« July 2007 | Main | September 2007 »

Entries from August 2007

August 31, 2007

One year later.

It's the 31st, and at the risk of attracting Typepad's attention to the fact that I now owe them more money I do not have, it's been about a year since I migrated Condalmo here from Blogger.  I'd been considering moving back - money's tight, and other folks wring out a good site from Blogger's tools - but this news is just the latest in why I'm glad I'm here:

Malicious hackers have supposedly been successful in gaining access to some blogs and posting fake entries with weblinks that lead to infectious downloads on Windows PC's. A security researcher started noticing the corrupt links turning up in Blogger accounts on August 27th. Since then hundreds of blogs have been reported to contain the malicious links. The researcher could not tell how the links were posted. They could have been posted through a Blogger exploit, through a feature that lets users email an entry, or the blogs could have been also set up solely to host spam and no hacking could have occurred at all.

So far the links appear to pose as YouTube links, others are looking for software testers, and others are links to supposed digital greeting cards. No word from Google on the matter.

No thanks.  Blogger: Google's neglected middle child.  I'll pick up some overtime, drink Yuban instead of CBB for a couple of weeks, whatever. 

So, happy birthday to Condalmo.  I feel like I've neglected the place recently, but I appreciate that folks continue to come here and read about my thoughts, pursuits, complaints, and appreciations.  I'm looking forward to another year of dynamite books.  Thanks.

August 30, 2007

Pucker up, buttercup.

Hold_me_thrill_me_kiss_me_kill_me_3

I'm so inactive on the forums. 

Three Percent scares me with the Arrr, matey.

Me timbers are shivering, if only a bit:

Someone, somewhere, will figure out a way to get the content from printed page to digital content quickly and easily (Think CDs to MP3s). Scanners will get cheaper and better, and that will have unintended consequences (Think CDRs and CD burners for your computer). Someone else will figure out a way to share the stuff (Think Napster), or sharing will piggy-back on the existing sharing systems. First the nerds, then the semi-nerds (like me) will catch on and start reading these books on their computers, not minding that it’s a little less convenient than reading a physical book. Some forward-thinking entrepreneur (Think Steve Jobs) will suddenly see an opportunity and make an e-reader that doesn’t suck and that will become a must-have thing.

By then it’ll be too late and the big publishers will put together a bunch of half-ass attempts (Think the new fee-based Napster) to put the genie back in the bottle, while holding on like grim death to their not so suddenly outdated business model, and will rot from within.

I've teeter-tottered between enthusiastic dorkwad embracing of the idea that I could read my books on A Device, or maybe even a phone (a Google Phone (read: iPhone challenger) is in the works, apparently, and may retail for $100) and coming to my senses: come on, there's no way it could ever be as good as holding the book.  This article, though, struck a little fear:  what if people like myself eventually are overrun by new media, as younger, more device-embracing consumers - the holders of the purse-strings - demand the e-book, either before or after the likely inevitable design of "the iPod of eBooks"?  What if I become the guy who covets books, cursing out the youngsters, like the guy who will only listen to Johnny Hartman on vinyl?  (Sadly, in this equation, I'm the digital music guy, which only deepens my existential guilt over the whole matter.)  And then, if there are e-books galore, won't there be piracy?  So: a world where the written word is valued enough to be pirated, is that worth a world where the "book" is a rarity?

Probably just all conjecture, since people who like books like books, period, and books aren't records.  But still, the codger in me wants to make sure my lawn remains damned-kids-free indefinitely.

Age before beauty.

Two publications take predictable stances on beautiful & young/old & wise authors.  The Boston Phoenix has this article on the new hotness, remarkably free of interesting excerptable material; you're stuck with this:

Literature, unlike so many other media industries, is technically a meritocracy. But that won’t stop book marketers, bloggers, critics, and the literary community at large from collectively slobbering over a pretty author. No, the literary rules changed ages ago. Books no longer need to be serious in order to be published; there are fewer and fewer venues available for reviews (rendering competition more intense with every passing catalogue season), and critics aren’t doing their job unless they are merciless. Perhaps as a response to all of this, publishers have begun to count on their authors to do double-duty — to act as sex symbols as well.

The definition of beauty worship is still evolving, but if you thought phrases such as chick-lit or post-apocalyptic were annoying, wait until bloggers and reviewers start pegging authors as everything from “Lit Boys” (WASP-y Ivy League graduates with floppy hair who’ve written yet another coming-of-age book) to “literary wunderkinds” (they’re changing the state of fiction as we know it, right here, right now, grab your inhalers!) to “literary ingénues” (so endearingly innocent they’ll wrap you and your $24.95 hardcover book budget around their soft little finger). Armed with such superlatives, many of these writers go on to be inducted, from the first flush of their careers, into the postmodern canon of Hot Young Authors. Every published writer is bound to receive a varying amount of raves and pans, sure, but this group is special: each has been held to scrutiny not simply because of the hype their books have received, but because it has been suggested that their youth and appearance have given them an advantage that a less striking yet more gifted writer would never achieve.

Essentially, some young authors are hot and maybe this plays a part in their success, maybe not.  The word "bodice" is used.  Is being Young and Hot (and Author) now postmodern?  They appear to have gone to Linklater's Waking Life/Scanner Darkly rotoscoping team for the Freudenberger photo; does this mean she is less attractive unless animated?  These aspects of the new hotness are confusing. 

The Guardian, stodgy old codgers, they think everyone under 30 should be banned from publishing a novel.  (Full disclosure: I am thirty-three, and my novel remains unpublished.) (And unwritten.) (I've thought about it, though.)  They are displeased with the flatness of the new hotness:

So why is it that our bookshelves and book columns are filled with work by young and talented but underdeveloped writers? One quote from an unnamed publisher will probably suffice: "When I saw the new writer was under 30 and very photogenic, I breathed a sigh of relief." The majority of publishers do not want to publish great books by older, maybe less attractive authors. Sex sells, beauty sells, and - wouldn't you know it - youth sells. Look around at the current crop of much-vaunted young writers, male and female: there's not an ugly duckling among them. Coincidence? Perhaps, but go to their work and it just doesn't stand up to scrutiny. The writing is as flat as the paper it is printed on.

Ultimately, publishers and marketing folk have to take some responsibility for this systematic denigration of our precious culture. Brilliant writers will be lost forever, and publishing young, not-yet-ready authors and hyping them into oblivion does the writers themselves few favours. Where do they go from there? If they are told they are good when they've yet to develop, how can they judge the validity of everything they do afterwards?

I've got to agree, though I've been lucky enough to read a few of the exceptions that are out there.  However: publishers of a smaller nature (read: independent) are savvy enough to be open to older writers, and thus carry some of the more interesting works being published.  Thankfully. (Which is why I follow their catalogs.)

August 29, 2007

Why the computer will always lose to the book.

Paul Duguid on Google Book Search:

The Google Books Project is no doubt an important, in many ways invaluable, project. It is also, on the brief evidence given here, a highly problematic one. Relying on the power of its search tools, Google has ignored elemental metadata, such as volume numbers. The quality of its scanning (and so we may presume its searching) is at times completely inadequate [14]. The editions offered (by search or by sale) are, at best, regrettable. Curiously, this suggests to me that it may be Google’s technicians, and notShabby_shanty librarians, who are the great romanticisers of the book. Google Books takes books as a storehouse of wisdom to be opened up with new tools. They fail to see what librarians know: books can be obtuse, obdurate, even obnoxious things. As a group, they don’t submit equally to a standard shelf, a standard scanner, or a standard ontology. Nor are their constraints overcome by scraping the text and developing search algorithms. Such strategies can undoubtedly be helpful, but in trying to do away with fairly simple constraints (like volumes), these strategies underestimate how a book’s rigidities are often simultaneously resources deeply implicated in the ways in which authors and publishers sought to create the content, meaning, and significance that Google now seeks to liberate. Even with some of the best search and scanning technology in the world behind you, it is unwise to ignore the bookish character of books. More generally, transferring any complex communicative artifacts between generations of technology is always likely to be more problematic than automatic.

August 28, 2007

Dixon and Diaz.

Apparently, the new issue of Poets & Writers has profiles of both Stephen Dixon and Junot Diaz.  (via)

First things first.

Those of you in no way affiliated or involved with Facebook: congratulations.  However, should you join - or be a person who has already joined - please do have a look at joining the First Book cause.  They do good work, period.

August 27, 2007

"I like to walk to be alone with the world, not to be alone."

This article (no longer available in full online without paying, dumb, dumb, dumb, but you could do the free trial, or find someone to share it with you) from Nicole Krauss is one of those things: it hits the nail right on the head for me, it is the essay on walking and writing and life that I'd thought about writing but would never have written this well; it's also done in just such a way as to inspire admiration and "I must look into her fictions" instead of the other response, which is "damn, wish I'd written that."  Tasty excerpt:

I like to walk to be alone with the world, not to be alone.  In this way, walking is a lot like writing.  Both writing and walking (as I know it) are fueled by a desire to put oneself in relation to others.  Not in direct contact - some aloneness wishes to be preserved - but contact through the mediation of language or shared atmosphere of a city street.

Looking forward to the cool autumn weather.

August 26, 2007

Roundup.

  • Via BookSlut, God Bless the USA.  If you have an opinion other than "U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!", however, please sit down and shut up.
  • 1 in 4: the untapped audience!  Publishers, start your engines.  (Maybe that's the wrong phrase to use.)
  • I don't recall where I saw this originally (sorry!) but n+1 has a new target: e-mail.  A lot of hand-wringing with a tiny kernel of truth.
  • Facebook potential realized?  First Book works to put books in the hands of kids who might not otherwise get them.  Combat joyful ignorance.
  • Music news!  Oh no, thought I - another album from a movie star.  These never turn out well.  Except this movie star is Scarlett, whose voice I very much appreciate.  Ugh, thinks I - why must she debase herself with knuckleheaded pop confections?  Wait.  I was wrong.
    • AP: What about this album you're releasing? It's all Tom Waits covers?

      Johansson: I've always been a huge fan of Tom Waits and I had this kind of golden opportunity to make an album however I wanted and it's kind of a dream chance. ... Originally I thought that I would do an album of standards and I wanted to include a Tom Waits song. And I don't know, I thought maybe everybody does standards, and so, I see Tom Waits as being kind of a composer of modern standards and so it seemed appropriate that I could interpret his songs. Obviously, it's not an album where I'm trying to sound like him. It would be impossible. He writes such beautiful songs and incredible melodies and they're so cinematic and kind of open-ended so I felt like it would be something that I could be inspired by.

  • After the Quake to be produced for BBC radio.  I live in the wrong country.
  • Portland!  The late Casco Bay Books is profiled on Maud's site.
  • Marcus Aurelius' Meditations is available as a free audio download.

Technical difficulties.

Apparently, I just invited hundreds of people/organizations (including this website) to join me on LastFM.  Thought I hit "cancel" - apparently, after being up all night with the baby, "send" looks like "cancel", and vice versa.  My apologies.

August 24, 2007

Diary of a Blue Angel Wonder Boy.

Tomorrow's Guardian has an excerpt from JM Coetzee's new novel, Diary of a Bad Year.  "An eminent, elderly writer" is working on a book while also taking notes on the lusty little lady next door.  Uh oh, sounds familiar.  Still:  Coetzee.  Although: meta.  Wonder if Costello will suddenly pop out his closet to scold him for being such a lecherous lout.

August 23, 2007

Department of creative writing letdowns.

Maybe I need to start a category here for disappointments in reading; they seem to be pouring in lately.  Having read Francine Prose's nonfiction writings here and there, and liking her way with words, I thought I was in for a treat when I found a used copy of Blue Angel.  The skinny: a creative writing program professor (bells going off! a Condalmo favored subject!), stalled on his novel after previous success, develops a crush on a student with exceptional talent.  Look at this, via Powell's:

The story inspires me to imagine Michael Chabon, Denis Johnson, Francine Prose, and Richard Russo sitting in a chateau one summer in the mid-'90s, the night sky split with relentless lightning, as they read Lucky Jim by Kingsley Amis. Finally Chabon — with his fondness for comic books and genre writing, it must have been Chabon — rises to his feet and proposes that each write an academic satire about a creative writing instructor who falls in love or flirts with a student. Johnson avoided the satire angle (and made his protagonist a history professor) while Prose chose to make the satire more venomous than funny (and paced her novel like a first-rate thriller), but Chabon and Russo managed to keep their tales brisk and hilarious. Whether or not this creation scenario actually played out, these writers have contributed a quartet of superb novels built around similar elements and themes — each distinctly different and compelling in its own right. My personal favorite remains Russo's Straight Man, but I've been unable to forget Chabon's Wonder Boys, Prose's Blue Angel, or Johnson's The Name of the World. Perhaps all four books are best read together, on a single weekend, preferably with the crackle of thunder outside... Recommended by Bolton, Powells.com

Okay, well, I enjoyed Straight Man well enough; I very much enjoyed Wonder Boys - the movie; I found the book lacking.  I haven't read The Name of the World.  I suspect part of my ongoing disappointment in this subject area is fueled by the perfection of another certain book dealing with university creative writing programs.  Part of the appeal of that book that some of these others are lacking is that it approaches the story in hindsight, being written after the fact, whereas books like Straight Man and Blue Angel are being presented "as it happens," so to speak.  That hindsight is like a rock being thrown into deep waters; these other books are rocks skimming the surface.  Nice, if you like that sort of thing.  I guess I don't.  I welcome recommendations for literary fiction books on the subject(s) of creative writing programs at university.

Oh, and someone needs to strike this, from the book flap, from future editions:

Blue Angel does for creative writing programs what Upton Sinclair's The Jungle did for the meat-packing industry.

No.  No, it does not.

August 22, 2007

Sleeping beauty.

My tonight and tomorrow:

Two tests that are commonly used in diagnosing narcolepsy are the polysomnogram and the multiple sleep latency test. These tests are usually performed by a sleep specialist. The polysomnogram involves continuous recording of sleep brain waves and a number of nerve and muscle functions during nighttime sleep. When tested, people with narcolepsy fall asleep rapidly, enter REM sleep early, and may awaken often during the night. The polysomnogram also helps to detect other possible sleep disorders that could cause daytime sleepiness.

For the multiple sleep latency test, a person is given a chance to sleep every 2 hours during normal wake times. Observations are made of the time taken to reach various stages of sleep. This test measures the degree of daytime sleepiness and also detects how soon REM sleep begins. Again, people with narcolepsy fall asleep rapidly and enter REM sleep early.

So I get to sleep through the night nonstop, and then sit around all day tomorrow with a book and take naps every two hours?  Whatever the co-pay on this, it's worth it

Disquiet.

I've had The Book of Disquiet in my TBR pile for a long time now; I've started it a couple of times, but put it aside in favor of something shorter, usually the fiction du jour I often get sucked into without much resistance.  (I'm tracking my copy of Maqroll as it winds its way across the U.S. to my mailbox.  I get wind of something new & interesting and I cannot resist.  I have the benefit of knowing my associates/friends' tastes fairly well, though, so usually when one of them speaks highly of a book, I have a sense straight away whether I would also get a bang out of said book.)  I think of Disquiet as one of those books I'm saving, hording away for a time when I really need to be lost inside a book.  This appreciation, though brief, prods me into bumping it upward, again, in the pile.  Excerpt:

Have you ever finished a book and then gone back to the beginning to read it all over again because you can’t bear to let it go? I did that for the first time a few days ago when I came to the end of Fernando Pessoa’s Book of Disquiet. I’d make a terrible, skewed reviewer right now: my thoughts are all superlatives. The main one is: “This is the only true book I have ever read.” That keeps going through my mind: This is the only true book I have ever read.

It seems truer than non-fiction because it is openly subjective. If you removed the author’s right to his ‘I’ then the book wouldn’t exist. Disquiet takes the form of a diary without dates and without a narrative connection between the days. The diarist does not, for example, meet a woman one week and then chart a course of love with her across the months, ending in triumphant dating by the climax. There is no climax. The order of the entries is more or less arbitrary. No one knows the order Pessoa wrote them in, or how he meant them to be arranged. Like most of his writing, the Book went unpublished during his lifetime. It was assembled from his unfinished notes after he died. (Some of the entries begin or end in ellipses, or hint at supportive paragraphs that he never got around to writing. Small squares have been drawn in places where his handwriting became too illegible to decipher.) The edition of the book that I’m reading—Richard Zenith’s translation from the original Portuguese, published by Penguin in 2001—comprises 481 of these notes, and ends with a Disquiet Anthology of pieces that could potentially have made it into the main body of the Book, but, in the end, didn’t.

I was going to end the post there, but fishing around for a link for you to click on, I came across this review, and yes, I'm showering you with love and excerpts:

Pessoa's genius, like Beckett's or the philosopher E. M. Cioran's, lies in his deliberate abandonment of the conventions of his genre. This is not the book to turn to for easy escape; it cannot be read quickly. It's not the book to study for plot or story; voice and perception guide its movement, as does the dream-life. It's fiction, philosophy, and poetry. It's a book informed by solitude. Because of its leisurely fragmented style, the book, if read in one or two sittings, can feel tedious. This is all too fitting since this concept serves as motif. Like Bartleby, Soares sees the vacancy of production and consumerism, and feels the boredom and restlessness that results. Yet unlike Bartleby, who refuses to be a cog, Soares must be one. For him, tedium is not simply negative. He tells us straightaway in the early pages: "banality is a form of intelligence" and "much of what I feel and think I owe to my work as a bookkeeper since the former exists as a negative of and flight from the latter." For him, tedium is the necessary complement to the dream-life.

August 21, 2007

Kamby Bologno Mean River.

Dzanc Books has announced more forthcoming titles.  I'm pleased to see Robert Lopez included with a currently untitled short story collection due in 2010, and Kamby Bologno Mean River - a novel - in 2009.  My spell checker wants that title to be Amby Bologna Mean RiverWhat is amby?  Lopez' Part of the World was mighty enjoyable.

Long hoax.

I don't have it in me to be coherent about this, so let me just say the LongPen is ridiculous, and leave the better phrasing to YPTR:

This thing haunts me in my sleep.  Why?  Perhaps because it combines the thrill of an Alice Munro appearance with the excitement of a kiosk?

Now, honestly, is this meant to benefit the reader in any way?  I see where it benefits Norman Mailer, because he doesn't even have to put on his pajama bottoms to be adored.  I see where it benefits his publisher, because they don't have to spring for air travel or send over some poor erstwhile Communications major to try to cajole Mailer into his goddamn pajama bottoms.

August 19, 2007

Holy Maqroll.

Does it make me lame that I thought he said "mackerel"?  It's okay, you can say yes.  Max (and Garth) spoke highly of it; looks interesting, no?

Misadventure

August 18, 2007

Brief roundups without hideous cowboys.

  • An interview with Samara O'Shea, author of For the Love of LettersWe at Condalmo are always pushing encouraging the letter writing.
  • Scott on when the book you're reading just isn't cutting the mustard.
  • Lots of free downloads of audiobooks.
  • Listen to NPR Weekend Edition tomorrow morning and you'll hear this guy.

"Write" every day.

Jenny Davidson, at Baker's site, on creating a text (part of a series he's running); excerpt:

Obviously you can’t write anything good if you don’t have some little germ of talent hidden away somewhere. But I am a great believer in the forms of self-cultivation. I am annoyed by advice of the write-every-day sort. I write something every day, of course, but many days I write blog posts and e-mails rather than writing anything real, as it were. I have a demanding job and inevitably there’s some fallow time between projects and I have never found write-properly-every-day a realistic discipline. But there’s no doubt you build up stamina and skill over the years, and if you keep working on it, and if you pay close attention to your own stumbling-blocks, it is amazing what can be accomplished. More writers are crippled by self-doubt or indecision than by technical incompetence; but self-doubt and indecision are as amenable to being addressed as incompetence. There is no excuse for not working on these things.

August 17, 2007

Kidd twisting arms.

It's been a while since we've had any Chip Kidd porn here at Condalmo.  Via the AbeBooks blog, we are directed to Kidd discussing three recent covers: House of Meetings, The Road, and Terrorist.  The latter is by far my favorite of the three (cover-wise).  I kind of feel like Kidd phoned in the cover for The Road

How to choose your next book to read.

Max uses the alphabetical random system.  I intend to employ the following in the immediate future.  This is an elaborate setup considering the not especially surprising payoff, viewable after the jump.

Continue reading "How to choose your next book to read." »

August 16, 2007

This house is on fire with passion and love.

Largehearted Boy is hot-to-trot for a book I'd become interested in a while back - An Arsonist's Guide to Writers' Homes in New England - when I read and enjoyed What is the Cure for Meanness? in One Story.  Author Brock Clarke does the playlist thing, and I add another book to my wishlist.  (Incidentally, my subscription to One Story expired, if you're in a giving mood.  But you should all talk with each other first, so I don't get multiple subscriptions.  Okay, never mind.  Whimsy and quirkiness!)

Evenson reading, via Chiasmus.

Chiasmus brings us this Brian Evenson (The Open Curtain) reading, after the jump.

Continue reading "Evenson reading, via Chiasmus." »

A technical question of no small boredom.

To my readers:

  1. Do you read this site through a feed reader?
  2. Do you read the entire post through the reader?
  3. If your reader were to pick up an excerpt from the beginning of my posts, as is the case with some other sites, would you then be likely to click through to my site and read the whole post?  Or would you consider it trickery of some kind and stop attending to my quirky ramblings?

I ask because I've recently been going back and editing posts shortly after publishing them, only to discover that somehow my site's feed has jumped to the top of the queue and is fed into my reader moments after I publish it - thus, you get the shoddy, error-ridden version, instead of the polished final edition. 

I suppose a solution would be more careful vetting of my posts, but I'm just curious.  Leave a response in the comments or e-mail me.  Condalmo's the name, g-mail's the game.

I read "quirk" and I think of a twitchy older man.

That's just me, I guess.  Leading with that quirky subject header, I introduce you to this piece on "quirk" and its ascendant status in American culture, for better and apparently for a whole lot of worse.  Watch wide-eyed as

specific circumstances are nipped, tucked, torqued, and squeezed until they fit the theme

with the following (and preceding) excerpts:

As an aesthetic principle, quirk is an embrace of the odd against the blandly mainstream. It features mannered ingenuousness, an embrace of small moments, narrative randomness, situationally amusing but not hilarious character juxtapositions (on HBO’s recent indie-cred comedy Flight of the Conchords, the titular folk-rock duo have one fan), and unexplainable but nonetheless charming character traits. Quirk takes not mattering very seriously.

I think Hirschorn's got some points about quirk being employed as an easy out to serious treatments of the subject matter (including comedy), but he works feverishly to take examples (as in "specific circumstances are nipped, tucked, torqued, and squeezed until they fit the theme", which his article is most certainly guilty, guilty, guilty of) from culture's most successful - and by successful, I mean effective, not "popular" - conveyors of quirk.  It is, indeed, easy to be a bit off, a bit odd, and have that be your selling point.  Lord knows I employ a varying share of quirk here.  And, maybe, I'm just a bit defensive, as Hirschorn's targets are my current primary non-book sources of entertainment.  (Just last night, I watched the episode of AD from season three that featured this statement (roughly paraphrased): "Who am I supposed to find that will want to spend a night in that musty old clap-trap?" which, let me tell you, makes me laugh just typing it, even though I butchered it)  But, truly, these sort of seem like the more successful conveyors of quirk, generally speaking: TAL tells stories without easy answers.  Okay, so the guy who was gored in the nutsack by his cloned bull, maybe he is a bit touched; maybe he learned a lesson, maybe he didn't.  More likely the latter.  I don't think any sort of epiphany is necessarily being forced down our throat here; it's just a story, even if an epiphany is implied.  If we, the viewer/listener, were being lead to think Holey Nutsack had some sort of epiphany, would footage be included that contradicts that conclusion? 

I think "quirk ascendant" (and really, it seems much more marginal to regular joe culture than Hirschorn is letting on, though I suspect his target audience with The Atlantic is populated mainly by the sort of folks who are already very familiar with the subject matter) is as popular as it is because it succeeds in providing some level of nuance that you aren't going to get in most of your other "braying" media. 

August 13, 2007

Wall of background/window of background.

The always-thoughtful Brian of Five Branch Tree considers Joseph Coulson's Of Song and Water (the former) in relation to Steinbeck (the latter) - grist for further thought, given the comparison made between Steinbeck and Coulson with regard to his prior work, The Vanishing MoonI haven't read Steinbeck in many years, so can't really comment on his take.  I greatly enjoyed Of Song and Water and interviewed Coulson in March.

Carmichael, you asshole.

Neil Young has commissioned a Glamour Shot of himself to commemorate the launch of his first book.  "Greendale" the graphic novel will be inked by one Sean Murphy, with writing help from Joshua Dysart.  I ate a meal at a Dysart's; didn't match up to my rigid undergraduate Irving's standards, but there you go.  A little Neil Young, a little book news, a little Maine focus: another successful day here at Condalmo.

Afterwords.

There is something I keep wanting to say about reading short stories.  I am doing it now, because I may never have another occasion.  Stories are not chapters of novels.  They should not be read one after another, as if they were meant to follow along.  Read one.  Shut the book.  Read something else.  Come back later.  Stories can wait.

...Mavis Gallant, from the afterword to Paris Stories.  My gratitude to eagle-eyed Condalmo reader Drew for putting me on the right track. 

Mavis, of course, says it much better than I did, with my writing about buffet restaurants or whatever it was I wrote. 

Icebergs.

It's true, I've read nothing by Mr. Donald Barthelme.  I have done a little bit of amateur poking around on the internets and I like what I see, very much.  I did not see very much, though; given a choice, picking up Forty Stories or (/and?) Sixty Stories to have and to hold.  It's a great feeling, isn't it, when that door gets opened to a previously totally unknown author, one that might push all the right buttons for you as a reader. 

August 11, 2007

Break the code, solve the crime.

So.  Faced with a number of contenders for my next read, I was flipping though one of them the other night, dead tired, asleep on my feet in the living room.  A short story collection, with an introduction that asserted that short story collections are not meant to be read as novels are read; you shouldn't read them cover to cover, but dip in, read a story, then shelve it, move to something/someone else, go back later.  To be eaten in small servings, rather than in one big meal.  This is the only way to really appreciate the individuality of each story, to stop them from overlapping each other, blending, blurring.  Cool, thinks I, and somehow I end up in bed.

Except now, I can't find where I read that little idea.  I can't find it in any of those contenders.  Nor any of the other books in the general vicinity of where I was standing at that moment.  I was the only person in the room.  Continued sleep deprivation has me wondering if I imagined reading it, some sort of strange deprivation fever dream.  Does it make sense?  Can anyone source this idea, or am I to thank/blame?  Is there more to it that I cannot remember? 

At any rate, I've proceeded to ignore my own advice and am enjoying helping after helping of Roy Kesey's All Over.  A nine mile long painting; an institute of perfection; a castle made out of Pizza Hut salad bar toppings.  I'm All Over it!

August 10, 2007

Board game, 1975.

Thanks to Tom for pointing this out.  "It's a family game," the announcer informs us, as Dad tells the kids to get the F out of there.  The serious demeanor of the father in this commercial suggests that there is an additional penalty awaiting him, should he not get some better results from his balls. 

Have a happy weekend.

Continue reading "Board game, 1975." »

A question answered.

Behold.  "Vertigo, Collecting W.G. Sebald: On literature and book collecting, with an emphasis on W.G. Sebald and novels with embedded photographs."  via TMN.

August 09, 2007

It's hopeless I'm a slut for the New York Times.

It seems to be the thing to do, hitting Dwight Garner over the head with his corporation, but nevertheless he is posting some original stuff the rest of us are not catching, like this:

...written a week or two ago by Kieran Healy, an assistant professor of Sociology at the University of Arizona, on an academic group blog called Crooked Timber.

Healy’s short post was called “The Last Typing Wife,” and here’s some of that he had to say:

Question: what is the latest - i.e., most recent - example you know of an academic’s first book where, in the acknowledgments, the author thanks his wife … for typing and retyping the manuscript with great patience, forbearance, accuracy, and so on? … Up until a certain point, the endlessly patient and also busily typing wife was a fixture in them. But no longer. How precisely, I wonder, can her extinction be dated?

Healy continued:

My hypotheses are: (1) The typing wife disappeared earlier than the typing employee, but (1a), The typing employee has also now disappeared. (2) Things must have been in decline for a long time (typewriters are not exactly a new technology, and then women started going to graduate school on their own account), but the big drop-off comes some time in the 1980s, as cheap computers and word-processors arrive. I suspect specimens continued to appear into the 1990s, however. (3) The typing wife may have disappeared from acknowledgments faster than actual wives doing actual typing disappeared in practice. (4) I expect variance across fields due mostly for reasons of technological affinity. But I’m not sure how fine-grained this is.

Healy’s post about typing wives drew some excellent comments, which are worth reading for their own sake. One of them even digs deeply into what was apparently a mini-scandal surrounding the writer Wendell Berry’s typing wife.

Yes, that was quite the kerfuffle, wasn't it?  Wendell Berry hates computers, as do I, today, since I cannot spend my "mandatory paperwork time" doing paperwork with malfunctioning paperwork software.  So I sink further into a morass of overdue case notes, and I read the blogs and the comments, one of which points us to this amusing acknowledgements page.

August 08, 2007

Strike two.

Okay, I made it just over halfway through The Meat and Spirit Plan, and I'm abandoning ship.  I feel somewhat almost bad to be focusing my irritation - with having started two books in a row that turned out to be duds - on this particular dud, but if you have the means at some future point to get your hands on a copy, let me point you to where I said "enough" - it's page 118 that I said "I am wasting my time with this" and it's page 119 - actually, the following passage is all of page 119 - that I read the following:

When I stop sleeping with Ian then stop sleeping it is noticed.  It is different.  Life continues.  At night I sit in front of the terrible room's large bay window.  I look out of it, smoke cigarettes, and think about shit.

You do?  Really?  That last sentence could easily serve as a summary of this aimless work.  Wicked bland.

I flipped ahead to see if things were going to shift direction dramatically, but they don't really seem to shift at all.  And the ending appears to be the young woman sitting down to write this very book you're holding, which might work for me as a conclusion if I was fifteen to seventeen years younger, and a series of pictures.  The Raw Shark Texts ended with a picture, and I didn't like it then, either.  It doesn't exactly take a sorcerer supreme to tuck a few pictures in to the end of a novel, and I'm not interested in it as a general practice.  It reeks of self-satisfaction and laziness.  A gimmick.  If anyone has an example of it working, please, put me in my place.  (Do not go with Foer.  You will hear a loud The Price is Right you-got-it-wrong buzzer.) 

Now what?

Evacuate the building.

Good stuff at Hang Fire:

Invited into a home for the first time, a book lover will take great pleasure in combing through the owner's bookshelves. Some do it brazenly, some wait for the host to get up and refill the drinks, but we all do it. That peek into the psyche is irresistible.

But there is risk involved. Have you ever found a title that you just can't accept? a book that makes your skin crawl? a book that creates serious misgivings about going forward with the dinner party/new friendship/one-night stand that you thought was in the cards?

These are dealbreaker books. And I want to know what yours are....and why.

I dropped a few obvious choices in the comments, trying to restrain (somewhat) my book snobbery.  Here, not so restrained:

  • Any chick lit.
  • Any conservative screeds.
  • Any celebrity tell-alls, bios, cookbooks.
  • An extensive collection (a book or two, not necessarily a dealbreaker) of any of the following:  Tom Clancy.  Stephen King.  "The Notebook" guy.  How-to business books.  How to be influencial/powerful/win friend(s) books.  A big old stack of Jesus books.

I'm sure there's more, but lunch calls.

August 07, 2007

Deficient in vitamin W.

All quiet here today.  Back at work, chained to the paperwork machine.  Not a lot of good things for sharing; you can find the Booker long-list in the Roundup bar (Callie at Counterbalance has the post), and as others have noted, not a lot of big names, which probably will translate to "another prize for McEwan."  I've found little to enjoy in McEwan's writing.  He doesn't do it for me; I don't know, too mannered, maybe?  I don't have any McEwan in front of me, so I'm shooting from the hip on this one.  A mannered writer I do enjoy, now, officially, is A.S. Byatt.  I was entertained by the film version of Possession; my wife started the book, but put it on hold, getting bogged down in what she reported was a whole lot more of the correspondence between writers, apparently pages upon pages of it.  I hadn't read any Byatt before last weekend, when - between books - my wife pressed Byatt's Little Black Book of Stories on me, telling me to at least read "A Stone Woman."  Which I did. 

What a great one - a woman, grieving the loss of her mother, finds her body slowly turning into stone.  Not just stone, but stones, wild varieties, complex combinations, her blood turning to hot molten lava.  She reads about stones, trying to understand what is happening to her; she meets a man in a graveyard who works with stone, carving it, and they form - a relationship, of sorts.  She doesn't know where this will lead - will she eventually freeze into a statue, with nothing left to lubricate her joints, nothing but (sorry) rocks in her head?  I'm not doing it a whole lot of justice here, but it's just what I needed - I started off a bit irritated with it, as Byatt's writing doesn't really allow you to read it quickly, but once I adjusted, it was just perfect. 

Now I'm into The Meat and Spirit Plan by Selah Saterstrom - so far, kind of a tepid response to this one, seems a bit like "The Diary of Adrianna Mole, Teenage Southern White Trash Who's Actually Smarter Than You Think, Just Wait and See".  Not a bad thing, just not especially riveting subject matter for me.  To tell the truth, I have a little bit of a block on female narrators and female main characters.  As in, I'm sitting here right now having trouble thinking of one single book (novel length) that I've read and enjoyed, that has a female narrator &/or main character.   

Wait, here's one: The Children's Hospital.  Loved that book. 

Dodged a bullet there, I did.  (Right?  Please?) 

August 05, 2007

Free books.

Presenting: Twenty Ways to get Free or Cheap Books (and Give Away Your Old Ones)

We here at 14 Condalmo Plaza are partial to BookMooch, which recently provided Housekeeping(the book, not the service.  wouldn't it be great if they'd come out and do some of this laundry!)

August 04, 2007

"It won't go away." "I can't/won't stop eating." Etc.

A roundup!  Like riding a bike.Cowboy

  • Robert Lopez, author of Condalmo-appreciated & enjoyed Part of the World, is noted today at EWN.  It's an older one, but I hadn't read it.  Perhaps you, also, have not read this story.  Title: "Priapism."  Ouch.   
  • Also via EWN, an essay on the following topic:
    • Blake and three buddies show up at a Ryan's Steakhouse at 7:30 a.m., just as it opens, and order the All-You-Can-Eat with the intentions of staying there all day, until 9:30 p.m., and the rules are they must either be eating, getting food, or using the bathroom, the entire time.
  • Hobart's got an interview with Roy Kesey, author of Nothing in the World (which will be re-released in the near future) and the forthcoming All Over.
  • MA continues her Bolano dissent with guest blogger Joseph Fiennes!*
  • Mark is going to kick this guy's ass overalls into next week.
  • Continuing to love Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga Ga.  Here's Britt solo, acoustic, live.  (With a drum machine, on some tracks.)  If Barkis is willin' (i.e., you have Quicktime or whatever installed) you should be able to hear one track  - being saved for a future solo release - by clicking on the following:  "Telephone My Heart"
  • You had to see it coming: write a letter.

* well, Joseph somebody.

August 03, 2007

Where we're from, the birds sing a pretty song.

THE GROUNDBREAKING SERIES THAT ALTERED THE TELEVISION LANDSCAPE AT LONG LAST ARRIVES IN A COMPLETE DVD SET

TWIN PEAKS(TM) THE DEFINITIVE GOLD BOX EDITION

Loaded with All-New Exclusive Special Features and Beloved Vintage Materials,
All 29 Newly Remastered Episodes, Plus Two Versions of the Original Pilot,
This 10-Disc Collection Debuts October 30, 2007

HOLLYWOOD, Calif. - The highly-anticipated Definitive Gold Box Edition of the series that became one of television's most acclaimed events finally arrives - with all 29 episodes plus both the original and European versions of the pilot - on October 30, 2007 from CBS Home Entertainment and Paramount Home Entertainment...

"Finally the pilot is together with the series. The picture looks clean with good color correction. The sound is really good," said David Lynch. "I think this is a great definitive Twin Peaks Gold Set - the Gold represents the highest quality. A lot of work has gone in to this, and in my opinion it has really paid off."...

This better-be-final collection has a big stack of extras not on the previous two DVD sets - follow the link to see the exhaustive list, but feast your eyes on this one while you're here:

Thought to have been lost forever, a selection of deleted scenes has been unearthed for this collection and approved by David Lynch, offering viewers additional clues and background on some of their favorite characters and locations in the series.

Sold!

August 02, 2007

Better now.

Far be it from me to turn to sports to salve my wounds.  However, I have a place in my heart for hockey, even after years of revolting upper-management decisions regarding the Bruins, and the swift decline into childrens' circus of our local AHL team, the Portland Pirates.

If you don't care about hockey, and I wouldn't blame you a bit, skip the jump, but if you do, here's a good chance to relive a great moment with a great player.

Continue reading "Better now." »

While I'm irritable.

If I was wearing purple pants today, oh man what a scene.  These blue jeans I'm wearing, they would rip right off; I'd be naked, fired.  Good thing the purple trousers are in the laundry.  You know, baby spit up and all.

My latest irritant:

The Bush administration said Thursday that structural deficiencies were found two years ago in the highway bridge that collapsed in Minneapolis, and it was the state's responsibility to fix them.

President Bush pledged federal help in rebuilding the bridge in the city that will host next year's Republican National Convention.

"We in the federal government must respond, and respond robustly, to help the people there not only recover, but to make sure that lifeline of activity — that bridge — gets rebuilt as quickly as possible," Bush said in the Rose Garden after a Cabinet meeting.Secretary_of_transportation_mary_pe

Mary Peters has promised $5 million in immediate aid.  Thank God they covered the cost of ... ...

Petey, you're doin' a heck of a job.

It's nice to see Bush leaping to point out it wasn't his fault before promising aid.  We wouldn't want anyone thinking the federal government is to blame (for anything).  Well, unless you're Republican, because that means you hate government, they bungle things and waste money.  You know, a Republican, like George Bush.  Okay, my head just exploded.

Let's also take a quick look at what it means to receive a robust response.

TIME Preview: New Orleans Still In Grave Danger As Hurricane Season Arrives

By E&P Staff

Published: August 02, 2007 11:20 AM ET

NEW YORK In this week’s cover story coming in Time magazine tomorrow, Michael Grunwald finds in New Orleans a "pathetic" situation: Many of the same coastal scientists and engineers who sounded alarms about the dangers to that city before Hurricane Katrina are warning that the Army Corps of Engineers is “poised to repeat its mistakes—and extend them along the entire Louisiana coast …

"If you liked Katrina, they say, you’ll love what’s coming next … As the disaster’s Aug. 29 anniversary approaches, there will be plenty of talk about the future of New Orleans … But in the long run, recovery plans won’t matter much if investors, insurers and homesick evacuees can’t trust the Corps to prevent the city from drowning again."...

I'm tellin' you:

Me

Ugh ack thpft.

3% on the Espresso Book Machine.

Back before this blog was live, I posted a couple things about Jason Epstein’s book revolution and the Espresso Book Machine. Well, it’s back in the New York Times today, following a demonstration in a midtown branch of the New York Public Library.

The machine, which can “produced a book from digital code to hefty paperback in under 15 minutes,” is retailing for $20,000 and being promoted as a distribution and inventory solution that would revolutionize publishing...

...I still have some reservations. Epstein’s idea of making this an ATM-like device that could be anywhere would essentially eliminate the need for bookstores entirely. Readers would be able to get any book they wanted in their local grocery store, and for 60% off at Wal*Mart, possibly putting the final nail in the indie bookstore coffin.

Stop with the silly nonsense, Mr. Epstein.  You can get coffee from a dirty vending machine or you can get coffee from a coffee shop.  People who care about coffee will still go to coffee shops, and people who are looking for something on the go and care nothing about anything (!) will go the vending machine.  Enjoy your overheated dung water, technology enthusiasts of the world.

Dixon confessional.

Right up front: I not sure if I can finish Meyer.  I've hemmed, I've hawed, but here's the thing: not enjoying it.  It's drudgery, it's a slog, it's not enjoyable, it's killing my Dixon buzz.  The oft-aforementioned trademark zest is lacking.  It's not an awful book; it's far from an awful book.  It starts with Meyer - a writer - trying to work through some blockage.  From the summary:

Meyer proceeds to rifle through all the possible aspects of his life that could make for good fiction, and to try whatever it takes to get writing again. Sometimes sex with his wife helps, so he tries that without luck-several times, just to be sure. He wonders if he should try sex with one of the neighbors. He wonders if he should try writing about his parents' death . . . again. He wonders about concocting awful things for himself and his family. He wonders about concocting wonderful things for himself and his family. He wonders what he's doing, and tries sex with his wife again.

True enough, excerpt that the usual digressions all seem to lose steam as he follows them.  In a way, I guess it's a successful look at a writer trying out different approaches to getting things moving again, with limited and variable levels of success.  Except maybe less on the successful side - ideas are teased out, but they don't seem to go anywhere.  Maybe further on in the book the loose ends are gathered up, but in the meantime, it reads like your oldest uncle regaling you with unbearable levels of detail as he tries to remember who said what to who, on which vacation, and which friend took a picture of that day and mailed it, but to which address?  Which, again, could be considered success based on the theme of the book, but as for an enjoyable read, not so much.  Not for me, not given my already truncated time for reading; I need to squeeze out every ounce of enjoyment before I either fall asleep or have to go change a diaper. 

It's a sad feeling when you come across that first book that you just aren't digging by an author you really, really like (The Brooklyn Follies, After Dark, and now this) - especially when you've looked forward to it so.  Makes me afraid to read beyond the two Mitchell books (Cloud Atlas, Ghostwritten) that I've read.  (I still haven't read Wolff's This Boy's Life.)

I'm going to take a break from it and try to come back later.  I'll be interested to see what other Dixon enthusiasts think of the book...

"And then Etta punched me in the jaw, knocking one of my earbuds into my wineglass."

Trouble is brewing across America as Book Clubs turn into Fight Clubs.  Observe:

JANICE RASPEN, a librarian at an elementary school in Fredericksburg, Va., came clean with her book club a couple years ago. They were discussing “A Fine Balance,” a novel set in India in the 1970s by Rohinton Mistry and an Oprah’s Book Club pick, when she told the group — all fellow teachers — that rather than read the book, she had listened to an audio version.

“My statement was met with stunned silence,” said Ms. Raspen, 38.

Finally Catherine Altman, an art teacher, spoke up.

“I said that I felt like listening to a book was a copout,” Ms. Altman said. “I’m not like a hardcore book group person — a lot of times I don’t even finish the book. But my point was that she is a librarian and I thought it was pretty ridiculous. I’m a painter and it would be like me painting by numbers.”

...Is it acceptable, they debate within and among themselves, to listen to that month’s book rather than read it? Or is that cheating, like watching the movie instead of reading the book?

This article gets big points for using the word "enthusiast," as well as referring to "the hairy eyeball" - which should be in quotes (right?) but in the article is not, lending it even more oomph and a nice literal image.

I suppose it's an interesting little issue, though.  I listened to Kevin Brockmeier's The Brief  History of the Dead and Paul Auster's The Book of Illusions and have not cracked either book (though I do own the Auster) - and am on record somewhere in support of audiobooks.  If my choices are to listen to bland FM radio, histrionic AM radio, or an audiobook (which would mean that I've misplaced my music CDs, or they're all scratched; likely the latter) I'm going to go with the audiobook.  It's a 40 minute commute.  Sometimes it's nice to have nothing on.  Okay, maybe twice a year.

I always try to think of them not as a substitute for reading, but as an alternative.  You wouldn't go to a reading and say later that you'd spent the evening reading that short story, would you?  So, I suppose I haven't read either of those books.  I've listened to the audiobooks.  Nothing wrong with that, right?  Maybe not so good for a book club, though.  Book, after all.  Not audiobook.  Go join an audiobook club.  Can't say as I have a lot of sympathy for this woman, either:

Zella Ondrey, who lives in Hazleton, Pa., is open about her listening experiences. Ms. Ondrey, 44, who moderates a book group at a Barnes & Noble, listens while traveling for her job as a vice president at the Haworth Press, a publisher of academic and professional-development books (none of which are available in an audio format).

She recently listened to an abridgement — the only audio version available — of “Ahab’s Wife: Or, the Star-Gazer” and admitted as much to her group.

The book, like “Moby-Dick,” to which it alludes, is heavy on description. “Apparently some of the detail it went through — like 15 pages describing a lighthouse — was rather boring,” said Ms. Ondrey, adding that while others in the group were not riveted they seemed to consider themselves more virtuous for having waded through it the old-fashioned way.

“I was frowned upon because I didn’t go through the same machinations,” she said.

Yeah, well, you're the moderator

August 01, 2007

Facebook pays off.

Finally, after all that poking.  Apparently, tomorrow is Edward Champion's birthday.  Stop by and wish him well.

You have many reasons to attend to this matter.

Ed goes to the Melville House Publishing site and discovers sale goodness.

Summeroflove

These folks have many fine titles, including three Dixon choices: Phone Rings, Old Friends, and Meyer.  I can heartily recommend the first two; jury's out on the third, but never mind that for now.  Sale!