• 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.