More Books = Smarter Kids

I don't know anything about the methodology of this study about the role of books in the home, but the finding reached by Mariah Evans, an associate sociology professor at the University of Nevada at Reno, certainly grabs your attention:

This massive [twenty-year] study showed that the difference between being raised in a bookless home compared to being raised in a home with a 500-book library has as great an effect on the level of education a child will attain as having parents who are barely literate (3 years of education) compared to having parents who have a university education (15 or 16 years of education). Both factors, having a 500-book library or having university-educated parents, propel a child 3.2 years further in education, on average.

Even having just a few books in the home seems to improve educational attainment, says Evans. But the larger the library, the greater the impact. Expect to see this study mentioned a lot in the book publishing business.

Once Was Lost...

My wife and I have been fans of the television show "Lost" since its premier in 2004, and like many fans we thought the first season was the best. But over time we found ourselves getting caught up in the arcane story of the Island and were not at all troubled by the castaways implausible adventures back and forth through time. "Lost" was a fun show that did small things extremely well (Sawyer's witticisms, the way Ben cajoled people into beating him up as a manipulation tool, those hilarious black-and-white Dharma Initiative training films) even as its mythology grew simultaneously more grandiose and self-contradicting.

For the past few weeks, as the series neared its long-planned finale, I've been sensing a growing division among "Lost" fans; there were the viewers who would not be satisfied unless the final episodes answered all the series particular mysteries, and then there were the devotees whose interest lay in watching how the producers handled the show's metaphysical Mysteries.

As a writer of crime fiction whose own stories are informed by his journalism, I was surprised to find myself in the latter camp. I found that I had little interest in questions like "What happened to Walt?" and "Why was Libby in that mental hospital with Hurley?" My fascination lay in figuring out what Damon Lindelof and Carlton Cuse were trying to say about the concept of free will versus destiny and why human beings obsessively make up stories to give our lives meaning no matter the consequences (for example, Sayid is so guilt-stricken he believes anyone who tells him he's beyond salvation). I found that I cared more about the contorted psychology of the characters and the implications of the mythology than about following a trail of specific clues.

So I've been wondering today how my fellow crime aficionados are reacting to the finale. "Lost" was always fantastical, but it made gestures in the direction of explaining itself in science fictional terms. By the time Lindelof and Cuse were done, though, it was clear they never saw themselves as traditional mystery writers; nor was their interest in science fiction anything more than a fanboy's prank. "Lost," instead, was purely a work of fantasy. The show that seemed to be about the struggle between a "man of faith" and a "man of science" in the end rejected science altogether. I suspect that's why so many viewers feel hoodwinked. Despite some pretty heavy-handed foreshadowing, they thought they were watching one kind of show and learned at the eleventh hour that it was something else entirely.

Most authors would be crucified by their readers for changing the narrative rules in mid-story, but somehow "Lost" got away with it. And I have to say, I didn't really mind. But I'm not sure I'd subject my own fans to that kind of bait and switch either.

Maine Lingo: Trustafarian

Another in my occasional series of Down East colloquialisms:

TRUSTAFARIAN: A spoiled young person whose bohemian lifestyle belies the trust fund that makes it all possible. As in, "Well, he calls himself an artist, but really he's just another one of those trustafarians you see along the coast."

The Age of Self Promotion

I've never been comfortable singing my own praises, whether because of shyness or humility, I can't say. But these days no author—certainly no new author—can decide to retreat to some Salinger-style cabin or Pyncheonesque bomb shelter and let the "flaks" at the publishing house do the dirty work of marketing one's masterpiece. In today's publishing industry modesty is a killer, and false modesty is professional suicide. I say this by way of introduction to this month's Editor's Note in Down East in which I am forced to acknowledge:

a.) I wrote a novel about Maine that is getting wider attention (and better reviews) than I ever dreamed possible.

b.) Thanks to the beneficence of my publisher, an advertisement for this novel occupies a place of prominence in my very own magazine.

In the age of Facebook, Twitter, and MySpace, when every teenager in America is angling for a reality show—or at least a spot on Jersey Shore—I've begun to wonder whether self promotion of any kind can still be called "shameless."

Wait, I take that back. There's still Tila Tequila.