Salon: H.P. Lovecraft is “a hack,” “literature’s greatest bad writer,” “not very scary” (has she even read “The Rats in the Walls” or the Cthulu stories?), Cthulu as “an unpronounceable name,” “Cthulu isn’t scary,” “camp,” “purple prose,” relying desperately on Joyce Carol Oates’ asseessment of “The Colour Out of Space” when she obviously despises Howard’s groove, “hasn’t the psychological acuity,” and not “wholesome at all.”

Reason #246 Why Germany is Pretty Darn Cool: A few enterprising folks have placed books into vending machines (which are even available at Zoo Station!). The idea behind this is to get literature out into the streets. But the efforts go far beyond mere consumer consideration. A literary group known as the “door speakers” has been reciting poetry through apartment intercoms. All this has been designed to counteract declining book sales and spread the word that lit is good. One would hope that the Wenclas crowd was capable of thinking along these lines. But that would involve thinking outside the solipsistic box.

Never mind a shitstorm in Iran. The big question these days is whether Salman Rushdie is safe.

The Gray Lady has outdone itself in the cruel lede department.

If you think it’s hard enough to be a weekend novelist, try being William Nicholson for almost thirty years. Nicholson, who considered screenwriters to be “wannabe artists,” watched his debut novel migrate to the remainder bin. Never mind that he found considerable success with Shadowlands (now available in at least three forms, rivaling the late Bill Naughton’s multiple adaptations for Alfie). Nicholson now has another novel out, The Society of Others, which involves “an apathetic young British man” stumbling into an unidentified country where violence has broke out. Unfortunately, reviews of the new novel have been half-hearted so far.