Launch Week links, reviews, news about Night Swim

In NY, visiting with my dear, old friend, Alison Berns Stern Simon

And another, dear old friend, Annie. (That's our hotel room)

It was a fantastic first ten days since Night Swim was released. Starting with my launch party, then a fantastic trip to NYC for a reading as part of the Sunday Salon Reading series, a date with my agent, and visits with very old and wonderful friends. Here are some links to reviews. I am dizzy with travel and meet-ups, and busy-ness. (Can over-excitement cause headaches?) This incomplete list is a way of saying thanks to the reviewers and bloggers who chose to read and write about my novel. I'll be adding to this list in the weeks to come.

Carrie Howland and Scott Cheshire (fabulous writer) attended the reading hosted by the lovely
Sara Lippmann (with a peek of Terese Svoboda in the back, and author Paul Kerschen not in picture)

The New York Times, Newly Released Books (Jan. 19, 2012) review of Night Swim:

"This earnest debut centers on Sarah as she tunnels through new depths of loneliness..."

The Boston Sunday Globe (Jan. 15, 2012):

"Keener's observations perfectly capture..."

Booklist (Dec. 15, 2011)
"Rooted in personal sorrow, this memorable debut will strike a universal chord with readers: "Life was full of befores and afters." --Hazel Rochman

Style Substance Soul Anna March Reviews “Night Swim” 
"Keener is a big talent..."
stylesubstancesoul.com/.../anna-march-reviews-night-swim-by.

..Largehearted Boy: Book Notes - Jessica Keener "Night Swim"
Night Swim is a masterfully told tale. Dysfunctional family dynamics are revealed in language evocative and honest, and her ...
www.largeheartedboy.com/blog/.../book_notes_jess_11.html

Maura Lynch reviews Night Swim as if she's lived it!  http://loudmouthkid62.blogspot.com/
"In Night Swim, Jessica Keener has brought the Kunitz family to life through the extraordinary first-person narrative of Sarah Kunitz...masterful, awe-inspiring prose is what makes Night Swim such an amazing and exceptional novel."

Books Like Breathing: Review: Night Swim by Jessica Keener  (5 stars)
Review: Night Swim by Jessica Keener. image Publisher: The Fiction Studio ISBN:1936558262. Pages:284 pages. Genre: Young Adult/Contemporary ...
bookslikebreathing.blogspot.com/.../review-night-swim-by-jes...

David Gutowski - Jessica Keener creates and discusses a ...
Jessica Keener creates and discusses a music playlist for her debut novel Night Swim. Largehearted Boy: Book Notes - Jessica Keener "Night Swim" ...
https://plus.google.com/u/0/.../posts/akoWejUp85o

BU Today: A Debut Novel nearly two decades in the making "Keener has had a rich and varied literary life..."


Beyond the Margins: Lessons in patience and craft interview conducted by Robin Elizabeth Black who says Night Swim is "an exquisite portrait of a young woman whose upbringing in a troubled academic family has done everything but prepare her for adult life-except that she finds her own ways to survive and grow. Night swim is moving and a little bit harrowing. It's tender and it's also tough as nails."

BethFishReads  Night Swim Review
"Because Night Swim can be read on multiple levels, it's a great choice for book clubs."

SheKnows January Book Review (of Night Swim)

http://wordsnwags.blogspot.com/2012/04/night-swim-by-jessica-keener-review.html (April 2012)

Launch Party at Brookline Booksmith, Jan. 10, 2012

Today feels like the day after my wedding. I'm filled with smiles and gratitude for a perfect launch.  Here's a few pictures that my husband took. Thank you, everyone, for coming and celebrating with me. Apparently, more than 85 or so people showed up.

Setting up

My sister's stupendous idea to put my book cover on the cake!

People arriving. That's Jennifer Haigh in the beret.

Joyce Walsh (L) good friend and BU Professor of graphic design talking with my dear old friend Mark, from college days

Me and my bro!

Ms. Leora Skolkin-Smith, author of the supreme, Hystera, who came  up from NYC!

Crowd scene, old and new friends everywhere

Roger Gordy, who took my author photo, and my 8th grade teacher, the splendid Mr. Kunitz.  Those who came to the reading will know how important he was to me. What a surprise to see him!

The incomparable Evan, events mgr at Brookline Booksmith, introducing me.  Evan is a talented writer. I loved how he captured the essence of my novel in about 50 words.

Author reading

Author answering questions

Thrilled to see Randy Susan Meyers,  Julie Wu and Dawn Tripp!

That's Julie Wu (pic by Randy S. Meyers)

Night Swim book cover on display.

Signing fun! Those flowers are from my other sister, who sent them from California.

Ms. Daphne Kalotay!

My hubbie and his sunny smile (photo by Roger Gordy)

My sister, Lynne, who planned this party and put it all together so beautifully.  Love her!

Closing with a short essay I wrote for my publisher's blog, part 3 of my In a Word Series. Click on the word: "Thanks" 

Launch Day for Night Swim!! January 10, 2012

I am celebrating in every possible way today online and in person, culminating with my launch party at the wonderful Brookline Booksmith in MA, my hometown indie bookstore. Night Swim is available everywhere books are sold, and in every format. I'll be back with links, and pictures of this personally glorious day.

Thank you, everyone, for your support and enthusiasm. It means the world to me.

Outside the bookstore on Sunday

There's Keener.  It's Official.

Checking out the space, a few days before my reading with my husband (r), and my brother-in-law.

behind the counter, my poster!

Enjoy small moments.

The Red Wheelbarrow  by William Carlos Williams (1883-1963)                                so much depends                                upon                                a red wheel                                barrow                                glazed with rain                                water                                beside the white                                chickens.

Losing Dad: One Year Ago

The night my father fell for the last time, he and my mother had attended the Pacific Symphony Orchestra in S. California and listened to Rachmaninoff's Piano Concerto, no.2 and Dvorak's Symphony no. 9: The New World. 

“The music was terrific!” my father said. “It was wonderful! Jeesh.”

That night, my father returned alone to his assistant living facility, and later that night he fell. He was 88.

We'd stopped counting the times Dad had fallen in the past five years—and the number of visits to the emergency room? He went as often as some people go out to dinner—weekly, several times a month, at least. But, my father had 17 lives. He survived World War II. He survived jaundice, appendicitis, lung cancer, a brain tumor. He lived with diabetes and heart palpitations that required medication. He lived with blood clotting and blood thinning issues, and balance challenges, and depression. So, when I got a call that Dad had fallen, again, and was in the intensive care unit for observation, again, to watch for internal bleeding in his head from the fall, I’d gotten careless myself.

Dad had another fall. La di da.

While he was recovering in the hospital, and doing nicely the first day, I called and talked to my mother.  She reported that he was having soup. A little tired but doing okay. 

"Mom," I said. "Tell Dad he should wear a helmet."

"Wha she say? No! I'm not going to wear a helmet."

I didn’t expect him to obey. He wasn’t that kind of guy.

“Okay. Keep me posted,” I said, and hung up.  

The next day, I went to my neighbor’s house for dinner. When I realized  I had left my cell phone in my coat pocket in another room, I got a strange, sudden fright and hurried across the hall to get it. Not long after, my cell rang. My mother had been unable to wake up Dad earlier in the day. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, she said. In fact, it was worse. He was in a semi-unconscious state.  

I won’t go into those details of the next hour, or the bi-coastal conference call with the doctor. I’ll just say that for much of my life, my father told us that he wanted to go quickly. He had written documents to that same effect—no extraordinary measures were to be taken, etc. Those documents are still in my drawer.

Early the next morning, my sister and I flew across the country to California. He didn't linger long. 

4 a.m. in the morning is such a pristine time of day. It's the time Dad often started his day,  scuffing around in leather slippers to water his beloved plants. Who knew that 4 a.m. would be the hour he'd let go of his earthly breath?

But what I find myself thinking about on this one year anniversary of his death--is that evening of music, the one he enjoyed so much, the one that filled him with otherworldly delight, perhaps even a feeling of timelessness.  

Dvorak Symphony no. 9, The New World; and Rachmaninoff’s piano concerto no.2.--I'm going to listen to both of those today (though I started last night), while I circle my house and remember him. He doesn't feel very far away.

Dvorak--movement 1

Movement 2

Movement 3

Rachmoninoff, piano concerto no. 2

First movement (played by Rachmoninoff himself, 1929)

Second movement

rachmaninoff plays piano concerto 2 second movement  

Third movement

rachmaninoff plays third movement

Beautiful Joe

I adored this book as a child--more than adored it. This story lit every capillary in my body on fire.When my mother called me for dinner, I didn’t want to leave the pages. Everything inside my ten-year-old body was invested in the outcome of this puppy that was suffering abuse by a sadistic man.  Beautiful Joes’ ears had been cut off and his sweet soul was heading for early, horrendous death by a cruel miller.

Now, many decades later, I have discovered that Beautiful Joe was based on a  true story and that the book I read so long ago was, in fact, an international bestseller. I had no idea! I only knew that I needed to save this dog and prayed, as I turned the pages, that the young boy in the book, my hero, would save him for me.

Written in 1893 by Margaret Marshall Saunders, I discovered this lovely website where you can learn a whole more about Ms Saunders who in 1934 was recognized for furthering the humane treatment of animals.

I also found this short recap of what inspired Saunders to write the book:  

In 1892, in the town of Meaford, Ontario, Margaret Marshall Saunders was introduced to Beautiful Joe--a mongrel dog that had been cruelly mutilated by its owner. The author was inspired to write this true story to emphasize the plight of domestic animals everywhere.  Upon publication, Beautiful Joe quicly became a Canadian classic, enchanting readers of all ages. Although Margaret Saunders relocated the story of Beautiful Joe to a fiction town in Maine, readers know the story is actually based in Meaford, where a park and monument have been dedicated to the dog's memory."

And this interesting tidbit from Amazon about why Saunders called herself Marshall Saunders (and not Margaret):

"Published in 1893, Beautiful Joe was the first Canadian book to sell a million copies and was extremely popular in America, too (selling almost a million copies by 1900). A work of fiction told from the dog's point of view, it is based upon the true story of an abused dog (in the tradition of 1877's Black Beauty). It reflects many of the unfortunate realities of society in those days, but it had an incredible impact upon the Western world's ideas about humane treatment of animals. Interestingly, it is still published with the author listed as Marshall Saunders. In fact, it was written by Margaret Marshall Saunders, and published using her middle name since it was felt that no one would want to buy a book written by a woman. (She was in fact the first woman to write a book which sold a million copies!) Every animal shelter and rescue organization in America and Canada owes a debt to Beautiful Joe."

Do you know this book? Have you read it? Do you have a copy of it? Tell me, please!

I’m off to order it, thrilled and grateful that this story is still alive.

Giving thanks to my brother

My younger brother

November is a month of many notes in minor key. --Transitions from light to dark, skies turning a moodier  mauve and grey; trees preparing to sleep, horizons embracing night by five 0’clock, and in the process, introspection tugs me back into myself to a time of rebirth and deep, unexpected gifts. 

This time in November--23rd to be exact--marks 32 years since my bone marrow transplant. I was in my twenties. I had a fifteen percent chance of surviving without one and a 50 percent chance if I chose to have one. Was it really a choice? The procedure back then was dangerous (often fatal) and highly experimental.

Thirty-two years ago, my brother, whose bone marrow matched mine, went under anesthesia for several hours while doctors harvested bone marrow from his hip. He was only seventeen. In fact, he was under age and we had to go to court and get the state's permission to allow this. His bone marrow—a liquid substance—was filtered into plastic, transfusion bags, then hooked up to a plastic tube called a shunt, which was surgically attached to my thigh. Here’s a picture of that shunt, which was eventually surgically removed.

In my intensive care, isolation room in a Boston hospital, I envisioned my brother’s bone marrow as homing pigeons returning to roost.  I also imagined his marrow as carrying seeds scattering throughout my body, taking hold in the earth that was me. Bone marrow is the largest organ in the body. It’s everywhere.

When my brother woke up, his hips sore like Charley horse, he shuffled into my intensive care room and stood outside the plastic curtain that divided us, cheering me on. I was freaking out.  Powerful sedatives during high doses of chemotherapy were wearing off. (The chemotherapy killed my old bone marrow to prepare for the new, which meant I had no immune system.)  My body was vibrating, my mind on warp speed with anxiety. Trapped in a cage, in a six by eight hospital room that I was forbidden to leave, I feared I might go insane.

My brother returned to his boarding school a few days later. I stayed in the sterile, isolation room for another two months under the care of this man.

And my primary nurse who spent several hours with me every day.

And the behind-the-scenes care of this man.

Karmu, the amazing faith healer

And so many others (a team of about one hundred).

Eventually, I wrote about this experience in a story called Recovery, my first published story. It won a prize from Redbook magazine in a national fiction contest.  You can read Recovery here if you’d like. I also talked about my transplant in Susan Henderson’s wonderful interview on LitPark.

This is the laminar air flow room (or bubble) originally created for astronauts. I'm getting ready to go home.  See those gloves? I had to wear them everywhere. The mask, too.

So, once again, thank you, dear brother, and thanks to my team of more than a hundred people—nurses, doctors, researchers, family, faith healer--for your dedication and care, for extending my time on this planet.

  

In the car with my mom, heading home.

My dad took this pic days after I was home from the hospital.