Caleb Fox

Please check out a new blog several of us have started, http://freefallhome.wordpress.com/. It's a start-up on a collection, or community, of stories about the quirky creatures known as human beings.

In our minds the blog is a kind of SOUTHERN EXPOSURE, but it will become whatever the contributors make it. Enter, read, chuckle, and contribute a story yourself. Only you can make it a community.

The first story is in the blog below, What Did the Navajo Lady Put in Her Mouth?

Sarita and I live in Navajoland, and the clash of two cultures is worth a grin sometimes. Here's a report of a recent event:

Michele bustled into an exam room. Since Navajo Health is not Cedars of Lebanon, she’s not a doctor but a physician’s assistant. She’s blonde, big of hip and bosom, undeniably cute, and unstoppable as a HumVee.

An elderly Navajo lady huddled in a chair opposite, dressed traditionally in velveteen skirt, turquoise bracelets and necklace, head scarf, and jacket. (For whatever reason, even in August at a temperature of 102, there’s always the jacket.) As Michele opened her mouth to ask what the problem was, a stink bug skittered across the floor between them.

Michele raised her foot to stomp it. The old lady was quicker. She snatched the bug up and popped it into her mouth.

Michele kept her voice down to a low scream. “What are you doing?” She reached, but the old lady averted her head.

“Get that thing out of there.”

The old lady said, “Mmphphssrrhhss.”

Michele tried to pry the mouth open, but the old lady clamped her teeth tight.

Michele fingered. The old lady said, mushing her words out around the bug, “These things heal mouth sores.”

Michele babbled. The old lady froze her mouth closed and glared.

Michele left and sent a nurse in to perform the bugectomy.

Soon the old lady trundled down the hall toward the waiting room and the front door. Michele looked at the nurse but thought better of asking about the insect.

“Respect for tradition,” said the nurse.

Michele sighed.

Can you think of times the movie was better than the book? We usually (especially writers)say the opposite. But aren't movies sometimes better than the books they're based on? Here are some cases where I liked the movie better. I invite you to send me your own lists, or your objections to mine:


THE DOOR IN THE FLOOR (based on Irving's A WIDOW FOR ONE YEAR)
THE GRADUATE
THE GODFATHER
THE WIZARD OF OZ (though both were terrific)
and maybe even ATONEMENT

--caleb

WHY FICTION?

People often tell me, with a note of pride, "I only read non-fiction." I wish the tone was sadness and disappointment.

Information about the world is useful. It allows us to drive where we want to go, shop intelligently, find treatment for our ailments, and a billion of other handy things. Yet it's mostly about the outer world. Even a memoir is limited to what is or was, rather than what we can dream.

A well-done novel is a dazzling dream. John Fowles (THE FRENCH LIEUTENANT'S WOMAN) wrote that a novel is a way of telling others how it feels to be a human being and walk the earth in your time. It is, and that's a lot. Notice that Fowles speaks of revealing a world that is ultimately inner, the writer’s most fundamental feelings about himself and the world.

But a novel is even more--an act of imagination, preferably as audacious as possible. It is a grand flourish of creative play. The great reward it offers readers, on the highest level, is the joy of mental frolicking and cavorting. It is to non-fiction what dance is to walking.

Also, a novel shows, with amazing intimacy, an inner world. 'This is what I think is fun. This is what I fear. This is what I love.' No compilation of facts, whether a medical chart in the doctor’s office or a profile in the NEW YORK TIMES, could be so revealing, or make the reader EXPERIENCE another human being's mind and life.

If Johnny reads only non-fiction, he will be a very dull boy.

--Caleb Fox

Travelers on the way to Athens had to submit to being placed on Procrustes’ bed. If too short, you were stretched out. If too long, you got hacked down to size. Otherwise no Athens.

That’s how cultures cut citizens to fit their ideals. The fortunate fit naturally, but most people suffer.

Our culture loves the outgoing, self-confident man, the quarterback or colonel. Most artists don’t match—they’re too emotional, too dreamy, too flamboyant, too this or too that. Artists are different, and this society does not love differences.

There’s the choice: Conform and succeed, or be guided by your inner compass, and...?
Tough choice.

Some writers try to escape it by putting on one face in public, another in private. When we walk that road, we live lives of pretense and self-betrayal. We constantly deny our own truths to others. If we play this game, our lives are a lie and a self-betrayal.

For any writer, including those of us who write fantasy, the dilemma is painful. You can be a hack, punching out words in hope of dollars and fame. Or you can shape your stories to your own sense of what is beautiful, and thus expose your real self to the world.

That takes courage. I salute every artist who does it.

--Caleb Fox