Roundup
Written byPosted on September 19, 2007
Filed Under Roundup
- The Match Game death watch? And what of the 1970s incarnation of The Hollywood Squares?
- It appears that now would be the time to be paid in Canadian dollars.
- JoAnn Karkos has decided to hold two sex books hostage because she found their content objectionable. She checked them out at the library and refuses to return them. Since Ms. Karkos has seen fit to commit intellectual fascism, I’m wondering if the Lewiston, Maine authorities might be persuaded to garnish Ms. Karkos’s wages until she returns the two books. After all, if Ms. Karkos doesn’t want to play nice with the natural flow of ideas, why should the natural flow of cash earned for work play nice with Ms. Karkos? (via Big Bad Book)
- Fantastic, Keller. The NYTBR loses a page of editorial and the section becomes more contingent on advertising. Never mind that advertising revenue was up 10% from last year.
- Apparently, the age group now most at risk for violent death is now 40 to 49, the new area to find “adolescent risk taking.” Is this selfishness on the part of a growing generation or a societal malady?
- It’s a truly deplorable sign of our times that we now need a grassroots movement to restore habeas corpus.
- Make of this what you will: the New York Times Co. is the most gay-friendly chain. Ordinary people-friendly? Not so much.
- Kassia urges book review crisis-mongers to stop sobbing.
- Australian newspapers might be ahead of their book reviewing counterparts in the States. Can you honestly see any American newspaper reviewing a literary quarterly?
- Some contrarian thoughts on the efforts to save Bukowski’s bungalow.
- Here’s something for stocking fetishists.
- Slash and Axl Rose have not spoken with each other in eleven years.
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Books To Jump Up and Down Over
Beyond Heaving Bosoms by Sarah Wendell and Candy Tan. The famed writers behind Smart Bitches, Trashy Books have written a very funny and thoughtful volume about romances, both Old Skool and New Skool. Here is a book that any smug and humorless literary manboy beating his flabby passive chest over Banville or Bolano should probably read pronto, if only for the distant possibility that he might get over himself. While the Choose Your Own Adventure segment at the end caused me to have a very disturbing dream involving Shelley Long (don't ask), Sarah and Candy did have me rethinking many of my own misperceptions when I wasn't busy laughing. They're not afraid to take on the New York Times Bok Review or even the groupthink within certain sectors of the romance community.
Alice Fantastic by Maggie Estep. This wild and highly enjoyable narrative involves two sisters (presumably, the third one was still being rented out by Chekhov), a hippie ex-junkie mother who lives with seventeen dogs, a murder, gambling, and libidinous Hollywood actresses who live in Woodstock. But this is the wonderful Maggie Estep we're talking here. And what seems at first like a quirky yarn becomes something unexpectedly moving about connectivity. What I love about Estep's work is the way that she'll juxtapose an extremely astute observation (now that you mention it, why do cab drivers always have somebody to talk with on the phone past midnight?) with an often outrageous story development.
Generosity by Richard Powers. It doesn't come out until September 29th, but Richard Powers's latest will have anyone committed to books reconsidering their literary fervor. I foresee some animosity from the vanilla critics hostile to idea-driven novels, but book bloggers, YouTube chroniclers, and MFAs would do well to plunge into this chance-taking narrative, which introduces vital questions about what the reader's relationship is with media, scientific dissection, and "creative nonfiction." Are we rats fleeing to happy cities? Or can we find the humanism within the purported plague?
Pieces for the Left Hand by J. Robert Lennon. Lennon is one of the most underrated fiction writers working today. Much as On the Night Plain proved that Lennon had a lot more in the toolbox than heartfelt (and often very funny) suburban satire, this slim but fascinating volume juxtaposes 100 small-town anecdotes -- arranged by category -- in a manner that reads, at times, like Nicholson Baker's passions for minutiae and, at other times, Stewart O'Nan's concern for psychological detail. The result is fiction that makes us wonder about whether one person's subjective view of particulars can entirely be trusted. This book never found a publisher in 2005. But thankfully, Graywolf has released it in the United States, along with Lennon's latest novel, The Castle.
Wonderful World by Javier Calvo. This wonderfully raucous volume has been completely ignored by the Washington Post, the New York Times, and the Los Angeles Times. But it's probably one of the most delightful reading experiences I've had this year. Calvo cavalierly mashes up multiple genres and manages to mix up familial subtext with larger-than-life, almost cartoonish characters. (Indeed, one might argue that one mobster's penis is a character of its own in this sprawling novel.). This is not an easy thing to pull off, but Calvo makes it work. And it's helped immeasurably by Mara Faye Lethem's idiom-specific translation. (See longer post.)
The Means of Reproduction, Michelle Goldberg This thoughtful book tackles the complicated (and little discussed) subject of reproductive rights from numerous angles, which includes a number of unpleasant but necessary ones. The upshot is that there isn't a quick fix solution for declining birth rates and fundamentalist abuses. Just about every political faction has contributed to the friction. But you'll want to read this book anyway to refamiliarize yourself with the topic, but also to understand just what's occurred during the past several decades to get us where we are today. (See also podcast interview with Goldberg.)
“Slash and Axl Rose have not spoken with each other in eleven years.”
But then, a LOT of people haven’t spoken with Axl in a while. Or listened to his music.
Lewiston: the armpit of Maine.
Slash is better off without that fucking psycho prick.