Month / May 2006

by Edward Champion

An Open Letter to Demanding Publicists I Don’t Know

Dear [insert name of anonymous publicist who I don’t know and who hasn’t bothered to use my first name]:

Thank you for your email. While I am certainly thankful for many of your colleagues’ packages in the mail (particularly when they pay close attention to my site and seem to grasp that I do, in fact, have a life), your email is yet another in a long line of nuisances, hastily fired off into the ether. Honestly, what were you thinking?

Like my peers, I do not understand why you think I must abdicate fifteen hours of my time to read your book, and only your book, and why you are so forceful about it — particularly when I have never heard of it (apologies on this front, but, for the most part, I steer clear of vanity presses and lunatics) and, by some remarkable antipodean panache on your part, have utterly no interest in reading.

No, I’m not interested in reading a self-help book. No, I’m not interested in a Beyonce biography. It would have helped if you had bothered to read my blog or tracked any of my numerous interests and obsessions. (There’s a handy category list to the right, if you’re interested.) It would have helped if you hadn’t referred to me as “Ms. Champion” (how could you have parsed Edward as an XX name?) or “Dear Dude” or any number of impersonal epithets that lack even a whit of wit or a soupçon of consideration. It would have helped if you had actually learned how to write intelligibly. And by “intelligibly,” I don’t ask for much: basic subject-verb agreement and consistent tense, as befitting a professional, much less a civilized member of the human race. It would have helped if you had offered me something more glaringly specific than “I’ve written an autobiography.” Well, that’s fantastic! I wrote about the slice of potato pizza I had the other night in my private journal, but I’m not out there emailing folks about it, demanding that they read my nonsense. It would have helped if you didn’t feel that you were entitled to have your author interviewed by me or your vanity press extolled by me or your author’s Toyota Corolla hand-washed and waxed by me. And, no, I’m sorry, but I won’t reproduce your press packet verbatim here. And I’m also a bit particular about who I give oral sex to.

Tell me, publicist. Why should I give a damn about your book? What makes you think that I am obligated to read it? Seduce me. I’m an easy lay when it comes to certain subjects and certain types. And I’m not exactly silent when I have an erection. That’s what your job is all about, isn’t it? An “autobiography” or a “novel” or any number of general terms are entirely useless to me. You may as well tell me that you want me to read something bound together in paper. Wow, that’s like every one of the several thousand books I have sitting in my house! That’s like any number of the numerous novels and autobiographies that I am sent on a numerous basis! Are you the kind of person who points to the sky and asks me what color it is? (It’s vermillion, in case you needed to know.) Do you really think I sleep with just anyone?

So here’s the deal, publicist. I don’t care who you are, but if you can’t be troubled to address me by name or read my site, if you can’t be troubled to pique my interest, if you can’t be troubled to demonstrate either the reality (or the illusion) that you really believe in this book, then I will immediately shift your book to the absolute bottom of the pile (that would involve shifting you to Book #489 in order of reading priority, which means that I should get around to perusing your book circa 2009), assuming of course that you’re sensible enough to actually send me the book in the first place, which is the best way for me to read something. Asking me if you can send me a book (instead of just sending it to me and then following up by email) is a bit like sheepishly asking a girl if you can kiss her at the end of a date: it’s a bit embarassing for both parties. You just sorta do it.

I suggest you get in contact with your more successful contemporaries, who understand that a way to a girl’s a lit geek’s heart is through cognizance, creativity, consideration and, most importantly, a far from humorless disposition.

Your sincerely,

Edward Champion

[UPDATE: Maud reports that her site is listed in the Fall 2006 Crown catalog as an “online promotion and advertising” venue for Da Chen’s Brothers. She was listed without permission. (Also listed on Pages 53 and 71 are Bookslut, Beatrice, Authorbuzz, Dear Reader, Book Movement, Bookbrowse and Book Buffet. Did any of these sites lend their permission for “major online ‘teaser excerpt’ promotion?”)]

[UPDATE 2: On the subject of publicists who promote well, what Dan said.]

[UPDATE 3: In an unexpected development, Carla Ippolito has revealed herself to be the author of How I Fricaseed My Dog and Learned to Call It George, which Mr. Birnbaum has thoroughly raved about in the comments thread.]

[UPDATE 4: Scott Esposito offers his five cents on the issue.]

by Edward Champion

Can’t Take the Heat? Go Cry to Momma!

Lee Goldberg’s thoughts on this fictive flummery from Steve Clackson have been commented upon by a number of bloggers. David Thayer, in particular, was puzzled by why one would go to the trouble of “attacking” unpublished fiction. I have to ask why anyone would go to the trouble of publishing a fiction-in-progress and expect nothing less than hosannas. I have to ask why the prevailing attitude here is to celebrate Clackson’s inadequate draft (“In a surprisingly strong voice he began” is the clause of an amateur) and not give him the hard and brash criticism he might need to become a better writer. Any real writer knows that there’s more to be learned from an honest response rather than some vapid confirmation of his “talents.”

One of the problems with the Web is that anyone can publish. And indeed, so many people do. But why should literary standards be surrendered in the process? Goldberg, a professional writer with several credits, had the courtesy to inform Clackson that his book needed lots of work before being sent to a publisher and advised him to take his chapters down.

I’ve had fiction I’ve written (clearly not ready for prime time) raked over the coals, but the value I have imparted from these lessons has been astronomical. One would think that with the Web’s interconnected possibilities, such hard lessons would allow the next generation of fiction writers to understand just how valuable exceptionally hard yet enthusiastic reader reactiosn are. To insist that there is a shortcut or that there is some easy path from writing to publishing to reception is the height of hubris. It is to subscribe to an abject American Idol-style mentality where “everyone’s a winner.” I suggest to Clackson and his tetchy horde of cheerleaders that a little humility goes a long way.

by Edward Champion

Birnbaum vs. Mitchell

Robert Birnbaum talks with David Mitchell and it looks like he may have discovered Amoeba when he came through San Francisco: “There is a wonderful music store in San Francisco, vast warehouses like Borgesian universes of CDs—I forget the name.”

[UPDATE: Jenny D quibbles with Mitchell’s assertion that “all novels are actually compounded short stories” and goes on to suggest that Mitchell’s humor is a bit lacking. I agree with Jenny on the first point, but I think Mitchell was attempting to aver his own influences. Certainly, every single one of Mitchell’s novels represents an interconnected series of stories and perhaps this narrative approach is how he views fiction. As for Mitchell having no sense of humor, I will eventually offer first-hand evidence that he does indeed have a sense of humor, particularly regarding oddly formed sentences involving sandwiches. Stay tuned. The podcast is up the pipeline.]

by Edward Champion

Night of the Pirahã — It Could Have Been Any Night

Der Spiegel: “The language is incredibly spare. The Pirahã use only three pronouns. They hardly use any words associated with time and past tense verb conjugations don’t exist. Apparently colors aren’t very important to the Pirahãs, either — they don’t describe any of them in their language. But of all the curiosities, the one that bugs linguists the most is that Pirahã is likely the only language in the world that doesn’t use subordinate clauses.” (via MeFi)

by Edward Champion

The Power, Of Course, Comes from Nicknaming Your Drummer “Hot”

Steven Seagal, The Fillmore, June 6: “In late 2005 and early 2006 Steven Seagal embarked on a long held musical dream — to record a “real blues album” honoring and recording with the last of the living legends in Memphis. The resulting album — “Mojo Priest” will be Steven?s first US Album release and will be backed by a 20 city tour in late May and throughout June, assembling an all star band of brothers: Norris Johnson on keyboards, Bernard Allison on slide guitar, Harold Smith on guitar, Edward “Hot” Cleveland on drums, Armand Sabal-Lecco on bass and Angel Rogers providing background vocals — there is no question this is a mighty powerful group.

by Edward Champion

Morning Roundup in the Early Afternoon!

Yes, that’s right. We’re slacking today. So without further ado, here is today’s much delayed roundup:

  • Scott points to this Alex Ross post on music representative of 20th century composition. Ross includes Björk, Shostakovich, Philip Glass and Miles Davis. But, most criminally, Ross avoids what is arguably the most representative song of the 20th century: Ohio Express’s “Yummy Yummy Yummy (I’ve Got Love in My Tummy.” The song has long been derided as bubblegum pop, but I feel that this song’s seminal message (“Love, you’re such a sweet thing / Good enough to eat thing”) is misunderstood. It represents, in part, the triumph of emotions over coherent sentences. Now in what other way can the 20th century’s advancement in technology be better represented? Particularly since many of the machines (such as the computer and the television) are so yummy when we first encounter them? And that the machines were, in part, utilized to generate so much fast food for the human population? Joey Levine and Arthur Resnick (the song’s composers) were prophets!
  • Frances Dinkelspiel suggests that Telegraph Avenue’s counter-cultural movement may have contributed to the Cody’s closing. My feeling is that Cody’s shifted their main store to San Francisco because they needed to make some serious bank to catch up with the financial shortfall. The Stockton Street location is in the center of the Powell Street craziness and has something that Telegraph Avenue does not: loads of people from the Financial District coming in on their lunch hour.
  • Over at the LBC, Dan Wickett’s interview with Gina Frangello is now up. A podcast interview will follow.
  • Is modern society on the path to oblivion? Steve Connor talks with Jared Diamond.
  • Wendi Kaufman talks with Joyce Carol Oates.
  • There’s been a drop in books published. Only 172,000 books were published in 2005, compared with 190,000 published in 2004. Of course, this isn’t too serious of an issue. It was an election year and everyone felt that they had to write a book about politics. Rest assured, it will happen again in 2008. Nothing to see here. Move along. (via GalleyCat)
  • Oh man, I am so fucked if “excessive use of adult websites” is compulsive behavior. (via Scribbling Woman)
  • 10 Character Actors Who Should Be In Every Movie. I concur with Charlotte Rampling.
  • Hope for the midterm elections?
  • Love-Lines: tracking what the blogosphere loves with a funky interface.
  • The Morning News offers an interesting article on circuit bending.
  • Lord Goldsmith calls for Guantanamo to close. About five years too late.
  • What readers want out of a news site in 2016. The major conclusion from WSJ readers? More telegenic reporters.
  • Appalling.
by Edward Champion

Roundup

In lieu of actual content:

  • Robert Birnbaum, who is kicking some serious ass on the nonfiction interview front these days, talks with William Wright.
  • I’ve been on an Anthony Burgess kick of late*, and I highly recommend Earthly Powers, an erudite, brash, gleefully satiric and wildly ambitious novel. There are fantastic dips into cultural minutiae, a complex portrait of gay life that was, at the time Burgess wrote the novel, ahead of its time but no less interesting today. There are extremely playful assaults on organized religion and the pomposity of the literary world, and a story arc that dares to cover no less than an 81 year period, with the characters frequently colliding into major historical events. (The protagonist, one Kenneth Toomey, loses his virginity the day that James Joyce begins writing Ulysses.) When I finish reading the book, I will offer my full thoughts under a 75 Books entry (long delayed, I know). In the meantime, you can read John Leonard’s review from the June 30, 1981 NYTBR, back in the days when the NYTBR actually practiced criticism instead of the ethically dubious reviews it publishes today.
  • Mr. Orthofer points to this strange piece of news. The Big Read, a hysterical plan contrived not long ago by the NEA, is “getting a lot bigger.” In other words, the NEA seems to be taking the tentpole blockbuster approach. There will now be grants awarded to 100 communities who select a novel and encourage people to read it. Aside from the strange inability to qualify these results (I suppose all those “One Book, One City” programs are now overdue for payola), does this mean the LBC is due for some government-sponsored cash? I beseech Mr. Kipen for answers on this front. Who came up with this half-baked idea and can it be certifiably demonstrated by anyone that throwing cash around actually gets people to read? With current programs, there is, I feel, a conformist approach. I’m not sure if dictating what people should read, as opposed to allowing them an encouraging environment to discover books on their own, is the best way to get people reading.
  • The Guardian offers a podcast between Stephen Fry and Christopher Hitchens debating blasphemy. (Things get particularly interesting around the 37 minute mark, when Fry and Hitchens discuss freedom of speech’s concomitant relationship to blasphemy.)
  • The ULA disrupts an Allen Ginsberg reading, proving that Ginsberg is still capable of attracting lunatics. Which I actually think is a good thing. (via the Elegant Variation)
  • Gideon Lewis-Kraus offers a contrarian positive review of Apex Hides the Hurt. (via Maud)
  • Google Book Seach has set up a blog. (via the Millions)
  • RIP Herbert Burkholz.
  • Pinky’s Paperhaus observes that today is Pynchon’s 69th birthday. While I appreciate Ms. Kellogg’s cornball humor, the deviant part of me is more tempted to arrange my Pynchon books in a 69 position in honor of the man. Photograph to follow tonight.
  • Michelle Richmond offers a report of last night’s Peter Orner reading and last night’s Progressive Reading Series.
  • Jack Shafer attempts to determine the motivations of plagiarists. Meanwhile, the Biederbecke Affair uncovers meta-plagiarism. (First link via Word Munger)
  • The Ice Cube Scholarship. (via Black Market Kidneys)
  • Oh, shut up. If Al Gore really wanted to be back in the White House, then he would have presented a more rigorous legal challenge back in 2000. Now, more than ever, I sincerely hope that the 2008 Democratic candidate doesn’t have plans to open a wafflehouse at 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue.
  • Sebastian Junger gets lynch-mobbed big-time at a reading. (via Laila)
  • The case against barring women from combat.
  • At the Litblog Co-Op, Gina Frangello offers a lengthy post about how women’s sexuality has been toned down in literature.
  • Good fucking God. Why?

* — Actually, I’ve been on an Anthony Burgess kick for a few years, although this has involved collecting his copious back catalog — no small task, I assure you, given how prolific he was and how out-of-print he is today. But I am only just getting around to reading these acquisitions.

by Edward Champion

Good Reasons to Avoid Tom Cruise

Anthony Lane: “The Cruise fan base has been shaken by a number of public pronouncements, although some of us have merely been confirmed in our original suspicions that there was something about this actor that was not quite of this earth. The stiff-necked jerk of his motions; the grit of his bared teeth; the eyes switched to perennial full beam but never quite blinking, even during tears; his ability to remain totally upright when sprinting, as if carrying an invisible egg and spoon—what are these, if not the techniques of an alien life force who has just graduated summa cum laude in advanced human behavior?”

[RELATED: A disturbing Time article written by Tom Cruise about J.J. Abrams: “He delivers what could be called the Lay’s of yarns: you can’t watch just one. I watched all of Alias’ first season in two days, pushing all aside to the near destruction of my personal and business life.”]

by Edward Champion

I’d Be Safe and Warm If I Was Readin’ in L.A.

Dana Gioia: “Los Angeles, the city of Raymond Chandler, Ray Bradbury and Octavia Butler, is now the biggest book market in North America. And, as a recent survey by the National Endowment for the Arts demonstrates (with a statistical certainty of 99.5%), Californians read more than New Yorkers. Los Angeles is one of the great literary centers of the English-speaking world — not to mention a growing center of the Spanish-speaking mundo.”

by Edward Champion

Never Underestimate the Power of Wyoming’s Ed’s Stupidity

At Wyoming Valley West High School, students are petitioning the district to have a banned poem reinstated. What was the poem’s topic? Unbridled teenage sexuality? Gang warfare? Some sestina penned in homage to Kathy Acker? Nothing of the sort. The poem merely involved a teacher catching a kid without a hall pass.

[UPDATE: The school is based in Pennsylvania, not Wyoming. Sorry, folks. Between this and the Warhol screwup, I’m definitely slipping — for reasons I won’t go into here.]

by Edward Champion

And By “So-Called Laugh Show,” They Really Mean “Tape Watched by Humorless G-Men”

The FBI on Laugh-In: “All in all, this skit pertaining to the FBI was rather typical of the poor fare that is served on this so-called laugh show, a show that has gained some considerable notoriety by its risqué jokes and irreverent satirical attacks. Tasteless, sometimes downright vicious jokes and a great deal of forced humor add up to a more telling commentary on this low-grade show itself than on the FBI.”