Dueling mini-reviews of Cloud Atlas (courtesy of Kevin Wignall and Ed) pulled from Tingle Alley’s backblog:

KW: David Mitchell is, I’m told, a lovely person, but he represents everything I detest in fiction. I’ve tried to read both Number 9 Dream and Cloud Atlas and found both of them messy, too in love with themselves, and wilfully complacent about the need to tell a story in a compelling way. I’d be happy for Ed to try and put me straight – I remain open-minded – but if the argument is, “sometimes you have to work hard to appreciate a great work of art”, I’m sorry, it doesn’t wash. I’ve said the same about David Peace. The difficulty of a story should be in the content, not in the telling. We are in the business of entertaining people, and any writer who forgets that, no matter what the subject matter, deserves not to be read.

EC: It may be a difference of sensibilities. Even so, “Cloud Atlas” is such a rich, goofy, operatic and downright kickass work that hits so many fantastic tones (satire, pathos, pulp, nostalgia, concern for humanity, futuristic argot, surrealism, light pomo) that I just can’t see why anyone looking for a bracing literary ride wouldn’t love it. It does require a dictionary. It does require looking up arcane references. And, yes, it’s a showboat. But the plots are so entertaining, the prose so invigorating, and the five puzzling plots much fun to pick through (although admittedly the book loses steam near the end) that why would anyone possibly care? Hell, you could argue that Faulkner, Joyce, Gaddis, Barth or Pynchon are “complacent” to some extent. But then, for me, plunging into arcana is what makes literature worthwhile.

I know where I stand on this one, but what say you, EdHeads and David Mitchell fans/detractors? Is Mitchell generally making his readers work too hard or is this just a case of to-ma-to/to-mah-to?

If I haven’t answered your email during the past six weeks, there’s a reason. (And if you’re interested in seeing the results and you’ll be in San Francisco in September, showtimes are here. Please note that there are no advance tickets, no late seating, and all shows start on time. Also note that our show is cheaper, shorter, and less stupid than, say, getting gouged by M. Night for The Village, and also has a fantastic cast to boot.)

If I haven’t posted many entries, there’s another unrelated reason (on the hush hush insane deadline side of the fence) and even another (also hush hush).

If I’ve had strange dietary habits of late, there are reasons that go beyond these.

Sayonara for now. The next month is seventeen hour days (at bare minimum), with rare check-ins. I leave this blog in the hands of the capable superfriends (some of whom have fantastic plans), should they wish to weigh in. Please check out the folks on the left.

If you’re interested in becoming a superfriend (why stop here?), feel free to email me.

And now that the NYTBR is in my hands, I’d be remiss if I didn’t note Laura Miller cribbing from “Jeff” Eugenides’ definition of the “multicultral” novel without acknowledgment. Sigh.

At least there’s Maud over at the Post, along with a Yardley appreciation of Booth Tarkington. It’s almost enough to completely erase the bile left over from the scummy little review.

So this is Sam Tanenhaus’s idea of covering fiction?

“scummy little book” — While attempting to read the book as he was cleaning his bathroom, Leon Wieseltier dropped the book in the sink, causing particles of soapscum to accumulate on the pages.

“our cherished and anxious country” — Jingoism and paranoia in the first sentence. That’s the spirit!

“Baker’s novels have always been desperate to be noticed.” — Oh, I get it. Having fun with details and being ambitious should be discouraged.

“creepy hermeneutical toys” — You hoped you’d be quoted in Safire’s “On Language” column, right, Leon? What’s so creepy about being interpretive? Was Ulysses that bad?

“And the fascination is genuine.” — If we permit a novelist to contemplate the assassination of George Bush in fictional form, well then Baker is a psychopath and the terrorists have won!

“We infer from what is said that Jay is a deeply unhappy man.” — Wow, Leon, you pinned the tail on the donkey there! That’s like saying that Frank Bascombe was a little distanced from the human race or Ahab was a tad obsessed. Score one for the Obvious Conclusion Squad!

“About the deranging influence of blogs Baker makes a sterling point.” — Yeah, because we crazies can call you on your flagrant BS. Boo yah!

“The stinking thing about Jay’s analysis of the war…is that it is not Jay’s alone.” — That’s right, padre. It’s downright un-American. So to hell with Baker’s book! Let’s launch into a nationalistic dirge!

“For the virulence that calls itself critical thinking.” — Pot. Kettle. Black.

“Janet Malcom recently explained in a letter to this newspaper.” — This is the lofty word count being expended?

“Chomsky, who has not appeared in [the NYRoB’s] pages in decades.” Wrong, Leon. Nine of Chomsky’s books have been reviewed by the NYRoB since 1973. And an author search reveals some 74 articles penned in whole or in part by Chomsky since 1967. Where’s your fact checking department, Tanenhaus?

“Rush Limbaugh did not elect a president and neither will Michael Moore.” — Dan Frisa: “Without the Rush Limbaugh radio program broadcasting as a beacon of truth, my colleagues and I would never have been able to wrest control of the Congress from the Democrats, after 40 long years, in the revolution of 1994. What a thrill it was to meet him at a special dinner held at the Camden Yards stadium during our orientation prior to taking office; we made Rush an honorary member of the Republican freshman class of the 104th Congress, welcoming him as a ‘Majority Maker.'”

We’ve kept silent about Tanenhaus’s NYTBR for a while, but if this is the way Tanenhaus wants to party, the cuffs are now off. Leon Wieseltier’s review is a disgrace. It is a scourge against literary criticism and yet another example of how politics is, for the most part, incompatible with proper book coverage. Say what you want about Chip McGrath. He never permitted an out-of-control and inaccurate political rant from either side to permeate his pages. If this is the morass that Times fiction coverage is swimming in, then the NYTBR is truly a lost cause.

Porn Bread. With recipes. Includes ejaculating eclair. (NSFW)