A new Hemingway movie is in the works — this time, with Patrick Hemingway, Papa’s sole surviving son. Hemingway is collaborating with DVD featurette director John Mulholland.

The United States government has insisted that on Wednesday, it did not fire airstrikes on a wedding party. More than 40 Iraqi citizens were killed and, yes, there was a bride and a groom there. But no, sir, the event was not a wedding party. There was a cake and several people dancing. There were guests, a maid of honor, a best man, and even a wedding singer. But no, the event was not, repeat not, a wedding party.

Under current Pentagon policy, a wedding party must closely resemble the film My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Since the Iraqi “wedding party” had only one culture involved with the “post-coupling event” rather than two, it was not, in fact, a wedding party at all. Since there were no Greeks or Caucasians present, it was not, in fact, a wedding party at all. Since there wasn’t a father with a bottle of Windex (Windex being an anticlimactic presence in the desert sands), the event was not, in fact, a wedding party. Most importantly, there was nobody there named Portokalos.

There were no dead children on the scene. There were, in the words of the Pentagon report, “miniature, tiny-limbed Iraqis who were not exactly alive.”

Because of these and many other mistaken impressions, Maj. Gen. James Matthis, who wears glossy pink fingernail polish and is fond of rolling around naked with refrigerated ground chuck, felt no need to apologize.

“It should be perfectly clear by now that Iraqis are second-rate citizens,” said Matthis. “If these people want to marry and reproduce, then, well, goddammit, they’ll do it where and when we say they will!”

Matthis refused to offer further statements, but he did say that he could be found at the meat locker if anyone else was into “the lifestyle.”

John Cleese is starting a blog. The site’s up and Cleese promises activity before mid-October. (via Cinetrix)

On the surface, it would seem that Maud is a nice gal, a talented writer, an able chronicler of the literary world, and, to my continued astonishment, a remarkably thorough correspondent. However, now that I’ve encountered Fraud Newton (defunct after mere days of wasted productivity by some cowardly anonymous employee at The Foundation Center), I have at last seen the light. Fraud Newton reports that beneath the seemingly benign sheen lies a heart of anthracite. This blog has revealed to me that Maud is a cold and calculated manipulator of the first order. I now realize that her friendly emails are part of a grand plot to overthrow the meat and potatoes of Western civilization. Would you believe that Maud has the temerity to lie about her birthday? Who needs the Iraq situation to get angry about when this minx is offering such jocose fibs? Thanks to Fraud Newton, I will avoid visiting New York altogether and I will stop sending her my boxer shorts by post.

No doubt the Old Hag will be the next grand hypocrite to be unmasked in the litblogging conspiracy. (She’s from Baltimore! Enough said.)

The Complete Review has its Cloud Atlas review up. We here at Return of the Reluctant have been nursing this fantastic novel like an exquisitely mixed margarita for several weeks and, given the extent of our notes, will weigh in eventually at a forum to be determined. The short answer is: Yes, this novel is better than the superlative Ghostwritten (we haven’t read number9dream, but we will) and, yes, it’s made us so happy and delirious that we’re actually using the first person plural against our better judgment.