- Adam Bellow: “If I had learned one thing from my historical study of nepotism (yes, that was the subject of my book), it’s that a boy needs many fathers in his journey to manhood.” The problem with such a generalization is that when one considers daddy bears, fatherhood and nepotism take on more troubling definitions.
- Bob Hoover talks with Pete Hamill.
- The Bookseller reports that a new Stephen King novella will be in the July issue of Esquire. Even if it is just Stephen King, I must applaud Esquire‘s willingness to devote 23 pages of its magazine to fiction.
- Is Andrew Cockburn’s Rumsfeld hatchet job compelling enough to stand above its own clearly demarcated vitriol?
- Weiner on Paper Cuts: “I can’t wait. Seriously, I can’t. I bet my husband it’ll be less than five days before the blog mentions perennial Times boycrush Gary Shteyngart. If I win, I get a water ice.”
- Is BEA a waste of money for the aspiring author? (via Slushpile)
- Andrew O’Hagan on Don DeLillo.
- What next? Will they set up journalistic export processing zones? (via Ron Silliman)
- The San Diego Union-Tribune offers a summer reading roundup.
- A Stephen Dixon profile. (via Dale Keiger)
- Are lost pants worth $65 million? I mean, if it’s really another predictable series of dick wars (from a judge, no less), I’m wondering how many penis implants you could get for that price. (via Henry Kisnor)
- Dan Chiasson on Les Murray’s poetry.
- Litminds interviews Jessica Stockton.
- Jenny D points to another Jenny D’s take on Chabon.
- Slate’s Michelle Tsai looks (too briefly) into how a dirty word gets dirty. (via Literary Gas)
- RIP Ousmane Sembene. (via Laila)
- Is Jonathan Lethem “an overeager college student?”
- It appears that the New York Times has hired TvNewser blogger Brian Stelter as a media reporter.
- For those thinking of McSweeney’s financial woes, Matthew Tiffany offers an independent presses harangue.
- Oh no.
- There are some troubling comics “obscenity” battles going down at the border. (via Bookninja)
Roundup
– June 13, 2007Posted in: Uncategorized
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. (
“Is BEA a waste of money for the aspiring author? ”
Yeah, pretty much. I was only there because my agent had a pass for me. I really had no intention of setting foot inside that terrarium known as the Javits. And until a publisher makes it worth my time, I’m sticking with the fan and writers conferences.
ok, that nyt blog has taught us the creepy fact that george saunders listens to the fugees. paper cuts, indeed.