Year / 2005

by Edward Champion

The Interwining Legacy of Things That Inexplicably Scare the Bejesus Out of You and Fiction

Written just after the author stepped into rush hour traffic and before he dared to look out of his own window before returning to his computer, Ian McEwan’s novel “Saturday” creates a hero who dares to live out a privileged lifestyle and worriedly thinks about his investment portfolio. It is fear, directed towards the expected and the humdrum and the implausible, that drives Mr. McEwan’s masterpiece. Today this fiction may seem as prophetic as Elizabeth Kostova’s “The Historian,” which features a palpable portrait of vampires tapping into victims while on the run. But both authors agree that today’s fiction is designed to present things that will scare the bejesus out of you, with ordinarily stable minds rushing to FOX News and conspiracy-themed newsletters in search of further things to be frightened about.

“We can never have enough things to be frightened about. I myself am terrified of half-cooked foie gras,” Mr. McEwan wrote in an Op-Ed piece just after enjoying a six-course meal on the very day of the London subway and bus bombings. (His article appeared simultaneously in Gourmet and Ladies’ Home Journal.) That same day Ms. Kostova wrote on her Web site, “The bombings sadden me. But, on the bright side, sales should boost up as people look for more things to be afraid of.”

soccer mom'With such inevitability and the persistent strain of soccer moms fearing that the terrorists could firebomb the small-town high school fields they regularly frequent at any second, some of the most ambitious novelists are not only addressing this climate of fear but going a bit hogwild in their depictions, leaving a legacy that is not only quite silly but good for drawing half-baked generalizations that can be referenced while engaged in pretentious cocktail party banter. This is what Mr. McEwan calls “the complacent stage,” a needlessly introspective and self-absorbed novel just after a big success (in this case, the remarkable “Atonement”). It would appear that this complacence is shared by Michael Cunningham’s “Specimen Days,” which is also considered a critical disappointment. Cunningham’s most recent novel offers Walt Whitman’s poems as the cure-all elixir. Have a drinking problem? Read “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed.” Feeling depressed (perhaps suicidal?) because your local Whole Foods Market decided to close early and you couldn’t get cheese made with coagulating enzymes? “O Captain! My Captain!” is right around the corner.

The important thing these days is for novels to reflect an almost pathological neurosis that only the richest 10% of our society can understand. This will then, in turn, perpetuate irrationally conceived fears in literature which detract from more pressing dilemmas.

by Edward Champion

The Bat Segundo Show #4

the bat segundo show #4

Approximate Date: July 31, 2005

Authors: Amanda Filipacchi and Kevin Smokler

Condition of Bat Segundo: In an unspecified condition of “pain.” More sober than usual, pining for scotch and merlot.

Subjects Discussed: Stalking, dark comedy, intense behavior, Harriet Klausner, chick lit, keeping lists, sex, the politically incorrect, the menage a trois, class-based characters, free time, book tours, the relationship between publishers and online literary venues, FSG and Christopher Sorrentino’s Trance, the next generation of writers (McSweeney’s as homogeneous voice?), the telegenic requirements of writers, the cult of personality, clarifying the “Reading at Risk” controversy, the intentions of Bookmark Now, literary standards vs. enthusiasm, the Iliad as logline, responding to the “writing in unreaderly times” flap, individual vs. group reading, explaining the Nicholson Baker acknowledgment.

Listen: Play in new window | Download

by Edward Champion

Yes, We’ve Sold Out

Finally, one of our esteemed colleagues had the balls to point out the obvious. All this time, while we organized groups to discuss neglected authors, delved into the world of podcasting, and had the temerity to redesign this site so that it was easier on the eye, our purpose all along was to start reading junk like Dan Brown and J.K. Rowling. To hell with Chris Sorrentino, Lee Martin, Kirby Gann, or Elliot Perlman. Pay no attention to Soft Skull or Melville House. All along, it’s been our secret desire to lie to you about the hacks and the wastrels who continue to have their work published because it sells.

That’s because we’re apparently a “mainstream bookblogger.” We’re so mainstream that we successfully avoided the cut at Forbes — lest they announce our grand deception to embrace the capitalist system in all its totality. It’s why we flew to New York for BookExpo. We slept with at least fifteen publicists while we were there and had a tray of canapes served on a publicity manager’s back. We called her “Rover.” She barked every time we put a Ben Frankin in her mouth. Word on the street is that we’re now something of a “sugar daddy.”

We used our sizable LBC influence to ensure that a book as scabrous and mainstream as Kate Atkinson’s Case Histories won the last round. And rest assured, the book with the biggest publicity budget will win, come September. Substantial checks are being sent as we speak.

It was our maintream status, of course, that forced us to renounce the Tanenhaus Brownie Watch and that compelled us to avoiding any image-invisible content.

Selling out has, in fact, been the best possible thing we’ve ever done. And we encourage you to do the same. Because that’s the way things work in 21st Century America. The men with the fine suits always win.

So buckle up, kids. You can be sugar daddies (and sugar mommies) too!

by Edward Champion

Brownie Watch on Hiatus

As others have pointed out, the NYTBR is once again an embarassment. It’s the same old song. Richard Posner’s essay is not so much a book review but an excuse to whine about the blogosphere. The writers remain, for the most part, male, offering dull and uninteresting coverage for dull and uninteresting books. The insufferable Joe Queennan continues to earn a paycheck.

We’re so disheartened by the NYTBR now that we must temporarily take leave of the Tanenhaus Brownie Watch if we are to remain emotionally and mentally stable. Too many of our Sunday newspapers have soaked up our tears. It is only the crossword now that gives us comfort. We cry for Tanenhaus’ choice. The adjective “Faustian” comes to mind. We sob over the dismal state of current book coverage. But most of all, since we have enjoyed delivering brownies to him (yes, they have actually been delivered) on the rare occasions that Tanenhaus has cut the mustard (with, of course, not a single thank you note or email from the man), we firmly believe that Sam Tanenhaus cannot and defiantly will not produce a weekly book review section worth reading. Thus, Tanenhaus himself has ensured that no brownies can be delivered and the onus comes back to us in the end.

So we’ve put our little experiment on hiatus. The point has been demonstrated time and time again. We’ve kenneled the little doggy away. And oh does he whimper!

But one day, when Mr. Tanenhaus least expects it and we have talked out this book review contretemps over with our therapist, the brownies will, once again, be rightfully denied.