- I have been apprised that the DSL man is coming tomorrow. The current roundup malaise, which is ever so slight, involves a great deal of my possessions in disarray. Nevertheless, I shall endeavor to apply more wit, even though the shaky connection may very well result in an inadvertent capitulation of what I am trying to type.
- I see that the Chicago Tribune has shown some good sense by employing one Lizzie Skurnick to limn S.E. Hinton’s oeuvre, sans Michiko’s ungainly verb, while another Lizzie, who answers to the title of books editor, interviews Ms. Hinton as well. However, one very important question has been elided from Ms. Taylor’s queries: What does Ms. Hinton think of Brian Atene’s performance?
- A number of bloggers are now tackling Anne of Green Gables. I had no idea that an annotated version existed!
- Pinky tempts with this picture of Michael Silverblatt. There are important questions here: Was there audio? What occurred during the inevitable conversation? I understand that there have been many run-ins between a certain Silverblatt impersonator by the name of Tod Goldberg and Mr. Silverblatt himself, but none have been memorialized in audio form. The least one demands from such a meeting of the minds is documentary evidence. Future scholars must know just how much the KCRW vernacular infringes upon the real-life Silverblatt. And if Ms. Kellogg reneged on this historical obligation (as did Mr. Fox with his BEA videos?), then a gross journalistic injustice has almost certainly been committed.
- Are BBC stars being paid too much? In the interests of self-preservation, leave it to BBC News to set the record straight. “You recently got married. When did you get married?” “Do you think it’s better than the last series?” That’s right! Such penetrating journalistic insight can be yours for £6 million/year. For the price of Jonathan Ross’s three-year salary, you could feed a great number of homeless people. I would contend that if you were to remove Jonathan Ross from television, the chances are almost certain that very few would notice his absence. Six million sandwiches in one year would make a bigger impact on the landscape than a year’s worth of Jonathan Ross’s insipid questions.
- Bob Hoover contends that there’s nothing to get excited about at BEA this year. He suggests that there isn’t a single buzz book — “no frontrunner for the eagerly anticipated novel or sensational memoir.” I must presume that Bob Hoover is no fan of Bolano.
- Word has at long last leaked out about David Ulin’s clones. In fact, there are at least six Ulins that I know of. One was actually in Brooklyn over the weekend, helping me move. Another was at a Burbank studio, serving on the panel for the prospective reality television pilot “America’s Next Book Critic.” This leaves two more Ulins that have yet to be accounted for, although a few embarrassing photos have been uploaded to Flickr. What I do know is that Ronald D. Moore was so inspired by the many Ulins that a pivotal storyline in Battlestar Galactica‘s fourth season was drawn from these developments.
- Writers suggest books to various presidential candidates. (via Maud)
- YA authors are now demanding seven figure advances. There are even a few unreported requests for manservants, underground seraglios, helper monkeys, football stadium-sized swimming pools for the summer, and only the finest cocaine. These YA authors are not only determined to become very rich, but they hope to flaunt their avarice with all the eclat of a sportscar driving through Detroit. (via Gwenda)
A Slightly More Pellucid Roundup
– June 2, 2008Posted in: Roundup
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
I was at that same party as Mark Sarvas. We also remarked upon the Ulin clone, as did several other people. “Dude, I’ve looked over at that guy four times and only now realized he’s not David Ulin. That is uncanny.” etc.
There was no one Buzz Book, but I anticipate the hot topic for 2009 fiction will be witches. Two Salem Witch Trial themed novels were announced at the Editor’s Buzz panel. I’ve already forgotten everything about them. But expect that your mom and her book club friends will be all into witches next year, juts like they were all into geishas a couple years back.