Michiko: “It’s a book as hip and intermittently tender as Dave Eggers’s ‘Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius,’ as gripping and overstuffed as David Foster Wallace’s ‘Infinite Jest.'”

L.A. Times: “The main problem is that Wilsey hews too closely to the McSweeney literary model: typographical tricks, hyper-fluency in pop culture and exuberantly high-pitched prose. All conspire against the emotional registers he so wants to express.”

Francine Prose: “To write about the sufferings of the well-to-do imposes a certain set of demands on a writer, and Wilsey rises to the challenge with agility and grace. His narrative voice reflects a vivid mix of brio, self-awareness and sophistication, and he is able to meld the point of view of the troubled boy he once was with that of the stable and sensible adult that he has, admirably and against all odds, become.”

Village Voice: “…if the book slips at all, it’s in Wilsey’s willingness to cast her in the one-dimensional role of wicked stepmother.”

Frankly, I’m a bit tired of all the Sean Wilsey coverage. Another book-length journey down McSwee’s Way might permanently damage my cerebral cortex. But the reviews seem to be hailing the memoir, Oh the Glory of It All, as the cat’s pajamas. So I can’t help but remain curious about this memoir, particularly since David Foster Wallace’s name has been invoked. I really don’t feel the urge to run out and get this book, but if an enterprising publicist were to send a copy to me, I’d certainly give it an honest assessment. And if it were indeed the bomb (exploding in whatever timbre), then you’d certainly hear from me.

Cronenberg’s new film, A History of Violence, looks like a ballbuster.

While I believe it’s still possible to do some of these things, I still wish to respond to Mr. Teachout’s recent item. Here are ten things I feel a sizable regret not doing (or at least putting off):

1. Learning to play the piano.
2. Learning French.
3. Visiting Rome and looking for what remains of the road markers.
4. Personally cooking the food for and preparing a fantastic dinner involving at least 50 guests.
5. Having a one-on-one three hour conversation with the President about the issues of our time and seeing what he has to say.
6. Getting a proposition on the local ballot, seeing it pass, and watching it help other people without being squashed by the cold realities of bureaucracy.
7. Performing a live one-hour set of my own personally composed songs in front of an audience and making them happy.
8. Reviving the reputation of ten great and forgotten writers.
9. Making a sizable dent to end poverty and to promote world peace.
10. Getting carte blanche to write and direct a modestly budgeted feature film that devastates and gets a decent release.

There are more, but then revealing these would cut even closer to the personal. And I have no desire to unleash this upon you folks.

Even so, I’m curious. What ten things do you want to do? Pass the meme around.

Jimmy Beck has the scoop on Charles Baxter. He writes:

When asked what he was working on, he said he spent two years on a novel about bombs but gave up on it. Perhaps because it was too disturbing? I don’t remember exactly. “I couldn’t do it,” he said. “I’ve gone back to short stories.”

METHODOLOGY: On May 26, 2005, during lunch hour, surveyor Edward Champion asked various people in the Embarcadero Center (a multi-block shopping center in San Francisco’s Financial District), if they had heard of eleven authors. The surveyor tried not to discriminate by age, gender, race, or class. Among the participants were a smug investment banker who claimed to be “a literary type” (and who was only able to identify two authors) and a down-to-earth cable car operator catching a smoke between runs.

Ten women and nine men were asked in person by the surveyor to offer a “yes” or “no” answer if they recognized the name of the author. (The gender makeup was tracked separately from the data, so as not to corrupt it. I should again point out that this was an informal study that tried to extend across demographics without preference to makeup.) If they knew of the author’s name, they were then asked to name a book that the author had written.

The surveyor remained impartial, so as not to intimidate the participants, only stepping in at times to urge the participants, “Don’t beat yourself up,” pointing out that there were no right or wrong answers and that this was just an informal survey.

RESULTS:

Six authors recognized (1)

• One could not name a single book by the authors recognized.

Four authors recognized (2)

• One could name a book correctly by one of the authors recognized.
• One could not name a single book by the authors recognized.

Three authors recognized (6)

• Two could not name a single book by the authors recognized.
• One could name a book correctly by two of the authors recognized.
• Three could name a book correctly by one of the authors recognized.

Two authors recognized (3)

• Three could name books correctly by two of the authors recognized.

One author recognized (6)

• Four could not name a single book by the authors recognized.
• Two could name a book correctly by the one author recognized.

No authors recognized (1)

Authors Recognized by Name:

Margaret Atwood (12)

• The Handmaid’s Tale: 2
• Cat’s Eye: 1
• Wilderness Tips: 1
• “I heard her on NPR”: 1
• “Cheesy paperbacks”: 1
• No Book Title Offered: 6

David Gardner (8)

• “I heard him speak”: 1
• No Book Title Offered: 7

Philip Roth (7)

• “Confessions of a Communist”: 1
• “‘Red’ in one of the titles”: 1
• “American something”: 1
• No Book Title Offered: 4

James Robison (6)

• No Book Title Offered: 6

Michael Chabon (5)

• The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier & Clay: 2
• “Comic book novel”: 1
• “Is he the guy who writes gay novels?”: 1
• No Book Title Offered: 1

Kate Atkinson (1)

• No Book Title Recognized: 1

Joanne Mitchell (1)

• No Book Title Offered: 1

Chris Clarke (1)

• No Book Title Offered: 1

Erik White (1)

• No Book Title Offered: 1

William T. Vollmann (0)

Sue Monk Kidd (0)

CONCLUSIONS:

The results here are quite interesting. I didn’t realize that Atwood would not only be so known, but that the participants would name books beyond The Handmaid’s Tale. Given his work with the Motley Fool, David Gardner’s recognition in the Financial District isn’t much of a surprise. His book titles, apparently, slip through the mind like a sieve. James Robison’s unfortunate success on the Trinity Broadcasting Network probably plays a hand in name recognition. Since Michael Chabon lives in Berkeley, I had thought he would do better. But participants were able to name a book by him better than the others. Philip Roth was quite the reverse. Participants knew his name, but really couldn’t remember a book title by him. Even more interesting, they came close to mentioning the novel, I Married a Communist, but weren’t quite able to do so. All this despite the alleged critical and popular success of The Plot Against America.

And, of course, I weep for Vollmann.

But does all this mean that a literary crisis is at hand? You make the call. Try this excercise in your neighborhood and see how the results stack up.