Red Scarf Girl

like you good

It was very thoughtful of you

we arrive at the land of the number 2 pencils and legal pads—of thepracticalities of composition. These constitute, of course, the number-one cliché of the author-interview genre. Yet I asked questions alongthese lines, and I set down a selection of the responses here, because theyilluminate style. Thus Harold Bloom says: “I write in record books with aPentel black rolling ballpoint pen. It ’s the only way I can write—I’venever learned to type.” And suddenly one has an insight into Bloom’sprose, with its—yes—rolling cadences, and pre–twentieth century tone.Tobias Wolff says: “Because I don’t type, I can’t work any faster than Ithink.” And that sheds light on Wolff ’s style, which maintains a statelypace even as the action is speeding up.Perhaps the most surprising finding, in the practical realm, had to dowith computers—how many writers feel ambivalent or hostile towardthem, or, like Wolff and Bloom, don’t use them at all. This was especiallythe case among those self-conscious or analytical about style. The physi-cal effort involved in using a typewriter or pen provides for them, a help-ful speed bump in a word ’s passage from the brain to the page; word“processing,” nearly effortless, lacks a necessary friction, as well as thetactility common to all handcrafts.Handmade versus machine-made: the opposition clearly pertains toprose style. A handwritten text contains (often literally) its composer’ssignature, and there exist professionals who claim to be able to discernmuch if not everything about a personality from a single handwritingsample. Typewritten texts have a standardized look, but still, the imprintof a letter on the page is a function of personal touch. Holding a type-script in your hand, you can sense the physical presence[img=strong][img=strong]

It’s an exciting time to be a book reviewer. Once confined to print newspapers and journals, reviews now dot many corridors of the Internet — forever helping others discover their next great read. That said, every book reviewer will face a familiar panic: how can you do justice to a great book in just a thousand words?

In the pearl he saw Coyotito sitting at a little desk in a school, just as Kino had once seen it through an open door. And Coyotito was dressed in a jacket, and he had on a white collar and a broad silken tie. Moreover, Coyotito was writing on a big piece of paper. Kino looked at his neighbors fiercely. “My son will go to school,” he said, and the neighbors were hushed. . . . Kino’s face shone with prophecy. “My son will read and open the books, and my son will write and will know writing. And my son will make numbers, and these things will make us free because he will know—he will know and through him we will know. . . . This is what the pearl will