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Elephant in the Living Room

‘Attention must be paid’ so said Willy Loman’s wife

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I’ve been neglecting my four most recent creations: A three year old, a two-and-a-half-year old, a two-year-old and a one-and-a-half year old. (Though all very recent, they represent fifteen years of  intensive on-and-off work.) They come to mind … but then I enshrine my time on other things. Time passes. I swallow hard and slap the side of my head; am reminded that Willy Loman’s wife Linda said of Willy, ‘Attention must be paid’.

Give a hand: Tell a friend! Order one or more as summer reading! Take to the beach! Take camping! Take on an airplane flight and leave for the stewardess to read when you depart! Buy two or three for bedside table! Order early for holiday/birthday/anniversary/wedding/retirement gifts! Again:  Attention must be paid!

Themes vary from: Matisse to Alcoholism to Jewish Identity to Gay Life in the 40’s and 50s and more.

Very soon a new book will be launched. Before that, let’s do read the others. Like you and me, Attention must be paid!

Nominations in the category of Most Neglected :

Potato Eater:

The raw true story of Padric, a gay hustler from the Bronx who spent 1941-1965 in and out of 20 prisons- paperback

Padric McGarry was the surviving twin born in 1925 to the unwed 15-year-old daughter of Irish immigrants. Raped at the age of 7 by an older boy, he learned early during his Bronx childhood to use his wits and good looks to hustle and steal at every opportunity. He eventually did time in twenty prisons across the US, where McGarry improved his criminal skills and snatched moments of comfort with Miss Scarlet and other queens in the “Homo Blocks.” The Potato Eater is an unsentimental biography that offers a stark, unembroidered view of the intersection of gay and prison cultures. For this unapologetic and often darkly comical account of a rootless life at the bottom of the heap, award-winning author Alison Leslie Gold drew on interviews she made with McGarry in the 1970s, as well as his letters and his own notes. McGarry died, with two years of sobriety, in a halfway house in San Diego in 1982. From an audio tape made in 1977 in New York City: “I was 16 when I was arrested for corrupting the morals of soldiers and sailors, blocking a public doorway, and disturbing the peace. In prison I began to grow up and learn. I learned how to pick pockets, how to open five kinds of safes, how to forge checks, how to work second story, how to boost. We’d practice there. I learned all the necessary things to spend 20 more years in different prisons. Riker’s Island was my Junior High School. Sing Sing and Dannemora State were my High Schools. The chain gang and Leavenworth were my colleges. Immediately I had ‘Homosexual, Degenerate, Cock Sucker’ stamped on my records so I was rarely in population with the rest of the men. I was kept in segregation with junkie queens, wino queens, booster queens, prick peddlers, drag queens and some men who just preferred to be in the homo block where they were adored and given sexual comfort. Life in segregation with those mad sissies was like being caged with a mass of mad, screaming peacocks.”

Not Not a Jew, a novella in verst   

In 1930s Berlin, Eli G. is an abstracted young Jewish painter addled by Marxist idealism and tangled memories of his mother and the shtetl. Longing to move to Paris, Eli feverishly paints maps and watches the baby while his wife Vera gives up her ambition of becoming a doctor and works as an accountant. This is where Not Not a Jew – A Novella in Verst, by Alison Leslie Gold, begins, wryly shadowing the life arcs of Eli, Vera, and their son Ira who are depicted in glistening kaleidoscopic shards. Although Ira tries to lose himself through sex, food, and restless travel, he returns to his parents to grapple with his birthright as their lives are ending. In Not Not a Jew, internationally acclaimed Holocaust writer Alison Leslie Gold presents a boldly surrealistic novella that explores Jewish identity, rootlessness, Diaspora and self-absorption in a century of upheaval and annihilation.

Elephant in the Living Room:

The story of a skateboarder, a missing dog and a family secret

by Alison Leslie Gold and Darin Elliott

Eleven-year-old Danielle Godot has her own room in a nice house near the beach, two devoted parents, a kid brother who is only occasionally a pain in the you-know-what, a parakeet, a rabbit and a loyal best friend who is as into skateboarding and animals as she is. What could possibly be wrong with this picture? In Elephant in the Living Room, authors Alison Leslie Gold and Darin Elliott show that even colossal problems can be invisible as long as no one wants to see them for what they are. Gutsy, tom-boyish, big-hearted Danielle loves her father fiercely. But she is embittered by the loss of her beloved mutt, Beckett, who disappeared as a result of one of her dad’s bouts of drinking-induced irresponsibility. What’s wrong with him? Are they all going crazy? Aimed at children from the ages of about 10 to 14, and all who are confounded by problem drinking, Elephant in the Living Room tells the story of how a good man’s slide into alcoholism damages the people who love him most, and how his family summons the courage to make themselves – and him – face up to it and get help. The narrative is leavened with Beckett’s clear-sighted and irreverent commentary and the book concludes with a list of resources for those whose lives are affected by alcoholism.

The Woman Who Brought Matisse Back from the Dead

In The Woman Who Brought Matisse Back from the Dead, award-winning author of Anne Frank Remembered and The Devil’s Mistress, Alison Leslie Gold presents the life of nun-cum-artist’s model Claude Boule. Inspired by a true story and told in spare, evocative prose, this improbable, color-soaked life arc spans the art of Henri Matisse and Andy Warhol, a convent in 1930s Nice, wartime Lyon, postwar Paris, New York in the dazzling 60s on to millennium’s end. The Woman Who Brought Matisse Back from the Dead explores the abstruse relationship between artist and model: Who transfixes whom? The incidental, often travail-filled, life of Claude Boule – impenetrable and inscrutable – serves as a poignant foil for intimate views into the creative processes and behind-the-scenes life of one of the 20th century’s most momentous artists. The brash assemblage of The Woman Who Brought Matisse Back from the Dead also encompasses diverse uncelebrated but no less vividly tinctured people whose lives were touched – erotically, devoutly, unscrupulously and in other often unpredictable ways – by the model’s.IMG_5984

IMG_0699[All are available on Amazon as paperbacks and/or kindles

by Alison Leslie Gold

(except Elephant is by Alison and Darin Elliott)

Page 100 – from Elephant in the Living Room

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... Danielle bends down and picks up her skateboard. She’d like to say something about her father, but decides against it. Instead she takes a Sharpie out of her pocket and draws an elephant on the bottom of her skateboard beside a decal.

“How can you tell if there’s an elephant in the refrigerator?” she asks her mother, instead.

“How?” her mother wonders.

“The door won’t shut.”

“Cute.”

“I’m collecting elephant jokes. Want to hear another one?”

“Sure.”

“Why is an elephant large, gray and wrinkled?”

“Why?”

“Because if he were small, white and round he’d be an aspirin.”

“I’ve got to digest that one,” responds Minnie, tongue in cheek.

“Hey, that’s good, Mom. Aspirin … digest … I get it.”

Minnie gives her a thumbs up.

“Mom?”

“What?”

“What do people mean when they say, ‘An elephant in the room?’ I don’t get it and it’s not even funny.”

“It’s not a joke, honey, it’s a saying.” Minnie replies, “It’s when there’s something that should be obvious, like, say, someone’s got a big pimple on the end of their nose, but no one mentions it. Or remember when your grannie had cancer and we never discussed it in front of her? See, it’s like there’s this huge elephant in the middle of the room and everyone’s pretending there’s nothing there and just squeeze past it. Get it?”

Danielle isn’t sure.

Minnie turns serious and asks, “Dani, girl to girl … can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Danielle replies, even if she is a bit scared of what it might be about.

“Do you like my new haircut?”

Danielle nods.

“Do you think Daddy likes it?”

“How would I know?” she answers, glad the question wasn’t about what she thought it was going to be about. But also a little disappointed that it wasn’t.

Minnie pats at her hair that’s rippling in the wind. Flopsie doesn’t like wind and has tucked her head down into her neck.

“Speaking of elephants, I hope it doesn’t make me look fat.”

“You’re not fat, Mom. It’s stupid that you think so.”

Danielle looks down again at the surfers. One has caught a surging wave and rides across the golden reflection of sunset on the water.

“Hmm,” Danielle thinks to herself. “I wonder if surfing is just skateboarding on waves?”…

*****

Excerpt, page 100 – Elephant in the Living Room,

the story of a dog, a skateboard and a family secret

by Alison Leslie Gold and Darin Elliott

available in paperback and on kindle on Amazon

Page 1 – Elephant in the Living Room

 

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***Page 1 – Elephant in the Living Room***

      If the moon happens to be bright, it shines into the Godot family’s kitchen window, casting a bone-blue light across the kitchen table that’s got four placemats on it. Each placemat is made from a photo of Beckett, the family’s recently lost dog.
     (This is me, Beckett, and please note: Danielle chose ME to get encased in plastic and not that dumb parakeet or dumber rabbit, so it is my face (FOUR of them!) that gazes up lovingly at each Godot at mealtimes.)
     But tonight there’s no moon, so the kitchen is pitch black. The first hints of autumn are in the air, and all is silent except for an occasional drop of water falling with an eerie plop from the drippy spigot into the kitchen sink. Someone has forgotten to cover Pickle’s cage. Pickle is a green parakeet. He eats mosquitoes, ants, almost any bug, though his usual food is millet and bird seed. He is a Buddhist, and also a Virgo.
     The Godot kids, besides giving their pets a name, also assign each one an astrological sign and its own religion. They considered Beckett a Sagittarian because they adopted her on December 15th. And she’s a Unitarian since her shelter was across the street from a Unitarian Church.
     (Crazy. We dogs don’t get your People Religions. Our religion is Eat, Pee, Poop, Sleep, Chase Things and Try Always to Get Cuddles. What more could anybody want?)
     Pickle’s cage hangs on a metal hook beside the kitchen table. From there he sees everything that goes on and he’s usually alert. This night he stares down as a pair of hands appears out of the shadows. Concealed in green gardening gloves, the hands line up sharp knives on the table. His pinpoint eyes watch as the gloves pick up a knife and begin winding silver duct tape round and round its pointy glinting blade.
     The gloved hands do the same thing to the rest of the dangerous knives – one by one. Pickle has good night vision, but the dark is impenetrable, hiding the identity of the person wearing the gloves.
     Pickle shakes his head, fluffing his feathers – he is a little creeped out by what he’s not seeing.
     Then, startling Pickle and causing the garden gloves to pause in mid-air, the song “Without Me” by the rapper Eminem blasts out from somewhere in the house. Hastily the gloved hands gather up the knives and drop them back into their drawer with a clattering noise, slamming it shut. The gloved hands and the shadowy person wearing them quickly vanish into the darkness.
     Abruptly “Without Me” stops playing.
     There is silence except for that water. Plop. Plop.
     Then something crashes inside the house. Pickle blinks his eyes a few times and squawks.

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[Photos: Co-authors: Darin Elliott; Alison Leslie Gold; guest elephant not in the living room]

[[Elephant in the Living Room by Alison Leslie Gold and Darin Elliott, for ages 10-14 or older, available on Amazon as a paperback or kindle]]

Elephant redux

A welcome reunion with my Elephant in the Living Room collaborator, Darin Elliott, in Greece. He’s passing through after spending four months in India, his 13th trip there.

A: Where were you in India?

D: In the South, then up in the Himalayas.

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A: I’m jealous. Was this after the publication of our book?

D: After the book was published I went to the Scottish Highlands for three weeks. A gift to myself.

A: Had you any intention of writing a sequel at that point?

D: No. It wasn’t until I was up in the Himalayas that it occurred to me. One day I thought, what if the lost dog in the book ended up with another family? What if he witnessed another issue?

A: What came to mind?

D: Bullying. Also the protagonist in our book is a girl and I thought I might like writing a boy’s character.

A: Why bullying?

D: In our book, as the child of an alcoholic, I could write from experience. I also had a bit of an experience of being bullied when I was a child, so I thought I might have something to say there too. I hadn’t planned on writing anything…that’s the kind of writer I am…spontaneous… After being in the south of India for two months, I traveled to the Himalayas. One day I thought I’ll just write a prologue. The next day I thought, I’ll just write a chapter. The book was done in three weeks. I wrote every day. Again, not my style. It seems like it wrote itself.

A: Did you change the dog’s name?

D: Yeah, Beckett becomes Cassandra, an homage to my niece’s kid.

A: Does the book have a title?

D: Elephant in the Classroom. I’d brought ten pages from a legal pad with me. I used them up in two days. I searched the house – it’s owned by absent Austrian friends who raised four sons there – and found some old school copybooks belonging to the boys. When I used these up, I had to walk an hour down the mountain to the nearest village to buy a notebook in order to finish the draft.

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A: Describe the setting in which you did the writing.

D: I sat on a veranda, part of a British Raj house, looking down at a valley. I had six dogs belonging to the Austrian owners keeping me company. The dogs ranged in size from a tiny Tibetan terrier to several huge German shepherds who were the size of bears. All the dogs wore eight inch collars to protect them from Leopard attacks. You see, leopards go for the neck, and the family had already lost so many dogs that way.

[For atmosphere: Music of the Himalayas]

A: Was anyone else in the house?

D: Yes, a maid, Stasha, a Hindu woman who was about my age, but looks older.

A: Could you speak with each other?

D: Yeah, in broken Hindi and English. She’d raised the four Austrian boys.

A: Where are you with the book? I can’t wait to read it.

D: The draft is done. Right now I’ve got five young readers from four countries reading it to give me feedback.

A: Do you think you’ll work on it here, on Hydra?

D: No. In late May I go to Los Angeles for six weeks. I’ll work on it then. That is …if I’m in the mood. Remember, I’m not a writer in the sense of discipline. I just let it come.

[Photos: Darin yesterday; also the day before; Darin and I at the port]

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SAMSUNG

Dog duet

 

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Found in A Christmas Cracker being a commonplace selection by John Julius Norwich (annual, anticipated gift from my old friend Dom) from the Daily Telegraph obituary of Elisabeth Mann Borgese [sic], born 1918, died 2002:

“Elisabeth Mann Borgese, who has died aged eighty-three, was the last surviving child of the German novelist Thomas Mann and successful herself in several different fields, as an anthropologist; as a political scientist; as an environmentalist with a special interest in oceans; and as a writer of short stories.

One of her more outlandish achievements, at the end of her life, was to train an English setter to play piano duets with her. To this end she had a special piano made – with no legs and no black notes, and with keys twice as wide as normal. A visitor wrote the following account of the performance:

“Mrs. Mann Borgese sat down on the floor at the left of the keyboard, and the dog took his place to the right of middle C. They performed two short duets, one by Schumann and the other by Mozart. Encouraged by praise, pats on the head and pieces of meat fed to him during unsecured pauses, the dog mostly hit the right note at the right moment. Certainly he had a good sense of rhythm. He made a few mistakes, but she explained this by saying he’d gone for three weeks without practicing while she was away.” Image-1-16

What about that news, Beckett, our cross between a Terrier, a Cocker Spaniel and that unknown Poodle you like so much to trash? Your chatty days telling the story of Danielle and the Godot’s in Elephant in the Living Room. may not have prepared you for middle C?

Beckett:Don’t be daft. Not practicing for three weeks…. Anyone, even a sulky English setter, would make mistakes. There you humans go, judging your four legged friends by higher standards than you would judge a parakeet or even a snake.

 

On a lighter note

Following, Chapter I from ELEPHANT IN THE LIVING ROOM written with Darin Elliott for folks between ages 10-14 and all others who have an inclination to know more about alcoholic intervention, alcoholism in a loved one and/or talking dogs. Seems an apt moment as I’m seeing so many summer revelers reeling from one side of the HighLine to the other, bouncing off tourists and reeking of beer.

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CHAPTER 1

      If the moon happens to be bright, it shines into the Godot family’s kitchen window, casting a bone-blue light across the kitchen table that’s got four placemats on it. Each placemat is made from a photo of Beckett, the family’s recently lost dog.
     (This is me, Beckett, and please note: Danielle chose ME to get encased in plastic and not that dumb parakeet or dumber rabbit, so it is my face (FOUR of them!) that gazes up lovingly at each Godot at mealtimes.)
     But tonight there’s no moon, so the kitchen is pitch black. The first hints of autumn are in the air, and all is silent except for an occasional drop of water falling with an eerie plop from the drippy spigot into the kitchen sink. Someone has forgotten to cover Pickle’s cage. Pickle is a green parakeet. He eats mosquitoes, ants, almost any bug, though his usual food is millet and bird seed. He is a Buddhist, and also a Virgo.
     The Godot kids, besides giving their pets a name, also assign each one an astrological sign and its own religion. They considered Beckett a Sagittarian because they adopted her on December 15th. And she’s a Unitarian since her shelter was across the street from a Unitarian Church.
     (Crazy. We dogs don’t get your People Religions. Our religion is Eat, Pee, Poop, Sleep, Chase Things and Try Always to Get Cuddles. What more could anybody want?)
     Pickle’s cage hangs on a metal hook beside the kitchen table. From there he sees everything that goes on and he’s usually alert. This night he stares down as a pair of hands appears out of the shadows. Concealed in green gardening gloves, the hands line up sharp knives on the table. His pinpoint eyes watch as the gloves pick up a knife and begin winding silver duct tape round and round its pointy glinting blade.
     The gloved hands do the same thing to the rest of the dangerous knives – one by one. Pickle has good night vision, but the dark is impenetrable, hiding the identity of the person wearing the gloves.
     Pickle shakes his head, fluffing his feathers – he is a little creeped out by what he’s not seeing.
     Then, startling Pickle and causing the garden gloves to pause in mid-air, the song “Without Me” by the rapper Eminem blasts out from somewhere in the house. Hastily the gloved hands gather up the knives and drop them back into their drawer with a clattering noise, slamming it shut. The gloved hands and the shadowy person wearing them quickly vanish into the darkness.
     Abruptly “Without Me” stops playing.
     There is silence except for that water. Plop. Plop.
     Then something crashes inside the house.
     Pickle blinks his eyes a few times and squawks.

MeToo

Found myself nodding MeToo while watching the following video received on FB this morning. One needn’t watch it entirely as it’s a bit long, but, even a few minutes of viewing gets the message across — that people in Iran are like me and I’m like them. We’re not oil and water but more like oil and vinegar. Seems obvious. Indeed, something I was taught while sitting on a small chair in a kindergarden classroom. Perhaps, because it was so long ago, I needed to be reminded by this clever, amusing (albeit a bit rough on Bollywood) video, and yes, literally nodding my head.

https://www.facebook.com/video.php?v=256489661216608&set=vb.229084263957148&type=2&theater

Now back to packing for a trip, drinking coffee, working to promote my two new (still bottle fed) children THE WOMAN WHO BROUGHT MATISSE BACK FROM THE DEAD and ELEPHANT IN THE LIVING ROOM (Oneiro Press, UK).  Finally, with one more coffee, work continues proofing four books soon to be reissued with new intros, new covers, entirely refreshed by TMI Press in Providence, RI. Lucky me. Lucky books.

Dare I post a little appetizer of this coming new series?  Oh, what the hell. The Devil’s Mistress….

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