Okay, I fully confess (the dropoff in stats and Blogllines subscribers doesn’t lie!) that I’ve been biting the big one lately and that my posts these days leave much to be desired. (Hell, I can’t even find time for the Tanenhaus Brownie Watch.) There are reasons for this — namely, other projects and things that I’m working on, which are whittling away my wit faster than you can say summer camp.
So I’ve decided to throw in the towel for about a week or so and come back to this blog when I can offer half-decent posts again. A man’s got to know his limitations. And frankly I’m too tired and exhausted these days to offer anything intelligible about the literary world. But I’ll be back. Do visit the fine folks on the left in the meantime.
[ENTIRELY UNRELATED: In other news, it looks like Pearlstine is casting pearls before swine. Not pretty at all. About as cowardly a move as Elia Kazan, if you ask me.]
Technorati Tags: vacation, hiatus, debauchery
The Call by Yannick Murphy: The always interesting author of Here They Come and Signed, Mata Hari returns with a novel that whips up a worldview from a rather quirky set of limitations: namely, the call logs that a veterinarian maintains as his son is unexpectedly put into a coma and an unforgiving economy denies him work. What emerges is a surprisingly optimistic, often funny, and very moving account on how one family uses acceptance and forgiveness as a way to atone for hard knocks. (
Birds of Paradise by Diana Abu-Jaber: Forget Franzen and Eugenides. If you're looking for a social novel that counts, Diana Abu-Jaber is the author you're looking for. Building from the free-form exploration of consciousness and identity in Crescent and the gripping procedural structure of Origin, Abu-Jaber's latest novel is her finest, equally fluent with gutterpunk culture and smarmy real estate men. It has been suggested by The Washington Post's Ron Charles that you will likely gain some pounds while reading this novel. This is certainly true. Abu-Jaber's description of food is so precise that it often made me want to do more cooking. But I very much admired the way in which Abu-Jaber presents all her characters as unwitting victims of rough capitalism, which permits them some dignity even as they perform terrible acts.
The Last of the Live Nude Girls by Sheila McClear: This memoir isn't so much about the decline of the Times Square peepshow, as it is about one young woman's efforts to pull herself up by by her bootstraps when presented with few economic options. Filled with self-introspective candor and a quiet dignity, McClear's story is one that might befall any of us in these volatile times. While McClear does get back on her feet, her book leads one contemplating the terrible fates of other young women now moving to New York and falling into deadlier vocations. (
Def. take a rest-up if you need one. We’ll be here when you return. But I don’t like hearing this regret for the quality of R of the R in recent days. Your BEA coverage was outstanding – great, great stuff, and appreciated by this tangerine-flaked reader.
I’ve only been blogging a couple of months, no one gives a damn what I say, and my brain’s already fried by the “pressure.”
So yeah, take a rest and everything, but I expect you back wittier than ever in a few weeks. Where else will I find my inspiration?
Whatever
Ed, say it isn’t so! How can you leave me this way??? And, for God’s sakes, hurry home, because you will be missed.
Enjoy the break. I’ve been thinking of taking one myself.
(That being said, screw the stats. Therein lies madness.)