Double Vision: Vacationing in One’s Hometown

I spent a few days in Iowa City, my hometown.  I did some research at the University of Iowa Library.  Then I took long walks around town.

Nostalgia was laced with Zola-like naturalistic observations as I contemplated the monstrous greed of developers who have destroyed whole blocks of graceful old houses and replaced them with cheap apartment houses.

And that’s why you can’t go home again.  It’s like having double vision:  seeing everything twice through optometrists’ lenses.

At first it was blissful.

Iowa City is pleasantly deserted in May, because the students are gone, and you have the place to yourself . You do not have to stand in line for an American Gothic coffee at Java House. You nip up the hill to College Green Park to sip your coffee and read Barbara Pym’s An Unsuitable Attachment,  which is suitable  vacation reading, peopled by Pym’s trademark diffident observers:  Ianthe Broome, a librarian,  has “an unsuitable attachment” to a  younger man; Sophia , a vicar’s wife, is obsessed with her cat, Faustina, and match-making; and Rupert Stonebird, an anthropologist, considers  mating with Ianthe, who is more suitable,  or Sophia’s sister Penelope,  whom he calls”the pre-Raphaelite beat-nik.”

Growing up I sat on the swings at the park, and near the end of senior year I picnicked at the park with my future husband. It still feels like the sleepy Iowa City of my youth, except development has spoiled the old neighborhoods near the campus.  New apartment buildings under construction now tower over the Unitarian Church on Iowa Avenue, and dwarf the old Carnegie library on College Street. The new public library, once a J. C. Penneys,  has  less charm, a central location but no parking.  Still, it is open long hours every day, and serves as a community center. And–fun fact!–the library is home to the Westgate Collection of Original Children’s Book Art, most of which was collected and donated by Hazel Westgate, the eccentric children’s librarian from 1949-1988 who built an excellent collection of children’s literature.

After picking up a second coffee, because what is research without coffee?, I went down the hill to the University of Iowa Library. At a table near the window in the literature and language stacks, I arranged my crisp new notebook, British Library pen, backup hotel pen, and felt-tip pens for special notes. And in the dim lights triggered by movement sensors, I acquired a heap of books.

So many books, some great, some terrible.  I quickly flashed back to grad school  techniques and recalled the unscholarly habit of judging books by the  title.  Yes, why not?  One needs a whimsical sorting system among so many unpromising dull books.   Not surprisingly, Sarah Lindheim’s Mail and Female: Epistolary Narrative and Desire in Ovid’s Heroides, is clever and amusing;  the title even  echoes You’ve Got Mail, the entertaining Nora Ephron movie.  Lindheim is such a smart, amusing writer that I can’t help but think it was deliberate.  And the book is a fascinating analysis of Ovid’s Heroides, a collection of elegiac epistles written from mythological heroines to their lovers and husbands.  On the other hand, I struck out with A Web of Fantasies: Gaze, Image, and Gender in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, by Patricia B. Slazman-Mitchell.  It’s best to avoid books with “gender” in the title, I decided.

After taking notes, I did a lot of walking.  I do recommend visiting Hickory Hill Park, 190 acres of woods, meadows, creek, etc.  I used to know  the park well, but they have bought more land,  built more trails, and have deliberately revamped others so you go nowhere near the gap in the fence that led into Oakland Cemetery and was a shortcut home.  The large open meadow is now confusingly planted with trees, while  another open meadow (which I mistook for the old one) has that Andrew Wyeth look that makes you want to plop down in the sun. (I got sunburn.)   A deer and I came face to face when I stumbled on a remote muddy trail, which perhaps was not even a human trail.   Yes, I did get lost, but eventually found an exit that led me to Dodge Street.  Wow, I need to start a  five-miles-a-day walking regimen, because I could feel this in my legs!  My husband said it was eight miles.  Who knows?

Iowa City is also  home of the Iowa Writers’ Workshop and was named a UNESCO City of Books in 2008. The sidewalk on Iowa Ave is engraved wih plaques and quotes from famous writers.   We were always vaguely proud of the  Workshop, where Kurt Vonnegut, Gail Godwin, John Cheever, Frank Conroy, Marvin Bell, Marilynne Robinson, T. C. Boyle, Karen E. Bender,  Margot Livesey, and many other brilliant writers have taught.  But it’s not known for Iowa writers!   The only Workshop alumna I can think of from Iowa is Elizabeth Evans.  No, these geniuses come from New York, California, places like that. NOT FLYOVER STATES!

Iowa City has always been bookish, but now has trouble supporting bookstores, despite the UNESCO status.  Prairie Lights, a two-story bookstore established in the late ’70s,  is still magnificent,  and has a stunning selection of new books and a good selection of classics, but the number of books seems slightly smaller than it used to be.  Prairie Lights also sponsors a lot of readings,  though  fewer big names come through on tour these days.  Mostly the readings are by Workshop writers now.  Prairie Lights also sells the books at university events.

There are only a couple of other bookstores left in Iowa City.  Around the block from Prairie Lights is Iowa Book, which used to be called Iowa Book and Supply (or Iowa Book and Crook).  To say I was shocked that the store now has only a few shelves of books is an understatement. It always made most its money from t-shirts and sweatshirts, but now that is the entire business.

As for used bookstores,  I am not a big fan of The Haunted Bookshop, where a  cat once attacked me  The bookstore clerks apologized, but as  a longtime “cat mom” in a multi-cat household,  I was shocked.  This is not usual with cats.  And, honestly, the condition of the books at The Haunted Bookshop is often barely “acceptable.”  But  Iowa City needs The Haunted Bookshop, whether I like the store or not, and perhaps students are less picky than I am..

There is a lot of food in Iowa City. The best food I found?  The vegetarian sandwich at the University Library’s cafe.  Honestly, I lived on those.  But the pedestrian downtown  is a center of restaurants and bars, so you won’t go hungry.

CAVEAT:  Iowa City is larger than it used to be, and if you are a woman alone, do be careful. It’s hard to take Iowa City seriously as a city because it seems so quaint, but things change, and I was too casual in the evening.  Iowa City has a homeless problem, or so I’d read in The Press Citizen, without taking it seriously.  I scoffed, until I went to CVS at the Old Capitol Mall around 5 p.m., and had to thread myself through crowds of homeless men  out of Dickens’s Oliver Twist. No, it sure wasn’t Little Dorrit or  the Father of the Marshalsea.  And I’m not anti-homeless., and I’m not a judge of homeless.   as a bit like having double vision:  looking at my hometown through different lenses provided by an optometrist.  Is this clearer, or this?


The soundest of advice to the me who has forgotten it!

À la Caffeine: Editing Pulp Science Fiction

“Why did I say I’d do this?” I wondered as I sipped a soy latte at  À la Caffeine.

À la  Caffeine is the chic coffee boutique for itinerant writers in our uncharted provincial city.  Managed by a library school dropout who has posted  “Shh” signs on the wall, it is a nearly silent cafe.

“Shh” isn’t everybody’s favorite word.  And so the clientele tend to be Renaissance Fair organizers designing Celtic Clan flyers, nervous Ph.D. students writing snappy dissertations on Sexuality in  Small Towns in Willa Cather’s Later Fiction, and freelancers desperately polishing reviews of “The Ten Best Homeless Shelters in Town”–for the alternative paper.

I often write such things myself, but today I’m editing a pulp SF novel about a race of “Uplifted” animals– animals who are biologically modified in labs to have human intelligence.

I am doing this as a favor for an editor friend who is  forced to publish this thing.

Wow!  This is ineffably bad.   I asked in an email,  “Did you know the hero is a  lemur whose ancestors are   blue ponies?”

She wrote, “Yeah.  Delete ALL adjectives and adverbs and cut to 30,000 words. Then we hide it in an anthology, submit it for an SF novella prize, and call it done.”

But where to start?  Here is the astonishing first  paragraph.

And so it came to be that Hal the Lemur flew through the tall green  trees of Madagascar Not-on-Earth  on the morning that Mam was attacked by the Madagascar Hawk. Hal bravely fought it. His Mam was not alive…not dead.  He could get help  from the  blue Ponies who’d trained him in Rhetoric and Medicine. And then he saw the Pony Ship was gone. Gone through space……time was a concept…time and space beyond Ponies beyond Earth…beyond…and he was alone.

But will it win the novella prize?

I’ll have another soy latte.