The Globe and Mail‘s Sarah Hampson profiles fiction editor Ellen Seligman, who observes that, like the protagonist in Philip K. Dick’s A Scanner Darkly, she has split her brain in two independently functioning hemispheres. There is the First Response Brain, which is designed to offer immediate answers (such as “It’s Strunk & White, you callow amateur! Not Stunk & White! Call me when you have a clue!”). And there is Seligman’s Editor’s Brain, an entity quite capable of whacking down a 1,200 page manuscript in half before lunch hour. Seligman’s Editor’s Brain (hereinafter “SEB”) has threatened to develop its own set of limbs, walk away from Seligman’s body and enter the cranium of Viking editor Paul Slovak. SEB’s plan is to ensure that Bill Vollmann’s books aren’t nearly as long and that T.C. Boyle turns out a book every other year rather than annually. Fortunately, Viking has employed considerable security to ensure that half-brains — particularly Canadian half-brains — will never enter its premises.

[UPDATE: Bookninja has some inside dirt relating to Seligman.]

Today is a sad day — a bleak and possibly irreversible moment in publishing history where we shall all mourn the loss of one of the great incomplete masterpieces. I am convinced that literary scholars will place this stunning work next to Ralph Ellison’s Juneteenth, Dickens’ The Mystery of Edwin Drood and F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Love of the Last Tycoon. Of course, the Great Author’s representative states that the Great Author herself will “save the memoirs for a rainy day when she needs to re-invent herself.” I take this as a sly reference to the immortal melody “MacArthur Park.” Will the Great Author and Her Man finally find connubial bliss and settle down in a needle-laden warren? And shortly before moving, will the Great Author and Her Man, both distracted by the heightened opioid receptors blitzing through their bodies, zone out and leave their wedding cake in the rain?

A few weeks ago, Steve Mitchelmore raised a provocative point about Suite Française, suggesting that the novel’s glowing reception had more to do with its origins, as opposed to its qualities as a novel. This led to a backblog battle between Steve and a certain literary guy in Oakland.

Now Mark Thwaite has stepped in and sides with Steve, pointing to Kaszuo Ishiguro’s blurb mentioning the “story behind the novel.” Given that Ishiguro devoted a mere fifty-one words to his blurb, I don’t believe this is entirely fair, particularly since he confined the historical context to the second of his two sentences.

Further, both Mark and Steve have dismissed the book without even bothering to examine its contents. Which strikes me as a bit ironic. If the talk should be centered on the book and the book alone, shouldn’t Mark and Steve live up to their own pledges and offer criticism after they’ve read the book?

Laila Lalami observes that Monica Ali’s new book, Alentejo Blue, hasn’t exactly been ratcheting up the plaudits. But Laura Demanski disagrees, calling Alentejo Blue Ali’s “more ambitious and accomplished novel.” Is Ali suffering a sophomore slump or is the book misunderstood?