My review of Girl Factory by Jim Krusoe ran this past weekend in the LA Times (forgive my BEA myopia). There is more to the novel than one can responsibly say in a short review, a something more that I found quite interesting. If you read the book, let me know what you think.
Jun 042008
An unplanned convening of litbloggers at Book Expo. From left to right: Dan Wickett (The Emerging Writers Network), Kassia Krozser (Booksquare), Mark Sarvas (The Elegant Variation), Ron Hogan (Galleycat, Beatrice) and me, Carolyn Kellogg (Pinky’s Paperhaus and Jacket Copy).
There’s a second litblogger photo, in which Mark looks worse but Ron looks better; might as well post it, too, so’s they can both be mad at me.
I’ve posted more photos of photos of BEA on flickr, in a set with other literary pics you might like.
May 272008
I continue to write about my cross-country drive on Jacket Copy. But it is possible that I have in fact reached my destination. Which does not yet have regular internet access.
It is possible that I am in a cafe that has a flatscreen tuned in The View, not a show of choice for me.
It is possible that in the last day I skimmed/read Truth in Nonfiction, which was a little too academic and navel-gazing for my tastes (far too many essays began with “in my memoir”); yet still, Mark Doty, John D’Agata and David Shields impressed. There is more rich material to be mined in this vein, I think.
It is possible that if you are driving to Trader Joe’s, I’d love to tag along.
May 212008
I’m driving across the country, as you might have noticed, and blogging about the literary aspects of my trip at Jacket Copy. So far I’ve managed to write about Ohio and Lexington Kentucky; look for posts about Tallahassee and the deep south later today.
From here (I’m in Houston) on out I’m sticking to the I-10, the southernmost interstate. If you have any suggestions for the literary southwest — Texas, New Mexico, Arizona or eastern Southern California — I’d love to hear ‘em.
May 132008
David Ulin at the LA Times: “Bright Shiny Morning” is an execrable novel, a literary train wreck without even the good grace to be entertaining. James Frey’s latest goes straight to my not-to-be-read list.
The author of the wonderful The Light of Falling Stars and more blogs on writing:
My writing is for me, but it is about you. Or maybe it’s about me, and for you. In any event, I hope you like it. And if you do, you’re a liar. And if you don’t, you’re an idiot.
It might make more sense if you read the whole thing. But for my money, it’d be fine as is on a t-shirt.
Feb 252008
USA Today had the temerity to approach Cormac McCarthy pre-Oscars, and found he was all smiles.
…while the Kodak Theatre lobby bustled with stars, the famously reclusive author quietly slipped into the theater and sat alone with young son John. Approached tentatively because he is famously averse to interviews, McCarthy proved to be gracious and outgoing. His thoughts about all of this? “What’s there to say — I’m at the Oscars and I’m not even in the film business!” His son nodded enthusiastically. “It should be fun. It should be trippy.”
McCarthy said he was amazed that Hollywood decided to adapt the book with its unconventional ending. “I’m just glad people didn’t run screaming from the theater,” he said, chuckling.
When No Country for Old Men won Best Picture, the camera actually cut to McCarthy as he joined the standing ovation. Three cheers for the show’s directors for acknowledging the literary source of the film.
Now to get them to learn the bobbleheaded woman on the red carpet who just couldn’t figure out what was up with Viggo Mortensen’s new bearded look. He’s filming The Road, lady. It’s from a book. By Cormac McCarthy. Set in a post-apocalyptic world where people walk and walk just to find food, and good razors are exceedingly hard to come by.
Feb 142008
Upon the release of its second list of good stuff to read, the NBCC is posting additional recommendations from its members, with photos (so that’s what Alex Ross looks like!). If you’ve ever felt like you’ve read all the worthy books there are to read, well, think again.
Alex Ross (Let’s Talk About Love: the End of Taste by Carl Wilson, from the 33 1/3 series. About Celine Dion.)
Chris Watson (The Thing About One Life is One Day You’ll Be Dead by David Shields)
Geraldine Brooks (Fall of Frost by Brian Hall)
Troy Jollimore (The Alphabet Reader: a bpNichol Reader by bpNichol)
Steven Pinker (What is Intelligence by James Flynn)
Carmela Ciuraru (Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri, Musicophilia by Oliver Sacks, New Collected Poems by Eavan Boland)
Toby Barlow (The Yiddish Policemen’s Union by Michael Chabon)
and me (How the Dead Dream by Lydia Millet)
Jan 222008
Shortly after beginning my graduate career at Pitt, the place where Michael Chabon was an English major undergrad, I was an extra in the film version of his book Mysteries of Pittsburgh. I was in the crowd in the punk club scene.
If you’ve read Mysteries of Pittsburgh and have a photographic memory, you’ll be saying, Erm, what punk club scene? And you’d be right. There isn’t one in the book, but there is one in the nipped and tucked screen version from Rawson Marshall Thurber. The man behind Dodgeball.
The book, set in Pittsburgh, is about recent college-grad Art who’s forestalling getting on with his life. He becomes friends with the elegant, Gatsby-like Arthur; begins dating Phlox, a quirky thrift store gal with a romantic streak; and hangs out with wealthy, preppy Jane and her Brando-ish, Id-man Cleveland. Phlox and Arthur are the two emotional poles in Art’s life, and he can’t float between them forever. Arthur is so important to the story that his excision from the film version makes me awfully skeptical.
But I’m also curious, curious, curious, and the film is finally playing now at Sundance. So I have gathered these early reviews of the movie The Mysteries of Pittsburgh from the people who got passes, waited in line (mostly bearded, carrying blackberries, according to MTV movies) and stayed for the duration.
IndieWIRE: beautiful, lacking narrative heft.
Hollywood Reporter: “reverential and smart.”
MTV: Rawson Marshall Thurber’s (do you really need all three names, dude?) direction is ham fisted.
LA Times blog The Envelope: “rooted” performances make this, in one executive’s words, “a real director’s movie.”
Pittsburgh Tribune-Review: “Pittsburgh looks stunning.”
After Elton: Quite a lot of the queer removed … as for the mystery, it’s a snoozer.
Cinematical: Dodgeball is a much better film than this one.
Nevertheless, I won’t be boycotting.
Jan 212008
Manga-like editions of Shakespeare’s greatest hits are on the way. Cause for celebration, or the end of the world as we know it?
I do think part of the value in reading Shakespeare is READING SHAKESPEARE. As in, becoming immersed in his language and meter. There’s something exhilarating about getting a dirty joke, not because a footnote explains it, but because it’s there in the text. To think, He’s not saying that, is he? He is! The past comes alive in a whole new way when a reader finds that Shakespeare wrote salacious puns and the audience got them. I think discovering this through the words on the page is genuine, and valuable.
But, as I recently discovered while reading the Arden Shakespeare version of As You Like It for a grad class, the text of Shakespeare is not a pure, direct experience. There are 141 pages of introduction before the play starts; 200 pages of play, bifurcated by footnotes; then 80+ pages of appendices. I just wanted to read and think about the play, but first I had to wade through the scholarship that’s emerged after 400 years of reprinting, performing, misinterpretation and restoration. (Or would that be Restoration misinterpretation?) Anyway, I understand that my ideal — of coming fresh to Shakespeare — doesn’t happen when you pick up the text.
It might just, though, when you pick up the manga version. So maybe it’s the kind of bold reworking that I’ll dig. (ooh, what’ll drowned Ophelia look like?)
