Category / Roundup

by Edward Champion

Roundup — The Truth Version

  • Harry Crews gets the Gray Lady treatment, motherfuckahs! The man is back in action after an eight year absence with An American Family. I am now convinced that the only way to save the NYTBR is to put Crews in a room with Sammy Boy with the latter skittering away like a soused titmouse. (via Maud)
  • GOB checks out Edinburgh. So does that Rory fellow. All the excitement gets me in a theatrical tizzy, determined at some future point to provide another strange homegrown Fringe entertainment.
  • Foer in Brazil. Hardly the meat and greet you expected.
  • From a Susan Sontag commencement speech: “Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s kiss on your forehead. Pay attention. It’s all about paying attention. Attention is vitality. It connects you with others. It makes you eager. Stay eager.”
  • And speaking of which, let’s get all this Bill Hicks revival bidness out of the way right now. Without a doubt, the man was great. But he’s been dead now for twelve years and I haven’t seen a single standup comic dare to speak the truth to the people. This whole sanctimonious business of “What would Bill Hicks do?” has reached a point where I want to throttle the sycophantic joke slingers who play it safe, who underestimate their audience’s intelligence, and who risk this fear of offending. If these comics do put upon an offensive stance, like Lisa Lampanelli or Bobby Slayton, it’s on the personal insult level, as opposed to comedy that reflects the cruel absurdities and the pernicious sociological factors around us. And don’t give me Margaret Cho or Chris Rock, both “brash” comic talents who, nevertheless, play it safe and who, as a result, stand forever in the long shadow of Bruce, early Carlin, Pryor and Hicks. Have we really reached the point where standup comedy can no longer present us with fresh insight? Have we really reached a point where we must look more than a decade backwards to find some fucking shred of truth hurled into the crowd?
  • RIP Madman Moskowitz.
  • The Epoch Times talks with Gao Zhisheng days before his arrest. More on Gao’s efforts to fight oppression here.
  • Elizabeth Gaskell’s Manchester home is crumbling away and efforts are being made to save it.
  • There’s an interesting marketing campaign for Orwell’s 1984 referred to as “literary littering.”
by Edward Champion

Roundup

  • Kevin Smokler introduces “social jet lag” as his word of the day. It’s defined as a condition “when your social commitments reeks havoc on your physical well being.” I know just where Kevin’s coming from, as I’ve been a bit woozy with a touch of the flu over the last few days (as such, postings will be lighter than the norm this week). But the most troubling aspect is that nobody who suffers from this affliction can collect frequent flyer miles or claim an evening of free drinks after X number of social commitments. I hereby beseech some universal authority to reward those who throw themselves so willingly into the fray. Benevolence, bibulous rewards, and boisterous transference must be handed out with celerity!
  • In celebration of Michael Martone’s Michael Martone, the LBC has been unleashing all manner of contributor’s notes. There should be a podcast featuring Martone and nominator Daniel Green up on Thursday.
  • Brad Melzer is releasing the first chapter of his new novel, The Book of Fate, in comic book form. The first chapter will appear in Justice League of America #1. Melzer, responsible for the rape and murder of the wives of two superheroes, claims that he wants to bridge the gap between comic book reader and book reader. But the real question here is how a potboiler involving Freemasonry has anything to do with the DC universe, revamped or otherwise.
  • Dorothy Givens Terry wrote a novel during her daily commute time. The novel’s plot concerns itself with a woman who travels on buses and trains and, in the novel’s most most moving moments, befriends a busker who reveals the great secret to scoring free Metrocards. Later, the two audition for a reality TV show and become the sensation of the nation. The Metrocard represents a grand metaphor for the price of singing badly and asking for change in a conformist society. Is a rectangular card the ultimate reward for amateurish talent? Or must one debase one’s self in front of a television camera to find fame and fortune in our society? These narrative questions and more await you in Terry’s I Rode the Eighth Avenue Express Like a Pony, optioned by the Metropolitan Transportation Authority for a short promotional film.
  • Lev Grossman: “You’ll be relieved to know that it’s possible to have a nonawkward conversation with Curtis Sittenfeld.” Does Lev know something we don’t?
  • C. Max Magee offers a roundup of Booker news.
  • George Pelecanos. No, let me say that again. George Fucking Pelecanos is guesting over at Sarah’s.
  • Apparently, you can teach your dog to read. The efforts have been so successful that canines have begun to offer literary criticism. Here is Spot, a dalmation in Peoria, IL, offering his thoughts on William Gass’s The Tunnel: “Roohff. Grrrrr. Rohfff rohff rohfff. (tongue wagging out) Yip yip. Rohffff.” Hopeless gibberish? To your foolish human ears, perhaps. But that’s only because you don’t speak dog. Shortly after uttering this, Spot humped his owner’s leg. I leave readers to opine whether this was Spot’s way of telling his owner that he wanted to be neutered or that the power of Gass’s work caused a great wave of energy to suffuse Spot’s being, giving him a great urge to copulate with the first thing in the room.
  • A followup on the Bush-Camus connection from Slate’s John Dickerson.
  • George Orwell’s estate has cancelled a Fringe show based on Animal Farm. Splendid Productions, the group behind the show, was stupid enough not to obtain permission. This may piss a few of my fellow theatrical friends off, but I don’t care. I’ve long been bothered by the reliance upon pop cultural facsimiles to bring in audiences (Evil Dead Live, The Twilight Zone, and the like come to mind). It contributes to a retrograde Fringe culture where people overlook the fine work of Banana, Bag and Bodice and mugwumpin in favor of theatrical diversions no different from their home entertainment centers or their bookshelves. I hope this serves as a lesson to the ragamuffins and the hacks who can’t be bothered to whip up narratives of their own. Theatre is all about putting yourself on the line, not capitulating to a passing pop cultural whim.
  • Newsday has a lengthy piece on literary sophomore slumps. (via Jeff)
  • AC/DC & Derrida.
  • Is the New York Times trying to cater to hipsters?
  • Pretty Fakes on Ray Davies’ Return to Waterloo.
  • There’s another crazed fiction contest at Miss Snark’s: this time, involving Bella Stander.
  • Grumpy Old Bookman: “I am inclined to think that Periel Aschenbrand’s principal skill is not so much in writing as in marketing. I suspect that she used these skills to good effect in getting this book published. Either that, or her uncle runs the company.”
  • David Blum has been named the new Voice EIC.
  • Are Amazon rankings meaningless? Does a bear, you know…? (via Scott)
  • Sam Leith: “I never knew book-signing was competitive.” (via Bookninja)
  • More Americans know who Harry Potter is than Tony Blair.
  • And Sigourney Weaver, sexy and smart and daughter of the forgotten Pat Weaver, how can you let me down?
by Edward Champion

Roundup

  • Danielle Torres offers this intriguing guessing game: Which author slept in which house? But I don’t think the game is entirely fair. Where are the garrets? The leaking faucets? The empty cabinets? In short, where are the midlisters?
  • I don’t know what’s sillier: the notion of Bruce Willis appearing in another Die Hard movie or the ridiculous title.
  • Novelist Geoff Nicholson has written an expose on sex collecting. Nicholson couldn’t get an interview with Paul Reubens, but he got a dinner date with the late Linda Lovelace. It is rumored that the book’s original title was My Dinner with Bukkake.
  • If you haven’t had your fill of lists (and let’s face it: after X number of shopping lists, one pines for anything outside the norm), Penguin and The Times present a list of bests pertaining to the Penguin Classics. But I’m going to have to disagree on The Old Curiosity Shop as a “Best Tearjerker.” I’m about as crazed a Dickens freak as they come and when I first read Curiosity many years ago, I admired its interesting parallels with The Pilgrim’s Progress, but even I must side with Oscar Wilde for the book’s ridiculous sentimentalism.
  • Continuous partial attention applied to fiction writing? “But what grabs the attention of unsuspecting passersby is a warm, inviting smile and a sign that reads, ‘I’m writing a novel. If you’d like, please come talk to me about it.'”
  • The Globe and Mail reports that heavy Internet users don’t socialize with their loved ones and spend less time doing household chores. But the difference is only about 30 minutes. In other words, someone who is spending 30 minutes more on the Internet is spending 30 minutes less doing other things. Brilliant detective work, Statistics Canada! Can I buy you an abacus? (via Scribbling Woman)
by Edward Champion

Roundup

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by Edward Champion

Roundup

  • Pinky remembers Rupert Pole, who recently passed away. Pole was otherwise known as Anais Nin’s lover and (later) executor of her estate. But if it weren’t for Pole’s presence, I’d have to mention the story anyway, simply because any tale involving a barechested 70 year old man, asparagus and NPR is simply too good to pass up.
  • Le Haggis asks Curtis Sittenfeld 20 cues. One response: “I know it’s sort of fun and frothy to imagine literary feuds, but I don’t think every negative review comes from the reviewer’s malice.” Really, Curtis? Calling Melissa Bank a slut ain’t malicious? Well, by that measure, here is my “review” of The Man of My Dreams: I saw Curtis’s phone number in the bathroom. People have told me she’s great in bed, the way literary novelists are often perceived to be great in bed. She will even let you tie her up if you ask politely. But mostly she wants to manacle your wrist to your leg without your permission and she doesn’t rectify this when you cry out the safe word. This has been an unmalicious review.
  • Salman Rushdie vs. Germaine Greer redux. (via Bookninja)
  • Laila Lalami reviews Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home.
  • The next victim of Turkish literary censorship: Elif Shafak.
  • Laura Lippman talks with the Toledo Blade: “That’s one of the great things about having worked in a newsroom. I don’t need a completely silent retreat from the world. As a matter of fact, I like working in a place that’s buzzy like a coffeehouse. All I need is my laptop.”
  • Will the late Montreal novelist Hugh MacLennan make a comeback from beyond the grave?
  • Ron Silliman on Clark Coolidge.
  • A 2001 interview with John Berger. (via wood s lot)
  • Kerp on Fesperman.
  • Who knew that Sarah Waters’ The Night Watch was a beach read? (And there is also some indication in that list that Updike’s Terrorist is getting a warmer reception across the Atlantic.)
  • Hard SF: a new review site to investigate. (via Locus)