Roundup - Reluctant Habits

Lee Goldberg has discovered a novel based on the Pink Panther movies.
I didn’t read Garry Wills’ original review, but it turns out that I don’t need to. Unless Harvey C. Mansfield demonstrates that he can drink me under the table or beat me in an arm wrestling contest, I think it’s pretty clear that his masculinity is muted at best. The fact of the matter is that manly men do elaborate. And this tendency to expatiate is part of the problem. Small notes in denial of this suggest a titmouse’s temperament. (via Scott)
Sara Gran pens an amusing essay on Brooklyn writers.
Charles Frazier responds to charges of betrayal and greed: “I saw something that said I was ‘the symbol of greed in the publishing industry.’ I’m not the one who decided what the offers were gonna be on the book. And it’s not like I went into this just looking to take the highest offer.” While I can see Frazier’s point, Frazier doesn’t clarify just what it was about Random House’s publicity plan that made their offer more compelling than the extra cash. Hopefully an eagle-eyed interviewer will clarify what Frazier meant.
Duane Swierczynsk alludes to the mysterious “Cabana Boys” circle in a recent interview with Jason Boog.
A porn film shot on MIR? I think I prefer the Russian Space Agency to NASA.
I missed the damn Mountain Goats show, but thankfully Annalee Newitz didn’t.
With all this inflated talk of five year anniversaries (“Never forget” and “It’s not a question of if, but when” are the common phrases I hear), Elizabeth Crane ponders the larger question of whether one is truly defined by place.
Liza Featherstone suggests that the James Frey class-action suit was “frivolous.”
A new issue of Bookslut is up, and it features an interview with Jeff VanderMeer.
For those who thought the New York Sun was just a place for silly bookstore owners to deposit their strange and needlessly contemptuous articles, Gary Shapiro’s nice overview of The New Criterion‘s history may very well prove you wrong.
Callie Miller writes about two underrated “remarkable writers.”
wood s lot points to a forgotten 9/11 photograph.
Banksy hits Disneyland.
Eric Alterman, one of the first mainstream media bloggers, is canned by MSNBC. And in other media news, I’d hate to be on the Dallas Morning News staff right now.
Alex Ross on whacking down his book from 390,000 words to 250,700 words. (via James Tata)
Deborah Howell takes a page from the Frank Wilson playbook and reveals what goes on behind Book World. Meanwhile, Sammy T remains silent. (via the Literary Saloon)
And speaking of Sammy T, one must ask why Stanley Crouch was asked to cover a Huey Newton bio. Why not assign him a book that you wouldn’t expect him to review? Was Crouch assigned the book because he’s African-American? Does the NYTBR‘s troubling policy of assigning men the nonfiction and women the literary fiction (if, indeed, assigning women at all) also extend to race? It is not Crouch’s review I take umbrage with, but the idea of assigning like-minded reviewers to like-minded books. This smacks of institutionalism. Consider this: Dave Eggers can review Edward P. Jones’ All Aunt Hagar’s Children. But why can’t Crouch or Jones review, say, Marisha Pessl’s Special Topics in Calamity Physics?

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