Oil, A Novel

I am half-way through the novel, Oil, by Upton Sinclair, a novel from which the movie "There Will Be Blood," was taken. Although I was an English major and certainly knew of Sinclair and his muckracking books, I had never read him. Always sounded too much like sermons.

This is (so far) a wonderful novel, and I am enjoying it so much, with great characters, a compelling portrait of California in the 1910-1918 (so far) time period, and what a treatise of the discovery and drilling for oil. I wonder if Sinclair spent time as a roustabout in his early years. It's really interesting, as I am inclined to like learning about something when I read, even in fiction, maybe especially in fiction. Why, otherwise, do we read?

So far the book isn't too muckracky, although now I see that coming on. Something that amazed me was that Sinclair knew early on (1925 or before) that the peace treaty concluding World War I would lead to another World War. You have to respect someone with that kind of knowledge and foresight. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Upton_Sinclair

I'm reading the book for insight into California in the early years of this century, and that it has in spades. Now I feel obliged to read The Jungle, his most famous book about the meat packing industry in Chicago. We lived there when they still had the "Stockyards" and there was a neighborhood called "back of the yards." For years The Cattlemen's Cafe was the place to eat. All long gone, now.

Au Revoir,

Grapeshot

Being there

It is so hard to put myself in the feet and heart and mind of a 21 year old woman on a train to California in 1928. I've got 900 hard fought words. Seems like each word took an hour.

We're planning a California trip this summer and I have high hopes that the trip will be the cattle prod that ignites this novel.

When I wrote about Burning Man, I had been there--tasted the dust, heard the techno beat, experienced the craziness, and when I wanted to write, I could conjure it up from my brain and memories to the keyboard. When I wrote about the sailboat in the fog on the Baltic I recalled the sailing trips in Long Island Sound, and the fog going into Cuttyhunk, and it all came back and became the Baltic. BEING THERE.

When I wrote about the funky Berlin neighborhoods, I had been there, sitting on the bar stool, roaming the streets, seeing, smelling, listening, feeling.

I haven't been to Southern California for years, and the books about it keep piling up, but nothing will substituting for BEING THERE.

I wrote about a float plane trip in the Adironacks, but not until I had flown on one. Same for the Molotov Cocktail in the Charles boatyard. I took endless photos, and stared down into the water, and observed the coromant, saw the floating upside down coke bottle, got the details and the explosion and fire just came. BEING THERE.

When I set scenes in Singapore and Hong Kong, I had been there. So, California, here I come. In the meantime, write the scene and leave a note to fill in the details. And keep reading.

Being There.