Scott points to this disturbing article. The California State Assembly has decided to ban school districts from purchasing textbooks longer than 200 pages. The bill itself can be found here. As phrased, the bill could actually go beyond mere textbooks and be destructive to books in general. AB 756 states, “This bill would prohibit the State Board of Education and school district from adopting instruction materials that exceed 200 pages in length.” So what are instructional materials?

According to California Education Code Section 60010(h), “instructional materials” are defined as “all materials that are designed for use by pupils and their teachers as a learning resource and help pupils to acquire facts, skills, or opinions or to develop cognitive processes. Instructional materials may be printed or nonprinted, and may include textbooks, technology-based materials, other educational materials, and tests.”

In other words, what we have here is a definition so broad that a “material” that might be used in a Grades 1-8 classroom such as a book that exceeds 200 pages will be tossed in the dustheap. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn? Sorry, 360 pages. Too long. Silas Marner? Maybe, but be sure to order the edition minus the introduction and the related resources page. Because Eliot’s just on the brink of 200 pages.

Beyond the baffling anti-intellectual nature of this bill (which was introduced by Democrats), there’s the troubling financial impact it will have upon school districts. Instead of ordering that big 500-page compilation for a classroom, I forsee an age where school districts will have to order three 200-page books to cover the same material. And with school districts already pinching their pennies, it’s doubtful whether they’ll pony up the dough.

Fortunately, Governor Schwarzenegger (how I do hate typing those two words together) has not yet taken a position on the bill (which needs to be signed into law to be effected). Since he has previously gone on record with absurd approaches to fiscal spending, perhaps the fiscal approach might be the way to get through to him.

Michiko: “It’s a book as hip and intermittently tender as Dave Eggers’s ‘Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius,’ as gripping and overstuffed as David Foster Wallace’s ‘Infinite Jest.'”

L.A. Times: “The main problem is that Wilsey hews too closely to the McSweeney literary model: typographical tricks, hyper-fluency in pop culture and exuberantly high-pitched prose. All conspire against the emotional registers he so wants to express.”

Francine Prose: “To write about the sufferings of the well-to-do imposes a certain set of demands on a writer, and Wilsey rises to the challenge with agility and grace. His narrative voice reflects a vivid mix of brio, self-awareness and sophistication, and he is able to meld the point of view of the troubled boy he once was with that of the stable and sensible adult that he has, admirably and against all odds, become.”

Village Voice: “…if the book slips at all, it’s in Wilsey’s willingness to cast her in the one-dimensional role of wicked stepmother.”

Frankly, I’m a bit tired of all the Sean Wilsey coverage. Another book-length journey down McSwee’s Way might permanently damage my cerebral cortex. But the reviews seem to be hailing the memoir, Oh the Glory of It All, as the cat’s pajamas. So I can’t help but remain curious about this memoir, particularly since David Foster Wallace’s name has been invoked. I really don’t feel the urge to run out and get this book, but if an enterprising publicist were to send a copy to me, I’d certainly give it an honest assessment. And if it were indeed the bomb (exploding in whatever timbre), then you’d certainly hear from me.

Cronenberg’s new film, A History of Violence, looks like a ballbuster.

While I believe it’s still possible to do some of these things, I still wish to respond to Mr. Teachout’s recent item. Here are ten things I feel a sizable regret not doing (or at least putting off):

1. Learning to play the piano.
2. Learning French.
3. Visiting Rome and looking for what remains of the road markers.
4. Personally cooking the food for and preparing a fantastic dinner involving at least 50 guests.
5. Having a one-on-one three hour conversation with the President about the issues of our time and seeing what he has to say.
6. Getting a proposition on the local ballot, seeing it pass, and watching it help other people without being squashed by the cold realities of bureaucracy.
7. Performing a live one-hour set of my own personally composed songs in front of an audience and making them happy.
8. Reviving the reputation of ten great and forgotten writers.
9. Making a sizable dent to end poverty and to promote world peace.
10. Getting carte blanche to write and direct a modestly budgeted feature film that devastates and gets a decent release.

There are more, but then revealing these would cut even closer to the personal. And I have no desire to unleash this upon you folks.

Even so, I’m curious. What ten things do you want to do? Pass the meme around.

Jimmy Beck has the scoop on Charles Baxter. He writes:

When asked what he was working on, he said he spent two years on a novel about bombs but gave up on it. Perhaps because it was too disturbing? I don’t remember exactly. “I couldn’t do it,” he said. “I’ve gone back to short stories.”