The Scottish, still reeling from the failed “Edinburgh is the Center of the Literary Universe” campaign, are now planning a Scottish dictionary. Since no one here seems to have the vision of James A.H. Murray and there’s no VC to speak of, “secret scribblings” are being auctioned off instead: a poem by JK Rowling and a draft version of what may or may not be the last Rebus novel. Chris Robinson, the leader of this project, claims that she used “sheer brass neck” to get these drafts. And this might be the problem. Anyone even remotely familiar with the Sunday morning hangover knows about sheer brass necks and how this physical condition often leaves one clamoring out of the bed around noon. Brass balls, on the other hand, go well beyond Alec Baldwin and are generally good when paired up with ambition and a focused plan. Had Robinson offered say a date with Irvine Welsh rather than turgid tetrameter quatrains from Ms. Rowling, we’d be more in her corner.

Alice Thomas Ellis has passed on. Any novelist who dresses exclusively in black is, as far as we’re concerned, worth lowering your hat over.

The Hollywood Reporter needs to understand that “Disney” and “rebels” do not belong in the same headline, unless Roy Disney leads a beer hall putsch. In which case, we should be very concerned with this sort of thing.

Here’s a David Lodge essay I missed from last year on Nabokov’s Pnin (and this is an excerpt from the introduction that appeared in the Everyman’s Library version). The novel, as we all know was an insurance policy in the event that Lolita couldn’t find a publisher. But Lodge offers some valuable info on Pnin’s inspiration, which was, in all likelihood, historian Marc Szeftel. Lodge is quite right in acknowledging Pnin as a prototype of the campus novel, but I wish he had conducted a more thorough inventory of Pnin‘s influence, which is broader than even Lodge gives credit for. Updike’s Bech books, for one, is clearly inspired by Pnin.

Alex Beam tears Joe Queenan a new one, pointing out Queenan’s hypocrisy in complaining about “the jackass at The Boston Globe who always gives my books bad reviews” and Queenan’s measly sales. Queenan Country only sold 6,124 copies. (via Bookdwarf)