BROOKLYN READING WORKS

FEATURED WRITER: LAUREN YAFFE

Excerpt from DISTANT HOME, a novel by Lauren Yaffe

1955

As they edged along the park, Dane said, “I’ll bet I can name any flower.  Let’s see now...fritillaria, galanthus...”  He was finding it remarkably easy to stroll arm-in-arm with Mem, who nearly matched his height.  "...That's Helleborus,” he pointed, "also called Lenten Rose.”  He lifted his camera then thought better of it. 

"Okay, kiddo,” Mem scoffed, “I'm impressed.  What about those?" 

"Pulmonaria.  Shade plant.  Harbinger of spring."

"And those?"  She pointed to a scattering of purples and yellows.

"You must know those, Mem.  Crocus?  They're so common." 

"I didn't know you were a flower snob."

"I am not!  I'll have you know I like Wandering Jews." 

"They don’t flower." 

"Oh, but they do,” Dane insisted.  “You have to know how to tend them." 

"Do I detect a new-found passion?"  Mem asked. 

Dane gave a boyish grin.  “No--I’m just showing off from my last assignment.  My father had me covering a flower show.”  He kissed Mem’s cheek then drew back.  "Let me take your picture.”  He uncapped his lens. 

"Why do you need a picture?  I'm right here," she teased. 

He couldn't say why.  He needed, somehow, to take in Mem, the whole of her, just as she was at that moment.  A curl of her auburn hair drooped over one eye; her mouth, doused with dark lipstick, smartly seductive.  He squinted into his viewer, adjusted the focus.  Mem’s face held a hint of sadness even as she posed for him, tipping her pelvis forward, listing one knee.  She held her hands coyly behind her back, to flaunt the cinched waist of the stylish dresscoat--her own design and handiwork--and gave him a sidelong glance, inviting him to take in not only her but all that surrounded her--the dark trees and patches of greenery along Riverside Drive, the black Studebakers parked along the curb, their windshields reflecting the sun.  With the trees overhead dappling her face and the creamy ivory of her coat, she seemed to Dane a figure of light emerging from shadow.  He clicked the shutter. 

FEATURED WRITER: Sophia Romero

With these words, Sophia Romero, author of "Always Hiding" (William Morrow) began reading from her novel-in-progress about love and family and what happens when opposite cultures collide, and the delicate balancing act that follows to make sure that love and family survive and ultimately, endure.

Once, not too long ago, somewhere between the past and just before the present was erased by short-term memory loss, Lupe Laluna had read in The New York Times, that you shouldn't ask for the time unless you were ready to fall in love.  The quote was part of an article about New York City and how certain sites were conducive to romance.  The writer also thoughtfully included a list of opening lines that would supposedly get you there.  Lupe couldn't understand the connection between asking for the time and falling in love, but then again, it was a period in her life when a lot of things, like love and street signs that read No Standing, didn't make sense either." 

At June's Brooklyn Reading Works

As many of you know, I spent the last two weeks in a Brooklyn criminal courtroom listening to a story unfold. Being on a jury is all about listening to stories. And it's the jury's job to see if there's evidence to support one story above another.

For days and days, I listened to many people tell their version of the same story. We heard from the "victim" and her family, a detective, a cop, and a security representative from a cell phone company .

The defense never called any witnesses. The burden of proof was on the  prosecution to prove that  the defendant was guilty. The defense wanted to keep it simple. He never gave the jury a chance to hear from the defendant.

Soon into the trial, it became clear that this was a complicated story. And we were going to hear many versions of it. Like the Japanese film, Rashomon, there were many ways to look at the same thing.

Just like fiction, we had our unreliable narrators, and those who know how to spin a tale. We heard from out-and-out liars, and those who tell the whole truth and nothing but...

Sometimes it was hard to tell one from the other. But that was our job: to get as close to the truth as possible.

Veritas.

The lawyers' closing arguments are truly the grand finale. As the defence attorney hammered away at the prosecution's case trying to create as much doubt as possible, he was making  eye contact with me constantly.  Overall, his speech was effective,  though there were moments of hyperbole and psychobabble. It may have gone on too long, but it was a passionate plea for the defendant.

The prosecutor was a real diva. She deserves an Academy Award for her performance during the closing arguments. It was that good. She probably knew that she didn't have the evidence needed for a conviction, so she really had to ham it up and hope for the best.

Was justice served? I think so. I'm still not sure what did and didn't happen. But the defendent was found to be guilty of endangering the welfare of a child - and there was evidence to prove that. No one seemed happy with the results: not the prosecution, not the defence and surely not the defendant's family sitting int he courtroom. The truth is complicated, nobody wins.

Being on a jury is an amazing expereince for someone who loves stories. There's high drama and the quiet drama of every day life. It's all about language: exageration, ommission,  hyperbole, and undeniable sincerity.

So many voices, so many words. So may ways to spin a few moments in time.

Last night at the Old Stone House, Brooklyn Reading Works presented three excellent storytellers: Carlton Schade, Lauren Yaffe and Sophia Romero. Their stories were engrossing, and interesting; beautifully rendered with well constructed sentences, authentic dialogue, inner life.

More the 60 people showed up at this, our third installment of Brooklyn Reading Works. The next reading is July 21.

What a pleasure it is to hear a story told well.