- 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.
Roundup
– September 19, 2007Posted in: Roundup
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. (
“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.