BookFox

Short Roundup

Dan over at Emerging Writers Network points out a new trend among literary journals, such as Fence and American Short Fiction, to "pay what you can" for a subscription to their journal. A smart move, I believe. Journals need some kind of marketing to jumpstart their subscription base.

How literary journal rejections that take over a year at least let you imagine that you made it past the first five readers (only to be squashed by the sixth).

A low-residency MFA program that went terribly, terribly, wrong.

An interview with Benjamin Percy, whose two short story collections ("Refresh, Refresh," and "The Language of Elk") have made waves.

LA Writing is Dead?

Over at the Guardian they have an article about the absence of LA literature. Yes, I agree that the screenwriters often overshadow the novelists (and yes, I have to justify myself at parties as well) but I have to disagree with the main point:

In retrospect, the years from the late 1930s to the early 1970s constitute a golden age of LA writing, both in the quality of the work it produced, and the fact that it was during these eras that the city's literary personae were most fully shaped. Since then, however, pickings have become decidedly thin.

Decidedly thin? What exactly are the overly pretentious criteria by which Los Angeles writers are being dismissed so flippantly? Because in my view, LA writers are on the upswing, creating a veritable renaissance of writing.

As far as concrete ways to rebut the claim in the Guardian, I could take a number of paths. One would be to simply list the many influential authors since 1970s. But this is almost beside the point (however, check out the list in the comments, and add T.C. Boyle). The deeper problem at play here is one that often causes people to lament the absence of good literature currently being created. The problem is one of distance. We simply do not have as clear a view of the ossified past as we do of the recent past. Therefore, we can create categories (the "golden age") and name groups of writers (Beat poets) that allow us to praise the good old days. But I would argue that the overarching themes and resonances of the present and recent past will come into sharper relief once we get more distance, once our hyperopia (the opposite of myopia) lets us clearly see the past forty years of LA writing. Then we'll be able to give names to the important work being done in the literary scene in Los Angeles.

After a caveat in the article where several influential crime writers are mentioned (in addition to Raymond Chandler, of course), there is an attempt to compare importance:

Despite these highlights, however, it is hard not to come to the conclusion that LA's literary heritage still lags well behind the city's economic and cultural importance.

I'm not quite sure how you would measure either in order to make that kind of comparison. To me, they seem rather incommensurable. But to take a stab, I suppose that yes, the heart of literary culture and the publishing industry seems to be in New York, and yes, at least in terms of mythic imagination, screenwriting tends to dominate Los Angeles. But the myths of our biggest urban environments do not define what it's actually like to live in the city. That is, just because someone across the world might perceive LA's economic or cultural importance to be at a level of X that vastly supercedes LA's literary value of Y means nothing to someone like me, who is engaged in literary communities, going to readings, buying books at independent booksellers, studying under LA writers, and generally living the lit life in LA. Existentially the city has enormous literary importance, even if it hasn't been codified yet.

Los Angeles writers, however, also have to deal with a temptation that those in other parts of the world rarely have to face so directly - the lure of the entertainment industry, which can provide fantastic pay for comparatively easy work.

This seems to imply a couple of things. First, that screenwriting is comparatively easy. No. No, it's not. Two, the pay has the potential to be fantastic, but boy can it be difficult to get there. Three, that someone who gives in to this “temptation” is somehow abandoning the call of being a writer (writing cross-genre work can help a writer quite a bit - dabbling in playwriting or screenwriting is a great way to improve your dialogue in fiction). Four, that someone who is really called to be a fiction writer will somehow be sidetracked into writing jokes for Leno and never write that Great Los Angeles Novel. I guess I believe that the person with that kind of talent and perseverance to write that novel will end up writing it. But maybe that's just my optimism as a writer trying to write that very novel.

Litblog Co-op

I'm happy to report that they've selected a new book for the Winter 2007 Read This! title at the Litblog Co-op. I was worried a week or so ago that things had seemed slow this quarter, but it's nice to see this new book, selected by the venerable Dan Wickett at Emerging Writers Network. And of course you understand that by my coy, dancing-around-the-name-of-the-title tomfoolery, I am simply compelling you to visit the Co-op yourself.

Judith Freeman on Raymond Chandler

High, high praise for Judith Freeman's new biography of Raymond Chandler - "The Long Embrace" - in the new LA Times Book Review:

Frank MacShane published the standard Chandler biography more than 30 years ago, and until now, no other book has made us view this great American writer afresh. "The Long Embrace" does.

The book seems to be a mix of reporting, research, biography, and a first person narrative of how Freeman went about the investigation and how she was changed by it. A kind of hybrid genre, really. I've requested a copy, though one hasn't arrived yet, but as an ardent Chandler fan (and fan of Freeman as well) can't wait to read it. It comes out November 6th.

Writers' Pay

So the LA Times has an update on how the talks are progressing for the potential screenwriter's strike:

"The union is demanding greater compensation for writers whose work is distributed through the Internet and other digital platforms. The studios want to overhaul the system to withhold residuals of any kind until after production, development, distribution and marketing costs are recouped."

This situation reminded me of the system of how book authors are paid: they sometimes get residuals for Internet and other digital platforms, but they don't get residuals until the book sells enough to make back it's advance. The advance, however, is not synonymous with how much the agency paid for production and promotion - that could actually be a lot more (or, in some cases, less). But since screenwriters are compensated so little for the crucial work that they do (in Hollywood, the cliché is that the only disposable part of the movie-making process is the writer), they shouldn't have their residuals scaled back. While screenwriters certainly can make more money overall, it's such a teeny-weeny portion of the cinematic pie. The studios are making an investment, and part of the risk of that investment is that they might lose money. Honestly: just pay your writers.

But wouldn't it be strange to have a union that lobbies for a large-scale renegotiation of how book authors are paid? It's almost nice to have it done on a case-by-case basis, open to negotiation for every book. At least there's no danger of a strike locking out our workplace for months on end. No, just the danger that no one will buy or read our book and it will sink into the desert of oblivion.

New York Times vs. Cult of the Amateur

Even though I'm a couple weeks late with talking about the New York Times decision to end the Premium paid content section (TimesSelect), it's very worth noting. If you remember Andrew Keen, and the blogger discussion at the UCLA festival of books, and the debate sparked from his book "The Cult of the Amateur", you might remember that Keen's central thesis was, as I paraphrased back then, "The only possible model for online content is one that pays financial dividends." And he believes the best route for gaining dividends is through making people pay for content. My response was that he should be patient - over time, as the internet grows, advertising (rather than subscriptions) will be able to fund online content. It seems that less than a year later his theory has been dealt a major blow by this New York Times action. The NYT said they were stepping away from the subscriber model for a number of reasons, but the essence is that they could make more money through advertising than they could make through charging readers. Sure, the NYT is only one paper, but it's our national paper, if we can be said to have a national paper, and since their site receives much more online traffic than any other newspaper in the country, they are the vanguard for the new conception of online financial policy. So, here goes: Yes to free content.

For a broader perspective than just the NYT, check out this article on the Financial Times. Also, in the NYT piece above, it mentioned how the Wall Street Journal is even considering relaxing its subscription policy.

Latest E-book Push

So Amazon and Google are wading into the rather stagnant waters of the E-book, hoping to get something roiling. New York Times has the article, which chronicles a bit of the history of the E-book, which everyone keeps on saying will take off but it hasn't quite yet. The obvious comparison is to the success of the IPOD, but there are crucial differences.
1. People listen to the IPOD while doing other things, while an E-book reader will require all of a person's attention.
2. People like to switch from song to song to song, mixing and matching artists, and so conceivably like to have a huge music library to choose from, but when reading, people don't want or need 75 books to choose from - they probably just want to read one, which they can comfortable carry.
3. The IPOD is so much lighter than any E-book reader out there - even the Sony one, which I tried out at the UCLA book fair six months ago - which makes for much easier carrying.
4. While I prefer not to have a huge stack of CDs occupying floor and/or wall space in my apartment, I actually enjoy having the physical presence of books - I think the boxy symmetry of a bookcase decorates beautifully, and it's ever so nice to be able to scan a row of books.

All that to say that the E-book reader faces some significant hurdles. The first time I played with an IPOD (in the Swiss Alps), I immediately believed it to be the greatest invention of the last few decades and set in motion extreme methods of saving so I could purchase one. With E-book readers, they don't thrill me in any way. And even though I might not be the target demographic (perhaps it would be wise to capture kids just as they start reading in elementary and junior high), I still wonder if they will be as thrilled to read off a screen, even if it isn't backlit. I suppose the future will tell.

Upcoming Literary Books

Here is an eclectic selection of forthcoming literary novels, completely limited by my own tastes and knowledge, for which I am unapologetic. Most of these are coming out in the next month or two, so ice up your poor, blurry, tired eyes and get to work.

Other Colors: Essays and a Story by Orhan Pamuk

By story, I don't think he means fiction - this is all non-fiction, continuing in the vein of many of the essays he's published before in several collections. Since it's his first publication after being named the Nobel Prize winner last year, it will probably get a good deal more recognition than his previous essays.

Caspian Rain by Gina Nahai

Another excellent book from the Iranian novelist - I am halfway through and will write a review when I've finished.

Zeroville by Steve Erickson

Erickson is uncategorizable, which is another way to say he writes insane novels, novels that makes you feel like you're on drugs, novels that you couldn't explain to someone except to say that you felt like X or Y. Nonlinear, surreal, fantastical - these words are football fields short of what he does on the page. I would tell you the "plot," but usually with his novels it's best not to know, just to experience.

Song for Night by Chris Abani

I've seen him play a saxophone. I've heard him read poetry. And I've read a mean streak of his prose, which is tough and imaginative. He seems to have a penchant for novellas, which I respect, because everyone probably tells him not to write them. Anyway, I foresee that this will be getting major props in reviews in a few weeks.

Autonauts of the Cosmoroute by Julio Cortazar

This man invents wicked ways of reading - aka "Hopscotch," which surely could be counted as a South American classic. Autonauts is about a voyage on a French freeway in 1982, a kind of travelogue. Harper's had an excerpt in last month's magazine, a playful and funny bit that gets into philosophy quickly.

Diary of a Bad Year by J.M. Coetzee

I wrote about it here.

Exit Ghost by Philip Roth

28th book (whew!) and the last in the Zuckerman series. Appears to involve incontinence and impotence. Knowing Roth, it will also involve lots of sex, and tons of frustration about not getting sex. Enjoy!

 

"Blindness" Made Visible

One of my favorite novels, "Blindness" by the Nobel Prize winner Jose Saramago, is being made into a movie. The director is one I respect - the Brazilian Fernando Meirelles, who's created both "City of God" and "The Constant Gardener." IMDB lists the shooting date for "Blindness" in 2008. What is interesting and particularly fascinating about the project of translating this book to the screen will be the task of handling Point Of View. Will the doctor's wife, the one woman who can see in the novel, be the lead character? Also, there's inherent tension (and, perhaps, irony) with the concept of filming a world where virtually no one can see. Not to mention trying to imbue the movie with the type of forcefulness and action of a novel that eschews punctuation marks in favor of a torrent of prose. But aside from those more theoretical thoughts, I am excited to see how the new film turns out. I'm excited even though it's accompanied by a trace of sadness, because whenever one of my favorite books gets turned into a movie, I feel like I've lost a bit of my original vision, as though my imagination becomes tainted by the movie's images and replaces all my conceptions with that of the filmmaker. I could, I suppose, not go to see it, but somehow my curiosity always wins out.

Orhan Pamuk in Harper's

In the September issue of Harper's magazine there's an excellent article on the recent Nobel prize winner Orhan Pamuk, written by Christopher de Bellaigue (also check out the photo essay of Turkey on the pages preceding it). Alas, it's not available online or I would link. The article, "There is no East" is less about analyzing or dissecting Pamuk's fiction than about setting him in a historical context and ruminating about his antagonistic relationship to Turkey. I did find it odd that most of the way through the article the author suddenly sits down and interviews Pamuk, yet only gives him about four quotes before returning to a more scholarly, distanced criticism, but overall the piece does well in offering the type of overview of Pamuk's life and Turkey's history that gives color to his fiction. In particular, although briefly mentioned, there are many similarities between Pamuk and Salman Rushdie - both exiled to New York, both excoriated by their countrymen (sure, Rushdie will be knighted, but he's made some fierce enemies for his criticism of Britain), and both under fire internationally for the offensive nature of their work (although it still seems surreal that Pamuk could be prosecuted for "insulting Turkishness").

If I Did It (Again)

O.J. Simpson's quasi-confessional memoir about how he would have killed his ex-wife, Nicole Brown Simpson, and her friend Ronald L. Goldman, has found a home: Beaufort Books, a vanity publisher (although in this case, it's not exactly vanity - more like debasement). If the book actually sells, Judith Regan will strut and feel justified. But some bookstores are refusing to even carry the book, which at least shows their good taste is above any economic priorities. Surprisingly, there's already a sequel in the works: "If I Stoop Any Lower All Americans Will Simultaneously Retch." No word yet on the publisher.

New Jean Thompson Collection Reviewed

The Boston Globe checks out Jean Thompson's new collection of short stories, Throw Like a Girl, a title that should not be mistaken for any flavor of chick-lit.

Thompson excels at portraying characters too easily betrayed by those they hoped to love and be loved by, too unobservant or naive to notice the thunderbolts poised to strike them down. She's unsurpassed at exploring the defensive psyches of people who know they don't fit in. And she can encapsulate a life's worth of disillusionment in a single stinging, hurtling sentence: "You're supposed to say the years flew by without your noticing but that's not true; I felt their shape and weight at every step."

(via largehearted boy)

Dutton's in Brentwood: Saved!

This news is actually a week old, and for many, might not even have become news.  Dutton's Brentwood is a bookstore on San Vincente Boulevard in Los Angeles, and has become something of a landmark.  The first time I met Janet Fitch was at Dutton's, at what I think I recall was her first reading, for Paint It Black.

Recently, plans to demolish it were put into effect.  But after a rather major campaign to save the store, those plans were scrapped (link to The Elegant Variation).

Just thought it was nice news to report, especially for Dutton's and especially for writers near Los Angeles.  So hoorah!

Intro Numero Uno (Road Trip Lit)

Hello.  I'm Will Entrekin.  Pleased to see ya, as it were.

My esteemed colleague and hopefully classmate-soon-to-be, the illustrious Mister Fox, asked me a little bit ago if I would contribute to his blog while he is in warmer climes.  Though, technically, John and I are both in and around Los Angeles at this point, because we are both attending the same writing program at the University of Southern California, and as climes go, they don't get much warmer than LA right about now.

That serves as relatively good introduction; the best are brief.  I'm studying fiction and screenwriting.  Anything further you'd like to know about me, you can find here, on my MySpace page. In addition, you can find some of my other writing here, at my Lulu storefront.

I moved to Hollywood last year from New Jersey, where I was born and subsequently lived for 28 years.  Just after my 28th, my sister and I loaded up an old, beat-to-Hell Mazda and zoomzoomzoomed straight across the country to California.

Neither of us had ever been there before.

It took us four days.  During those days, we did nothing but listen to my sister's eclectic selection of CDs (Blonde Redhead, Interpol, Tori Amos, etc.) and several books on tape.

When John asked me about writing, he mentioned that BookFox usually doesn't cover commercial fiction.  The books my sister and I listened to over those four days illustrate why that made me hesitate.

We started with America: The Book, by Jon Stewart et al. from The Daily Show with Jon Stewart; We discovered very quickly that it didn't really translate to audio.  After that, we moved on to Man Without a Country by Kurt Vonnegut.  I don't believe we made it past the first essay.

The books we actually spent time listening to were Neil Gaiman's Coraline and Anansi Boys; I'm fairly certain we finished both in their entirety.

And did not at all tire of either.  Anansi Boys, in particular, was a joy to listen to.

It's a rare book that can audibly hold one's attention that long without interruption.  On Saturday, Naropa University in Boulder hosted a marathon reading of Kerouac's On the Road.  MSNBC notes that about 150 people listened to the 12-hour reading.

I wonder if it was the same person reading, all that time.  MSNBC remains vague on the matter.

It reminds me of Kaufman's marathon reading of Fitzgerald's The Great Gatsby; I kind of wish I'd been in the audience for that one.

Though not the recent Kerouac reading.  I tried reading On the Road after landing in West Hollywood, mindful of my trip and wanting, in some small way, to vicariously relive it.

To make a road trip analogy, if reading it were comparable to my trip across the country, I never would have made it past Virginia.

More Rushdie

The latest development in the furor over Salman Rushdie's knighting is that the Pakistani clerics awarded Osama Bin Laden a title as well:

A group of hardline Pakistani Muslim clerics said on Thursday they had bestowed a religious title on Osama bin Laden in response to a British knighthood for author Salman Rushdie. The Pakistan Ulema Council gave bin Laden the title "Saifullah", or sword of Allah, in response to the knighthood awarded to Rushdie last week for services to literature.

Of course, there's no equivalence, moral or otherwise, between an author who pens unsavory tidbits about a religion and someone who masterminds the slaughter of thousands of civilians, but the award is meant not to honor Bin Laden as much as it is meant to anger Westerners. I just hope in the face of the rising protests (British Muslims have joined the clamor as well) that Britain does not rescind the knighthood and that Rushdie still accepts it.

Salman Rushdie's Knighthood

From the San Francisco Gate comes a brief article offering a quote from Pakistan's religious affairs minister:

"If someone exploded a bomb on [Salman Rushdie's] body, he would be right to do so unless the British government apologizes and withdraws the 'sir' title."

The International Herald Tribune reports that the protests and burning of effigies has spread from Iran and Pakistan to Malaysia:

"Supporters of Malaysia's hard-line Islamic party protested near the British Embassy, chanting 'Destroy Salman Rushdie' and 'Destroy Britain.'"

And now the Guardian has an article questioning why Rushdie accepted the honor at all, given that he's ditched the Brits for New York. And another article on why Britain would choose to knight Rushdie, since he's spent so much of his literary career mercilessly satirizing Britain.

The Guardian also reported today that "The committee that recommended Salman Rushdie for a knighthood did not discuss any possible political ramifications and never imagined that the award would provoke the furious response that it has done in parts of the Muslim world." In the same article, it appears that "Rushdie was celebrating his 60th birthday in London yesterday and is not commenting on the latest threats to his life. It is understood he is anxious not to inflame the situation." I can't help at laugh at that last line - such British understatement. Well, yes, if you spent a decade of your life in hiding, in fear of constant attack, and finally were able to come out in public only to have the old hatred flare up again, you'd try not to inflame the situation, too. In other words, he doesn't want to have to duck into a closet for the next decade.

There's not much he can do not to inflame the situation, however. Or rather, Muslims have a way of inflaming the situation on their own very well, thank you. In addition to the $150,000 reward for killing Rushdie that formerly existed, the bounty has been upped by "The Organisation To Commemorate The Martyrs Of The Muslim World," who promises 80,000 pounds to anyone who kills "the apostate."

Of course, if you'd like the Muslim side of things, check out the statement issued by Islamic Republic News Agency, who reports, "Rushdie was disgraced with writing a blasphemous novel, "The Satanic Verses", at which the Muslims across the world expressed outrage in 1988 and scores of them were killed in numerous protests in India and elsewhere." Funny - although I would assume the responsibility for the deaths would actually fall on those who rioted, I suppose according to Islamic calculation it's somehow Rushdie's fault.

Mrs. BookFox is British, and visits on a yearly basis, and when I explained to her the situation, she bought up the practical side: it was stupid for them to knight him, because given the number of Muslims in Britain (as well as around the world) it was bound to incite violence. She was thinking, most likely, of her family, many of whom live near London, and obviously she doesn't want to see an increase in terrorists attacks. But I took the ideological stance: that his contribution to letters deserves a knighthood, that he's been shunned by the establishment for far too long because he's such a lightening rod between the Western and Islamic world, and that Britain should not cower in the shadow of a culture that responds like a temper-tantrum throwing child whenever something doesn't go their way (remember the Danish cartoons?). Despite the practical reasons why it might have been prudent for Britain to withhold a knighting, it was an honorable move, and one that doesn't kowtow to the frothing-at-the-mouth extremists.

The Quarterly Conversation

Issue Eight of The Quarterly Conversation has now been released! It includes my review of Haruki Murakami's latest, After Dark, a review written in real-time (since the book is almost in real time). Some of the other highlights are a review of Daniel Alarcon's novel Lost City Radio - an incredible book from an incredible writer - a literary theory take on Don DeLillo's Falling Man, a review of LA writer Chris Abani's recently published novel Virgin of Flames, which is a poetic search for sexual identity in the city of Los Angeles, and much, much more. Go check it out.

Ouch

On Chesil Beach, Ian McEwan's latest novel, received mostly favorable reviews after its release in Britain earlier this year, but today Michiko Kakutani lays out a nasty opener in the NY Times Review:

"After two big, ambitious novels — “Atonement” and “Saturday” — Ian McEwan has inexplicably produced a small, sullen, unsatisfying story that possesses none of those earlier books’ emotional wisdom, narrative scope or lovely specificity of detail.

Although “On Chesil Beach” grapples with some of Mr. McEwan’s perennial themes — the hazards of innocence, the sudden mutation of the ordinary into the awful, the inexorable grip of time past over time present — it does so in a mechanical and highly arbitrary fashion. It also focuses closely on one couple’s romantic and sexual relationship without opening a window, as his earlier novels have done, onto larger social and moral issues, and without giving the reader any genuine psychological insights into its two main characters."

The Bomb, Dmitri ... The Hydrogen Bomb.

So I don't normally post on BookFox about non-fiction titles, but I'm making an exception for William Langewiesche's new book The Atomic Bazaar, which addresses the proliferation of nuclear weapons (if the title didn't tip you off). I've been reading Langewiesche in the pages of the Atlantic Monthly for a while now, and his articles on Khan and nuclear weapons have been both terrifying and wonderful examples of top-notch reporting. Every time I read him, I felt like I was being let into a clandestine world of international secrets that somehow all the mainstream media had either willfully ignored or never known about. What? Khan just stole all the information and parts for his nuclear reactors as easy as one, two, three? What? He started selling weapons to any country with money? What? That's all that is needed for a centrifuge to start enriching uranium?

Art Winslow, reviewing it in the LA Times, summarizes a bit of the book:

At the state level, this is worrisome, and much of "The Atomic Bazaar" is devoted to reporting on Pakistan and its atomic mastermind, Abdul Qadeer Khan, "the greatest nuclear proliferator of all time," who fed nuclear technology to Iran, North Korea and Libya — and made overtures to a fourth country (Syria? Saudi Arabia?) — before he was stopped. Langewiesche cautions that although Khan was perceived as evil in the West, to his countrymen and others in the Islamic world he "openly represented the right of the global underclass to bear nuclear arms."

Despite trying very hard, I've never been able to take Dr. Strangelove's advice to stop worrying and learn to love the bomb, and this book makes it sound like a lot more worrying is to come.

Train to Lo Wu

Just read Jess Row's Train to Lo Wu, a collection of seven short stories as streamlined as a bullet train. All the stories take place in Hong Kong, using the class, language and political distinctives of the city to ground stories about echolocation and Zen Buddhism. Luckily for me (and you), there's a new Row story, The World in Flames, up at Five Chapters. It's set in Thailand, not in Hong Kong, but at least the whole expat theme is still at work.

Nathan Englander Competes Against Himself for "Best Author Hair" Award

P.S. Nathan Englander's new novel, The Ministry of Special Cases, came out last week, and hey, there's nothing wrong with taking ten years to write your first novel. I loved his portrayal of orthodox Jews in For the Relief of Unbearable Urges and The Ministry is supposed to have the same mixture of melancholy and wit.

P.P.S. Phawker has a great interview with Englander.

P.P.P.S. The Philadelphia Inquirer has a review of The Ministry of Special Cases by Sarah Weinman of Confessions of an Idiosyncratic Mind.

The Loudest Voice #4 at The Mountain Bar

I'm reading at The Mountain Bar in Los Angeles with Aimee Bender next Tuesday night. Please come, drink, listen and make merry.

Litblog Co-op

The Spring READ THIS! selection has been revealed at the Litblog Co-op, and not only does the short story collection have one of the best titles ever, even the publisher has a cool name.

The Newest Murakami

Just received the review copy of Haruki Murakami's new novel After Dark, coming out May 8th. It's a slim 191 pages, a middle length between his novellas (Hear the Wind Sing and Pinball 1973) and the heftier works (Wind Up Bird Chronicle and Dance, Dance, Dance). Can't wait to give it a read.

Rallying the Supporters of Independent Bookstores

The Elegant Variation has new information on the efforts going on to save Dutton's Bookstore in LA (I wrote about it back in January). To sign the petition, click here for the PDF, or email Diane.caughey@gmail.com with your Name, Address, Phone, Email, and what (if any) way you can help.

Garrison Keillor

Garrison Keillor is in some hot water over comments he made about homosexuals in an article on Slate. Then Dan Savage takes him to task in an overwrought, hyper-sensational article entitled, Fuck Garrison Keillor (via Pinkys Paperhaus). I'm going to have to side with Keillor on this one. Dan Savage, at least in this article, comes across as positively puerile. I'm wondering whether he even read the article, or whether he just picked out a couple of key words and started ranting. The comments after his post are just as ill-informed and knee-jerk reactionary - except for the people who suspect it might have been satire. You think? There isn't much that's offensive in the article. Really. I find ever since the gay movement began, people go off about gay rights at the drop of the hat, and in this case, it’s completely unwarranted.

1st complaint: that he stereotypically portrays gay men. Hello? He uses the word STEREOTYPICAL as an adjective before he even begins that clause about small dogs and fussy hair. What is the problem? He is describing a stereotypical gay man, not as the norm, and not necessarily as he sees them, but as a cultural stereotype. Anyone have a problem with referencing stereotypes? And his second assertion, that gay men need to calm down and focus on the children rather than themselves, makes sense in light of the context - the whole article is about providing for children. Now clearly, he should have pointed out that gay men are probably no less likely than heterosexual couples to be overly concerned about themselves rather than about their children, but this isn't that type of article. It's not the type of piece that patiently rebuts every point of view, or looks at the topic from every side. People need to learn how to read according to genre. The last potentially inflammatory idea is that back in the heterosexual day children didn't have so many relatives to keep track of. Okay, this is poppycock. I don't quite see how he thinks that children had it good before the gay relatives came along. They have to be shuttled around more now? No, probably not. This is a case of an old-timer whitewashing the past. But overall, Dan Savage's flame throwing response is just way too much.

LA Times Slide

The LA Times, one of the three remaining newspapers publishing a special book review pullout section, is planning on downsizing the space in half. One half of the pullout will be devoted to opinion, the other half to books. Now it's not as though the LA Times book review section was exceptionally good before, (they always seemed to be trying too hard and yet failing to be the NY Times) but still, the downsizing is a big blow. (via LA Observed)

The news does make me believe that with more and more book slots disappearing in newspapers, the blogging community is going to fill that space. A recent article in the LA Times magazine West confirms this belief. It chronicles the online rise of Cory Kennedy from a no-name LA scene chick to a buzzed-about star that clubs pay to "appear" (and she's only sixteen!). What I found most striking about the article was that her parents didn't believe her when she told them that she was "getting huge online." They just told her not to get too big for her britches. I think this is a prime example of how many members of the parents' generation simply don't understand the online phenomenon. It's absolutely foreign how anything can actually "occur" online.

But when the Myspace generation reaches the prime age of book buyers, we're going to see that blogs might be hit more often than "major" sources of news (especially since the book coverage in newspapers keeps shrinking, while blogs keep expanding). Or, perhaps Myspace itself will advance from a paid advertising section for books into a genuine review of books. That would be a funny twist twenty years from now: the NY Times Review of Books cut to a few pages, but the Myspace Book Review dominating the market with strong (and broad) coverage. But, in a strange way, that would make perfect sense. 98% of kids under eighteen have a password, page, and screen name for Myspace; How many of them have an online password for a major newspaper?

UPDATE: This article in the San Francisco Chronicle confirms and elaborates on the LA Observed news.

Wendell Berry

Wendell Berry has a new short story in the March edition of Harpers Magazine. It's called "The Requirement", and it's not available online yet. Although usually I tend to like Berry's essays more than his fiction, I'm beginning to appreciate (some) of his fiction more. This one hit me particularly well, probably because I can see, from reading Berry's essays, the philosophy behind the story: a philosophy of pastoral life, lived close to nature, with respect for fellow man. The story deals with how to die well, from the perspective of a friend watching his friend Big Ellis die. The theme makes sense in light of the fact that so much of Berry's work is concerned with "the good life" and all the connotations and representations of that phrase. And, not to give anything away, but the story has an interesting take on Chekhov's rule that the gun on the mantle in the first act must be fired before the end of the third act (since the first "appearance" of the gun in the story is a hoax).

(Im)Plausible Denial

As Edward Champion and the Literary Saloon have already noted, Sam Tanenhaus makes a buffoon out of himself in an interview in Queens College Knightly News. In response to the question of whether he reads lit blogs, Tanenhaus says: "No, I don't. I don't really have time. Other people here do and they'll tell me about them. I never read blogs." Then he proceeds to offer a number of detailed criticisms of them, some of them less detailed than huge (and erroneous) generalizations. Try this: "I don't find they write about authors and have that many interesting things to say about literature." Who exactly is Tanenhaus reading? I suppose the answer to that question would force him to reveal that actually he does read lit blogs, which, in his mind at least, would lower him to the proletariat level of bibliophiles, rather than staying on the lofty pinnacle of book elitists.

Ultimately, this is a question of pride. In the Tanenhaus universe, there are tiers of talent: one for dilettantes who fuddle around on the Internet, one for reviewers with moderate insight who might work at mid-level newspapers, and one for his coterie. He thinks that his publication and his reviewers are so much better than any who would deign to give their words away for free that he tries to downplay anyone who blogs. What this pride reveals is a great deal of self-consciousness and self-doubt. He's so scared of the shift from centralized print to decentralized Internet that he (repeatedly) pretends that bloggers don't exist, he doesn't read them, they don't say anything. He used this same tactic when I asked him this question during the Ask the Editor week at the NY Times: "Why do so many book bloggers seem to dislike you?" He replied, tongue nearly poking through his cheek, "They do?" By feigning ignorance of the criticisms against him and the NYTBR, Tanenhaus is playing the ostrich, head in the sand, pretending that his publication is the only one that exists or matters. Guess what? We're not fooled, and our readership is on the rise.

Things You Should Not Admit

So Malcolm Jones,the book critic of Newsweek, candidly admitted that he hadn't finished Vikram Chandra's 928 page novel Sacred Games. If he were simply reading for pleasure, this wouldn't be a problem, but he happened to have the temerity to write a review about a book he hadn't finished. No, no, no. This is simply a case of basic professionalism: Book Reviewers have a contract with book review readers that they will read (in entirety) a work. Why? Because I don't care what the first one hundred pages are like, I actually want to know impressions from the whole of the novel. Many novels don't hold up well in part - it takes their entirety to create a world and emotionally move a reader. Perhaps the daunting length of 928 pages made people sympathize with Jones, but the issue might be clearer with an analogy to film. I don't read any movie reviews where the reviewers walked out 10 minutes into the film, and after studying with Kenneth Turan (LA Times movie reviewer) I know he views plenty of movies that do not deserve his remaining hour and fifty minutes. Yet he has the discipline to stay because it's his job. He sees gems and crap and stays for both and tells his readers what is what. That's his job, and Jones should either step up to the bar or start reading only for pleasure, where he would have the option to opt out of a book.

For more reading, check out the Literary Saloon, which gives a partial defense, or Ed's rant, who gives Jones no leeway.

Duttons Down

It's abstractly depressing when you hear the statistics of independent bookstores closing in droves; it's concretely depressing to see favorite bookstores in your town get the axe. First Dutton's of Beverly Hills was forced to shut down; now the news is that the original Dutton's will be remodeled out of existence. The LA Times reports that the landlord, Charles T. Munger, wants to build luxury condos. Apparently, Munger's $1.7 billion net worth isn't enough - he also needs some extra pocket change from rent. The claim is that the condos will be built atop a sleek, modern bookstore, but I have my doubts. One, that a sleek modern bookstore can ever replace the idiosyncratic layout of Dutton's, and two, that once Munger starts remodeling, the plans will change to either eliminate Duttons completely or give it only a token space.

What is the Timing?

Francine Prose gives a very favorable review to Dave Egger's latest novel/memoir What is the What in the Dec. 24th edition of the New York Times Book Review. Unfortunately, Egger's book was released Oct. 25, two months ago. I know they were coordinating it with the podcast interview of Eggers, but isn't two months a bit large of a gap, especially when they're getting review copies? Editor Tanenhaus' taste is quite good, but the timing is kinked.

(Click on the Dave Eggers tag below to read my account of the Los Angeles talk)

Upcoming Books for 2007!

Not to get too much of a head start on things, but before the Christmas rush I wanted to make a list of books coming out next year.

Anthony Swofford: Exit A [January 9, 2007]. Swofford, author of the memoir Jarhead, turns to fiction in Exit A.

Martin Amis: House of Meeting. [January 15, 2007] For this Gulag-centric book, Publisher's Weekly gave a negative blurb, saying it was "disappointing", filled with "trite cliches" and that his "trademark riffs are all too muffled in his obvious research," while the Guardian review is much kinder.

Norman Mailer: The Castle in the Forest [January 23, 2007]. First novel in a decade.

Chris Abani: The Virgin of Flames. [January 30, 2007] If you don't know this writer, you should. Scroll a few posts down to see what I said about him after going to one of his readings.

Milan Kundera: The Curtain [January 30, 2007]. This is the third part of a non-fiction trilogy on books and reading, containing seven essays, and I've been waiting for it ever since the first of the series, The Art of the Novel. Expect Kundera's trenchant insights into the form and state of the novel - these treaties should be categorized up with Mikhail Bakhtin's The Dialogic Imagination for their ability to categorize and describe the genre.

Jonathan Lethem: You Don't Love Me Yet. [March 07] The Random House blurb makes it sound completely over the top and hilarious. Characters working at a masturbation boutique called "No Shame"? Someone else who steals a kangaroo from the zoo to "save it from ennui?' And it all centers around two characters who fall in love over the phone, one working at a complaint line, the other who calls and complains. How could we resist?

Anne Lamott: Grace. [March 07] Who doesn't like Anne Lamott? Honestly, her how-to-write book Bird by Bird is not only practical, it's knee-slappingly funny. Every semester I teach the chapter "Shitty First Drafts" and every semester students laugh and identify. And it's also refreshing to see her new religious reflections, as this book Grace is the third book in her Thoughts on Faith series (including Traveling Mercies and Plan B)

Jim Crace: The Pesthouse. [May 07] Love, love, love Jim Crace. Quarentine was my first introduction, and all his others have not disappointed. I'll also mention The Devil's Larder, simply because it was such an uncategorizable book, a book that his publisher and editor must not have liked the sound of (what? a book all about food with each story from 500 to 1000 words? How will we market it?), and therefore a book that I think he was brave to write, as well as a book that's very entertaining. Here's the first chapter excerpt for The Pesthouse and here's a short summary in Crace's words: "It's set in America's medieval future and is an inquiry into my - and the world's - love-hate relationship with the United States . . . the first line of the book was going to be 'This used to be America'."

Chuck Palahniuk: Rant. [May 07] Okay, other than the fact that the title seems rather suitable for a Palahniuk novel, as much of his prose resembles a rant, I have to admit that the only novel I've really liked from him was Fight Club. There, I've said it. And no, sorry, even with all the inventive sexuality of Choke it wasn't entertaining apart from that sexuality, and I didn't buy the basis premise of Lullaby that an African culling song can kill people. But I'm putting Rant up here because deep down I somehow like Chuck, maybe because he's hyper-masculine, probably because anyone who writes three novels while working as a mechanic before finally getting one published has a lot of pathos going for him. Here's the gist of the book: "Rant takes the form of a (fictional) oral history of Buster "Rant" [who] becomes the leader of an urban demolition derby called Party Crashing, where on designated nights, the participants recognize each other by dressing their cars with tin-can tails, "Just Married" toothpaste graffiti, and other refuse, then look for designated markings in order to stalk and crash into each other. It's in this violent, late-night hunting game that Casey meets three friends. And after his spectacular death, these friends gather the testimony needed to build an oral history of his short life. Their collected anecdotes explore the charges that his saliva infected hundreds and caused a silent, urban plague of rabies...." Definitely working on the same level of violence as Fight Club, only instead of bodies we have cars. Oh, and plus Rabies.

Don DeLillo: Falling Man. [June 07] Other than 288 pages and the ISBN, I don't know a thing.

Annie Dillard: The Maytrees. [June 07] No, all of you who just sucked in a breath hoping for a non-fiction collection, this one is fiction. I know, I really wanted a non-fiction collection too, ever since I read a superb new essay by her in Harper's a few years ago, post "For the Time Being", which gave me hope that a new non-fiction collection was in the works, but alas, not in 07. And not that her fiction is terrible, it's just that her essays are world-class. It was Pilgrim at Tinker Creek that made me want to become a writer (I have such a beautiful 1st edition - one of my most valued books), but I reckon you can only go Thoreau when you're young, without responsibilities, and as you grow older you it's easier to make fictional adventures rather than take them yourself.

Books I'm Thankful For

In the spirit of thanksgiving, I'll make a quick list of books I'm thankful for. First of all, the red book of poetry my grandfather wrote - it was a book that let me know writing was in my blood; an inspiration, so to speak. Also, Vito Aiuto's collection of poems Self-Portrait as Jerry Quarry, because he was the first friend of mine who published a book, and the poems were funny, irreverent and just plain good. Also, for the book that originally got me writing: Annie Dillard's Pilgrim at Tinker Creek. It gave me the measure of how much beauty could be created by arranging words on a page.

Remember the beauty in your life this thanksgiving, and give thanks.

Pynchon: Against the Day

If you haven't yet been seduced by Pynchon mania (or even if you have been unaware of the blogosphere intensity), you should go to the The Elegant Variation and check out all the links and commentary on old Pynchon, New Pynchon and all of the infinite conections.

There. I've thrown you into the pit. Enjoy or die.

NYTBR Podcast Highlights w/ Sam Tanenhaus

Sam Tanenhaus on the efficacy of the New York Times Book Review: "Welcome to our podcast, with the caveat that this sick crew long ago abandoned the illusion that we have any insight to offer or even have a clue what we're talking about."

The distorted-guitar quasi-punk theme song opening that tries so hard to be cool (lyrics: "I’m reading for the New York Times Book Review." No, seriously.)

Rachael Donadio, on the sordid love affairs between writers at writers' colonies:
"Yaddo is better for sex, but MacDowells is better for work."

The "jokes" that are so obviously read from a script (perhaps some timing or emphasis might help?)

Rachael Donadio, on how former writers didn't have writers' colonies to motivate them:
"Doestoesky had the firing squad, not the writer's camp."

Edward Champion offers this advice: "Had I been the producer, I would have demanded that all the on air talent have a good glass of wine. Or perhaps I’d pass around a bong."

Labels: NYTBR

Unbearable Lightness of Being out in Czech!

I thought our patience was tried by having to wait two years for the translation of The Curtain, but it took the Czechs twenty-two years of waiting to get the Unbearable Lightness of Being translated.

(Via The Elegant Variation)

Labels: Milan Kundera

Joyce Carol Oates: Landfill

So Joyce Carol Oates based her fictional story Landfill, published in the October 9th issue of the New Yorker, on the real-life death of a student attending The College of New Jersey (TCNJ). So what? Professors at TCNJ have flamebroiled her with charges that she felt no pain in reawakening the trauma of the family. Regina Kene wrote in an email to Oates: "You so flimsily disguised the true College of New Jersey story upon which your fictionalized account is based, and used your imagination so cruelly, that it can only add to the overwhelming pain the [Fiocco] family has already suffered." She added in a later interview: “It could not do anything but bring back horrible memories." So Regina, do you read much fiction? I’m guessing not, because you teach for the department of sociology and anthropology and publish articles with titles like: "The Colored, Eco-Genetic Relationship Map (CEGRM): A Conceptual Approach and Tool for Genetic Counseling Research." Which leads me to believe you’re sincerely concerned about the condition of this poor family in your community, but perhaps you’ve maybe missed all the recent fiction books about 9/11 (check out six novels about 9/11 here). You'd think books like that could bring "bring back some horrible memories." But maybe you'd like to condemn all those too.

Of course, JCO doesn’t escape all blame. The problem is not that she used her imagination cruelly, just that she didn’t use it enough. Her defense of herself is likewise pitiful: "Most of my short fiction appears in literary magazines like Virginia Quarterly Review, Yale Review, Conjunctions, etc., which are read by a small and exclusively literary audience," she said. "If the story had appeared in one of these, it would have passed unnoticed." Oh, so it’s just if someone finds out and gets angry? Great ethical reasoning; your attempt to preserve public image will surely win you the Nobel. The worst response from JCO came from an email she sent to the Associated Press just after the affair broke, in which she compared the school’s criticism to the Muslim fundamentalists who issued a fatwa against Salman Rushdie for his “The Satanic Verses.” Sorry Oates, but there might be a few small differences here. You hardly have to hide in safehouses for the next decade. You don’t have the federal government demanding an apology to release international tension. You aren’t fearful for your LIFE.

Although, on the whole Oates is right about this. She should be able to take a real-life event and fictionalize it, even if a few people who see the connections get miffed.

Labels: Joyce Carol Oates

Literary Squabbles

Salman Rushdie lashed out at John Updike in a recent interview from The Guardian:

"I don't subscribe to the very predominantly English admiration of Updike. If you take away Rabbit is Rich and Rabbit at Rest, and some of the short stories, there's a lot of ... slightly ... garbage. Think of The Coup! The new one [Terrorist] is beyond awful. He should stay in his parochial neighbourhood and write about wife-swapping, because it's what he can do."

To be honest, all the enmity at the top echelons of the literary world becomes quite tiresome. Why do writers always have to denounce other writers, dismissing their skills as illusory and their oeuvre as crap? It's obviously an ego thing, especially in this case, as Updike had unfavorably reviewed Rushdie's last book Shalimar the Clown. I mean, it makes for great fun for us on the sidelines, to watch literary greats spar in the ring, but sometimes it feels less like sparring and more like an alley fight with groin shots and sucker punches. Which can also be fun, albeit eventually wearisome.

Of course, Rushdie seems to be a lightening rod for this type of thing. In July it was the Brick Lane fracas with Greer. And V.S. Naipaul virtually denounced any sympathy for Rushdie during the fatwa. I could go on.

Labels: John Updike, Salman Rushdie

The Man Who Told Oprah She Chose "Shmaltzy, One-Dimension Books"

This September, Jonathan Frazen breaks new ground with a memoir: The Discomfort Zone. I'd like some more fiction from him, but perhaps since much of his fiction (especially The Corrections) came from personal experience, there really isn't that much of a difference in terms of themes. I've read excerpts from the new non-fiction, most notably his story of high school shenanigans regarding the flagpole, but rumor has it from GQ magazine that in this memoir he describes losing his virginity . . . as a college senior . . . writing in the third person. More power to ya, Frazen, for transparency, but I bet it'll be nice to hide behind the curtain of fiction after this book tour.

Labels: Jonathan Frazen

The Silence of Gunter Grass

The New York Sun published a two-part open letter to Gunter Grass in response to his recent admission that he was a part of the Waffen SS during World War II. The open letter is heartwrenching; never have I read a letter so full of choken tears and resentment. Daniel Johnson, the author of the letter, takes Grass to task for his hypocrisy over these last 60 years, as Grass has maintained an anti-Western attitude, an anti-Israeli attitude, and remained a public intellectual figure while never admitting his role in the Nazi regime.

Grass' silence, certainly, is reprehensible. But I certainly understand it. I can fully understand why he has kept silent. As he says, shame has been responsible. Less clear, however, is why he chose to reveal it at this time. Or, perhaps, this is too clear - he wishes to maximize sales of his new memoir.

I do take issue with the way people have condemned him: they look back at the atrocities of WW II, which has become less a historical event than a metonymn for evil, and unilaterally condemn anyone even tangentially connected with that evil. I think that is the wrong approach. In judging others, you must look at it from an existential perspective: Gunter Grass, at that time a seventeen year old, full of the propoganda of the Nazi party, wished to defend his country, and was probably unaware of the scope of the holocaust (if not its existence). A wicked decision, yes; but could we, in that place and at that time, and at such a tender age, chosen differently?

It gives me even more sympathy for him as I read The Tin Drum. In what sense is Grass the dwarf/child Oscar, pounding away on his drum as the atrocities go on? And how badly must his secret have been burning within him all these years, as he pens character after character with secrets of their own?

Labels: Gunter Grass

Harper's Serialization of J. Robert Lennon

It's been fifty years since Harper's Magazine published a serial novel, and an abridged version of J. Robert Lennon's novel Happyland has won the honor. Although Harper's has fiction in every issue, at least a single short story, it seems serialization gives more weight to fiction, a weight desparately needed after most magazines have relegated fiction to little-read journals and the Atlantic Monthly has recently decided to drop their short story slot. And I admit - I'm intrigued by Lennon's story of a doll-maker's takeover of a small town. Installment #3 just came out in the September issue, and I can't wait to read the rest.

On the webzine Being There Lennon admits that as he wrote it the story turned into a satire on the current political climate, with the protagonist Happy Masters representative of Karl Rove. In the interview he says, "It’s about people feeling powerless against someone who is a leader that they feel they did not choose." The political interpretation, however, I feel is one that he has projected on the storyline because of his admitted obsession with hating the Bush administration. The novel could be read just as well by interpreting the corporations as the evildoers - the business conglomerates that can refurbish the landscaping of a city according to their own desires, making it as fake as dolls and dollhouses. This Walmartization of America, I think, it what Happy Masters represents, and it's an interpretation according to Occam's Razor - it's much simpler than the political take. But of course, this is only how I read it, and better books often allow for more interpretations. This is why Jose Saramago's book Blindness was excellent and his follow-up Seeing hit below the mark: because Blindness allowed for so many metaphorical interpretations while Seeing hammered a single refrain. So perhaps it's better that Lennon allowed some space for interpretation.

Question for my readers: Anyone out there know how many more chapters there are in the novel?

Labels: Harper's, J. Robert Lennon

Pynchon Update

The new Pynchon book, Against the Day, comes out December 5th. And not to mix metaphors, but it's Russian-Novel/Ayn-Rand sized, weighing in at the sumo-like bulk of 1040 pages. The description of the book - which he wrote himself - betrays his idiosyncraticities:

With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.

As an era of certainty comes crashing down around their ears and an unpredictable future commences, these folks are mostly just trying to pursue their lives. Sometimes they manage to catch up; sometimes it's their lives that pursue them.

Meanwhile, the author is up to his usual business. Characters stop what they're doing to sing what are for the most part stupid songs. Strange sexual practices take place. Obscure languages are spoken, not always idiomatically. Contrary-to-the-fact occurrences occur. If it is not the world, it is what the world might be with a minor adjustment or two. According to some, this is one of the main purposes of fiction.

Let the reader decide, let the reader beware. Good luck.

--Thomas Pynchon

Labels: Thomas Pynchon

Pynchon Mania

Ed has verified (with multiple unnamed and secret sources, because he's the literary version of a John Le Carre character) that Thomas Pynchon is publishing a new book in December. Let's hope it's not another Vineland. By the way, if you're new to Pynchon, here's the first three books you should read (in this order):

Gravity's Rainbow
V
The Crying of Lot 49

I've always liked Gravity more than V, because it's more accessible and funnier. Crying of Lot is just the short bit they give to high schoolers to let them know what good writing is, but I'm assuming you (my loyal reader) are a bit more advanced than that. Crying isn't bad, it's just brief. So get to it third. Slow Learner -his early collection of stories, isn't his best work, but if you want to give it a go, start at the end with "The Secret Integration."

Labels: Thomas Pynchon