Month / December 2006

by Edward Champion

New Novel from David Markson

It looks like David Markson has another novel coming out from Shoemaker & Hoard. It’s called The Last Novel and is scheduled for a May 2007 release. Here’s a description:

In this new work, The Last Novel, an elderly author (referred to only as “Novelist”) announces that since this will be his final effort, he has “carte blanche to do anything he damned well pleases.”

Pressed by solitude and age, Novelist’s preoccupations inevitably turn to the stories of other artists — their genius, their lack of recognition, and their deaths. Keeping his personal history out of the story as much as possible, Novelist creates an incantatory stream of fascinating triumphs and failures from the lives of famous and not-so-famous painters, writers, musicians, sports figures, and scientists.

As Novelist moves through his last years, a minimalist self-portrait emerges, becoming an intricate masterpiece from David Markson’s astonishing imagination. Through these startling, sometimes comic, but often tragic anecdotes we unexpectedly discern the entire shape of a man’s life.

by Edward Champion

A Great One Gone

I heard the news shortly before getting on a plane. James Brown, a talent who comes once in a lifetime, is dead. I’ll have more to say about Mr. Brown’s majestic achievements and what he means to cultural history later. In the meantime, I’ll be shaking my money maker in tribute to the hardest working man in show business.

by Edward Champion

Christmas Dinner Alternatives

Ron Hogan roasts Dave Itzkoff over an open fire.

Too tough on Itzokoff? Not really. After you’ve read Itzkoff’s moronic and uninformed review, which is far worse than the “impulsive, first-draft ethos of the blogosphere” in its almost total ignorance of science fiction (citing only Heinlein as a comparative influence), you can read my informed review of Rudy Rucker over at the Los Angeles Times, which was half the length of Itzkoff’s and managed to get in comparisons with Bruce Sterling, William Gibson, Robert Sheckley, Connie Willis, Kelly Link and many others.

You see, unlike Mr. Itzkoff, I actually conduct vigorous research for my reviews so that I can offer an informed position, which is what I’m paid to do. (I read six Rudy Rucker books for my review and reviewed many volumes from my library to insure that my comparisons were correct.) This is, after all, what a professional does. Or what I’ve always assumed does. To do anything less is the stance of an amateur.

But apparently such basic journalistic procedure is beneath Itzkoff. He slings John Scalzi’s name in the mud by remarking on his online popularity and pointing out that he writes in more ignoble publications like The Official U.S. PlayStation Magazine. What this has anything to do with Scalzi’s novels is a mystery. And besides, any successful freelancer knows that you write damn near anywhere to stay alive. (And if we’re going to play this silly game, it’s safe to say that Itzkoff’s contributions to Maxim, an infantile “periodical” two baby steps away from a stroke mag, are hardly going to be commended for their literary merit.)

Ron’s already covered many of Itzkoff’s countless solecisms. So I won’t repeat what he’s said, except this: With Itzkoff’s continued employment at the Times, it’s clear that Tanenhaus views science fiction as a genre for idiots. Why else would such a tone-deaf and ignorant hack be hired to write such arrogant and dismissive diatribes that fail to offer specific examples to support his argument?

If Sam Tanenhaus believes that the kind of character and genre assassination contained within Itzkoff’s article is substantive journalism, then the NYTBR is a lost cause. Unless, of course, Bill Keller shows Tanenhaus what the inside of an airlock looks like.

by Edward Champion

Titular Death Wish

The latest Harry Potter book will be called Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. How long did it take for them to whip this up? Three minutes? “Hallow” is more commonly used as a verb and the juxtaposition of “death” before “hallows” suggests that any mass killing of major characters (as suggested in other reports) will be less than reverential.

by Edward Champion

When Sibling Rivalry Meets Passive-Aggression

Gelf Magazine: “Ryan, 32, has been collecting sports cards since the 1980s, but he got serious in 2002 when he came across a Bill Ripken card on eBay that was slightly different from the most-famous version. Bill, never nearly as popular or as good a player as his older brother Cal, garnered notoriety in 1989 when a Fleer card was issued with him holding a bat, the bottom of which clearly reads, ‘Fuck Face.'” (via Rachel)

by Edward Champion

Gross Just Wants to Have Fun

Lev Baby, you were doing so well. And then you penned this silly puff piece on Harriet Klausner! Unmentioned in Mr. Grossman’s writeup is the fact that Klausner doesn’t write a single negative review, much less offer her audience anything more than a plot summary or an idea of who the book might appeal to — thus calling into question her critical acumen. Even stranger, Grossman writes that “she is one of the world’s most prolific and influential book reviewers.” Well, I’ll certainly agree with Grossman that Klausner is “prolific.” Then again, a rat pops out a litter of 10 to 12 every 22 days and very few sane people celebrate the dissemination of pestilence.

But influential? What self-respecting literary enthusiast looks to Klausner’s reviews as the real deal? There’s a reason why you don’t see Klausner’s blurbs quoted on dust jackets. I’m sure Klausner has her fans, but where are they exactly?

Perhaps more egregious than all of this is Grossman’s needless self-flagellation here:

People don’t care to be lectured by professionals on what they should read or listen to or see. They’re increasingly likely to pay attention to amateur online reviewers, bloggers and Amazon critics like Klausner. Online critics have a kind of just-plain-folks authenticity that the professionals just can’t match. They’re not fancy. They don’t have an agenda. They just read for fun, the way you do.

On the contrary, some of us out here do care (or are at least interested in) what professionals have to say (including you, Lev Baby!). Why else would we be so hard on you? Or send you brownies and fruit baskets? We want you to think better! We want you to raise the bar!

I must also take umbrage with the idea that a professional critic cannot adopt a “just-plain-folks authenticity.” John Freeman, whom I have criticized on these pages, does indeed effect a “just-plain-folks authenticity” quite well in his reviews. You’re not always going to get deep insight, but at least you’ll get a dependable book overview.

And then there’s the idea that a professional critic cannot read for fun (as opposed, apparently, to the Harriet Klausners of the universe, who, conversely, cannot develop a palate). Huh? Why the hell else would you subject yourself to a book or an author and take the trouble to write about it? For the abysmal pay? For the possibility that your review will be ignored by most of the readers?

Perhaps what Grossman is confessing to us here is that he’s not having much fun being a book critic. If so, then why the hell would you stay in the business? I cannot fathom why anybody would spend so much of his life doing something that he clearly didn’t think was fun. I also cannot fathom a spectrum with FUN at one end and CRITICAL at the other. Isn’t there room here for both? Cannot one be both fun and critical? That’s certainly what I try to do.

Christ, do I have to send Grossman another fruit basket?

Or perhaps Grossman should start a blog like the rest of us and join the party. Some of us out here even blog in the nude.

by Edward Champion

7 More Questions

The Gray Lady has helpfully drafted a series of questions that couples should ask each other before marrying. I don’t know anyone who would base such a pivotal life choice on an article that could be easily clipped to the refrigerator, but in the interests of furthering many happy marriages, I present seven more questions:

16) If I were to take up a dangerous hobby like knife throwing, would you support me and possibly be my assistant? Even if it meant taking a hit on our life insurance rates?

17) Am I your sugar daddy/mommy? If I do not provide enough cash for your hobby/pipe dream, what might I be able to expect in the way of makeup sex?

18) If times are tough and we have no other way to get by, would it be okay with you if I put our five year old daughter on the meat market?

19) My inner sociopath is likely to kick in the minute you say, “I do.” Various sentiments that were fashionable during the Eisenhower administration might be in the cards. Still want in?

20) One of us is likely to gain weight shortly after we get hitched. Are we both committed to endless Lenten Dialogues and considerable pretending on the other’s part that we’re still physically attracted to each other?

21) There will come a point in which one or both of us will have an existential meltdown. Are you willing to help me emotionally and financially with my midlife crisis? Even if it means enduring an outdated muscle car parked for months in the driveway?

22) Would you marry me solely because I answered every question in a silly New York Times article?

by Edward Champion

Selling Your Soul for a Pittance

Smart Bitches, Trashy Books points to this remarkable advertisement:

We need 5 reviewers for 3 of our newly released titles. We ask that you write a 1-3 Paragraph review with a 5 star rating (5 being best) of each of the 3 books. We will then ask that you forward the reviews over to us so that we can look over them before you post them on Amazon.com and Barns and Noble.com. Most of our reviewers are paid from $5- to $10 per review or $15.00 to $30.00 per 3 review book set.

In other words, this publisher, who goes by the name “kenwelsh,” is all too happy to buy your opinions for less than the price of going to see a movie or two pints on a Saturday night.

Some preliminary investigation reveals no other ads by Ken Welsh on the site, but given that the man can’t even spell “Barnes & Noble” correctly, one fears the worst: not just for the poor saps who actually sell out for so little, but for this sleazeball named Ken Welsh.

by Edward Champion

Roundup

  • Michael Gove digs up the obligatory article about David Lodge’s “Humiliation,” the game whereby each participant admits what they haven’t read. He confesses that he hadn’t read Stephen King until he read Lisey’s Story, which he describes as “more painful for me than being trapped alone in one of the pods of the London Eye with a flatulent Appalachian mountain man anxious to re-enact a scene from Deliverance above the flowing waters of the Thames.” I didn’t care for Lisey either, but I don’t know if it’s fair to castigate a writer, particularly a prolific one, for a misfire.
  • Fascinating details on George Bernard Shaw’s last will and testament.
  • Anne Petty: “A case in point is the third Harry Potter film directed by Alfonso Cuarón. In that film, the familiar setting for Hogwarts was replaced by an incredibly precipitous landscape, especially the approach and immediate surroundings of Hagrid’s hut, and the interior for the school we thought we knew so well emerged in highly disorienting camera angles with ”House of Usher” look and feel. The effect was so distracting that I found it hard to lose myself in the flow of events on the screen.” Just keep ordering those lima beans from the menu, Anne. I hear they go great with castor oil. Leave the appreciation (and concomitant commentary) of cultural innovation to those willing to swim in the deep end or, better yet, those who still have a pulse.
  • Christ, some madman has released The Match Game to DVD. And it’s a four-disc collection no doubt full of the grand sleaze I didn’t come to appreciate (although I’m not sure if “appreciate” is the word) until decades later.
  • Alas, the Christmas season can’t save indie bookstores.
  • More FBI documents on John Lennon have been released.
  • 2006: the coldest year in the last five years. (via Books Inq.)
  • Chasing Ray takes umbrage with the Underrated Writers Project, noting that YA authors were not present. I fully confess that I’m quite in the dark on YA titles, but certainly not adverse to them. If anybody has some good YA author recommendations, do list them here.
  • Call me a skeptic, but am I the only one who sees through the blatant marketing of offering John Hodgman’s book on iTunes for free? You’ll get no link from me. No download either. Of course, if it came from a conduit outside iTunes, that might be another story.
  • Who knew that Jason Boog was a closet boxer who liked to knock the wind out of unfairly matched opponents who criticized his work?
  • The sublime Mr. Parr regularly underestimates himself. To wit: this very helpful guide to New York indie bookstores, quietly updated. (via The Written Nerd)
  • William Frith: Victorian hypocrite?
  • “What gives the school the right to decide when children should know the truth about such a harmless matter when knowing the truth does take away that little bit of magic?” What gives this mother the assumption that her kid still won’t believe in Santa, despite all claims to the contrary? (via Bryan Appleyard)
  • Various notables offer thoughts on Woody Allen’s movies. (via Quiet Bubble)
  • Orhan Pamuk’s Nobel lecture.
by Edward Champion

Too Many Angles

Callie Miller, who has cornered the blogosphere market on lengthy writeups of author events, offers a new one involving Heidi Julavits. But she notes, “I have tried (and clearly failed) to create an ‘epic’ series of posts about the recent Julavits reading at Skylight Books. I’ve tried to come at it from many angles – the waiting, the wondering, the bizarre fans that arrive and conduct bizarre little rituals prior to the reading.”

Tell me about it. If you’re an incessant observer or note-taker, it never gets any easier. You just kind of do it and eventually you stumble upon an angle.

by Edward Champion

“Miss USA”

New York Times: “Ms. Conner and Mr. Trump refused to answer any questions from reporters about reports alleging drug use or drug testing. Mr. Trump said that he went into a meeting with Ms. Conner this morning expecting to terminate her reign as Miss USA. But he said the meeting showed him someone with ‘a good heart’ who had ‘left a small town in Kentucky,’ only to be caught up in a ‘whirlwind’ in New York.”

Here’s a key to understanding the euphemisms, all helpfully contained in quotes (thank you, Ms. Hauser!), within this article:

“a good heart”: Team player.
“behavior and personal issues”: The tendency to have fun in a manner considered unwholesome to folks knocked out by a single shot of bourbon.
“left a small town in Kentucky”: She’s wholesome and American! Really! And she’s from Kentucky!*
“pushing”: Smearing a person’s character on silly charges.
“terrible”: Wouldn’t put out for Donald Trump.
“very, very bad”: Unacceptable to humorless prigs who haven’t had a night of fun in decades.
“whirlwind”: vigorous partying involving alcohol, some pot and coke, as enjoyed by thousands of other New York clubbers requiring a weekend divorce from reality.

* — Just like that Jim Varney guy you loved so much in the Ernest movies.

by Edward Champion

Roundup on the Rebound

  • Conflicts of interest? Reviewing a friend’s book? That’s small-time reviewing ethics compared to Kristian Lundberg, who fabricated a review for a book that was never completed. (via TEV)
  • Bookstores may be dancing a precarious waltz in New York and San Francisco, but at least there’s sign of a bookstore comeback in Kashmir.
  • “In every case, the expectations by faculty of what they believe college freshmen should have read in high school exceeds the reality of what they’ve actually read.” So college freshmen aren’t reading. On the plus side, they’re more likely to eat and drink your ass under the table and fuck each other like rabbits (some 80% of them). I propose a nationally subsidized “Books for Sex” program, whereby the number of books read correllates with the number of sexual partners a college freshman is permitted. After all, if we’re so busy tracking who buys Sudafed (and when), the least we can do is track their sex and reading habits too. Consider this a more benign form of Orwell. Orwell had his Vestal Virgins. 21st century America has CRIS (Carnal Reading Incentive Squad)!
  • Pottery containing literary messages have been found in northwest Iran. One of the shards, all dating around 3,000 BC, contained the following message: “Our homeland’s going to be royally fucked in about 5,000 years.” There was also a shard containing a list of clothes to be picked up at Great Zab Cleaners, a river-side launderer. (It turns out that the first dry cleaner was Iranian.)
  • Michael Gartner writes, “There is no better American essayist than E.B. White. Period. Some writers can write well but not think clearly. Some writers can think clearly but not write well. Some can do neither. White did both.” Meanwhile, some book critics aren’t nearly as succinct as they think they are. Couldn’t Gartner have simply written “E.B. WHITE IS THE SHIT, MOTHERFUCKERS!” or are such declarations of this ilk, which cut to the chase in one sentence iinstead of five, not permitted in newspapers?
  • The Yemen Times is under the silly illusion that dictatorial op-ed pieces are the way to get people reading and understanding. Ever hear of free will?
  • The current literary Jonathans cabal shouldn’t get too comfortable. Another Jonathan has been honored by the French.
  • Murakami believes that The Great Gasby is “the most important novel in my life.”
  • Carolyn Kellogg lists the top ten things she misses about L.A.
  • Ursula K. Le Guin on the importance of fantasy.
  • Jeff on Barbera’s death.
  • Jeffrey Trachtenberg on the new $0 advance. (via Maud)
by Edward Champion

Clearing Up the Libel

It began with a charming correspondence I maintained with Aggro Littleton at DearBlogger.com, who believes that identifying the size of my penis as “pequeño” is a protected form of free speech. It continued with several emails to Holly Lisle, who slandered me further by suggesting that I might be a slattern (there is only one definition of the word!), but who would not allow me to send her a full-scale JPEG of the penis in question (along with three notarized statements from former lovers attesting to the size).

I know there are differing reports about my anatomical dimensions, but this is getting ridiculous! The lies, damned lies, and assorted hysteria directly caused me to ply into a bottle of Stoli last night. It is Littleton and Lisle’s respective charges that are not only slanderous, but have caused me considerable emotional and physical distress. (Physical distress indeed! I was, for example, unable to jerk off last night, because I was still stewing over every sentence, every word, and even the comma placement contained within Littleton’s wholly lost and unfounded charges.)

Now I’m wondering whether or not I even have a penis. And I won’t know for sure until I take a shower. And even then, can I truly count upon my own perception? But I must! For I am right, and nobody else can correct me! I have nothing to learn from disagreement. Thus, the appropriate measures have been taken.

Rest assured, I have contacted lawyers. I will be filing at least five lawsuits this morning. And if this isn’t enough, I will file five more tomorrow. My legal team will be taking a shower with me this morning, to determine if, in fact, the penis allegations are true. We will have very precise diagrams, blown-up as exhibits, that we will bring with us to court.

My lawyers will shut down every blog that deals even remotely with books. And they will do this on Christmas Day. Justice must be exacted for charges, real or imagined. And if it inconveniences bloggers as they attempt to celebrate the holidays, then these bloggers SHOULD HAVE KNOWN WHAT THEY WERE GETTING INTO IN THE FIRST PLACE!

I will fight, fight, fight, and then fight again. I’ll take this to the Supreme Court if I have to! I’m a blogger, dammit. And if this means point-by-point rebuttals of pedantic arguments, posted publicly and then further commented upon by readers, who will then take sides and waste additional time, then I accept the absurdities of a cruel universe.