In the magazine
June 2009
- An Interview with James Hannaham
- An Interview with Colm Toibin
- Polymorphously Perverse
- An Interview with Catherynne M. Valente
- Wild Justice: Morality in Dogs, Elephants, and Rats (and Yes, Apes!)
- An Interview with Reif Larsen
July 03, 2009
Okay, so exactly nine (9) people would’ve bought Mark Sanford’s boring-ass book about “fiscal conservatism,” because Mark who? But the rumors were that Sanford would “rejigger” the manuscript into a sexy adulterous family-hating Argentine-fucking line-crossing literary tour de force, the Southern Gothic Emo-Yacht Club-Preppie Le Scaphandre et le Papillon of our time.
Related and also hilarious: Larry Hughes on what he'd like to see on C-SPAN's Book TV this weekend.
Entertainment Weekly's Jean Bentley asks: "Sex and the 'Harry Potter' movies: Does anyone want this?" (Jean, trust me: You do not want to know the answer to that.)
Twenty-five years after the publication of William Gibson's Neuromancer, PC World looks at "what it got right [and] what it got wrong." (Via up-and-coming German book blogger "Jessica Crispen," whose name sounds vaguely familiar somehow. Viel Glück, Jessica!)
Why do some writers disappear? (My first guess was "They're dodging creditors," but that turns out not to be the case.)
Nathan Rabin, one of my favorite American cultural critics, writes about the biographies of three US icons: Johnny Cash, George Plimpton, and Sammy Davis Jr.
July 03, 2009
Los Angeles Times:
The Justice Department on Thursday said it had launched a formal antitrust investigation into the proposed settlement over the Google Inc. project to scan millions of books into a digital format.
July 02, 2009
Valerie Eliot attended a reading of Eliot's poems this week, which she almost never does. The readers? Seamus Heaney, Jeremy Irons, Dominic West, and Anna Cartaret. (It's a *great* picture.) Yeah, that would get me off the couch.
So, Michael Moorcock, Iain Sinclair, and Alan Moore walk into a bar . . . (via 3am Magazine). The good news: Alan Moore says that “Jerusalem” disproves the existence of death from a scientific standpoint. Well, if it's scientific then . . .
Bill Watterson, on Krazy Kat, available online at This Recording: With the possible exception of Pogo, no other strip derives so much of its charm from its verbiage. Krazy Kat's unique "texture" comes in large part through the conglomeration of peculiar spellings and punctuations, dialects, interminglings of Spanish, phonetic renderings, and alliterations. Krazy Kat's Coconino County not only had a look; it had a sound as well. Slightly foreign, but uncontrived, it was an extraordinary and full world.
Kate Bolick reviews a big Futurism retrospective in Milan, and reminds us of Marinetti's cookbook: he denounced pasta as "an absurd Italian gastronomic religion" that made people sluggish and lethargic and argued for "absolute originality" in food, as well as "a battery of scientific instruments in the kitchen." Goodbye, beloved carbonara and checkered tablecloths; hello, chicken stuffed with ball bearings and carnation scent spritzed from spray bottles.
The Geraldine R. Dodge Poetry Festival has been posting videos of poets reading, including this week Ted Kooser, Maxine Kumin, Naomi Shihab, and Sharon Olds's "Ode to a Composting Toilet" and "Ode to a Tampon."
That gives me an excuse to link to this funny post from last year on fashion at the festival, seen recently at The Vowel Movers.
Via Slate's "Brow Beat" blog, a transcript of Saddam Hussein reading his poems to an FBI "interviewer."
How the US military is using "poetry, FM radio, and Web 2.0 technologies" as counterinsurgency strategies in Afghanistan: Broadcasting poetry to an audience that appreciates verse meets the key requirement of any strategic communications campaign: "Audience-focused communications. You need to meet the audience where they are at," said Bill Salvan, a reserve Navy public affairs officer and president of Signal Bridge Communications, a public relations firm in Phoenix.
Vikram Seth will release A Suitable Girl, the sequel to his 1993 novel A Suitable Boy, in 2013. If you started reading the 1,488-page A Suitable Boy the year it was released, you might actually be finished by the time the sequel comes out.
Francine Prose is one of the few American authors who seems to get better and better with each book. Her novels Blue Angel and A Changed Man are two of my favorites; both are emotionally charged but also brutally honest and unsentimental, and both are well worth seeking out. Prose talks to NPR about her new book, the YA novel Touch.
As we approach the fortieth anniversary of Apollo 11, Blake Morrison, in a beautiful piece for The Guardian, considers the cultural impact of the first manned moon landing.
At Largehearted Boy, Jessica West shares a music playlist she created for her new book What Would Keith Richards Do?: Daily Affirmations from a Rock and Roll Survivor. Leadbelly, Gram Parsons and The Rolling Stones (of course) make the cut, though I was secretly hoping to see a shout-out to Senator Franken's cover of "Under My Thumb."
A judge in Manhattan issued an order "indefinitely barring the publication, advertising or distribution" of 60 Years Later: Coming Through the Rye, Fredrik Colting's novel featuring an elderly version of Holden Caulfield. J. D. Salinger had sued Colting for copyright infringement.
"I am pretty blown away by the judge’s decision," Mr. Colting said in an e-mail message after the ruling. "Call me an ignorant Swede, but the last thing I thought possible in the U.S. was that you banned books."
Did Governor Mark Sanford allude to Gerard Manley Hopkins' "On the Portrait of Two Beautiful Young People"? (No.)
It is the blight man was born for, it is South Carolina you mourn for.
All of us at Bookslut extend our best wishes and a speedy recovery to literary critic James Wood, who apparently recently sustained a serious injury. I can only assume he was hurt in the line of duty. Literary criticism is harder than you think.
The literary critic James Wood wounded his hand in Bryant Park today while playing the tambourine.
“I picked [it] up in a rather awkward way and was playing a song with it, and it began to rub away,” Mr. Wood said, showing off newly applied band-aids on his fingers. “It just took the skin off.”
All of us at Bookslut retract our earlier statement, stare open-mouthed at our monitors, silently mouth the word "Wow," and plan to spend the rest of our day drinking and reconsidering our life choices.
July 01, 2009
If you're not addicted to the 33 1/3 series, allow me to introduce you to the most impressive intersection of literature and popular music since the New York Review of Books printed Joan Didion's underappreciated 1983 essay "Whither Mickey?: Toni Basil and the Tragedy of the American Imagination." Inspired by two Flickr users' take-offs on their distinctive covers, the 33 1/3 dudes are sponsoring a contest for readers to come up with their own fake covers. Though I seriously doubt anyone can beat "Kid A by That Dude Who Wrote That Pitchfork Review of Kid A."
Michael Chabon, one of my three favorite living fiction writers (with Philip Roth and Lorrie Moore), on the wilderness of childhood:
Childhood is, or has been, or ought to be, the great original adventure, a tale of privation, courage, constant vigilance, danger, and sometimes calamity. For the most part the young adventurer sets forth equipped only with the fragmentary map—marked here there be tygers and mean kid with air rifle—that he or she has been able to construct out of a patchwork of personal misfortune, bedtime reading, and the accumulated local lore of the neighborhood children.
(Via Carrie Frye and Gwenda Bond.)
The School Library Journal points us to a blog called Awful Library Books, which actually is pretty awesome. Here's hoping they're the next website-your-parents-don't-get to be offered a book deal.
(DISCLOSURE: My own book, Link to a Story about Books, Use the Word "Fuck," and Make an Obvious Joke: The Michael Schaub Story will be released next year by Alfred A. Knopf.)
(NOTE TO KNOPF: Just go with it. We'll talk.)
British authorities dropped obscenity charges against a civil servant who wrote and posted a story about the rape and murder of an English pop group. John Ozimek and Julian Petley consider what this means for obscenity laws and the publishing industry in the UK.
If Girls (Scream) Aloud were to be judged obscene, then so could works by JG Ballard, Georges Bataille, William Burroughs and the Marquis de Sade. Of course, it could be argued that the works cited possess certain literary qualities and would thus escape prosecution (much as, no doubt, there are those who would like to see them banned). But this assumes that there exist literary standards upon which everyone is agreed and that there is an absolute and watertight distinction between works of high and low culture.
George Ducker recommends you read The Floating Opera before tackling John Barth's other novels, all of which run an average of about 26,000 pages and are so postmodern they make Gilbert and George look like Thomas Kinkade (OK, not really).
One of the joys of "The Floating Opera" is that it is a rambling, overstuffed first novel bearing as much ambition and stylistic frothiness as the more physically daunting case studies that came later. It feels comfortable and easily familiar, especially to anyone who's ever enjoyed "A Fan's Notes," Richard Ford's holiday trilogy or even Robert Penn Warren's "All the King's Men." Basically, you can add it to the top of your Middle-Aged White Man Looks Back In Awe And Bemusement list.
I loved A Fan's Notes, liked All the King's Men, and am withholding comment about Ford until I'm sure he's unarmed.
June 30, 2009
Library trucks in Johnson County, Kansas, feature advertisements for companies like Kafka's Pest Control and Captain Ahab's Fine Seafood. It looks like they rejected my idea for Isadora Zelda White Stollerman Wing's Zipless Fuckhouse, but whatever. I'm not bitter. Good luck with your stupid little library thing, you wannabe Missourians.
Three of the funniest, most underappreciated writers in America: Percival Everett, George Singleton, Shalom Auslander. All have a genuine talent for the absurd, but more than the others, Everett excels at the kind of dark satire that makes you laugh, feel guilty for laughing, then laugh some more (how guilty you feel depends on how many neuroses you have, which, if you're reading this blog, is probably at least a few).
I can highly recommend Everett's Erasure and A History of the African-American People (Proposed) by Strom Thurmond, both of which are as brilliant as any American satire being written today. I can't wait to read Everett's latest, I Am Not Sidney Poitier, just released by the great Graywolf Press. Oscar Villalon calls the book "one of the funniest, most original stories to be published in years," which sounds about right.
If you only take two pieces of advice from me, make them this one, and the one I posted earlier about how cops don't like being called fat even though you're obviously totally joking.
Jacket Copy talks to Matthew Baldwin about Infinite Summer, during which readers across the world are tackling the 1,104 pages of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest. I think next year they should read Raymond Carver's short story "Cathedral." It would take a few minutes to read, maybe an hour or two to discuss, and then everyone could just stare awkwardly at each other for a few months.
In all seriousness, this really is a great idea. I read Infinite Jest while recovering from surgery several years ago, which I don't recommend. Though some of the passages were pretty interesting on codeine.
James Parker considers the memoirs of Ultimate Fighting Championship martial artists. (I have developed my own mixed martial art that weaves together the skills of crying and running away, which I someday hope to take to "The Octagon.")
Blake Butler's 6 thoughts on heart in fiction.
The otter has written a love romance.
The Guardian has a quiz on literary heatwaves. Austin, where I currently live, has been in the middle of a heatwave since — let me check my calendar — 1926. But you know what they say about Texas weather: If you don't like it, just wait a few days, and it will still fucking suck.
Bogan laureate Tim Winton has won his fourth Miles Franklin (Australia's Grand Fromage of book prizes) for Breath.
I love the IMPAC, I love it for the epically mental nomination process, the charm of the winners, and because really good books seem to win with quiet regularity.
Michael Thomas discusses his win over at the National Post's book blog, the Afterword:
Q. Is it significant to you that the nominees for this prize come from public libraries?
A. Yes, and this may sound haughty because I won, but I assure you that if I hadn’t won or even been named to the list, I would still say it seems like a grass roots prize. The procedure that the librarians revealed was involved is different than a lot of other awards where you have established authors or people in publishing pick things. These are picked by librarians and readers, and it seems like there is a democracy or meritocracy to it. My book was nominated by a small library in Barbados, which holds equal weight to the National Library of Ireland in Dublin, or in London or wherever else.
The Frank O'Connor shortlist is out, and the Guardian is calling it the Year of the Debutant. Bookslut holds out for foofy white dresses and a run on Ireland's corsage supplies.
The finalists:
Petina Gappah - An Elegy for Easterly
Charlotte Grimshaw - Singularity
Wells Tower - Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned
Shih-Li Kow - Ripples and Other Stories
Simon Van Booy - Love Begins in Winter
Philip O Ceallaigh - The Pleasant Light of Day
One of the world's biggest prizes for an unpublished writer, the Dundee International Book Prize, has been won by Scottish author Chris Longmuir for her thriller Dead Wood. Longmuir has now had her work snapped up for publication by Polygon, so will be experiencing all the new joys of the novelist - snarky reviews, hasty brattish reactions on public networking sites, opprobrium and ridicule from the literary world crashing down upon her head. Ah, the circle of life.
June 29, 2009
Alice Hoffman apologizes for her crazy-ass Twitter outburst over the weekend:
"I feel this whole situation has been completely blown out of proportion...Of course, I was dismayed by Roberta Silman’s review which gave away the plot of the novel, and in the heat of the moment I responded strongly and I wish I hadn’t. I’m sorry if I offended anyone..."
Just to decode, "this whole situation has been completely blown out of proportion" means "You're all making a big deal out of nothing." And "I'm sorry if I offended anyone" means "I'm sorry you guys are such pussies." The whole thing is an exercise in dodging responsibility.
It's maybe not the worst damage control ever, PR-wise. But it's pretty fucking far from an actual apology.
(Link to fake apology via the Twitter page of the great Sarah Weinman.)
Bookslut's Indie Heartthrob Interview Series
A weekly interview series where someone involved in the small press (be it writer, editor, slush slave, etc.) is thrown into the spotlight, grilled over the state of the independents and sundry other items, and quickly made to return from whence they came after having graced us all with their presence.
This week: CAConrad
At the risk of sounding tacky while alluding to the death of a certain pop star or two in the last week, I can't help but draw parallels to what may or may not become of Michael Jackson's legacy while examining CAConrad's Advanced Elvis Course (besides, parallels are already being drawn between the two deaths). At any rate, the book functions as a mixed-media travelogue, encompassing works of prose, journal entries, free-form poetry, interviews, and even flash fiction. These formats come together to examine a phenomenon left behind in Memphis after the King's death. Characters are seen practically worshipping at Elvis's (and even his parents') graves, and the personal pronoun is capitalized when used in reference to Presley.
Advanced Elvis Course may sound like a kitschy idea for a book, but it pulls off a cohesive narrative and tells an interesting story. I only wish I was able to speak to CAConrad over the weekend rather than earlier last week—it would have been a blast to contemplate MJ's legacy through the eyes of an Elvis devotee.
Your newest book presents a sort of genre-collage: interview, prose, poetry, lyric, etc. It also blends fiction and nonfiction. How much of the travelogue would you say is fictional here?
Thanks for asking this. I've never thought to weigh it out properly to be honest, but I can say that all the people I meet in the book, and those conversations with them are all true. Then there are those things which I imagine, like wishing to be Elvis' sperm trapped in a discarded condom by the moonlit window of His magnificent bed! This particular example has INFURIATED some of the "heterosexual" Elvis fans, to the point of sending me hate mail, calling me Faggot. Which of course I AM A FAGGOT, big deal! Speaking of what's fiction and nonfiction, one of these pissed off men wrote to me to say, "You know Elvis was straight, don't you?" I deconstructed the lyrics of "Jailhouse Rock" to break his Elvis snow globe open. Gay marriage Gay shmarriage, I'm more interested in my civil rights to LOVE Elvis! HAHA!
The Sunday Times suggests 100 good holiday reads.
In case you missed Bill Moyers' interview with poet W. S. Merwin (The Shadow of Sirius) on Friday — say because you were drinking bourbon and watching What Not to Wear in the hopes that once, just once, Carmindy would go easy on the makeup and Nick wouldn't make someone cry by cutting her hair — it's available here.
Lorrie Moore, who is God, has a new short story at The New Yorker. Her first novel in 15 years, A Gate at the Stairs, comes out in September. (Thanks to Maud Newton for the link.)
Novelist uses Twitter to get even with the critic who pasted her latest book. Maybe this should be filed under "antisocial networking."
Novelist Alice Hoffman, angry about a mediocre review of her new novel by Roberta Silman in the Boston Globe, posted Silman's phone number on her Twitter page, called her a "moron," insulted the entire city of Boston, and encouraged her fans to "tell Roberta Silman off." And somewhere in New York, a midlist writer's publicist weeps softly and begs to be reassigned.
Hoffman's Twitter account has since been deleted, but she was apparently also upset that Silman allegedly gave away too much of the plot of Hoffman's new book, The Story Sisters (SPOILER ALERT: It turns out the author is a fucking psycho.) Hoffman's dick move might have ensured that no major newspaper will ever review her work again, but if you're an author who wants to follow in her footsteps, let's talk.
(Note to Alice Hoffman: Keep in mind Jen Howard posted this story before I did. Pretty sure I can get you her phone number too.)
(UPDATE: OK, fine, I guess Jen didn't post this before I did. I can still get you that phone number, though.)
Alan Kelly talks to Dennis Cooper, author of the new Ugly Man and a longtime favorite of mine ever since I read his liner notes for Sonic Youth's Sister. (Justin Taylor interviewed Cooper for Bookslut in 2005.)
Via Largehearted Boy.
Man Gone Down author Michael Thomas remembers Michael Jackson.
June 26, 2009
Powell's chats with children's author Lenore Look, who says she's no good at cussing. I'm working on a kids' book now, and there's a lot of cursing involved (off-page so far, but you never know).
Q. What's your clean, kid-friendly curse word substitute of choice?
A. I don't curse. It doesn't come naturally, and when I try to do it, I don't sound like I'm cursing at all! I just sound like an idiot. Cursing is tantamount to spitting or throwing a shoe at someone; it should be this great projectile that, when it makes its mark, splits you open like a bolt of lightning. Well, the couple of times that I tried cursing, lemme tell you, it wasn't lightning, honey. It wasn't even thunder. It was a sad little worm that fell out of my mouth, like the kind you put on the end of a hook to cast for fish, and it cried out, "Lenore's a wimp! Lenore's a wimp! Look what she's done to me! Aaaaack!" So I don't curse, and I can't come up with kid-friendly substitutes either.
Ulysses goes graphic:
An online graphic novel version of the literary classic, Ulysses Seen, is the inaugural project of Throwaway Horse, a group seeking to spread awareness of literary classics and chip away at the air of intimidation that works like Ulysses tend to have. "The Throwaway Horse members love this book," they explain on the Ulysses Seen website, "and it kills us that it has gotten the reputation for being inaccessible to everyone besides the English professors who make their careers teaching the book to future English professors who will make their careers doing the same."
(Via @pastemagazine.)
This piece on Thomas Maier's Masters of Sex: The Life and Times of William Masters and Virginia Johnson, the Couple Who Taught America How to Love might actually be the first time the New York Times has printed the phrase "a clear Plexiglas dildo nicknamed Ulysses" since J. Edgar Hoover's obituary.
