The Selected Works of T. S. Spivet (Hardcover)

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Book Description
A brilliant, boundary-leaping debut novel tracing twelve-year-old genius map maker T.S. Spivet's attempts to understand the ways of the world

When twelve-year-old genius cartographer T.S. Spivet receives an unexpected phone call from the Smithsonian announcing he has won the prestigious Baird Award, life as normal—if you consider mapping family dinner table conversation normal—is interrupted and a wild cross-country adventure begins, taking T.S. from his family ranch just north of Divide, Montana, to the museum’s hallowed halls.

T.S. sets out alone, leaving before dawn with a plan to hop a freight train and hobo east. Once aboard, his adventures step into high gear and he meticulously maps, charts, and illustrates his exploits, documenting mythical wormholes in the Midwest, the urban phenomenon of "rims," and the pleasures of McDonald’s, among other things. We come to see the world through T.S.'s eyes and in his thorough investigation of the outside world he also reveals himself.

As he travels away from the ranch and his family we learn how the journey also brings him closer to home. A secret family history found within his luggage tells the story of T.S.'s ancestors and their long-ago passage west, offering profound insight into the family he left behind and his role within it. As T.S. reads he discovers the sometimes shadowy boundary between fact and fiction and realizes that, for all his analytical rigor, the world around him is a mystery.

All that he has learned is tested when he arrives at the capital to claim his prize and is welcomed into science’s inner circle. For all its shine, fame seems more highly valued than ideas in this new world and friends are hard to find.

T.S.'s trip begins at the Copper Top Ranch and the last known place he stands is Washington, D.C., but his journey's movement is far harder to track: How do you map the delicate lessons learned about family and self? How do you depict how it feels to first venture out on your own? Is there a definitive way to communicate the ebbs and tides of heartbreak, loss, loneliness, love? These are the questions that strike at the core of this very special debut.

The Selected Works of T.S. Spivet: The Lost Images
by Reif Larsen

I initially wrote a draft of The Selected Works without any accompanying illustrations. After reaching the end, I still had that tingly feeling that usually means something is missing, and so I thought about it for awhile and realized that in order to really understand T.S., we actually need to see his drawings laid out on the page. T.S. was most comfortable in the exploding diagram or the annotation or the bitchin’ bar graph; this marginal material was where he would often let down his guard and reveal something he wouldn’t otherwise in the main text.

As soon as you include that first image in the margin, however, you've positioned yourself on a slippery slope, as suddenly there's this temptation to illustrate every single detail in the novel. Particularly with a digressive character like T.S., I found that I had to be very selective about what I wanted to show. What is not shown is as important as what is shown. In addition, many of the images in this book are not direct illustrations like might you see in other books—as in, "let me tell you about x and now here is a picture of x." Instead of a direct one-to-one correspondence, there's a satellite-like relationship between the text and the image, a kind of graphical parallelism. T.S. will talk about his suspicion of the adult male and then include a chart of male-pattern baldness, and it is through these somewhat disparate leaps between text and image, between the main story and the marginalia, that we begin to soak in T.S.'s habits of mind.

Sometimes I would include an image and then realize that I could now erase a piece of text, as the image was performing the work of that text, and often performing it in subtler ways. On page 67, for instance, there's a diagram of the patterns of cross–talk at the dinner table. Before this image came along, I had a whole elaborate explanation of T.S.'s difficulties talking to his Father at the head of the table, but this became redundant with the diagram; the visual shows it much more elegantly.

And then there were cases where I put in an image only to figure out after awhile that it just wasn't working. In honor of T.S.'s tendency to categorize everything, I've chosen five of these "lost images," each representative of a different reason for ending up on the cutting-room floor.

Reason 1: NO ROOM! Image: The Thrushing of Dr. Clair’s Hairbrush (as seen through the keyhole).
	This was an example of the illustration just not fitting in the margins. We thought a lot about the dimensions of the book—a size that felt novelistic but also allowed for enough width to give the margins breathing room. So a couple of images just got the axe. I like this one, though, and was sad to see it go. I now use it in one of my slideshow/readings.

Reason 2: CUT THE STRING, LOSE THE KITE Image: Donkey/Dolphin/Dog

In an old draft, T.S. fantasized about his impending fame as he rode the freight train out East: "I took a couple of stereoscopic photos, promising myself that when I got to Washington I would look into the possibility of arranging an exhibit on the eye and stereoscopic vision using the panoramas of the West. The West seemed a good a place as any to point out that our world was in three dimensions. For a brief moment, I was intensely excited again about the possibility of exhibitions like this one; exhibitions on x-ray vision and time travel; the sturdiness of human bones; the intelligence of dogs and dolphins and donkeys." I wanted to just gesture at one of these imaginary drawings, and I like how in this very seventh-grade bar graph there is no label on the y-axis, just a vague quantification of "intelligence." But the original line was cut... I didn't want T.S. musing about his fame just yet, and so went the vague bar graph. Cut the string, lose the kite.

Reason 3: NOT DOING THE WORK Image: Newton Notwen, the Turtle

In Chapter 7, T.S. turns to Newton's laws of conservation to help give him some theoretical sturdiness during his cross-country adventure. I originally had a sidebar here about Newton Notwen, T.S.’s unfortunate turtle: "I still respected Newton immensely even if he did look a little like a child pornographer in his portraits. I had even named my first pet turtle after him: Newton Notwen, a perfect palindrome, because Newton Notwen had a tiny head that looked a lot like his tail if you squinted your eyes. Perhaps because of this reciprocal anatomy, NN died after only a week of living in the kiddie pool on our deck, although it could also have been because Layton shot him." I made the tough decision to cut this because I thought it was too jokey jokey and wasn't doing enough for the scene.

Reason 4: TOO ILLUSTRATIVE Image: The Valero Workstation

This illustration originally opened chapter 8, but I felt like it was qualitatively different than many of the other drawings in that it was almost too illustrative. It was the kind of illustration you might find in a graphic novel, where images serve a very different purpose of representation. We get the hint of the family photo, but not much else with this, and so I swapped it with the Boredom Box, which is ultimately more engaging, I think.

Reason 5: DULLS THE ACTION Image: The Dock Cleat

When T.S. has his confrontation with the crazed preacher in Chicago, there’s a very tense moment of action. I originally had this diagram showing how Josiah trips over a dock cleat, but I realized the diagramming of the action actually lessened the stakes of the scene. Better to just give a couple of resonant images of the knife and the birds and then let the reader fill in the rest. The most powerful images are always those elusive mind maps that readers create in their own heads when fully immersed in a piece of literature; nothing on the page can hope to replicate their depth and intimacy. And of course there were other reasons for cutting drawings: some were just lousy. I will spare you these lost images, however, as they belong in graphical pergatory. T.S. would not have approved, and let me tell you, I've learned a thing or two from Mr. Tecumseh Sparrow.

From Publishers Weekly

Fans of Wes Anderson will find much to love in the offbeat characters and small (and sometimes not so small) touches of magic thrown into the mix during the cross-country, train-hopping adventure of a 12-year-old mapmaking prodigy, T.S. Spivet. After the death of T.S.'s brother, Layton, T.S. receives a call from the Smithsonian informing him that he has won the prestigious Baird award, prompting him to hop a freight train to Washington, D.C., to accept the prize. Along the way, he meets a possibly sentient Winnebago, a homicidal preacher, a racist trucker and members of the secretive Megatherium Club, among many others. All this is interwoven with the journals of his mother and her effort to come to grips with the matriarchal line of scientists in the family. Dense notes, many dozens of illustrations and narrative elaborations connected to the main text via dotted lines are on nearly every page. For the most part, they work well, though sometimes the extra material confuses more than clarifies. Larsen is undeniably talented, though his unique vision and style make for a love-it or hate-it proposition. (May)
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Product Details

• Hardcover: 400 pages
• Publisher: Penguin Press HC, The (May 5, 2009)
• Language: English
• ISBN-10: 1594202176
• ISBN-13: 978-1594202179
• Product Dimensions: 9.3 x 7.8 x 1.5 inches
• Shipping Weight: 2 pounds (View shipping rates and policies)
• Average Customer Review: 3.8 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (50 customer reviews)
• Amazon.com Sales Rank: #6,045 in Books (See Bestsellers in Books)

Customer Reviews

Most Helpful Customer Reviews

70 of 76 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Mapping alone, April 4, 2009

By	Todd Stockslager (Raleigh, NC) - See all my reviews

(What's this?)

When I write my reviews, I often include references to other books that link to the one I've just read, whether thematically or chronologically or theoretically or spiritually or even just randomly--but for "The Selected Works of T. S. Spivet" I'm not sure I can even randomly select a work that links to it. Unique and ambitious, Reif Larsen's debut isn't a classic, but its nicely done.

Tecumseh (family name adopted four generations earlier by his Finnish immigrant ancestor) Sparrow (named for the sparrow that crashed into the window of his birthing room) is a 12-year-old boy born on a Montana ranch to his gruff cowboy father and scientist mother in search of a phantom beetle. T. S. is a normal boy--except he always calls his mother Dr. Clair, he hardly ever talks to his father (well, strike that, that could be considered normal 12-year-old-boy-behavior)-and he is an accomplished and published technical artist and cartographer. When he receives a call from the Smithsonian Institute announcing he has won a prestigious fellowship and is expected in Washington to give a speech at a fancy banquet in his honor, the reader expects a mad cap cross-country adventure.

And indeed, T. S. does set off across country, alone, without telling his parents, with a suitcase full of a few clothes and many drawing implements--and a notebook he stole from Dr. Clair's desk during his pre-dawn escape. But along the way, in the first-person narrative and the marginal notes, maps, and drawings that T. S. provides, we learn that just a few months before, his younger brother Layton was killed in an accidental shooting while he and T. S. were conducting an experiment so that T. S. could map the sounds of different kinds of rifles. This first admission is so matter of fact that it takes a while for the reader to realize the depths of pain and loss T. S. is hiding in his maps. It is from this loneliness and lingering guilt that the story draws its heart and becomes more than an adventure story.

"The Selected Works" is not perfect. The "story within the story" extended family history that T. S. reads in the stolen notebook along the way, while important to the story, is too long and drags down the midsection of the book. T. S.'s narrative is sometimes too-knowing and mature for a 12-year-old, even a precociously-talented one, to have written; I could sometimes feel the pen of Larson, a 28-year-old MFA graduate from Columbia and documentary filmmaker, poking through the back-stage curtain.

But the story is fresh, T. S. is usually just a kid, and as he unpacks his feelings for Layton and his family the further east he treks from Montana, we come to like and enjoy his company and want him to succeed. Particularly well-done is the progression from "Dr. Clair", never "Mother" at home, to the occasional "Mother" on the trek east, to finally a heartfelt longing for "Mom" and finally even a camaraderie with the Father he always respects but struggles to know and understand, and dare we say, love. As a son and now a father of three children ages 18 to 23, I recognize the stages and the struggle, and realize that T. S.'s love and skill at mapping are his way of mapping "alone".

T. S. finally admits to himself

"When you drew a map of something this something then became true, at least in the world of the map. But wasn't the world of the map never the world of the world?"

It is this heartbreaking discovery that marks our transition from adolescence to adulthood, and helps T. S. end his journey and turn back toward home.

26 of 28 people found the following review helpful:

4.0 out of 5 stars Experimental Fiction Takes a Risk and Mostly Succeeds, April 22, 2009

By	Lance M. Foster "Solvitur ambulando" (Helena, Montana, USA) - See all my reviews (REAL NAME)

(What's this?)

This book has some really cool things that I enjoy very much. It is becoming more common to try different ways to combine text and imagery in fiction, most notably in the form of the graphic novel. This book takes a different route, relying primarily on text to tell the story, with diagrams, call-outs and sidebars in the margins to act as subtexts and footnotes to the main storyline. For me, it works, but then, like the young protagonist, I have always loved maps and diagrams, aka Visual Explanations: Images and Quantities, Evidence and Narrative. Of course, the map is not the territory, but it certainly engages one on many levels. Just for the format and the daring of the author, I would give it five stars on that alone. I had to deduct one star for a couple of problems, that I hope the author will work on for his next book; I do hope he will work with this form again as it has much potential.

Like other reviewers, I found the plotline is rather convoluted with some false leads that didn't seem entirely useful. The young protagonist is a 12-year old genius, it is true, but intellect, emotional maturity, and experience are not the same things, and I found too much of the eastern-educated author's voice coming through the thinking with emotional stages a 12-year old would not have yet reached. That has been played over and over in the stories of young adolescents who have the genius to attend college and get higher grades than their peers...but who fail miserably at the emotional/social aspects.

I have lived in Helena, Montana, all my life (I'm pushing 50) and there are unfortunately some things that show the eastern author should have worked with more closely with someone who knows Montana a little better. Just a couple of things as an example of things he should have paid more attention to. Railroad rails are not "wrought iron," they are steel. The "slats" are called ties. The ties are not preserved with shellac, but are soaked in creosote. We Montanans may pronounced it "crick" but we don't spell it that way, we spell it "creek" like everyone else. We do tend to drop the "g" off words like "huntin' " and "fishin' "...but I never heard or read such a usage as the author's "sett'ng"... we would say sittin' not sett'ng...if you are going to ape regional dialect, you gotta get it right, or you show your own ignorance, not that of the "charming locals". And just what the heck is a "clink" (p. 13) or "chinks" (p. 15)? Does he mean to say "spurs"? I never heard any of my fellow Montanans refer to spurs as clinks or chinks. A clink is a jail, and a chink is a racist word for a person of Chinese descent. So that needs some work. Some parts were pretty cool though; I did like his Gary Cooper-esque father..he rang true. I know fellers like that.

So I would congratulate the author on an innovative and enjoyable book, and especially his imaginative integration of the visual with the textual. I would read more of his work. He just has to get the details right in the next book, and I look forward to readin' it when he does!

39 of 46 people found the following review helpful:

3.0 out of 5 stars The Incomplete Works of T.S. Spivet, April 18, 2009

By	ostawookiee "ostawookiee" (Winston-Salem, NC USA) - See all my reviews

(What's this?)

The author did a good job of presenting the mind of a 12 year-old prodigy. All the little asides and drawings in the margin that went along with the story were fantastic.

I was thoroughly enjoying the story until T.S. opens his mother's notebook and then we spent way too many pages on a whole separate story of his grandmother. Sure it gives background to his talents and personality, but it was way overboard in terms of size.

I got re-interested again and really liked the majority of the last half of the book - only to ultimately be let down again. There's a whole subplot revolving around a secret society, and the author basically took it nowhere. It seems way too elaborate for being just an excuse for his mother's actions. I wanted to read more about these people, what it is they do, and how T.S. will be a part of that, but we never more than scratch the surface of it, and ultimately, the book suddenly stops when you feel there is much more story to be told. The denouement, if it can be considered to exist at all, is a mere page long.

I think this good have been a much better book. It sadly ranks as merely okay in its present form, unless a sequel turns up that can take things to a logical end.