William March, The Bad Seed (1954)

March, William, The Bad Seed, New York: Rinehart, April 1954
______, The Bad Seed, Hoepewell, NJ: Ecco Press, 1997 (my copy, pictured)


The Bad Seed at Goodreads
Rating: 8/10


"It seemed to her suddenly that violence was an inescapable factor of the heart, perhaps the most important factor of all--an ineradicable thing that lay, like a bad seed, behind kindness, behind compassion, behind the embrace of love itself. Sometimes it lay deeply hidden, sometimes it lay close to the surface; but always it was there, ready to appear, under the right conditions, in all its irrational dreadfulness."


There are a number of ideas running through this little suspense novel. Far more than you'd expect from what was intended to be a 1950s pulp paperback. Much has been discussed about March's treatment of the serial killer, from his accurate portrayal of a sociopath to the less than likely notion that such pathologies are hereditary. Yet, as Elaine Showalter rightfully states in her introduction to the 1997 Ecco edition, "Contemporary readers may sense that the tale of Rhoda Penmark is more complex than it first appeared." Amid the important sociopathological elements in the novel and its unusual little killer, there exists an acute rendering of the state of contemporary (1954) society.

The notion of a "bad seed" is not just the seed that carried the killer instinct across generations, but a seed that lies dormant within the confines of western society, and that sprouts more and more frequently as the society maintains its unhealthy repressive lifestyle. Societal repression exists throughout the novel, from "larval" homosexuality to the almost disturbing sexual aggression portrayed in Leroy Jessup's internal monologues. However, the prominent form of repression is displayed through Christine Penmark, the beautiful and loyal housewife mother to Rhoda. Christine is portrayed as a woman average in intelligence, not particularly talented, and though loyal to the ideology of the family unit, highly frail and insecure so that the unit is lacking a stable foundation. Her hard-working and apparently loving husband is out of the country conducting business that will further both his career and the family's status, while Christine remains at home discovering the awful truth about her daughter while writing letters to her husband begging him to hurry home. Letters that shew will never send. There is an irony that exists in the notion of family unity since while Christine strives to maintain the impression of family, her husband Kenneth is entirely absent while daughter Rhoda has no concept of anything beyond self. Of course Kenneth is away not out of choice as it is made clear the trio had to leave their previous community due to Rhoda, and father had then to re-establish himself in a new line of work.

Yet the notion of family doesn't quite exist anywhere in The Bad Seed. Characters include a trio of spinster sisters, a divorced and childless feminist ball-buster living with her latent homosexual brother, a crime-obsessed possibly gay single middle-aged male, and loads of widows. We see family in the Daigles and in the Jessups. The Daigle family is represented as frail and becomes victim to Rhoda's intentions early on. The Jessup clan is internally destructive and self-defacing, with the children playing in dirt, Mrs. Jessup constantly (and understandably) undermining her husband, while Leroy is obsessed with aggressive sexual longings for Christine, and a sinister relationship with the little girl Rhoda that is described as a kind of courtship. The Jessup family too will fall victim to Rhoda.

Moreover, characters are seduced by the trendy forms of Freudian psychoanalysis in order to better understand and master (or restrict) themselves. Repression is not only of the self but of one's surrounding influences. As seen through the concerned and loyal friend, yet nonetheless selfish Monica Breedlove, people do their best to control their environment. With her influence Mrs. Breedlove can command those around (or beneath) her. Crime writers organize and catalog crime, schools control their enrollment, families do their best to control their children, as Mrs. Daigle does with the weak-willed Claude. Finally, according to March, we are also controlled by ancestry as Rhoda's evil nature isn't to be helped, but is rather inherited from her grandmother. This last point is the novel's most contentious and most difficult for the contemporary reader to swallow.

Otherwise, the portrayals are quite astute. March handles his material well, with excellent consistent characterization, great internal monologues and a strong plot that unites its little elements throughout the novel. In addition, written with the intention of being a "potboiler" (Showalter's word), the writing is clear and straightforward, generating an intense level of suspense.

William March's own publisher refused to publish the book, and it was picked up by Rinehart instead. The novel became an unexpected best-seller, March's most successful work both financially and critically. It received a 1955 nomination for fiction from The National Book Award. Unfortunately March did not live long enough to reap any of these benefits, having died only a month after the book's initial publication.

I highly recommend the book for both mystery (and horror, though the violence is thankfully limited), and literary readers. It works on many levels. Elaine Showalter's brief introduction adds to an understanding of the author (whom I knew nothing about), and helps to raise one's curiosity both of March and his other novels. Evidently March was an eccentric, sexually repressed himself and a believer in psychoanalysis. Moreover he believed in graphology, analyzing personality through one's handwriting, and according to Showalter likely named her heroines Penmark in association with this belief.


For more of this week's Forgotten Books, please visit Todd Mason's site.

The 4400: Becoming

Becoming (Episode 1.3)
Directed by David Straiton
Written by Craig Sweeny
Co-starring Lee Tergesen and Helen Shaver
First aired 25 July 2004
Rating: 7/10

For the Pilot episode, please read here.
For the previous episode, "The New and Improved Carl Morrissey," please visit here.
For the following episode, "Trial By Fire," please click here.

(Once again, some spoilers.)

"The time I lost is gone. I'll never get it back. But my years in the dark didn't kill me and my work remains. And even though I might not understand what's happening to me, I have faith in the final outcome."

This creepy opening, spelled out in both block letters and voice-over narration, opens up what will likely prove to be the strongest first season episode. The episode works as it not only features an excellent subplot, but it introduces a mysterious regular character, and heightens tensions within the other subplots.

The episode's one-off deals with the possibility of a serial killer having been among the 4400. The killings of young women in Friday Harbor ended back in 1983, just when Oliver Knox disappeared. Now that Knox has returned, so has the killing. "I know how tempting the math is on this murder," Knox (Lee Tergesen) tells interviewing agents Skouris and Baldwin, maintaining he is not, and never was the Friday Harbor Killer. Soon afterwards, a written confession to all the Friday Harbor murders as well as hard evidence links someone else to the crime. Yet another body appears, followed by another man confessing to all these crimes. Certainly Knox is guilty, but how is he managing to get others to confess? Reminiscent of the popular X-Files episode "The Pusher."

Actor Tergesen is best known for his excellent performance as the naive prisoner Tobias Beecher in the fantastic series Oz, and does a great job here as the merciless, conscience-lacking Knox. Despite his arrogance he is charming, friendly and easily likeable. This of course adds to his creepiness, and Tergesen does well with the creepy. He is also recognizable for roles in Desperate Housewives and Weird Science.

Yet the episode is not content to limit itself to a strong subplot, and seems to be complicating the series with additional foggy elements. Beginning with the introduction of Jordan Collier (Billy Campbell).

Collier first appears on a television screen in Skouris's apartment as part of the Barbara Yates Show, volunteering himself as the face to the 4400. A wealthy and successful real estate developer, Collier disappeared in 2002 and yet has been re-appointed by his company's board. He is acting not only as "the face" of the 4400, but is helping out particular members as well, hosting a gathering and inviting any member who wishes to attend. He seems particularly interested in Richard and Lily, even offering the former a job as head of security when no one else considers him employable.

Introducing Jordan Collier in an episode alongside Oliver Knox is ingenious. Both men are charming, naturally flirtatious and well-spoken. Knox is physically bright, blonde and smiling, while Collier is dark and brooding. The greatest contrast is in their roles. While Knox is a cold killer, merrily taking lives with his unusual new talent, Collier is a kind of saviour. He appears genuine in his aid to "returnees," a kind of Jesus Christ figure (as his initials suggest) attempting to unite a lost flock. It is likely there is an ulterior motive, a combination of good and evil. Friendly to the 4400, but not necessarily to others. Or vice versa. Personally, I'm getting a feeling of cultishness from JC.

To add additional complications to the mounting tensions, popular television personality Barbara Yates is taking on the 4400, arguing they are a threat and should be returned to quarantine. Evidently she has a history with Seattle's Office of National Security, particularly its chief man Dennis Ryland, who is planning for a counter-attack. Pseudo journalist Yates is here played by Helen Shaver, who directed the series second episode. The character appeared briefly in the pilot, as Orson and Maia watched her show while in quarantine, though was played by Patti Allan. (I remember Shaver well in her role as Dr. Kress's wife, Cathy Kress, in the excellent pilot episode of The Outer Limits, "Sandkings," based on the also excellent short story by George R. R. Martin that featured no Mrs. Kress.) Nice to see some early plot planning by the creators.

Another effective contrast is that in an episode that features so much death, we also receive a wakening with Kyle Baldwin coming out of his coma. Secrets about his accident and Shawn's abduction are surprising, since it turns out Kyle was the intended abductee. This implies much, including that the abductors are fallible, and opens up the possibility that they could have made other errors, such as the abduction of a serial killer. Hopefully the series will toy around with these possibilities, the writers hopefully aware of the multitude of potential.


And amid all these tensions the episode still manages to push the notion of the ripple effect introduced in the previous episode's Theory Room. "The incidents themselves are just catalysts for change," Diana Skouris says. Yet we can all wonder, as the agents do, what kind of positive change the recent victims of the Friday Harbor Killer ripple into?

Though the show continues to lack great writing, it has managed here to create its own agreeable mythology. Setting down so many players, generating great contrast and promising mystery and perhaps even moral challenges, episode three knock number two aside and is better linked with the promising pilot.

The 4400: The New and Improved Carl Morrissey

The New and Improved Carl Morrissey. (Episode 1.2)
Directed by Helen Shaver
Written by Ira Steven Behr
Co-starring David Eigenberg and Kathleen Wilhoite
First aired 18 July 2004
Rating: 5/10

For a review of the Pilot, please visit this link.
For a review of the following episode, visit this one instead.

(Some spoilers included here.)

The first episode of The 4400 solidifies the series convention: we discover more about our main cast while their stories are interspersed with a subplot unique to the particular episode. There doesn't seem to be an overarching thematic link between the separate threads, though the unique stories do shed a bit of light on the mystery of the 4400 and their special abilities.


We are also introduced to the Theory Room, a concept that actually made me laugh: "It's a theory," says agent Diana Skouris to partner Tom Baldwin. "That's why they call it The Theory Room." And sure enough, as they exit we see the scrawled sign on the glass door designating it THE THEORY ROOM, in case we had any doubts. The theory they've been expounding is that the 4400 were returned for a specific purpose, and while their own actions may not be directly relevant to their purpose, the "ripple effects" are indicative of something potentially greater. What has led them to this theory is that the man Orson Bailey inadvertently killed in the Pilot episode was involved in dealings that were on the verge of generating economic chaos. Interesting.

We discover little else of the main characters, except that Lily's talent has surfaced and as expected it appears to be linked to the baby she is carrying. She describes it as knowing what the baby is thinking. Some sort of heightened maternal instinct. Interesting.

The episode's featured one-off subplot is less than interesting. While our heroes listen to babies, discuss divorce, wait for the comatose to awaken and theorize, something is astir in little Brooklyn. (Really it's Seattle, I think. Only it should be Brooklyn, what with the accents, vigilantism and reference to the great Charles Bronson.) Grocery clerk at the fish aisle, Carl Morrissey (David Eigenberg), disappeared a little over a year ago, back in 2003, and was hence able to pick up where his life left off. He's happily married to wife Gracie (Kathleen Wilhoite) and living in his childhood neighbourhood, where he knows everybody and everyone knows him. Unfortunately the neighbourhood's been on the downswing, with violence taking over the local park and graffiti appearing everywhere. It just isn't safe anymore. Naive and idealistic, Morrissey believes he can restore the neighbourhood to what it once was, and this belief is brought on by his new ability, which is incredible strength and dexterity. "This is what I was meant to do!" he spouts at his worried wife. "This is my destiny!" Poor Morrissey is killed, but as the police are removing the yellow tape, community members amid cheesy music begin scrubbing the graffiti from the park's stone monument.

The story is familiar and rendered dull. There is no investment in character or attempt at making the familiar interesting. It also doesn't help that David Eigenberg is a little sloppy in the role. A wavering accent, inconsistent energy and a certain dumb look are all distracting. As is the paint-by-numbers script. Not to mention that hilarious scene when Carl twists his boss's hand when he seems to be getting a little power hungry (a character element that is not followed through). The purpose here is to progress plot and progress The 4400 mythos by tossing in a few bits of necessary information.

And we do learn a bit about the abductions through Morrissey, so that his purpose moves beyond the neighbourhood setting, and potentially out into the vast universe. The story reveals that the returnees are not invulnerable, and since Morrissey's death brought a community together, it adds padding to the ripple effect theory. With actual rippling, Morrissey's death should result in the series being re-titled: The 4399.

Finally, I'm anticipating that final episode, when they learn what the abductions were all about, and reveal it to the viewer in THE EXPLANATION ROOM. In the meantime thank you for reading, and as it's late I'll be popping over to THE SLEEPING ROOM. As the sign on the door designates.

The 4400: The Pilot

The Pilot. 7/10
Directed by Yves Simoneau, written by Scott Peters and René Echevarria. First aired 11 July 2004.

Over the last sixty years, people all over the world have been inexplicably disappearing. On a cloudy Washington day in 2004, a comet appears to be on a collision course with Earth. Missiles have no affect, and as people call their loved ones thinking it is the end, the comet slows down and a ball of light hovers over Mount Rainier, Washington. As the ball bursts into storm, it leaves behind a mass of smoke along with 4,400 people--those that have gone missing since 1946.


The Department of Homeland Security in Seattle takes charge of the large group to try and make sense of their disappearance, and to make sure they don't pose a threat to the rest of the world. As the pilot progresses, we follow the events surrounding five "returnees" and the two Homeland Security agents investigating them.

The 4400 offers up a premise with a myriad of possibilities. As the pilot focuses on character situations, it presents us with a potential promise of 4400 character-driven plot-lines, along-side those of the government investigators. Moreover, the pilot episode displays the additional limitless narrative potential in that the stories of some character can even overlap. The situations themselves are quite complex, and offer up the tragedies of lives broken by being placed in temporary long-term stasis. An additional element is introduced when we learn that the returnees have developed  supernatural abilities, each ability seemingly unique. Though the series aims to follow certain specific characters, nearly each episode should feature its own separate though linked story-line, so that though a linear series, it contains elements of the anthology.

Maia Rutledge (Conchita Campbell) is an eight year-old girl who disappeared on a rainy day while picking flowers. The first of the abducted, she went missing back in 1946 while on a rained-out picnic with her folks. (Incidentally, they are seen sitting in a car listening to Ella Fitzgerald singing "Cheek to Cheek," a rendition she recorded ten years later in 1956.) Having returned fifty-eight years later, she has no family and no place to go. Maia appears to be precognizant, an ability which carries with it the power to creep people out. Because she is eight, and though she appears emotionally mature, she is not yet mature enough to know when not to reveal information. "That's where you'll be buried," she innocently tells a potential adopter.


Shawn Farrell (Patrick John Flueger) disappeared only three years prior to "the present" in 2001. This essentially implies that he had a 2001 space odyssey. Shawn is a high school student who is forced to return to the difficulties of that age while being a notable outcast, or "freak." Complications are added when the then fourteen year-old hottie classmate girl next door Nikki (Brooke Nevin) is now seventeen and datable, yet she is dating Shawn's younger brother Danny (Kaj-Erik Eriken), who is now the same age as him. Moreover, he is also nephew to one of the investigating agents, and the only potential witness to the event that placed his cousin Kyle, the agent's only child, in a coma. Shawn's ability is revealed only partially, which adds to its creepy mystery. It is linked with life, whether giving life, reviving or possibly even taking it away.

Richard Tyler (Mahershala Ali) disappeared from South Korea in 1951, as he was being beaten by a group of white American soldiers for being involved with a pretty white girl named Lily. Richard is struggling to make a place for himself in a society that has become inter-racially diverse, and that has evidently seen greater sociological change, from people wearing exaggerated piercings to the fact that he can no longer smoke in public areas. Adding to the overall psychological stress, he returns to his home in Detroit only to discover that it's no longer there, replaced by an overarching highway which houses beneath it a group of aggressive homeless men. We don't yet know what Richard's talent is, though we assume he has one.

Lily Moore (Laura Allen) disappeared in 1993 when her daughter was only six months old. Her husband has re-married and their daughter believes the second wife is her biological mother. She no longer has a family nor a home. Lily is linked to Richard since she is the granddaughter of the Lily he was in love with back in 1951, and both are now homeless and friendless, finding companionship with each other. Lily's ability has also not been revealed, yet it is likely related to the fact that she is inexplicable pregnant.

Finally, Orson Bailey (Michael Moriarty) is a successful Washington sales partner who disappeared in 1979. He has returned to see that the young boy he showed around the office has not only taken over, but is unwilling to take him back, complaining of hard times while living in abject luxury. Moreover, his wife Elizabeth with whom he had a thirty-two year anniversary dinner date the night he disappeared, is now living in a home for the aged. Bailey's ability is the unfortunate earthquake-like violence he generates whenever he is upset. And there is much to be upset about.

I found Bailey's story to be the most tragic, and even felt touched when he was attending to his sick, now elderly wife. The brief moment is sincerely touching, and it's possible that his wife has gone a little loopy due to having waited twenty-five years to be taken to that special dinner. Moreover, though I never cared for actor Michael Moriarty, I found his performance to be quite effective. Examining any of these plot-lines through the returnees point of view can be heart-breaking, but what differentiates Bailey from the others, making his situation most tragic, is that there is no positive, alleviating element. Richard and Lily have each other, Shawn has his family while Maia has her youth. Bailey must face his tragedies by himself.

The weakest element of the pilot is the agent duo of Diana Skouris (Jacqueline McKenzie) and Tom Baldwin (Joel Gretsch). Originality between the two cops is attempted, as though the creators and writers were consciously avoiding a Mulder/Scully pairing, but it's unfortunately mixed in with too much cliché. It is the female agent who is the tough loner with father issues, while the male counterpart is the family-leaning romantic. Of course they first meet at odds, and their differences are brought to the fore quickly and obviously. There is some unfortunately bad writing, and I can only hope that the relationship, along with the dialogue between the two, improves. They are working with head Dennis Ryland (veteran character actor Peter Coyote), who played the standard hard-nosed leader in the pilot, and like his agents has a fair amount of potential, as witnessed during that moment on the lawn with Maia.

The pilot episode was co-written by series creators Scott Peters and René Echevarria. Echevarria wrote many teleplays for Star Trek: The Next Generation and Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, as well as Dark Angel (likely where the poor bantering was perfected). Peters on the hand, a Canadian, was behind numerous episodes of successful Canadian supernatural series, from Are you Afraid of the Dark?, Highlander, and the often above average The Outer Limits.

The series, like The X-Files and so many syndicated genre productions, was filmed in and around Vancouver, BC, so we can expect some faces from other such programmes, some well(over)used buildings and streets, as well as lots of rain as much of the series was filmed during the winter. The pilot did provide some nice cinematography along with television quality special effects.

Despite the show's weaker points, I am nonetheless curious as to how it will progress.

Note: Patti Allan appears briefly on television as parasite Barbara Yates, though will later be replaced by 

Peter Robinson: Caedmon's Song (1990)

Robinson, Peter, Caedmon's Song, Viking Press, 1990.
______, Caedmon's Song, Penguin Books, 1991. (my edition, pictured)
______, Caedmon's Song, Pan MacMillan, 2004. (pictured below)
______, The First Cut, Penguin Books, 2004.

Caedmon's Song at Goodreads.
Rating: 5/10


Written before his popular series of books featuring Inspector Alan Banks, Peter Robinson apparently returned to the manuscript of Caedmon's Song in order to get a break from Banks. This Bankless novel follows two sets of narratives, one concerning graduating university student Kirsten who is brutally attacked in a park in Bath, and the other focusing on mysterious woman Martha Browne who appears in the fishing community of Whitby in search of someone. The story of the attacker, a serial killer, is based on the horrible crimes of Peter Sutcliffe, The Yorkshire Ripper.

The novel is overall well written, with good, consistent prose and genuine sympathy toward the victims. It is however marred by a number of problems that drag the narrative considerably, mainly its uneven pacing, obvious direction and its unnecessary length.

The poor pacing is partly the result of the separate narratives. Though each of the forty-seven chapters is short, each narrative's plot progression must be kept aligned in order for the stories to move along evenly. Hence, when in the early stages we are learning about Kirsten and the attack, the Martha sequences often read as filler, as she sits in coffee shops wondering where to go next. Three quarters of the way through the novel, when the Martha sequences are becoming more involved, the Kirsten chapters slow down considerably. With much of the filler excised, the novel would have been far more effective, and due to its essentially predictable story-line, it would work more appropriately as a novella (an unfortunately under-appreciated literary form).

Moreover, the novel's mystery and the links between the two narratives become obvious early on, so that the required element of tension is never developed. When the two narratives become more and more closely intertwined and beginning to meet, the novel as a whole begins to drag, making for cumbersome reading as we approach the finish line. I found myself skipping sentences in order to finish the book, knowing full well how it will end; page 247 of my edition truly looked like a finish line I was hurrying to reach.

While the prose is overall even and solid, the sequences between Kirsten and psychiatrist Laura Henderson were poorly executed. Narrative and dialogue falter here, though this is partly because we're on such familiar territory. Unfortunately author Robinson, certainly talented, is unable to make from the ordinary something fresh.

Finally, the novel features, albeit briefly, a crime worse than even murder: "...and a few dated pop albums: Rolling Stones, Wham, U2, David Bowie, Kate Bush, Tom Waits." First of all, how can anyone refer to Tom Waits as a pop singer? Secondly, he is among the most innovative of artists, transcending notions of genre. Finally, lumping him the likes of Wham, the short-lived epitome of 1980s pop and bad hair for men, is just insulting.

For more forgotten books, please visit Patti Abbott's blog.

2012: The Year of the Forgotten Book?

The recent announcement that this year's Pulitzer Prize fiction committee has declined to grant a winner this year left me feeling quite angered. In an era when the arts are being threatened by cuts, and when serious fiction seems to be ignored in favour of trends, people need to be motivated to read, and the Pulitzer, among other popular prizes, normally helps generate excitement in literature. This act sends a number of uninspiring messages to the public, most prominently that 2012 has given us plenty of material for future articles on "forgotten books." I was infinitely pleased to see Ann Patchett's article in The New York Times, "And the Winner Isn't...", which I found not only thoughtful but quite impassioned, and her article made me more excited about this past year's American fiction than the entire industry known as Pulitzer.

Thoughts lead to thoughts lead to thoughts, and among the many thoughts blaring noisily in my head is the idea that perhaps there might have been a year more deserving of not having a prize presented. Every year every single award bestowed can lure appropriate criticism for or against the selection, and while I disagree with many (most) award choices, the winners themselves are not generally utterly undeserving. My favourite example is the awarding of the Man Booker Prize to Ian McEwan for his satire Amsterdam. I admire McEwan's work, but there were far better books that year, and McEwan himself wrote FAR better books, including Black Dogs, Enduring Love and Atonement. It doesn't make the book undeserving, however, and there is certainly a large divergence between the tastes of prize judges and the reasons they select any particular book. Prizes are notorious also in that winners are frequently the result of a compromise between judges. Three judges have each their single favourite, but since their own tastes and selection logic differ vastly from one another, they agree to go with the fourth book, which, while nobody's favourite, is a safe bet, and at least this way they can all stop bickering and go home to their families.

My vote for the year the Pulitzer board should have declared no award is 1975. The award recipient that has always boggled my senses is Michael Shaara'a The Killer Angels. I understand that the novel represents much of the Pulitzer's mandate (yet doesn't David Foster Wallace's The Pale King in its own right?), and I also understand the novel has led historians to re-examine the roles of certain players in the Battle of Gettysburg. This is wonderful for historians and Civil War enthusiasts, but not necessarily for literature. The selection committee was likely influenced by the fact that there was a resurgence in interest in the American Civil War in the early 1970s, not too long after the event's centennial, and likely the Pulitzer board has been waiting a long time for the next Red Badge of Courage.

The Killer Angels was written by a struggling pulp writer after visiting the historic Gettysburg site. The novel is somewhat passionate, yet it is written as though it were for a small-time pulp rag of the 1960s. The author's sentiments are clear, without any objectivity toward character and events, except perhaps for the detailed military stratagem. Much of the novel is detailed fighting, which got tired early on. The novel lacks proper pacing, developed characters (regardless that its peopled by historical figures alongside the fictional) and most importantly it lacks good writing.

Among notable 1974 American fiction we have Joseph Heller's Something Happened, Ursula K. Le Guin's The Dispossessed, Robert Stone's Dog Soldiers, Peter Benchley's Jaws, and the small press Arkham House posthumous collection of Mary E. Wilkins Freeman Collected Ghost Stories. There were many more, of course.


Let me know what year you think the Pulitzer, or any other major fiction award, should have abstained from selecting a winner.

For a list of other books forgotten this week by Pulitzer, and most others, do yourself a favour and visit Patti Abbot's site.

[Edit: someone reminded me that Richard Adams is British, and hence Shardik is not a "notable American fiction." Thanks for the note.]

Speed Reading: Part One in a Series

First, some quotes by the unique Steven Wright.

• "I just got out of the hospital. I was in a speed reading accident. I hit a bookmark and flew across the room."
• "I took a course in speed waiting. Now I can wait an hour in only ten minutes."
• "I took a course in speed reading. Then I got Reader's Digest on microfilm. By the time I got the machine set up I was done."

I've always been a slow reader. Not due to a lack of focus or that I'd rather be doing something other than reading. In fact, I'm more than happy to spend a day with a few good books and articles, and my retention rate is, I've recently learned, well above average. My problem is subvocalization. Essentially, when I read (and when I write, normally long-hand) my brain pronounces the syllables of each word. This is a habit left behind from early reading practice which apparently causes me to lose 0.2 seconds for every word that read, totalling three to four hours for each book. Why have I, now in my thirties, managed to retain early reading habits? I believe it's because as a child I was learning three languages simultaneously, and attended kindergarten in my third language.

I was twelve when I first noticed that I was a slow reader. My grade seven English teacher assigned the class Josephine Tay's classic mystery novel The Franchise Affair. We were instructed to begin that class with a half hour or so of silent reading. My friend David sat to my right, both of us reading quietly along, until, being a friend and undoubtedly from pure concern, turned to me and whispered, "Geez you're a slow reader! I'm already on page so-and-so." As I was a mature twelve year-old, I replied without hesitation, "Yeah me too, I just needed to flip back to double-check something." Well, for the rest of that silent reading period I watched David as he flipped from page to page to page, seemingly engrossed in the mystery, whereas I was only trying to keep up with him, skimming lines and skipping paragraph, and of course without a clue what was going on in the text. (This, by the way, prejudiced me towards the book and its author for years to come, though I do plan to re-read it and give it a fair chance.)

Over the years I've always been frustrated with the rate of my reading. I have two English degrees, have published books reviews as well as my own fiction, participated in literary seminars, workshops, conferences and so forth, and I always feel I am the least widely read individual present. While doing my graduate work, with the incredible number of novels and theoretical texts we had to consume weekly, I was not always able to keep up and left many texts only partially read.

Several times I've considered taking courses and have looked into ones offered through the university I work at, but the price is always steep and I've stubbornly told myself that I could be a self-taught average reader. How idealistic and utterly deluded. Recently, however, I was given the opportunity to enroll in an online speed reading course and quickly jumped at the chance. Inexpensive compared to the courses I'd previously encountered, and with the belief that life is short so the time devoted will be time gained, I promptly registered.

The course is offered through the site GoYourMind.com, begun by a certain Grzegorz Grzegorcyk, an apparent speed-reading instructor who has also published a book on the craft. The course promises a significant increase in not only reading speed, but also in comprehension. I have begun the lessons yesterday and will be tracking my progress on this site.

Having completed my first lesson, I have discovered the following:

• I read 187 words per minute, and anything between 150 to 200 is considered "slow" (no term is offered for those who read less than 150).
• My comprehension, on the other hand, is 70%, while the average person falls between 50-60%.

The lessons are not simple and can be irritating, but I have lain my faith in Mr. G.'s system and will follow his plans blindly, hopefully for my benefit.