You Read It Here First

Every so often you read a book that entertains you and holds a quiet place of private pleasure on your bookshelf and in your memory. You may speak of it to others, but more often than not it remains obscure and personal, just another jigsaw piece in the never-finished puzzle that represents your own eclectic taste in literature.

That is, until someone options it and transforms it into a blockbuster movie and suddenly everybody is raving about what was once your unheralded and private treasure.

That happened for me when W. P. Kinsella's little gem of a baseball novel, Shoeless Joe, was transformed into the wildly successful Field of Dreams starring Kevin Costner, and when the oddly titled Philip K. Dick pulp fiction novel, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? became the cult classic Blade Runner with Harrison Ford.

There was a time when I would purchase The Princess Bride and give it as a gift--often with the suggestion, "Read this aloud at night to your pregnant wife. She'll love it."--confident that I was introducing the reader to something new and wonderful. But that was before the 1987 movie assured that a much wider audience knew of the story and now had their images of Buttercup and Westley, Fezzik and Vizzini, permanently linked to the performances of Robin Wright Penn and Cary Elwes, Andre the Giant and Wallace Shawn.

It continues to happen, this adaptation of lesser-known books from one's library to the screen, but not always with the same degree of success. Smilla's Sense of Snow, for example, and Snow Falling on Cedars were hardly theatrical blockbusters.

Recently, I have been surprised at several of my reading choices that were made into movies. One expects books like The Notebook and Cold Mountain, and one day, Prey, to make it to the screen. Even adaptations of more literary endeavors such as The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay come as no surprise--it won the Pulitzer Prize after all, so it easy to imagine someone having the vision to snap it up.

But I confess genuine surprise that the following books, each on my nightstand during the past two years, made it to the screen:

A Widow for One Year, by John Irving.   OK, Irving knows his way around Hollywood and several of his novels have made it to the screen. And admittedly, by the time I got around to reading this novel in paperback, it was evident from the packaging that it had already been made into a movie called The Door in the Floor starring Jeff Bridges and Kim Basinger. It's when you read it that you find yourself pondering how well it translates to the screen--so much of it is about writers and writing, and after the first third it jumps ahead over thirty years. I tried unsuccessfully chasing it down during its limited theatrical release, even contemplating driving seventy miles out of my way while on vacation, but surrendered and have decided to settle upon watching it on DVD.

The Orchid Thief, by Susan Orlean.   It's a non-fiction account about a man who is arrested for breaking into a preserve in the Florida swamps and stealing rare orchids, for goodness sake. Only the rare talent of Susan Orlean could spot it as a magazine piece, develop it into a book, and discover a unique and fascinating goldmine in the theme of obsession. Who would ever consider optioning such a book as a potential movie? Whoever it was landed the unconventional Charlie Kaufman as screenwriter and made the spot-on casting choices of Nicholas Cage, Chris Cooper, and Meryll Streep. But when the bizarre self-absorbed Adaptation begins truly spinning out of control into a tale of sex and drugs one is left amazed that Susan Orlean admitted any attachment to the resultant mess at all, let alone terming it "brilliant."

House of Sand and Fog, by Andres Dubus III.   I selected the book on a whim, enjoyed the writing, found the plot intense, and appreciated the local settings. It didn't remain in first run theaters for long, but I managed to slip off one night and catch it with Val who cried (I had tissues), but offered several interesting insights as I had expected.

The Human Stain, by Philip Roth.   Who makes Philip Roth's books into movies any more? Who even saw this one? Who had the audacity to cast Anthony Hopkins as Coleman Silk? Even the additional star power of Nicole Kidman couldn't rescue this movie. I read the book--indeed, I slogged my way through it--my first Roth novel in over a decade, but I never expected it to be filmed. Missed it in the theater, but intending to catch it on DVD.

Ella Enchanted, by Gail Carson Levine.   It's a children's novel, and a good one, but heck there are hundreds to choose from and most children's movies come from Disney and Pixar properties or well-tested formulas like Spy Kids. Occasionally someone will get Holes or Tuck Everlasting made into a movie, but few children's authors are going to get rich off the movie rights to their novels. Ella Enchanted benefited from the recent star power of The Princess Diaries' Anne Hathaway (who is about to shatter her good girl image with the upcoming Havoc), but it only fared so-so in its initial release. We didn't catch it until the DVD came out, but the boys were curious--having recalled when I was reading it--and it turned out the entire family enjoyed watching it.   (Justin did ask me at bedtime, though, why they thought it was necessary to include so much potty humor, which he then faithfully enumerated for me.)

I continue reading; others continue adapting; and so, should I learn that The Life of Pi or Crooked Little Heart, or perhaps You Will Know Our Velocity or Drop City, maybe even The Tipping Point or Fast Food Nation is scheduled to appear on-screen, I'll be sure to let you know.