BBC: “He described Lookey as a ‘basic mind game, played with movies as game boards.’ The idea is for the viewer to identify all the Lookeys in the film – said to be between five and seven – with a prize of 30,000 Danish kroner (£2,728) going to the first person to do so.”
Year / 2006
Goncourt A-Go Go
A Different Stripe points to this Adam Kirsch article about the Goncourt Brothers, who were the naturalist forerunner of today’s gossip columnists. I don’t entirely buy the NYRB‘s claim that the Goncourt Brothers’ journal (recently republished) represents “a masterpiece of French literature written during the era,” particularly since this comes from the people who published the book. But an excerpt can be found here and this 1937 Time article suggests that the journals, among the few Goncourt texts to make it into the 20th century, are a “racy record” and the Goncourts considered their friend Flaubert to be “a great water of time, forgetting himself in things he picks up to read, and constantly running away from the book he is writing.” Perhaps the Goncourts were among the first litbloggers.
The Worst Book Covers of 2006
Bookslut revealed the Best Book Covers of 2006. But, just as Sherlock Holmes has Moriarty, just as Doctor Who has the Master, and just as that 1040 tax refund has an overwhelming amount of paperwork, so too does the publishing industry have its bastard stepchildren.
Behold! Here are the worst book covers (often for perfectly worthwhile books) for 2006.
Eat the Document by Dana Spiotta: Bad enough that we see a monochromatic image of a woman clad in a sweater and jeans that tells us absolutely nothing about the book. (Is this an academic response to Our Bodies, Ourselves or a novel?) But that horrid yellow text, intended to capture the wretched typographical triumphs of the 1970s, causes this eyesore to be a classic case of a book being unfairly discriminated against by its cover. No wonder this fantastic novel didn’t sell so well earlier this year. Thankfully, the paperback version has a much better cover.
Talk Talk by T.C. Boyle: I don’t know about you, but nothing gets me more interested in reading a book than seeing an extreme close up of a mouth, complete with a pink saliva-drenched gum and a slightly offset tooth. The book’s title appears in the mouth’s cavernous onyx, suggesting to the reader that she will be eaten alive. But since there is no lower row of teeth here, how can the reader be sure of this? And what’s with the intermittent yellow text? Will the reader catch gingivitis? Is there any significance to the letter A? Or does the A stand for Ass? This is another good book marred by a gormless cover.
The Company by Max Barry: A glazed donut, per se, is not necessarily a bad thing, except of course when a photographer is foolish enough to get an extreme close-up of its transfat gooiness (complete with drop shadow!), the white frosting and oil revealed for its sickening nature courtesy of reflective light. What’s even more abysmal is that some unknown figure has taken a bite out of this disgusting donut. If I wanted to be reminded of the dark side of human gluttony, I’d spend the day at a Dunkin Donuts watching people deposit their spoils. This is a sickening cover. The photographer should have just hired a drunkard to spew into a bright red bucket. (You’ll notice too that the first three covers listed here use variants of yellow, little realizing that this hue is a hopeless choice unless you’re a really good designer.)
The Stolen Child by Keith Donohue: Hello Mr. Tree! Please be my friend! I’m stretching my arms in the air! Or not. Maybe I’m trying to wrap my arms impossibly around your great trunk? I really don’t know, but I’m sure the cover designer knows! Because there’s apparently GREAT IMPORT in my strange juxtaposition. But never mind me. You, Mr. Tree, are the reason why people should buy this book! You’re big and you’re strong and you’re gray! Really, really gray! Never mind that your size is outright preternatural or that you’re cast against a puke-green skyscape that will keep me off key lime pie for the next six months. This is a fairy tale! A fairy tale that must mean something.
Culture Warrior by Bill O’Reilly: Nothing says “this man means business” than a constipated-looking Bill O’Reilly dressed in a blue hoodie, with O’Reilly’s tousled hair (or what’s left of it) suggesting that the man’s recovering from a weekend bender at a ski resort. But in case you weren’t convinced of O’Reilly’s seriousness, there’s an American flag to his right. And in case you weren’t aware that this was a book about America, there’s red and white text, with the red text clashing horribly against the background photo.
Dishonorable Mentions: Richard Ford’s The Lay of the Land (blue as far as the eye can vomit!); Kiran Desai’s The Inheritance of Loss (would it have killed the designers to consider text legibility?); and Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion (a conceptual failure reminiscent of Minoru Yamasaki’s lifeless contributions to architecture).
Holiday Time Killer
The Top 50 Music Videos of 2006. Some obvious picks (OK Go, Gnarls Barkley), but any list that includes Xiu Xiu can’t be all bad.
Why The Spoken Word Grammies Are Useless
I could truly care less about Mary J. Blige’s nomination sweep of the Grammies. What does interest me is the Spoken Word aspect. Alas, this year’s Spoken Word set of nominees are about as far as one can get from genuine poets. Bob Newhart? Bill Maher? Sure, these folks are somewhat effective comedians in their own right, but they are hardly poets. Al Franken? Well, if whiny mainstream “comedians” who take no chances and tell liberals what they already want to hear are indicative of “storytelling,” then let the Two Buck Chuck flow.
This leaves us with Ossie Davis & Ruby Dee reading their autobiography and Jimmy Carter, who actually has written some poetry, although his nomination is for Our Endangered Values: America’s Moral Crisis, about as “poetic” in nature as Franken’s schtick.
Granted, the Grammies, like most awards ceremonies, are pretty pointless. And there’s no reason to expect them to honor the rich and eclectic millieu of audio books. But if the category in question “includes Poetry, Audio Books & Storytelling,” why doesn’t a single nomination feature poetry? If the celebrities are getting greater recognition, why not create a new category dedicated exclusively to literature?
Well, we can’t have that. Billy Collins, Maya Angelou, and Donald Hall aren’t nearly as sexy as Blige strutting her stuff. Gonna breakthrough? Not on your life.