look 18? Freaky!


On the train I finished a fun novel, Benny & Shrimp by Katarina Mazetti. It was a bestseller in Sweden and is now translated into English. I like the Swedish title better: Grabben i Graven Brevid (The Guy in the Next Grave.) It’s a tale of mismatched modern love that starts in a graveyard. It’s light and funny without ever being saccharine. The characterization is great, the writing fresh and if there isn’t much plot, it matters little as the story breezes along. Sadly, I don’t think it’s available in the USA yet, just the UK.

We didn’t have to travel to London for good Chinese food. Shanghai 30’s back in Oxford is surprisingly sophisticated. The setting is a 15th century building with high ceilings, later period detailing and generous windows. We went there a couple of weekends ago.

The crispy duck was especially good as was the spicy Ma Po Tofu, and there were interesting, original dishes like honey roasted chicken in a citrus sauce. The prices were high for Chinese food, but the service was excellent. We also had great company. Through our daughter, we’ve become friends with the Kellstedt family who have been on sabbatical from Texas since January.

Before that dinner we had all gone to Evensong at Christ Church. It’s the largest college chapel and the only cathedral in Oxford. The candlelit service below the high vaulted ceiling was a perfect setting to hear hymns sung in Latin by the choir. It was a very spiritual experience.


Afterwards my husband pointed out a chapel grotesque that he is convinced was the inspiration for Lewis Carroll’s Cheshire Cat. The girls were entranced as both our families had reread Alice in Wonderland at bedtime this Oxford year.




The Oxford Botanical Gardens is another pleasant family excursion. It’s not the nicest or biggest botanical garden you’ll ever see, but it’s a calm oasis from High Street traffic. Lovely Magdalen Tower presides in the background, making it special

I know it’s a garden cliché, but I love a fountain of lily pads, and these were such vibrant colors. The old stone walls were covered in climbing roses, but nothing anywhere near as spectacular as Queen Mary’s Gardens.

The sun was shining (my whining last week worked,) and the Botanical Gardens is one of the few places in Oxford you are allowed to lie on the grass and admire the rare blue sky.

Even on a rainy day, it’s worth a visit for the greenhouses. The tropical vegetation is like a jungle.

These South African clivia miniata were outside a room of cacti. I wish I’d visited in the cold, damp winter. A year membership is just £10, and it’s £3 for a single visit. Students are discounted and school children are free with a parent.

This post is part of Garden Bloggers’ Bloom Day. Thank you, Kate, for recommending a visit to the Botanical Gardens. If any of you readers have other recommendations, please post a comment now. I only have one month left to enjoy Oxford. It amazes me that even after 10 months here, I’m still finding more to see.

Photography Credit: Romeo and Juliet photos from the Open Air Theatre's website. All other photos (except book jacket covers) by Sarah Laurence.

Cornwall Vacation Reading

Best to seek refuge in a Cornish cave. Oxford forecast on reuters yesterday: “tons of rain.” Tons? So what’s to come next: cats and dogs? Followed by a 50% chance of really crappy weather? One hour later the forecast was revised: “heavy rain.” Weather gremlins!

According to my English in-laws, the weather over the May half term break is almost always terrible. Nonetheless the extended Laurence family headed to the West Country with our wellies and waterproofs. We even brought the dogs. The gorgeous Cornwall scenery was worth it.


The Georgian house my father-in-law rented for the 11 of us was out of The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe. I warned my delighted daughter not to hide in the wardrobes – they were more likely to tip over than to lead to Narnia. As the rain pelted down, the cousins put on a puppet show. We discovered an old copy of Alice in Wonderland, which I read aloud at bedtime. It seemed all the more magical in that setting.

The country lanes were abloom with wildflowers. Foxgloves are favorites of mine. Other than mud walking, there was little else to do. One sign said it all: free horse manure. Good thing I packed several novels!

I couldn’t wait until June for Jhumpa Lahiri’s Unaccustomed Earth to come out in England, so my kind mother sent it from NYC. Unaccustomed Earth’s debut in April sent it to the top of the NYT bestseller list. This was unheard of for a short story collection written by an ethnic woman author. Literary fiction rarely tops the charts.

Lahiri’s first short story collection, Interpreter of Maladies, won her the Pulitzer Prize for Fiction in 2000. It was the best collection I’d ever read until I read her latest. Once again Lahiri has hit a homerun. You might know Lahiri from the movie The Namesake based on her first novel. Her short stories are better: not a word out of place, the writing subtle and the characters real. Judge them by craft or by content - they are perfect.

Lahiri writes about the Indian American (not the American Indian) experience and yet her tales of family dysfunction, inter-generational gaps and half-failed dreams are universal. At one point all Americans (excepting Native Americans) were immigrants. Ask us who we are, and we will describe our roots.

With my curly black hair and olive skin, I have been mistaken for an Italian, a Greek, an Egyptian, an Arab etc. I’m half Lithuanian and half English-Swiss. My husband is an Englishman who is a small part Chilean, and we have lived in both the USA and the UK. I relate to characters strung between cultures.

Lahiri titles her latest collection after a Nathaniel Hawthorne quotation:

Human nature will not flourish, any more than a potato, if it be planted and replanted, for too long a series of generations, in the same worn-out soil. My children have had other birthplaces, and, so far as their fortunes may be within my control, shall strike their roots into unaccustomed earth.

Lahiri’s stories are beautiful, but they are grim. In one, a lonely housewife in the suburbs anchors her sari with multiple safety pins (so it can’t be ripped off) and douses herself in kerosene. Will she strike the match? My reviews never have spoilers, so you will have to read the book yourself.

Buy Unaccustomed Earth because these stories will haunt you, and you will want to reread them. The three interlocking stories in the second part create a novella. I had read the first two in The New Yorker without realizing their connection. The final new story ties them together and pulls the knot so tight it hurts, and yet you will want to unwrap it to enjoy the precious gift inside.

A fine complement to Lahiri’s bitter tales was an up-beat all-American novel: Patricia Wood’s Lottery. I didn’t expect to like a book about that – I have no interest in gambling – writing a novel is bad enough! I am interested in disability in literature and here is the narrator of Lottery:

My name is Perry L. Crandall and I am not retarded . . . . You have to have an IQ number less than 75 to be retarded. I read that in Reader’s Digest. I am not. Mine is 76.

Perry reminded me of autistic Christopher in Mark Haddon’s Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time. The novels share a similar dark humor with a double meaning half lost on the narrator. You root for the protagonist and see a world of challenges through his eyes.

These narrators are not unwitting victims but pro-active young men who shape their own life narratives. True, duplicitous people surround them, but our heroes can resist. They are guided by a core sense of what is right even if they can’t understand the depth of evil.

Lottery is a fairytale of good vs. bad, but the characters are well formed and quirky so escape cliché. It is a simple, somewhat predictable story, but a good one. The morals are a bit off-color, spouted by a beloved grandmother even from her grave: don’t be smart.

Lottery is laugh out loud funny and a well written tale of good luck, but success didn’t come to the author overnight. Wood worked hard to perfect her craft and to understand the market. She had written two other novels that didn’t find representation, but she didn’t give up. Her third novel found a good agent, was revised and then Lottery sold in an auction a week and a day after its submission to publishers. It was pitched as “Forrest Gump wins Powerball.”

Lottery wasn’t just a marketing gimmick as Wood writes from the heart about what she knows. Wood’s father won the lottery, and she is in graduate school studying disability among other topics. This is not a PC book – it’s a good book period.

I’m not alone in my praise. Lottery is buzzing through the blogosphere as the author is a fellow blogger. Wood’s novel is on the Orange Broadband Prize for Fiction short list. The winner will be announced tonight (I’ll post a comment later.) Good luck, Patricia, and welcome to England!

Karen Connelly’s The Lizard Cage is another book with sympathetic characters facing a challenging world. This first novel won the Orange Broadband Prize for New Writers last year and well deserved it.

The Lizard Cage was one of the most beautifully written and deeply disturbing books I have ever read. The story of Burma/Myanmar feels topical now with so many real people dying in the wake of the cyclone. Connelly’s tale is fictional but is based on time spent in Burma and in refugee camps on the Thai border where she interviewed political dissidents.

Connelly locks us into a vermin-infested prison with a university student serving a 20-year solitary sentence. Teza’s crime was composing revolutionary songs which criticized the authoritarian regime. The songwriter becomes a victim of the cruel regime: undergoing near starvation and torture for speaking his mind. He finds solace and fortitude in Buddhist meditation and faith and also through friendship.

Other characters in Teza’s drama: a young boy raised in the prison who kills rats to survive; a prison-guard who struggles to hold onto his humanity and another guard who does not. Even the lizards and insects become characters, in line with Buddhist beliefs. As horrible as the prison setting is, The Lizard Cage shines bright on the potential of the human spirit.

The Lizard Cage is a book you must read. I recommend taking it on vacation and not reading it before bedtime. It may trouble your sleep and your conscience, but it is more than a moral crusade. The writing and story telling is beautiful, full of perfect sentences. Here’s a passage on censorship:

As long as there is paper, people will write, secretly, in small rooms, in the hidden chambers of their minds, just as people whisper the words they’re forbidden to speak aloud.

The generals can’t stop them. Ne Win himself can’t stop them. He never could. Words are like the ants. They work their way through the thickest walls, eating through bricks and feeding off the very silence intended to stifle them.

Fortified by these rich words, I explored Tintagel in Cornwall on our one sunny day. Below the hilltop castle ruins, my son and I ventured inside a cave expecting only darkness but finding bright light shining from the murky depths. It wasn’t truly a haven for at high tide this cave would flood, creating a watery grave. An allegory?

Deep thoughts receded as we puffed up a myriad of cliff steps. At the top of the bluff were ruins of a medieval village which had crumbled into the sea. Despite strong fortification, wildflowers were the only survivors. Although Tintagel castle was the inspiration for the King Arthur legend, the land is now ruled by bumblebees.

The setting was spectacular but dangerous:

Another coastal walk was equally treacherous. How would we pass through this bridge/gate with a large, damp dog?

Luckily the English love dogs:

We hiked for this view:

In late May, yellow flags were in full bloom. Americans would call them water irises, but the English name suits them better. Where castles once stood, nature now unfurls its bright flags.

May Day in Oxford

I awoke at 4:00 am to see dawn on May Day, but the Oxford students had been reveling all night long. The police requested that the students refrain from jumping off Magdalen Bridge into the Cherwell River after previous years’ injuries. Try reasoning with a lemming. I heard of a couple that got engaged in mid-jump. Honestly! Can you imagine how much drink was involved?

May Day is a pagan celebration, and yet there are Christian overtones. Or should I say over-tunes? After six bell chimes, choristers sang in the sunrise from Magdalen Tower. Crowds of drunken students and sleepy townspeople tilted up their heads to hear the Latin hymn. The young boys’ voices were truly angelic. Over the tower a small patch of blue sky dissolved dark clouds. But for a few cheers and loose balloons, the crowd stood still in silent awe. The Magdalen Boys Choir then sang Sumer is Icumen In. The minister spoke a few words about Mary Magdalen, the college’s namesake, and welcomed spring.

The many gargoyles of Magdalen College leered down at the less than reverent crowd.


Inebriated students in tuxedos with lost bow ties lounged upon the street as their micro-mini skirted girlfriends shivered, lurched and giggled. A Scottish gentleman in a dinner jacket, white tie and a kilt gave his stiletto-ed lady a piggyback ride. Others had painted their faces or hair in fluorescent hues. I looked for traditional Morris dancers and was impressed by this modern take:

There were live bands playing along High Street:

In Radcliffe Square Scottish country dancers spun in kilts and long skirts before a bagpipe player:

Another Scotsman welcomed spring with not so fresh air before St. Mary’s Church:
Vault & Gardens inside the church was serving a hot cooked breakfast from 5:45 am, but the queue (line) was too long to join. Many cafes and pubs had been open most of the night.

On New College Lane before the Bridge of Sighs, groups of Morris Dancers cracked sticks, stamped clogs and jingled bells to accordion players.

Dawn’s early light made the sandstone buildings glow pinkish gold.

A tree man watched. Must be a druid thing. Note the pink haired lady and the cheese-headed accordion player behind him. At least I think it was a he. It’s hard to sex a tree. Green families gathered on the steps of the 18th century Clarendon Building.

Despite the forecast for heavy rain, not a drop fell. The rites of spring must have worked!

May Day is also peak bluebell time in England. The hovering purple-blue mist could make a curmudgeon believe in fairies.

Best place to see these lovely woodland flowers is on National Trust Land. The Holies in Berkshire overlooks the beautiful Thames Valley.

Fluorescent yellow grouse and fields of rape provide the perfect compliment. England can be relentlessly grey and green so to see such rich color is pure joy.


May also heralds World Press Freedom Day. At The Reuter’s Institute my husband, Henry Laurence, gave a brilliant talk on political censorship of public television. In a related article Henry revealed how the Japanese government altered NHK documentary coverage of the comfort women (WWII sex slaves) and how the Bush Administration censored PBS children’s programming.

The British BBC is by far the most progressive public broadcaster, although not free of incidents of self-censorship. Henry referred to the phenomenon as “the pre-emptive cringe.” Expect a really interesting book to come out of two sabbaticals of research in Japan, the UK and the USA. It is fascinating and provocative material, but you don’t have to take my word on it.

Washington Post journalist John Kelly blogged about Henry’s talk. John Kelly’s Voxford is one of my favorite blogs; it’s topical, controversial and often very funny. Fridays feature the gargoyle of the week. Like us, the Kelly family is on sabbatical from the USA. John refers to England as the land of warm beer and cold loos (bathrooms,) but he clearly loves it.

Another new friend from this sabbatical year is women’s fiction author Miranda Glover. She’s in my writers’ group. Miranda’s second novel, Soulmates, just came out last week. Soulmates is about sisters, daughters and the sad havoc of depression. From trendy London to the cold beauty of Stockholm, it’s a captivating read in a soothing voice, rich in detail. I’ve only just started and look forward to reading more tonight.

I’m cross with the characters in the new novel I'm writing. They’re not even out of the prologue and already they are waking me before dawn for adventures. Maybe it’s sleep deprivation or the amount of work left to do for this English novel, but I can’t believe it is already May!

Oxford Literary Festival 2008

It was not without irony that Lionel Shriver announced that she would be the first to read “smut” aloud in Christ Church Library. At The Oxford Literary Festival Shriver read two sexually explicit but intellectually charged passages from her latest novel, The Post-Birthday World. Shriver takes a bold stab at what people really think about when making love. As she said, there is a limit to the number of physical combinations of which part goes where. Lionel didn’t blush once, her enunciation was as faultless and subtly nuanced as the most seasoned actress. The stage was set with leather-bound books housed in oak below ornate moldings, an ivory tower out the window.


It made me want to go back and reread her book; I blogged about PBW last May. A review in the Guardian (spoiler alert) claimed this work was her most autobiographical. Shriver left a long term relationship for the love of a jazz musician. Like her heroine and like me, Shriver is an expat American living in England. We were both dressed in black t-shirts and jeans, unlike anyone else in the silver-haired, tweedy audience. I confess to feeling comfort at hearing an American accent again, like finding an old friend.

The PBW has been called chick lit although it tackles deep issues such as the inspiration for creativity and even the conflict in Northern Ireland. It is still quite a change from the disturbing We Need to Talk About Kevin. Her Orange Prize winner was about a school shooter. A hand count showed that I was one of the few that had read her latest; most were Kevin fans and women.

I asked how she managed to defy genre typing and what her next project would be. Shriver was wary of “the women’s fiction pigeon hole” as she cherishes her male readers too. Her claim was that women read more books then men and are just as happy to read broadly. She did admit that her agent was nervous about her next novel: a reflection on the American healthcare system written in a male voice. As long as Shriver continues to write beautifully and honestly about controversial subjects, I believe her audience will only grow.

The Oxford Literary Festival lasts an entire week and is housed in Christ Church which many may recognize from Brideshead Revisited. The events were well worth the £7.50 admission just for the venue alone. I attended one where I sat at high table in Hall. If the space looks familiar, it was the model for the Hogwart’s dining hall in Harry Potter.

Even the entrance to the Hall and other conference rooms was beyond grand.

Of course nothing at the venerable college was accessible, so the panel I attended on "Disability in Writing" was housed across the street. The chair was the academic Tom Shakespeare. Susan Clow, manager of In the Picture spoke first about the importance of including disabled children in mainstream children’s picture books. It’s a more representational vision of reality, and inclusion sends the important message that the disabled are not invisible. Her website has many good tips for illustrators.

Susan Clow, Tom Shakespeare, Mark Haddon and Lois Keith

Novelist Lois Keith listed 3 approaches to avoid when writing about the disabled:

1. “I wouldn’t wish disability on my worst enemy.”
2. “He threw his wheelchair out the window to walk again.” (eg Colin in The Secret Garden)
3. "Show the disabled character watching passively in the corner." (eg sweet Beth in Little Women)

The main draw of the panel was author Mark Haddon. A sharp-eyed reader will note that the chapters in The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time are all in prime numbers. Not once in the narrative is it spelled out that the engaging narrator with a number fixation has Asperger’s Syndrome. Haddon’s only regret was that the publisher added that information to the jacket blurb. His novel invites you to see the world through autistic eyes, but it is not a book about disability per se.

The Curious Incident is one of the best young adult books I’ve read; my son at age twelve loved it too. Encouraged by Haddon, I have included a disabled character in my novel S.A.D..

I attended the panel on Japanese Historical Fiction just for fun. I’ve always enjoyed reading novels about Japan. One of my favorite authors is Haruki Murakami. My husband teaches Japanese Politics, and my sister-in-law is Japanese.

Ellis Avery was worried that a 21st century American couldn’t understand what it felt like to be a 19th century Japanese girl. I applaud her choice of narrator: an American orphan, adopted by a Japanese family as a servant. The Teahouse Fire is as beautifully choreographed and unrushed as a tea ceremony. What drives the narrative is the complex relationship between the fictional maid, Aurelia, and a real historical figure, her mistress. Shin Yukako rescued the tea ceremony from obscurity in a rapidly modernizing Meiji Japan, just opening to the west.

What is striking about Avery’s story is that it reads like a Japanese novel. It reminds me of Mori Ogai’s The Wild Geese which is set in the same time period and is one my favorite novels. In both we see the attention to detail, the importance of family tradition, the theme of unrequited love and even the slow pace. What enlivens the narrative in Teahouse is a distinctly American feminist perspective, including a lesbian romance. It’s an unusual mix, but it works. I’m missing her voice since finishing the book.

I don’t have as much to say about Lesley Downer’s The Last Concubine because I haven’t read it. Like Avery's novel, it is set in 19th century Japan. Although Downer lived in Japan for 15 years, the only Japanese women she said she could relate to were geisha. She characterized the rest as married at 24, had kids, were gossipy, didn’t know men (even their husbands) and didn’t work. That isn’t the Japan that I know.

At the end of the readings, Avery delighted the audience by passing out Japanese sweets and conducting a tea ceremony. Avery has studied the art of Japanese tea for years. She held her arms as if wearing a kimono and moved with measured grace. Downer was an obliging guest, her role as ritualized.

On Avery’s website I discovered that we share the same literary agent, Jean Naggar. I introduced myself to Avery and her partner, Sharon Marcus; both teach at Columbia University. Oddly enough, they already knew me. They had googled “best tea in Oxford,” found my blog and enjoyed a decent cup of tea and lunch at The Rose. Professor Marcus studies 19th century women journals and said my blog reminded her of the travel journals from that time. Isn’t cyberspace a small world?

Another panel I attended was “Blogging the Classics” which debated book review blogging vs. newspaper literary criticism.

John Carey, John Mullan, Lynne Hatwell and Mark Thwaite

Mark Thwaite, founder of ReadySteadyBook.com and a librarian by profession, spoke on the value of book blogging as giving recognition to good but unusual titles. He listed 7 words that should be avoided when reviewing:

1. poignant
2. compelling
3. intriguing
4. astute
5. craft
6. muse
7. lyrical

Uh oh, have I used them all? Thwaite posts a list of about 80 English book bloggers on his website at BritLitBlogs. Too bad there isn’t an American equivalent of this directory. Thwaite pointed out that there are a lot of blogs out there - well over 100 million tracked by Technorati alone. Diversity is a given.

Lynne Hatwell from dovegreyreader was an engaging speaker: modest, funny and forthright. Blogging about books is the way to share her passion. Her blog is a bit like mine, a mixture of reading and personal narrative. It’s more about how she feels about the books than a critical review. She lives in Devon and is a healthcare visitor who did a literature degree in her free time.

The panel’s literary critic was Professor John Mullan. Mullan said his academic training allows him to understand literature better than a layperson. He may know books, but it didn’t sound like the professor was that familiar with blogs. He spoke of people raving, hostility and chaos in cyberspace. The moderator and Sunday Times chief reviewer, John Carey praised the diversity in blogging, but Mullan didn’t recognize its value beyond entertainment.

Near the close of the festival, came the biggest surprise: 3 inches of snow! My kids made a snowman with grape hyacinth hair. Port Meadow looked like a holiday card complete with swans. I felt like I had conjured the storm as I was writing a new cross-country skiing scene for S.A.D. and was having a hard time remembering a Maine winter. I actually got the idea under a flurry of cherry blossoms. My revisions are well inspired thanks to the literary festival and the April snow.

What is Women's Fiction?

As the daffodils and fruit trees are in full bloom, I realize our year in England is going faster than expected. It really takes six months to get settled in a new location, especially abroad. Last time we relocated to England for only half a year, and it felt like we left prematurely after too much work settling in and not enough payback. We were thrilled to get an opportunity to return for my husband’s sabbatical from Bowdoin College. Henry’s English; I’m American, and our children are dual citizens. We are both writers.

In Oxford Henry and I are gathering material and writing books. His book is on the politics of public television in the US, UK and Japan. My books are women’s fiction and set in the USA and England. The time here is for research. Free from the many distractions at home, we can focus on our writing. It has been very productive and fun time too.

My books might appeal to readers of all ages and genders, but marketing categories exist in publishing. Women writing for mostly female audiences about relationships and contemporary issues are pigeon-holed as “women’s fiction,” not to be confused with romance novels or its younger, urban sister chick lit. The central plot in romance is always love between a man and a woman, usually with a happy ending.

In women's fiction, key relationships include friends and family as well as lovers. Career is important too. Chick lit, a sub-category of women's fiction, tends to be set in London or NYC and features single women in their 20's and 30's with close friends looking for love, shopping and job satisfaction. Women's fiction can span all ages in various settings and may tackle substantive issues. The protagonist is a strong woman making realistic trade-offs in the modern world. Most of the editors and agents are female too. Is the term women’s fiction offensive, such as “lady doctor,” or does it celebrate the female voice?

In my so called genre of women’s fiction, I’ve enjoyed reading Michelle Wildgen’s You’re Not You. It’s a story about a young woman caring for a charming middle aged woman in a wheelchair. It explores attitudes towards the disabled including sexuality. Nothing is taboo, and the honest perspective is refreshing. Wildgen writes incredibly well even if the opening is a bit off-putting. Keep going; it’s well worth it. You’re Not You is a literary gem.

I’m juggling writing 3 women’s fiction novels: MOOSE CROSSING is looking for a publisher, S.A.D. is in revision and NOT CRICKET is gathering material. Having more than one project going on at a time means I don’t get stuck with down time. While editors and my agent are reading manuscripts, I can work on the next project. Despite recent growth in women's fiction, there are no sure bets in publishing except for Jodi Picoult. Serious writers know to keep writing. The process is hurry up and wait: writing, revising and then waiting for feedback.

Writing takes a certain personality. You have to be creative, but it’s just as important to be self-motivated, disciplined, comfortable working alone and able to set and meet personal deadlines or you’ll never finish. Given how hard it is to break into publishing, a writer has to be good at taking criticism and rejection and be willing to learn from it.

A novelist also needs to get out there and live life to have experiences worth sharing. Friendships with other writers help break the solitude, ease the stress and celebrate the benchmarks like completing a manuscript and finding an agent. You have to find your colleagues.

I’ve joined an informal writing group organized by the women’s fiction author Miranda Glover. That’s been a big plus as I’ve missed my writer friends back in Maine: Charlotte Agell, Maria Padian and Cynthia Lord. Just as I’ve learned about American publishing from those seasoned authors, I've gained insights into the world of English publishing from my new writing group. It’s a smaller market than in the USA and less dependent on agents although they still play an important role.

I’m also learning about contemporary English fiction by reading. David Mitchell showcases his breadth in the dizzying Cloud Atlas. Every well crafted story is interlocking. The collection spans the full gamut of genre writing from historical fiction, to suspense thriller, to science fiction. It's almost a parody of shifting voice and form including: a journal, letters, a manuscript, a screenplay, a deposition and an almost unintelligible myth. Cloud Atlas was short listed for the Booker Prize. It should have won.

My husband, our teenaged son and I loved Mitchell's Black Swan Green which is literary fiction/young adult crossover, but he is hard to categorize. It seems like few have heard of Mitchell in England even though his work is so English and current. His novels got more of a buzz in the USA. The protagonists of 2 of his Cloud Atlas stories are strong women, but his work would never be labeled women’s fiction. How come when a man writes a novel, it's just called fiction?

Primroses in January from the land of eternal spring.

Here’s a male author/blogger’s perspective on gender issues in publishing: C.W. Gortner’s "Gender wars in books?"

On Politics: I’ve been following the neck-and-neck American primaries with fascination and the electoral problems in Kenya with concern. Here’s a provocative NYT op-ed that linked the two:
“Tribalism Here, and There”

Americans in Oxford

Are they marketing to expats in Oxford or Americanophiles?

I feel more American living abroad. It happens every time I open my mouth. It doesn’t matter that I’m wearing a battered Barbour and muddy wellies or even that my husband is English. My accent declares that I’m not British.

We Americans grow up with a sense of England from watching Masterpiece Theater on public television. We expect Oxford to be just like Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited, forgetting that it’s fiction and from another era.

In the two decades I have visited and occasionally lived in England, I’ve seen a great deal of convergence between our countries. There was the spread of first McDonalds and the GAP and now Starbucks etc. I wouldn’t call this a good trend, but my kids appreciate the super-sized “American cookies” (instead of “biscuits”) at train stations. A "coffee Americana" in Europe is what we could call "coffee black."

I am happy to find bagels in the supermarkets now even if they taste more like bread. My first homesick year living in London (1980’s) I actually called the American Embassy to ask where to buy bagels. They didn’t know. My fiancé found them in Leicester Square, and later I discovered a Jewish area in Brick Lane.

My notion of England must sound warped to British ears, and British concepts of America sound just as funny to me. In the very English department store Debenhams I found this display of “Maine New England” clothing. Where can I start? I have never seen landscape like that in my home state. I’m guessing the photo was shot in Cornwall, not in Maine. The pink-red shirt color is native to New England, but it’s called "Nantucket Red." It’s popular with sailors and preppies on an island in Massachusetts. Button-down, short sleeve shirts are much more prevalent in England than in the USA.

One advantage of living abroad during an election year is to have a filter from all the frenzy. I check the primary results in The New York Times on line and see the race covered by the English media. I’ve been less than impressed. Mary Dejevsky’s commentary in The Independent was typical of the English coverage, and I’m sure there are American equivalents. Too many articles focus on race vs. gender when discussing Barack Obama and Hillary Clinton. Of course that is a key issue, but I find it demeaning to the candidates to reduce them to inherited characteristics.

There are clear policy differences between Clinton and Obama. Living under the National Health in England is bliss: no insurance forms or co-pays and everyone is covered. I can admire Clinton for wanting that for our nation. Then there’s the war. The British are very concerned about the War in Iraq, and yet they seem unaware that Obama has opposed the war since day one, without waffling, whereas Clinton voted for it before doing an about face.

Obama is a fascinating candidate for reasons that go beyond race. I’m reading his incredibly well written memoir Dreams of My Father. I found it prominently displayed at Paddington Train Station. The most compelling article I’ve read on Obama was by Andrew Sullivan in the Atlantic Monthly. Sullivan is British and Oxford educated but lives in the USA. If you read only one article about Obama, read that one to understand the political culture and the meaning of his candidacy. You can buy American magazines in England, but they cost as much as books. This one was worth it.

Walking through Oxford, I found this sign in a dorm room window. I’m guessing there’s a Rhodes or Marshall scholar in residence. President Bill Clinton was one himself, but I haven’t seen any Clinton signs for his wife. Ironically, I believe this window is at Univ, Bill’s college at Oxford.

Another memoir I’m reading is Rosa Ehrenreich’s A Garden of Paper Flowers about her time as a Marshall Scholar at Oxford. I can’t say I’m enjoying it. It’s a very subjective and whiny account that plays to stereotype: the American can’t fit in with the rigid, class-bound Brits. Her naivety is almost humorous. She chose Christ Church and then complains that it was too upper class and religious, when even a spot of research could have told her that.

Ehrenreich finds fault in the Oxford system compared to Harvard without realizing that she’s comparing undergraduate education to a graduate program. Of course graduate education in political science is going to be more theoretical, narrow and full of jargon. It’s a big part of the reason why I left academia myself.

It is much more fun being an undergraduate, especially in the American system. I took elective courses in music, forestry, literature and art history while studying politics. English students enjoy their undergraduate years too. Like Ehrenreich, my husband had fun rowing, but he also received a first rate