Head implodes.

Philip K. Dick, “How to Build a Universe That Doesn’t Fall Apart”: “Do not believe — and I am dead serious when I say this — do not assume that order and stability are always good, in a society or in a universe. The old, the ossified, must always give way to new life and the birth of new things. Before the new things can be born the old must perish. This is a dangerous realization, because it tells us that we must eventually part with much of what is familiar to us. And that hurts. But that is part of the script of life. Unless we can psychologically accommodate change, we ourselves begin to die, inwardly. What I am saying is that objects, customs, habits, and ways of life must perish so that the authentic human being can live. And it is the authentic human being who matters most, the viable, elastic organism which can bounce back, absorb, and deal with the new.” (via Books, Words & Writing)

The Top Ten Video Moments from 2006, although it seems a major oversight not to include this one.

2006 wouldn’t be complete without another inept appearance from those dimwitted trendsetters at the Slate Audio Book Club! When last we checked in with the gang, they had moved on from racist generalizations and had declared Michael Pollan’s investigations into how food is prepared and distributed as “yuppie fussiness.” Not to be outdone, these infamous Three Amigos look into Claire Messud’s The Emperor’s Children.

Meghan O’Rourke is sometimes a good critic and the smartest of the bunch (although being smarter than Roiphe and Metcalf is as seminal an achievement as knowing how to speak Pig Latin). But she sounds bored here, unable to muster up a single shred of enthusiasm, which is odd given her enthusiasm for the book in the NYTBR. It’s as if she just emerged from a day of watching Antonioni’s L’Avventura on an endless loop to impress a few friends. She introduces Stephen Metcalf and Katie “Pipsqueak Ph.D.” Roiphe. She offers a plot summary that makes Messud’s splendid novel no fun at all, a noticeable huff in her voice representing one of two possibilities: either she has to spend another hour suffering generalizations from these two assclowns or she’s going to kill multimedia editor Andy Bowers for setting her up with this gig in the first place.

“We’ll get more into the plot because it’s somewhat ornate and elaborate,” huffs O’Rourke.

Did O’Rourke and I read the same book? If by “ornate and elaborate,” you mean a novel that features more than three characters, then I suppose O’Rourke has a point. Perhaps the assumption here made by the Book Club members (and Bowers) is that those listening in to this podcast have an attention span shorter than Warwick Davis. But if she genuinely believes that Messud’s book features a plot that’s difficult to follow, then perhaps she should be leading her fellow Book Club members into a discussion of Jacqueline Sussan’s oeuvre instead of Messud.

Katie Roiphe is the first to chirp in, remarking that the book is just great. Golly! Because first and foremost it’s a page-turner (again, Sussan sounds more her speed) and that Messud has “higher literary aspirations.” And you know, like, maybe there might be “some element of the kind of 19th century novel,” but, like totally, I can’t figure out what it might be. Could it be a novel of manners? That’s what Meghan said. Yeah! That’s 19th century novel, isn’t it? Maybe I can get to Malibu by day’s end and catch some waves.

But here’s Roiphe’s most profound observation: “It does go into their lives in a way that’s deeper than the kind of usual coming-of-age book, which this sort of falls into roughly into the category of.”

Metcalf then emerges into this folderol, offering the smug pronouncement that he found the early portions of the book better than the latter portions. “We can get into why later.” This is the kind of sentence you hear from someone who wants you to believe he knows what he’s talking about, but who hasn’t really thought out his argument.

Falling naturally into the role of smug parvenu, Metcalf then pronounces, “When I liked it most, I was thinking of Edith Wharton. When I liked it less, well, I was thinking of Zadie Smith’s last book. When I liked it least, I was thinking of David Lodge. And I think it oscillates between those three.”

Fantastic, Stephen. Not a single example elucidating why. Just generalizations as usual with random authors tossed around like throw rugs in a bathroom. It says something about Metcalf’s humorlessness that he thinks so little of David Lodge. But then The Emperor’s Children is neither an academic satire nor a sex comedy. Did this guy even read the damn book? Or was this one of those situations where Metcalf read the book the night before with his mouth permanently affixed to a bottle of bourbon?

Amazingly, Roiphe is at least capable of parsing the Anglicized vernacular within the book. (Metcalf finds this a distraction.) But alas, she sees this as a flaw, apparently unfamiliar with the Anglicized bloviators who can be overheard during any three-block walk through Chelsea or the Marina. Alas, Roiphe is more content to flap her maw rather than actually listen or stop to think.

Close to the four minute mark, I had had quite enough of this, particularly when Katie name-checked her dear mama.

The Slate Audio Book Club is a very good idea. But the only way for it to be meaningful is to up the intellectual bar, have the show’s participants offer some kind of enthusiasm, and pair Meghan O’Rourke up with two people who know what the hell they’re talking about.

One thing I love about year’s end is the funky list. 10 Zen Monkeys serves up another: The Worst Vlogs of 2006. (Thanks, David Cassel.)

And speaking of top ten, now that Xmas is past and we’re all paying off our credit cards, my own top ten books list will appear in the next few days.

And now that I’ve conquered the cold, you’ll also be getting some more podcasts that I had hoped to offer before Xmas, as well as the beginnings of the Pynchon roundtable, very soon. Never let it be said that you didn’t have content from me to help you nurse your hangovers.

I had been holding off on the news until I had more details, but since Megan popped the cherry on this goodness, I’ll simply point you over to Bookdwarf and let you get the skinny yourself: Rupert Thomson’s got a brand new bag in 2007.

It’s safe to say that if you haven’t read Rupert Thomson, you’re missing out big time. Get thee to a bookstore immediately and start with The Book of Revelation. The man’s got the chops and more. You can also listen to his appearance earlier this year on The Bat Segundo Show.

If you sent me an email yesterday, please try again. I may not have received it. I’ve just rectified some email issues.

• Finally, a “Home & Garden” article I can concur with: “An anti-anticlutter movement is afoot, one that says yes to mess and urges you to embrace your disorder. Studies are piling up that show that messy desks are the vivid signatures of people with creative, limber minds (who reap higher salaries than those with neat “office landscapes”) and that messy closet owners are probably better parents and nicer and cooler than their tidier counterparts. It’s a movement that confirms what you have known, deep down, all along: really neat people are not avatars of the good life; they are humorless and inflexible prigs, and have way too much time on their hands.” I vary between a messy desk and a clean desk. I like variety. And the neatniks can go waste their lives spending every spare moment squirting mildew remover around the house. I don’t have time for that OCD shit. Once a week (or two or sometimes three weeks) is good enough for me. (via Pinky & Gwenda; can’t remember where I saw it first so I’ll credit both!)
• Paul Collins is a brave man, but not nearly as brave as Jeffrey Steingarten.
• My copy of The Paris Review Interviews has languished in the TBR pile, but Scott offers some compelling reasons why it’s worth your time. Apparently, Richard Price pitched Clockers to publishers by the conviction of his oral pitch, as opposed to the book in question.
• Someone call PETA!
• So Debbie Weil suggests that if you don’t have multimedia on your weblog next year, you’re “sooooooooo 2006.” I contend that if you have a stiff black and white photo of yourself where you’re really trying to offer a genuine smile but can’t and you end up, as a result, resembling a humorless* realtor to be avoided at all costs, then you’re sooooooooooooo 1986. (via Maxine)
• Mr. Magee has a helpful recap for those who missed his “Year in Reading” series.
• Philip Gourevitch on James Brown. (2002)
• Wait a minute. Michael Orthofer’s actually taking a day off?
• A Conan Doyle Holmes adventure in the Times. (via Book Glutton)
• Bizarre as fuck Terry Pratchett profile. (via Jenny D)
• BookFox observes that the NYTBR finally got around to reviewing What is the What? yesterday — a good two months after the book was released. That’ll show the blogosphere, Tanenhaus! Timely news!

* — Argumentative support for modifier: Ms. Weil believes Six Apart’s bland corporate holiday video to be “funny” when it is nothing less than bullshit marketing.

• Dean Koontz writing Xmas books? Wrong on multiple levels.
• Ngugi wa Thoing’o believes the death sentence handed to his assailants was too harsh. I’ll have more to say about The Wizard of the Crow sooner than you think. (via Critical Mass, which is currently buffeting a train wreck of colossal proportions)
• J.K. Rowling is a domain squatter.
• Darwin’s letters have been auctioned off for a cool £33 million. Unfortunately, the letters in question involve an uninteresting exchange between Darwin and a brash cook harassing Darwin for a recipe for Galapogos Turtle Stew. As any gourmand knows, turtle isn’t a particularly good stew meat. And Darwin had attempted to break this news gently to the cook, pointing out that he had more pressing controversies to deal with, such as the hostile reception to The Origin of Species. But the cook persisted for some months ago, before disappearing altogether. Several Darwin biographers believe that this cook later found a job among a cannibal tribe in New Guinea, where his recipes found greater success. Unfortunately, the cook inevitably sacrificed himself in the name of his calling.
• The Indy Star has some details on Stephen King’s Dark Tower comic adaptation for Marvel.
• If you’re an “aspiring crime novelist,” this might not be the way to conduct research. For the record, I too am an “aspiring novelist,” but there are more effective euphemisms one can use to get laid.
• The Guardian talks with publishers about books that just missed their sales marks.
• Another roundup post later. Still trying to catch up.

I heard the news shortly before getting on a plane. James Brown, a talent who comes once in a lifetime, is dead. I’ll have more to say about Mr. Brown’s majestic achievements and what he means to cultural history later. In the meantime, I’ll be shaking my money maker in tribute to the hardest working man in show business.

Ron Hogan roasts Dave Itzkoff over an open fire.

Too tough on Itzokoff? Not really. After you’ve read Itzkoff’s moronic and uninformed review, which is far worse than the “impulsive, first-draft ethos of the blogosphere” in its almost total ignorance of science fiction (citing only Heinlein as a comparative influence), you can read my informed review of Rudy Rucker over at the Los Angeles Times, which was half the length of Itzkoff’s and managed to get in comparisons with Bruce Sterling, William Gibson, Robert Sheckley, Connie Willis, Kelly Link and many others.

You see, unlike Mr. Itzkoff, I actually conduct vigorous research for my reviews so that I can offer an informed position, which is what I’m paid to do. (I read six Rudy Rucker books for my review and reviewed many volumes from my library to insure that my comparisons were correct.) This is, after all, what a professional does. Or what I’ve always assumed does. To do anything less is the stance of an amateur.

But apparently such basic journalistic procedure is beneath Itzkoff. He slings John Scalzi’s name in the mud by remarking on his online popularity and pointing out that he writes in more ignoble publications like The Official U.S. PlayStation Magazine. What this has anything to do with Scalzi’s novels is a mystery. And besides, any successful freelancer knows that you write damn near anywhere to stay alive. (And if we’re going to play this silly game, it’s safe to say that Itzkoff’s contributions to Maxim, an infantile “periodical” two baby steps away from a stroke mag, are hardly going to be commended for their literary merit.)

Ron’s already covered many of Itzkoff’s countless solecisms. So I won’t repeat what he’s said, except this: With Itzkoff’s continued employment at the Times, it’s clear that Tanenhaus views science fiction as a genre for idiots. Why else would such a tone-deaf and ignorant hack be hired to write such arrogant and dismissive diatribes that fail to offer specific examples to support his argument?

If Sam Tanenhaus believes that the kind of character and genre assassination contained within Itzkoff’s article is substantive journalism, then the NYTBR is a lost cause. Unless, of course, Bill Keller shows Tanenhaus what the inside of an airlock looks like.

Why is Daniel Soar so concerned with Martin Amis’s anger? Why doesn’t he recognize that writers sometimes write angry because they give more than a few damns about the universe?

My Rudy Rucker overview can be found in today’s Los Angeles Times.

A certain C. Max Magee can be found in the latest Poets and Writers, examining the efforts of publishers to attract Chinese literary talent.

The latest Harry Potter book will be called Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. How long did it take for them to whip this up? Three minutes? “Hallow” is more commonly used as a verb and the juxtaposition of “death” before “hallows” suggests that any mass killing of major characters (as suggested in other reports) will be less than reverential.

Gelf Magazine: “Ryan, 32, has been collecting sports cards since the 1980s, but he got serious in 2002 when he came across a Bill Ripken card on eBay that was slightly different from the most-famous version. Bill, never nearly as popular or as good a player as his older brother Cal, garnered notoriety in 1989 when a Fleer card was issued with him holding a bat, the bottom of which clearly reads, ‘Fuck Face.'” (via Rachel)

Bookdwarf gets a makeover and Carrie has returned!

(via Warren Ellis)

New York Times Corrections: “The Media Equation column in Business Day on Monday, about the News Corporation’s decision to kill Judith Regan’s multimedia rollout of O.J. Simpson’s book, misstated the characterization of the project by Rupert Murdoch, the company’s chairman. He called it ‘ill-considered’ — not ‘ill-conceived.'”

Lev Baby, you were doing so well. And then you penned this silly puff piece on Harriet Klausner! Unmentioned in Mr. Grossman’s writeup is the fact that Klausner doesn’t write a single negative review, much less offer her audience anything more than a plot summary or an idea of who the book might appeal to — thus calling into question her critical acumen. Even stranger, Grossman writes that “she is one of the world’s most prolific and influential book reviewers.” Well, I’ll certainly agree with Grossman that Klausner is “prolific.” Then again, a rat pops out a litter of 10 to 12 every 22 days and very few sane people celebrate the dissemination of pestilence.

But influential? What self-respecting literary enthusiast looks to Klausner’s reviews as the real deal? There’s a reason why you don’t see Klausner’s blurbs quoted on dust jackets. I’m sure Klausner has her fans, but where are they exactly?

Perhaps more egregious than all of this is Grossman’s needless self-flagellation here:

People don’t care to be lectured by professionals on what they should read or listen to or see. They’re increasingly likely to pay attention to amateur online reviewers, bloggers and Amazon critics like Klausner. Online critics have a kind of just-plain-folks authenticity that the professionals just can’t match. They’re not fancy. They don’t have an agenda. They just read for fun, the way you do.

On the contrary, some of us out here do care (or are at least interested in) what professionals have to say (including you, Lev Baby!). Why else would we be so hard on you? Or send you brownies and fruit baskets? We want you to think better! We want you to raise the bar!

I must also take umbrage with the idea that a professional critic cannot adopt a “just-plain-folks authenticity.” John Freeman, whom I have criticized on these pages, does indeed effect a “just-plain-folks authenticity” quite well in his reviews. You’re not always going to get deep insight, but at least you’ll get a dependable book overview.

And then there’s the idea that a professional critic cannot read for fun (as opposed, apparently, to the Harriet Klausners of the universe, who, conversely, cannot develop a palate). Huh? Why the hell else would you subject yourself to a book or an author and take the trouble to write about it? For the abysmal pay? For the possibility that your review will be ignored by most of the readers?

Perhaps what Grossman is confessing to us here is that he’s not having much fun being a book critic. If so, then why the hell would you stay in the business? I cannot fathom why anybody would spend so much of his life doing something that he clearly didn’t think was fun. I also cannot fathom a spectrum with FUN at one end and CRITICAL at the other. Isn’t there room here for both? Cannot one be both fun and critical? That’s certainly what I try to do.

Christ, do I have to send Grossman another fruit basket?

Or perhaps Grossman should start a blog like the rest of us and join the party. Some of us out here even blog in the nude.

Smart Bitches, Trashy Books points to this remarkable advertisement:

We need 5 reviewers for 3 of our newly released titles. We ask that you write a 1-3 Paragraph review with a 5 star rating (5 being best) of each of the 3 books. We will then ask that you forward the reviews over to us so that we can look over them before you post them on Amazon.com and Barns and Noble.com. Most of our reviewers are paid from $5- to $10 per review or $15.00 to $30.00 per 3 review book set.

In other words, this publisher, who goes by the name “kenwelsh,” is all too happy to buy your opinions for less than the price of going to see a movie or two pints on a Saturday night.

Some preliminary investigation reveals no other ads by Ken Welsh on the site, but given that the man can’t even spell “Barnes & Noble” correctly, one fears the worst: not just for the poor saps who actually sell out for so little, but for this sleazeball named Ken Welsh.

Callie Miller, who has cornered the blogosphere market on lengthy writeups of author events, offers a new one involving Heidi Julavits. But she notes, “I have tried (and clearly failed) to create an ‘epic’ series of posts about the recent Julavits reading at Skylight Books. I’ve tried to come at it from many angles – the waiting, the wondering, the bizarre fans that arrive and conduct bizarre little rituals prior to the reading.”

Tell me about it. If you’re an incessant observer or note-taker, it never gets any easier. You just kind of do it and eventually you stumble upon an angle.

Mr. Jeff Bryant has asked numerous people to be involved with his Underrated Writers Project (including moi). Do check it out. Lots of great writers on the list.

New York Times: “Ms. Conner and Mr. Trump refused to answer any questions from reporters about reports alleging drug use or drug testing. Mr. Trump said that he went into a meeting with Ms. Conner this morning expecting to terminate her reign as Miss USA. But he said the meeting showed him someone with ‘a good heart’ who had ‘left a small town in Kentucky,’ only to be caught up in a ‘whirlwind’ in New York.”

Here’s a key to understanding the euphemisms, all helpfully contained in quotes (thank you, Ms. Hauser!), within this article:

“a good heart”: Team player.
“behavior and personal issues”: The tendency to have fun in a manner considered unwholesome to folks knocked out by a single shot of bourbon.
“left a small town in Kentucky”: She’s wholesome and American! Really! And she’s from Kentucky!*
“pushing”: Smearing a person’s character on silly charges.
“terrible”: Wouldn’t put out for Donald Trump.
“very, very bad”: Unacceptable to humorless prigs who haven’t had a night of fun in decades.
“whirlwind”: vigorous partying involving alcohol, some pot and coke, as enjoyed by thousands of other New York clubbers requiring a weekend divorce from reality.

* — Just like that Jim Varney guy you loved so much in the Ernest movies.