- I’m afraid I can’t agree with Nick Hornby’s assessment (and Scott’s apparent assent) that reading should be entirely enjoyable. For it subscribes to the idea that novels are almost total escapism, as opposed to a proper art. Proper reading, in my view, demands an intellectual challenge. This is not to suggest that an author can’t write books that are both entertaining and thoughtful. (A recent book that comes to mind is Scarlett Thomas’s The End of Mr. Y.) This is not to suggest that books that are intended to entertain are incapable of being assessed. Nor is this a matter of appearing sophisticated or impressing anyone. (Who knew that reading interests were about looking cool on the subway? I read because I’m interested, dammit, and I don’t give a damn how cornball or hip anyone view my reading selection to be.) But any active reader will raise the bar and insist upon books that are better. Any good reader will read widely and not pooh-pooh certain books because of where they happen to be categorized in a bookstore. Any good reader will continually challenge her perceptions and won’t pussyfoot around the idea that some books are bad (and that there are indeed reasons for this). Revolutionary? Nick Hornby is about as revolutionary as a starry-eyed nineteen year old who believes he can change the world: an insufferable naif; a dime a dozen.
- Robert Fulford offers this provocative story on reviewing ethics, suggesting that checking for conflicts of interest are unnecessary and prohibitive to discourse. (via TEV)
- Augusten Burroughs: the new James Frey? (More here.)
- An interesting questionnaire with Mary Gaitskill. All those fuddy-duddies who pooh-pooh comics might take stock in this assertion: “You shouldn’t listen to any music while reading anything but a comic book.” (Thanks, Stuart!)
- So Many Books on Bookforum: “This is an extremely dangerous magazine and should be read with care.” I have to agree. I have had many issues of Bookforum attempt to bite me, poison me, and otherwise abscond with my life. This is a magazine that should be locked up or be handled by lion tamers. I’m surprised Bookforum has lasted this long without a lawsuit.
- Asis Sentinel: “Is it appropriate for a registered charity dedicated to Sri Lanka’s December 2004 tsunami relief to sponsor a foreign literary festival in the middle of what to all intents and purposes is an ethnic and civil war?” And there you have it: twenty minutes of thoughtful cocktail party banter contained in this question alone. Impress all your literary pals and be sure to bring the gruyere!
- Calling all detectives! Help Mark Gompertz find his community! Where could Mr. Gompertz have misplaced it? Is Mr. Gompertz looking in the wrong place? Or did the community never exist in the first place? (Turn to Page 124 for the answer.)
- In The New Yorker, Tad Friend ruminates upon The Office.
- The Poetry Foundation reviews a four-disc box set that collects poetry readings dating back from 1888. (via Isak)
- Who knew? Those who have lower levels of self-esteem prefer crime and detective stories that confirm their suspicions. In other news, those who go to a website with a ridiculous graphic of a woman in a lotus position for their news are more likely to be duped by Nigerian email scams. (via Sarah)
- FoxTrot is going Sundays only. Alas, this unexpected development will not hinder UPS from polluting the funny pages with DOA ass-smelling dreck like Garfield and Ziggy.
- Hitch on Michael Richards and banning language.
- A breakdown of the 2007 Eisner judges.
- The real Giuliani.
- Fi’ty on Oprah.
Roundup
– December 6, 2006Posted 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. (
those who go to a website with a ridiculous graphic of a woman in a lotus position for their news
instead of say a flying bat:)
Amen to that Guilani article. I don’t even want to read it because it’s not going to be enjoyable.
Amen to that Guilani article. I don’t even want to read it because it’s not going to be enjoyable.
Hey, thanks for mentioning me! I’m afraid that poetry box set is going to get me in trouble. I must have it if for no other than to listen to Lucille Clifton on the holocaust of roaches.