- In the most recent New Yorker: Jonathan Lethem’s “Lucky Alan.” Also, Lethem’s current obsession with copyright, which, as far as I can tell, seems to have originated from this interesting Harper’s essay, continues anew with a cunning plan related to his newest novel.
- Apparently, Fidel Castro met up with Gabriel Garcia Marquez. Marquez’s account is here. The two men concluded that the prostate gland is the starting point for all Marxist revolutions.
- Matthew Gray is working on a Google Maps feature of the Earth viewed by literary locations.
- A new pilot called Literary Superstar is being planned. The pilot stars Jenna Elfman. The “superstar” in question is a publicist. No doubt watered down hijinks will ensue, with Elfman inexplicably living in a lavish Central Park West apartment. Because we can certainly count on Hollywood for financial verisimilitude, can’t we?
- Sam Savage is interviewed at Bluestalking Reader.
- J. Peder Zane tries to understand DFW’s baffling Top Ten Books list. Meanwhile, a man foolish enough to gloss over Philip K. Dick’s prose declares literary lists “an obscenity.” (via Sarvas)
- Is Oregon a more ideal place to set up a publisher than New York? (via Brockman)
- John Sutherland sings the praises of Jake Arnott’s Johnny Come Home.
- Litpark talks with Elizabeth Crane.
- Quiet Bubble has some choice words for Woody Allen.
- Like a zombie that keeps getting up after you shoot it several times in the chest with a pump-action shotgun, the damn OJ book is still alive.
- Who’d be a critic? Yeah, good question. Particularly when you’re as dishonest as Meg Rosoff. Apparently, Rosoff “only reviews books I really like. It’s cowardly, I know, but I figure it’s not my job to make people unhappy.” As a critic who tries to remain as honest, discerning, enthusiastic and constructive as I can, as someone who pours blood, sweat and tears into any freelancing assignment, I can’t begin to express my infuriation here. If Rosoff is terrified of making people unhappy, then perhaps she should pursue a career as a publicist, since she clearly prefers the straightforward hand job-as-book review rather than an honest day’s labor. The Literary Saloon has more.
© 2007, Edward Champion. All rights reserved.
In all fairness, Rosoff is first and foremost a novelist. And a very, very good one.
Oh, and she’s not talking about writing _dishonest_ reviews, just saying that she doesn’t write _negative_ ones anymore. She’s in a place where she can turn down assignments for books she doesn’t like. I don’t think that’s a hangable offense.