BEA Bullets (The Runaway Edition)
Written byPosted on June 1, 2007
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- The crooked bastards at Javits want $29.95/day for wi-fi. And if you think I’m paying that much for wireless, you’ve got to be fucking kidding. The problem then becomes what to do in between the crazy period on the floor that ends at 5PM and the partying that begins at 7PM. Keep in mind that you have subway/cab traveling time, just enough minutes to wolf down some dinner (if you’re lucky), and barely enough time to offer reports. But here are some things I noticed.
- I met John Freeman for the first time in many years today — the first time since high school at any rate. It was an effort to break the ice, to stop the needless strife between print and online, to think about the future and work together. He didn’t recognize me. He quite literally convulsed when I told him I was Ed Champion. Maybe he was alarmed by the bandage on my head. I don’t know. (I’ll get to the bandage in a minute.) Whatever the case, if Freeman’s quick sprint away from me is any indication of his diplomatic skills, I don’t think he’s interested too much in reconciliation. But I will keep trying. Even if Freeman continues to run away from me.
- Colson Whitehead also ran away from me twice at the LBC Party last night, but at least he had the decency to shake my hand.
- Richard Nash didn’t run away from me, but the two of us shouted “Fucking Brooklyn!” many times. So I think we’re on good terms.
- John Leonard didn’t run away from me, but I’m happy to report that he is as nice as he is intelligent. More on the Ethics in Book Reviewing Panel later.
- As far as I know, no women ran away from me. Maybe this is a guy thing.
- One of the most hilarious moments of the day was kicking around the Tin House martini offering (note to Tin House: you’re going to need to work on the martini mix) with Steve Wasserman and David Ulin. Believe it or not, Wasserman and Hitch go way back. I’ll have more to report later.
- Chad Post did not run away from me. In fact, I ran into him three times today. Just as I did last year. (He doesn’t know about the third time. I ran away myself, fearing overexposure.)
- The boys at The Millions haven’t run away from me. Nor has Mr. Sarvas, despite his rather amazing meeting schedule, which presumably prohibits running away.
- Yes, there is a bandage on my head. While walking to Javits, my head collided against a sign post. There was a Peckinpah-like gush of blood. I was in the middle of nowhere without a bandage. I panicked, but later applied a bandage, which was a great litmus test. Some people avoided me, fearing the bandage. Others thought me something of a renegade.
- Must dash for parties. Must run away. More later.
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Books To Jump Up and Down Over
Beyond Heaving Bosoms by Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan. The famed writers behind Smart Bitches, Trashy Books have written a very funny and thoughtful volume about romances, both Old Skool and New Skool. Here is a book that any smug and humorless literary manboy beating his flabby passive chest over Banville or Bolano should probably read pronto, if only for the distant possibility that he might get over himself. While the Choose Your Own Adventure segment at the end caused me to have a very disturbing dream involving Shelley Long (don't ask), Sarah and Candy did have me rethinking many of my own misperceptions when I wasn't busy laughing. They're not afraid to take on the New York Times Bok Review or even the groupthink within certain sectors of the romance community.
Alice Fantastic by Maggie Estep. This wild and highly enjoyable narrative involves two sisters (presumably, the third one was still being rented out by Chekhov), a hippie ex-junkie mother who lives with seventeen dogs, a murder, gambling, and libidinous Hollywood actresses who live in Woodstock. But this is the wonderful Maggie Estep we're talking here. And what seems at first like a quirky yarn becomes something unexpectedly moving about connectivity. What I love about Estep's work is the way that she'll juxtapose an extremely astute observation (now that you mention it, why do cab drivers always have somebody to talk with on the phone past midnight?) with an often outrageous story development.
Generosity by Richard Powers. It doesn't come out until September 29th, but Richard Powers's latest will have anyone committed to books reconsidering their literary fervor. I foresee some animosity from the vanilla critics hostile to idea-driven novels, but book bloggers, YouTube chroniclers, and MFAs would do well to plunge into this chance-taking narrative, which introduces vital questions about what the reader's relationship is with media, scientific dissection, and "creative nonfiction." Are we rats fleeing to happy cities? Or can we find the humanism within the purported plague?
Pieces for the Left Hand by J. Robert Lennon. Lennon is one of the most underrated fiction writers working today. Much as On the Night Plain proved that Lennon had a lot more in the toolbox than heartfelt (and often very funny) suburban satire, this slim but fascinating volume juxtaposes 100 small-town anecdotes -- arranged by category -- in a manner that reads, at times, like Nicholson Baker's passions for minutiae and, at other times, Stewart O'Nan's concern for psychological detail. The result is fiction that makes us wonder about whether one person's subjective view of particulars can entirely be trusted. This book never found a publisher in 2005. But thankfully, Graywolf has released it in the United States, along with Lennon's latest novel, The Castle.
Wonderful World by Javier Calvo. This wonderfully raucous volume has been completely ignored by the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times. But it's probably one of the most delightful reading experiences I've had this year. Calvo cavalierly mashes up multiple genres and manages to mix up familial subtext with larger-than-life, almost cartoonish characters. (Indeed, one might argue that one mobster's penis is a character of its own in this sprawling novel.). This is not an easy thing to pull off, but Calvo makes it work. And it's helped immeasurably by Mara Faye Lethem's idiom-specific translation. (See longer post.)
The Means of Reproduction, Michelle Goldberg This thoughtful book tackles the complicated (and little discussed) subject of reproductive rights from numerous angles, which includes a number of unpleasant but necessary ones. The upshot is that there isn't a quick fix solution for declining birth rates and fundamentalist abuses. Just about every political faction has contributed to the friction. But you'll want to read this book anyway to refamiliarize yourself with the topic, but also to understand just what's occurred during the past several decades to get us where we are today. (See also podcast interview with Goldberg.)
It’s important to select the least threatening bandage you can find, you know, and damn the expense. Similarly, don’t touch the messy food if you’re wearing a tie or a pastel shirt.
You’ve been in New York how long? And you’ve already gotten hurt?
Bet you’re missing those warm fuzzy West Coast signposts.
I just read your review of After Dark in the Times. I have never been overly fond of the self-aware omniscient narrator, but I agree that it works very well in this novel.
In any case, it is a welcome change in his style, which for me, had gotten a bit tired since Sputnik Sweetheart.
Enjoy NY!
You’ve already been wounded? Maybe you should move to a basement in Terre Haute!
Are there any Basement in Terre Haute t-shirts yet? I need one.