I, for one, blog for the glory; the loose cars, the fast women; the powdered-donut nose-jobs and the mansion on the hill from which great height I can urinate on the blogger ghetto below--but I get the feeling not everyone in town agrees with me. That's okay, though. Less competition that way.
(This, by the way, makes more sense--and is funnier--after having combed through the material in the previous link.)
Friday, September 30, 2005
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
It's like bullet point rock, except quieter, but with a big yelling climax
A few quick things:
And a reminder! In big all caps! TIM O'BRIEN!
Should I repeat myself?
Okay, I will.
TIM O'BRIEN!
- Looking for a book? Don't have time to wait for the next TDAOC recommendation? You might try giving this site a shot. (Via The Elegant Variation.)
- Think literature in America is dying? Move to Russia. (Via Bookslut.)
- Just finished Sarah Willis's The Sound of Us. A damn fine read, if I do say so myself. (Though I'll admit to liking Some Things That Stay more.) Further proof that there's more going on in this town than beer, sports, and mayoral races. (Please, Cleveland: vote for someone who rocks.)
And a reminder! In big all caps! TIM O'BRIEN!
Should I repeat myself?
Okay, I will.
TIM O'BRIEN!
Monday, September 26, 2005
76 brief views of Cleveland: #11
They say fall's coming on, but I don't believe 'em. Fall doesn't come on, here. Fall dashes in one week while you're sleeping, checks out the contents of your fridge, grabs a handful of candy and spare change from the kitchen counter, screws up your toilet's flap valve, and runs back out the door, hardly disturbing the sheets on the bed in the guestroom before winter comes in to dampen the carpet inside the door.
It's like that, today. A confused flurry. I'm driving home from the dentist's with a mouthful of gauze and a memory of some bit of tooth going crack. I'd much rather leave that sound behind. I missed the turn onto Clague thinking of it, so now I'm stuck on Center Ridge until I find that other on-ramp, which is up there, somewhere, usually is, when I remember to turn the way that makes no sense.
It rained the night before and it rained a lot during the day, tapering off to drizzles, taking last night's potent burst of muggy heat with it, the air cooling and the wind stirring up, like the air's got some place to be but can't find the direction, not just yet.
Before they did the thing with the yanking, we three--the soft spoken dentist, the perky assistant, and the moron who screwed up--looked out the window and said, "Yeah, looks like the storm's moving on," and I believed it, so it was a shock when I drove out of the parking lot smack into a wall of clouds, dark. They weren't raining. They didn't have to. All muscle, no punch.
And somewhere in there, the setting sun behind me reflects off an orange construction sign. (Was that on the highway? Back on Center Ridge? Or was it down Clague, down where I'd never have seen, where the sun wouldn't have reached? I'm as confused as the wind.) And for a minute, it's like a splash of color inside a black and white photo; the starkness the sharpest line in the world, the crack inside the mouth of the city. A work in progress, the season coming apart.
(In loose response to)
It's like that, today. A confused flurry. I'm driving home from the dentist's with a mouthful of gauze and a memory of some bit of tooth going crack. I'd much rather leave that sound behind. I missed the turn onto Clague thinking of it, so now I'm stuck on Center Ridge until I find that other on-ramp, which is up there, somewhere, usually is, when I remember to turn the way that makes no sense.
It rained the night before and it rained a lot during the day, tapering off to drizzles, taking last night's potent burst of muggy heat with it, the air cooling and the wind stirring up, like the air's got some place to be but can't find the direction, not just yet.
Before they did the thing with the yanking, we three--the soft spoken dentist, the perky assistant, and the moron who screwed up--looked out the window and said, "Yeah, looks like the storm's moving on," and I believed it, so it was a shock when I drove out of the parking lot smack into a wall of clouds, dark. They weren't raining. They didn't have to. All muscle, no punch.
And somewhere in there, the setting sun behind me reflects off an orange construction sign. (Was that on the highway? Back on Center Ridge? Or was it down Clague, down where I'd never have seen, where the sun wouldn't have reached? I'm as confused as the wind.) And for a minute, it's like a splash of color inside a black and white photo; the starkness the sharpest line in the world, the crack inside the mouth of the city. A work in progress, the season coming apart.
(In loose response to)
Let's go start a bonfire, it's Banned Books Week
Oh yeah, by the by: it's Banned Books Week.
So go celebrate, for cryin' out loud. Go read The Chocolate War. When I was younger, that book completely fucked my head. Like, the same way 1984 did. Like, a piledriver of mental pain.
People who would prevent such experiences? I have unkind words for them.
So go celebrate, for cryin' out loud. Go read The Chocolate War. When I was younger, that book completely fucked my head. Like, the same way 1984 did. Like, a piledriver of mental pain.
People who would prevent such experiences? I have unkind words for them.
I think the vicodin is kicking in
Here's what I'm going to do. I'm just going to put a few things out there for you to look over, and then we'll reconvene at the end of the list. Alright? Alright.
Back? Alright. Here's the kicker: if you found yourself squealing in disarmingly highly pitched tones of voice at least three times while perusing the above list, then chances are, you're sort of like me, which makes you a huge dork.
Which means you pretty much have to go ahead and click this link. (Via Bookslut.)
- Joss Whedon.
- Neil Gaiman.
- Being interviewed.
- Together.
Back? Alright. Here's the kicker: if you found yourself squealing in disarmingly highly pitched tones of voice at least three times while perusing the above list, then chances are, you're sort of like me, which makes you a huge dork.
Which means you pretty much have to go ahead and click this link. (Via Bookslut.)
I bet there's a connection between these two paragraphs, and I bet it has something to do with the television timesink Lost
If you're into list making, and you're also into literature, and you're also into debating the nature of "importance" in works of art, then by golly, Rake's Progress has got your hook-up.
And in other news, I'm getting a wisdom tooth yanked out Monday evening, so if you see any posts around these parts that are even less intelligent than the current norm, let's just blame the vicodin in advance, yes?
And in other news, I'm getting a wisdom tooth yanked out Monday evening, so if you see any posts around these parts that are even less intelligent than the current norm, let's just blame the vicodin in advance, yes?
Friday, September 23, 2005
Tim O'Brien comes to Cleveland (Update)
I mentioned last week that Tim O'Brien will be in Cleveland next week. Turns out you have two chances to see him in person--Wednesday at the Cleveland Public main branch, or Saturday afternoon at the Fairview Park Regional (both being rather fantastic looking buildings, by the by). So if you can't make one, make the other. Or, if you're like me, see if you can't collect the whole set!
(Thanks to Jill Miller Zimon at Writes Like She Talks for the tip!)
(Thanks to Jill Miller Zimon at Writes Like She Talks for the tip!)
Thursday, September 22, 2005
The TBR pile beckons, doth grow
Well, okay, maybe I can flurry it up as much as possible by pointing out that The Onion A.V. Club, which posts book reviews along with reviews of everything else on the planet, got me pulling out my library card faster than you can say "Interlibrary loan requests? Damn you, Cleveland, and your superior library infrastructure! I curse ye! I CURSE YE!"
The first was pointed out by Conversational Reading and is for The Method Actors by Carl Shuker. "Fizzy dreams and fuzzy anxieties" you say? Are you sure we're not talking about some long-lost Curve b-sides? Either way, I'm there, no doubt.
The second review, for a reason or two, then snagged my attention and proceeded to throttle it. This one's for Fallen by David Maine. "Mining the book of Genesis for material" you say? Are you sure we're not talking about some long-lost Godspeed You! Black Emperor remixes? Either way, I'm there, no doubt; not to mention I'll probably pick up his first book, too (The Preservationist).
Then for bonus points, they talk about Kurt Vonnegut's new essay collection, A Man Without a Country. "A series of quirky, highly quotable, almost non-sequitorial thoughts" you say? Did you get a hold of the new Fiery Furnaces album before it came out? You bastard.
The first was pointed out by Conversational Reading and is for The Method Actors by Carl Shuker. "Fizzy dreams and fuzzy anxieties" you say? Are you sure we're not talking about some long-lost Curve b-sides? Either way, I'm there, no doubt.
The second review, for a reason or two, then snagged my attention and proceeded to throttle it. This one's for Fallen by David Maine. "Mining the book of Genesis for material" you say? Are you sure we're not talking about some long-lost Godspeed You! Black Emperor remixes? Either way, I'm there, no doubt; not to mention I'll probably pick up his first book, too (The Preservationist).
Then for bonus points, they talk about Kurt Vonnegut's new essay collection, A Man Without a Country. "A series of quirky, highly quotable, almost non-sequitorial thoughts" you say? Did you get a hold of the new Fiery Furnaces album before it came out? You bastard.
Wednesday, September 21, 2005
I got nothin', not even a funny post title
While lately I seem to go on a posting flurry once a week, usually on Wednesdays and/or Thursdays, I don't think that's going to happen so much right now. Things are sad, I'm totally distracted, nothing's really getting done and everything's kind of just there. So, you know, feel free to go read some other litblogs and report in with your exciting findings. Here's a few snippets worth a few minutes:
- The Reading Experience on paper versus plastic...er, blogging versus publishing.
- My girlfriend digs Rick Moody. I tried to read Purple America once and got fed up midway through. Or a quarter way through. Something. But that was back in the dark time between college and this year, when the reading circuits in my brain were kind of turned off. But I'm going to try to read the book again before the end of this year, before I go back into shut-down mode (which I hope doesn't happen), even though Rick Moody is an old fogey. (Darby, repeat after yourself: never give up the rock.)
- I always get a bit excited when someone drops an unexpected mention of The Catherine Wheel--as if it's going to lead to a reunion and the creation of the follow-up album to the classic Wishville. (It ain't gonna happen, but a boy can dream.) So of course I smiled when Gwenda Bond mentioned at Shaken & Stirred the new Rob Dickinson solo effort. (And while you're over there, check out the new design. Yeah, sure, I clean my place up, and suddenly everyone's gotta go and raise the blog-block property value on me again. I'm totally going to get kicked out of the Subdivision Blogowners Association that I'm not actually in anyways, I just know it.)
- I'm pretty sure this is exactly the way it happened.
- And finally, Those Litblog Co-Op mofos are recommending more books than you could read if someone were shaking a stick at you.
Thursday, September 15, 2005
Tim O'Brien at the Cleveland Public Library
Tim O'Brien is coming to Cleveland! Yeah, great. Now I've got like a week to somehow locate my copy of The Things They Carried somewhere in my apartment and re-read it. Just freakin' swell.
Author Visit: Tim O'BrienWho's awesome? Yeah, that's right. Cleveland's awesome.
As part of the "Literature to Life" performance program, Tim O'Brien, author of The Things They Carried, joins us September 28th at 7:00 p.m. at the Cleveland Public Library - Main Library.
Come to think of it, someone did take someone's neighbor on a joyride in that book, didn't they? Maybe? Or maybe not, whatever
This article right here (which was pointed out by The Reading Experience) makes me want to throw down everything I'm holding in my brain right now and go spend the next week re-reading Dhalgren by Samuel Delany. Because that book kind of blew my mind in the quietest way possible, and is one of many books that I'm sure would only benefit from a second reading. Proust? Joyce? Faulkner? Fuck that shit--Pabst Blue Delaney!
And yes, I totally made up that phrase, and yes, if it means anything pertinent, it's by total accident
Those wacky cultural zeitgeist sharpshooters at the LitBlog Co-op have nominated their Fall 05 Read This! selection. Stay tuned; sounds like they have all sorts of stuff planned for the next couple weeks or so. Hopefully some of it will inspire impassioned debate and deft rhetoric, cuz so far, nobody's condemned the choice yet (that I know of), and man, I gots to have my heaping helping of deft rhetoric.
Now are we talking complicated-boy-girl-relationships messy, or are we talking oh-my-god-the-bachelor's-bathroom messy...
Aimee Bender says it and Rake's Progress points it out and then Conversational Reading riffs on it: Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle is sort of a mess.
To which I'll add: well, yeah. Hell yeah!
But (if I may disagree a bit with a superior blogger, whose blog is a well-shaped perfect pebble to my own random scrunch of scattered dirt-clumps of a blog, and if I may voice my disagreement over here in the safe warm confines of my own basically non-existent corner of the internet) I don't think of this book so much as (as Conv. Reading puts it) "huge and unwieldy" in the sense that "Maybe toward the end this one got away from Murakami a little". I think, rather, that there's a definite shape to the novel. Of sorts, possibly. I don't think anything here is really accidental, or at least there's nothing more accidental than happens in any novel. The novel certainly feels like it veers toward chaos...but, I think it's an...artfully contained chaos, perhaps? Maybe? If there's such a thing as a to-be-read pile for already-read books, this one's right up there; I'm really really intrigued by it, and would love to see what comes out of a second reading. One where I'm inclined to dwell on details and consider ideas, more than I'm inclined to just read the whole thing as fast as possible because it's so ohmygod good. And in any case I reserve the right to say "Yeah, you got me, I'm a fool," if I'm shown to be completely wrong with this train of thought.
Also out of all this I can pretty safely say that this re-confirms my desire to read Aimee Bender. She sounds pretty awesome.
To which I'll add: well, yeah. Hell yeah!
But (if I may disagree a bit with a superior blogger, whose blog is a well-shaped perfect pebble to my own random scrunch of scattered dirt-clumps of a blog, and if I may voice my disagreement over here in the safe warm confines of my own basically non-existent corner of the internet) I don't think of this book so much as (as Conv. Reading puts it) "huge and unwieldy" in the sense that "Maybe toward the end this one got away from Murakami a little". I think, rather, that there's a definite shape to the novel. Of sorts, possibly. I don't think anything here is really accidental, or at least there's nothing more accidental than happens in any novel. The novel certainly feels like it veers toward chaos...but, I think it's an...artfully contained chaos, perhaps? Maybe? If there's such a thing as a to-be-read pile for already-read books, this one's right up there; I'm really really intrigued by it, and would love to see what comes out of a second reading. One where I'm inclined to dwell on details and consider ideas, more than I'm inclined to just read the whole thing as fast as possible because it's so ohmygod good. And in any case I reserve the right to say "Yeah, you got me, I'm a fool," if I'm shown to be completely wrong with this train of thought.
Also out of all this I can pretty safely say that this re-confirms my desire to read Aimee Bender. She sounds pretty awesome.
Coming up next, Thumb Drives and Oven Clock's Fall Lets Sleep for 14 Hours a Night week
It's Fall Fiction Week over at Slate--their "second annual look at the novel," featuring much article-y goodness. Because I'm such a nice guy I'll save you a few clicks and point you directly toward the round-up of last year's fiction week, which seems almost monomaniacally focused on Philip Roth's The Plot Against America, so I won't be reading much of that until I get around to reading the book, which is still on my coffee table from the library from when I picked it up so I could read a bunch of other stuff some other people wrote on it. At the rate I'm going, I'll need to block off three times as much time as it takes me to read the book just to read all the extraneous materials.
This year's pickings seem a bit more diverse, so far. If pressed for an answer, I'd say I found the article on why Zadie Smith shouldn't get the Booker prize to be pretty interesting (and might I add that I'd be happy to take any of that fame and prestige off her shoulders if she's looking for someone to give it to--maybe we could split it 50/50?), and that this Francine Prose essay on why style rules and plot drools made for a good read, and that I plan on reading this article on "the conservative novel that liberal feminists love", once I'm more awake than I've been feeling all week.
And lest I be seen as playing favorites with the five-letter S-titled indie-news web-sites, Salon posted their end of summer reading list a few weeks back, and a take on Proust that sort of made me want to read Proust (wrapping up their "Summer School" series). And some other stuff. So go forth, click, be merry; I'm going to go pass out now.
This year's pickings seem a bit more diverse, so far. If pressed for an answer, I'd say I found the article on why Zadie Smith shouldn't get the Booker prize to be pretty interesting (and might I add that I'd be happy to take any of that fame and prestige off her shoulders if she's looking for someone to give it to--maybe we could split it 50/50?), and that this Francine Prose essay on why style rules and plot drools made for a good read, and that I plan on reading this article on "the conservative novel that liberal feminists love", once I'm more awake than I've been feeling all week.
And lest I be seen as playing favorites with the five-letter S-titled indie-news web-sites, Salon posted their end of summer reading list a few weeks back, and a take on Proust that sort of made me want to read Proust (wrapping up their "Summer School" series). And some other stuff. So go forth, click, be merry; I'm going to go pass out now.
Saturday, September 10, 2005
The Jesus of Cleveland would probably have moved away a long time ago
I'm interested in Jesus, despite my decade-point-five-plus years of Catholic schooling. It's a loose interest--one of those interests you have that you find yourself meaning to do something with, when you have the chance to get around to it; like learning how to do origami, or organizing the boxes of baseball cards from when you were a kid. The sort of thing that runs around in the back of your head, maybe occasionally gets dabbled with out in the real world, never amounting to much but never going away, either.
And while there's plenty to be interested in when it comes to Jesus, I'm mostly drawn to the idea of Jesus as source and subject of story. Religion, Christianity--it's had its ups and downs. The downs are usually loud (Holy Wars? The current American political climate? Fucking creationism, for His sake?) and the ups are usually quiet (those who get it; those who do nice things for other people). Right now, seems like there's a lot of down to all of it--I guess its up, if you're standing on the other side of a line from where I'm looking. I won't lie; I don't get it all, I haven't studied enough or paid enough attention to be someone who can really speak about all of it with great authority. But I think that it's safe for me to say that, whether its just a current through the stream, or a core to the whole ball of wax, story has a certain important place in the entire Jesus & religion thing.
Yeah, big keen insight, I know; story being important to a religion founded on a book of stories. Woo, you say, please; let me donate to your lovely little Websitelogcast to keep the hits coming. And yet, I think it's something still worth keeping in mind. I mean, creationism? Metaphorical stories taken as literal truth? What the hell, right? I don't know, either.
But to get to a point: it's not so much the stories within the Jesus religion that are most interesting to me. Not the accepted, repeated stories, at least. What I find interesting is story that cuts through the myths, that takes the traditions and builds on them or cuts them up. Jesus: Remixed, if you will. Because I think at heart--without even saying what my own religious beliefs actually are, because I don't know what they are--the Jesus story, in all its forms and variations, is a hell of a good story. Here's this poor guy, he's told he's the son of God, and then he dies, because people are bad people. You know? Cut through the Our Fathers and the rote repetitions of creeds, and you've got enough materials to found a dozen novels on. Er, give or take.
Repetition is a sort of enemy true faith. Which is where I think stories that somehow challenge the canon, that distort it and alter it and reshape it like so much putty, these stories are somehow important to faith, by allowing one to be surprised again by what was so amazing in the first place. If you're a fan of those "a:b::c:d" things (What is the word for that? I'm completely blanking out. First correct answer gets my undying love and devotion. Or maybe a chocolate bar.) (They're called analogies and the winner of the chocolate bar is Chris!) you could think of it like, "challenging stories" are to "religion" as "metaphor and simile" are to "the real world". Completion of this "a:b::c:d" thing (analogy!) is left as an exercise to the reader.
So, all that lovely backdrop in mind: if you'd like to see what I mean, go out and pick up Tod Goldberg's book Simplify and read the opening story, "The Jesus of Cathedral City". Now, admittedly, I've got no idea what was going through his mind when he wrote the story. Everything that's come before this paragraph in this post, that's all just me, and my mental baggage, the stuff I brought with me into the story, when I read it, just now. I mean, maybe Tod had these thoughts about challenging fundamental natures of etc etc etc, or maybe he was just thinking, "Hey, wouldn't it be neat if, etc etc etc," or maybe the power and the glory and the spirit of God actually moved into Tod's writing hand and wrote the story for him and to this day Tod still isn't even aware that this story exists and that it's been attributed to him in a book with his name on it. I don't know. But it doesn't really matter anymore, because now the story's out there for people to read, and people like me, who have their own thoughts and ideas about the way the world works, they're going to read the story and get certain things out of it, things they might be putting there themselves in the first place. (Just like all art. Yeah, I know. Can I give you so much free keen insight and sleep comfortably at night? Yes I can.) What I know is that I enjoyed the story very much, considering what I knew going into it; and I know that--well, am pretty sure that--even without any pseudo-deep thinking about religion and the nature of story and their overlapping and all that, that this would still be a pretty damn good short story. So really, either way, you read the story, you win. Unless you're the type of person who doesn't like story at all, then you just suck.
Or in short: While I'm not usually a short story person, "The Jesus of Cathedral City" just slapped me in the face and stole my pocket change. And made me like it.
And while there's plenty to be interested in when it comes to Jesus, I'm mostly drawn to the idea of Jesus as source and subject of story. Religion, Christianity--it's had its ups and downs. The downs are usually loud (Holy Wars? The current American political climate? Fucking creationism, for His sake?) and the ups are usually quiet (those who get it; those who do nice things for other people). Right now, seems like there's a lot of down to all of it--I guess its up, if you're standing on the other side of a line from where I'm looking. I won't lie; I don't get it all, I haven't studied enough or paid enough attention to be someone who can really speak about all of it with great authority. But I think that it's safe for me to say that, whether its just a current through the stream, or a core to the whole ball of wax, story has a certain important place in the entire Jesus & religion thing.
Yeah, big keen insight, I know; story being important to a religion founded on a book of stories. Woo, you say, please; let me donate to your lovely little Websitelogcast to keep the hits coming. And yet, I think it's something still worth keeping in mind. I mean, creationism? Metaphorical stories taken as literal truth? What the hell, right? I don't know, either.
But to get to a point: it's not so much the stories within the Jesus religion that are most interesting to me. Not the accepted, repeated stories, at least. What I find interesting is story that cuts through the myths, that takes the traditions and builds on them or cuts them up. Jesus: Remixed, if you will. Because I think at heart--without even saying what my own religious beliefs actually are, because I don't know what they are--the Jesus story, in all its forms and variations, is a hell of a good story. Here's this poor guy, he's told he's the son of God, and then he dies, because people are bad people. You know? Cut through the Our Fathers and the rote repetitions of creeds, and you've got enough materials to found a dozen novels on. Er, give or take.
Repetition is a sort of enemy true faith. Which is where I think stories that somehow challenge the canon, that distort it and alter it and reshape it like so much putty, these stories are somehow important to faith, by allowing one to be surprised again by what was so amazing in the first place. If you're a fan of those "a:b::c:d" things (What is the word for that? I'm completely blanking out. First correct answer gets my undying love and devotion. Or maybe a chocolate bar.) (They're called analogies and the winner of the chocolate bar is Chris!) you could think of it like, "challenging stories" are to "religion" as "metaphor and simile" are to "the real world". Completion of this "a:b::c:d" thing (analogy!) is left as an exercise to the reader.
So, all that lovely backdrop in mind: if you'd like to see what I mean, go out and pick up Tod Goldberg's book Simplify and read the opening story, "The Jesus of Cathedral City". Now, admittedly, I've got no idea what was going through his mind when he wrote the story. Everything that's come before this paragraph in this post, that's all just me, and my mental baggage, the stuff I brought with me into the story, when I read it, just now. I mean, maybe Tod had these thoughts about challenging fundamental natures of etc etc etc, or maybe he was just thinking, "Hey, wouldn't it be neat if, etc etc etc," or maybe the power and the glory and the spirit of God actually moved into Tod's writing hand and wrote the story for him and to this day Tod still isn't even aware that this story exists and that it's been attributed to him in a book with his name on it. I don't know. But it doesn't really matter anymore, because now the story's out there for people to read, and people like me, who have their own thoughts and ideas about the way the world works, they're going to read the story and get certain things out of it, things they might be putting there themselves in the first place. (Just like all art. Yeah, I know. Can I give you so much free keen insight and sleep comfortably at night? Yes I can.) What I know is that I enjoyed the story very much, considering what I knew going into it; and I know that--well, am pretty sure that--even without any pseudo-deep thinking about religion and the nature of story and their overlapping and all that, that this would still be a pretty damn good short story. So really, either way, you read the story, you win. Unless you're the type of person who doesn't like story at all, then you just suck.
Or in short: While I'm not usually a short story person, "The Jesus of Cathedral City" just slapped me in the face and stole my pocket change. And made me like it.
Thursday, September 08, 2005
And in news that has nothing to do with the redesign of this site
There's some neat stuff going on out there.
Conversational Reading posts some good thoughts on a piece in which Ben Marcus swats at Jonathan Franzen, and some good thoughts on a New York Review of Books piece on Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go (sparking good comments in the process). On that topic, Return of the Reluctant points out that Never Let Me Go has survived glorious combat to make it to the Man Booker Shortlist; though I'm rooting for Ishiguro's book totally by default, I'm still rooting for it with great and mighty vigor, because it was an awesome book. There's a conversation going on between Tingle Alley and Rake's Progress at Tingle Alley on Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper, which book I'm reading now, so I'm saving the conversation for later. The Lit Blog Co-up is gearing up for their next Read This! nomination--if they act in response to the uproar over their last choice, this quarter's selection is going to be written in Sanskrit. Booksquare sends us scurrying toward a fun article on experiencing art in repetition; ideally, I'd love to be reading books multiple times, but, dammit, there's too many books I haven't read once, yet. And finally, Maud Newton points us towards some tits.
In Cleveland news, there's a good conversation going on at Brewed Fresh Daily (starting here and wandering to here before winding up here) about, uh, something. I'm still not really sure what it's all about, but it's been fun to read along. Something to do with someone who wants to re-tech Cleveland, or something. I dunno. Check it out and if you figure it all out, clue me in, because I feel like I should know what's going on.
Finally, for you Cleveland people, if you're for some reason on a hunger strike waiting for the release of the next bits in the 76 Brief Views of Cleveland series, you're probably either very pissed off at me, or you're dead. I hope you're just pissed off at me--I don't want to have your foolish hunger strikes hanging over my head. I do have at least four more slated, I've just gotten all crazy lazy, and haven't written them yet. But know I haven't quit yet. So, you know. Have a cracker or something.
Conversational Reading posts some good thoughts on a piece in which Ben Marcus swats at Jonathan Franzen, and some good thoughts on a New York Review of Books piece on Kazuo Ishiguro's Never Let Me Go (sparking good comments in the process). On that topic, Return of the Reluctant points out that Never Let Me Go has survived glorious combat to make it to the Man Booker Shortlist; though I'm rooting for Ishiguro's book totally by default, I'm still rooting for it with great and mighty vigor, because it was an awesome book. There's a conversation going on between Tingle Alley and Rake's Progress at Tingle Alley on Salvador Plascencia's The People of Paper, which book I'm reading now, so I'm saving the conversation for later. The Lit Blog Co-up is gearing up for their next Read This! nomination--if they act in response to the uproar over their last choice, this quarter's selection is going to be written in Sanskrit. Booksquare sends us scurrying toward a fun article on experiencing art in repetition; ideally, I'd love to be reading books multiple times, but, dammit, there's too many books I haven't read once, yet. And finally, Maud Newton points us towards some tits.
In Cleveland news, there's a good conversation going on at Brewed Fresh Daily (starting here and wandering to here before winding up here) about, uh, something. I'm still not really sure what it's all about, but it's been fun to read along. Something to do with someone who wants to re-tech Cleveland, or something. I dunno. Check it out and if you figure it all out, clue me in, because I feel like I should know what's going on.
Finally, for you Cleveland people, if you're for some reason on a hunger strike waiting for the release of the next bits in the 76 Brief Views of Cleveland series, you're probably either very pissed off at me, or you're dead. I hope you're just pissed off at me--I don't want to have your foolish hunger strikes hanging over my head. I do have at least four more slated, I've just gotten all crazy lazy, and haven't written them yet. But know I haven't quit yet. So, you know. Have a cracker or something.
But I'm allergic to dust
Pardon the, ah, mess.
Things will be less messy, er, sometime soon.
Update: While things aren't less messy, I've just gained a +2 amulet of javascriptcut&paste-fu. Awright!
Update 2: Okay! Alright! That about does it for tonight. I'm probably not done, and yeah, and stuff. But this'll do for now. Hopefully this doesn't suck.
Things will be less messy, er, sometime soon.
Update: While things aren't less messy, I've just gained a +2 amulet of javascriptcut&paste-fu. Awright!
Update 2: Okay! Alright! That about does it for tonight. I'm probably not done, and yeah, and stuff. But this'll do for now. Hopefully this doesn't suck.
Thumb drives and smily faces! Hooray!
Editor's note: in the process of writing the following post, I realized that for some reason, I really felt like dropping the f-bomb. A lot. Then it occurred to me that maybe some members of the highly theoretical and likely imaginary TDAOC reading audience (previous link via) might prefer an ounce less profanity in their blog readings. Here at TDAOC HQ, we aim first to kill--because warning shots are bullshit--and second to please. So we've taken the unprecedented step of providing two versions of this post. Call it the black coffee/creamed coffee post, if you will. But hopefully you won't, because that's a damned silly metaphor. So go ahead: make like Indiana Jones and...choose wisely.
The latest edition of Bookslut might just be their best fucking edition yet. Though I haven't really checked to see if there are, indeed, fucking tons of profanity. And it might not actually be their best edition, but it's the edition with the most articles that have looked interesting to me since I've started reading the site. Which was, uh, sometime before today. Anyways. There's interviews with Mary Doria Russell and Aimee Bender (neither of whom I've read but who I mean to read and probably will once I read the interviews); reviews of the new Rick Moody book (whose Purple America I once started reading then stopped reading but which I plan to try reading again but for real this time), the new Tod Goldberg collection of short stories (which I plan to buy once I get some damned cash in my pocket), and the new Cory Fucking Doctorow book (whose book I feel I will probably read someday once I get over my grudge against BoingBoing, which I used to read religiously until I woke up and realized I'd read just about as many fucking stories about mash-ups and DRM and re-mixing and how DRM'd mash-up creative commons re-mixes would be the best fucking thing since I put underwear on that morning, at which point I stopped reading because, seriously, fuck); and like a whole bunch of other stuff that looks cool perhaps due to mere proximity to the above directly-to-me-interesting stories. But most importantly (but wait, there's MORE?), an article I've been looking forward to for a while now (or I guess since August 16th or so): Wrapped Up In Books: A Guide to Rock Novels, which is a list of like 50 rock novels, grouped up and classified for your list-devouring enjoyment. Me, I look forward to ordering them all from the library, snorting a line of coke off the back of High Fidelity, and going to mother-fuckin' town. (For professional reasons, of course.)
The latest edition of a website which propagates negative images of the sensual ways in which one might interact with bound collections of paper might just be their best procreation edition yet. Though I haven't really checked to see if there are, indeed, a seriously large procreationary number of tons of profanity. And it might not actually be their best edition, but it's the edition with the most articles that have looked interesting to me since I've started reading the site. Which was, uh, sometime before today. Anyways. There's interviews with Mary Doria Russell and Aimee Bender (neither of whom I've read but who I mean to read and probably will once I read the interviews); reviews of the new Rick Moody book (whose Purple America I once started reading then stopped reading but which I plan to try reading again but for real this time), the new Tod Goldberg collection of short stories (which I plan to buy once I get some !!!! cash in my pocket), and the new Cory who may have known the flesh of another Doctorow book (whose book I feel I will probably read someday once I get over my grudge against BoingBoing, which I used to read with great regularity until I woke up and realized I'd read just about as many OH GOSH DIDDLY GEE! stories about mash-ups and DRM and re-mixing and how DRM'd mash-up creative commons re-mixes would be the best MOTHER LOVE BUCKETS! thing since I put underwear on that morning, at which point I stopped reading because, seriously, I SURE DO ENJOY FUDGE ON MY ICE CREAM); and like a whole bunch of other stuff that looks cool perhaps due to mere proximity to the above directly-to-me-interesting stories. But most importantly (but wait, there's there was no profanity here but this was the point in the original post when I started think, gee, I'm swearing a lot, maybe I should tone that down some, so I guess I feel the need to atone for what might have been bad thought in this space MORE?), an article I've been looking forward to for a while now (or I guess since August 16th or so): Wrapped Up In Books: A Guide to Rock Novels, which is a list of like 50 rock novels, grouped up and classified for your list-devouring enjoyment. Me, I look forward to ordering them all from the library, practicing some intelligent design, and going to get into my car after I finish reading all the books so that I can pick up some milk and sugar from town. (For professional reasons, of course.)
The raw, uncut, sex lies and blogiotape version
The latest edition of Bookslut might just be their best fucking edition yet. Though I haven't really checked to see if there are, indeed, fucking tons of profanity. And it might not actually be their best edition, but it's the edition with the most articles that have looked interesting to me since I've started reading the site. Which was, uh, sometime before today. Anyways. There's interviews with Mary Doria Russell and Aimee Bender (neither of whom I've read but who I mean to read and probably will once I read the interviews); reviews of the new Rick Moody book (whose Purple America I once started reading then stopped reading but which I plan to try reading again but for real this time), the new Tod Goldberg collection of short stories (which I plan to buy once I get some damned cash in my pocket), and the new Cory Fucking Doctorow book (whose book I feel I will probably read someday once I get over my grudge against BoingBoing, which I used to read religiously until I woke up and realized I'd read just about as many fucking stories about mash-ups and DRM and re-mixing and how DRM'd mash-up creative commons re-mixes would be the best fucking thing since I put underwear on that morning, at which point I stopped reading because, seriously, fuck); and like a whole bunch of other stuff that looks cool perhaps due to mere proximity to the above directly-to-me-interesting stories. But most importantly (but wait, there's MORE?), an article I've been looking forward to for a while now (or I guess since August 16th or so): Wrapped Up In Books: A Guide to Rock Novels, which is a list of like 50 rock novels, grouped up and classified for your list-devouring enjoyment. Me, I look forward to ordering them all from the library, snorting a line of coke off the back of High Fidelity, and going to mother-fuckin' town. (For professional reasons, of course.)
The everything is pink daffodils and happy puppies version
The latest edition of a website which propagates negative images of the sensual ways in which one might interact with bound collections of paper might just be their best procreation edition yet. Though I haven't really checked to see if there are, indeed, a seriously large procreationary number of tons of profanity. And it might not actually be their best edition, but it's the edition with the most articles that have looked interesting to me since I've started reading the site. Which was, uh, sometime before today. Anyways. There's interviews with Mary Doria Russell and Aimee Bender (neither of whom I've read but who I mean to read and probably will once I read the interviews); reviews of the new Rick Moody book (whose Purple America I once started reading then stopped reading but which I plan to try reading again but for real this time), the new Tod Goldberg collection of short stories (which I plan to buy once I get some !!!! cash in my pocket), and the new Cory who may have known the flesh of another Doctorow book (whose book I feel I will probably read someday once I get over my grudge against BoingBoing, which I used to read with great regularity until I woke up and realized I'd read just about as many OH GOSH DIDDLY GEE! stories about mash-ups and DRM and re-mixing and how DRM'd mash-up creative commons re-mixes would be the best MOTHER LOVE BUCKETS! thing since I put underwear on that morning, at which point I stopped reading because, seriously, I SURE DO ENJOY FUDGE ON MY ICE CREAM); and like a whole bunch of other stuff that looks cool perhaps due to mere proximity to the above directly-to-me-interesting stories. But most importantly (but wait, there's there was no profanity here but this was the point in the original post when I started think, gee, I'm swearing a lot, maybe I should tone that down some, so I guess I feel the need to atone for what might have been bad thought in this space MORE?), an article I've been looking forward to for a while now (or I guess since August 16th or so): Wrapped Up In Books: A Guide to Rock Novels, which is a list of like 50 rock novels, grouped up and classified for your list-devouring enjoyment. Me, I look forward to ordering them all from the library, practicing some intelligent design, and going to get into my car after I finish reading all the books so that I can pick up some milk and sugar from town. (For professional reasons, of course.)
Wednesday, September 07, 2005
The wound-up Darby chronicle
Recently read (as in, sprinted through) Haruki Murakami's The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. I liked it rather a lot. It's...troubling. (So is this post, in its haphazardness. You've been warned.)
See, here's the deal. The novel, I was told or was informed ahead of time, was weird, or surreal, or post-modern, or just plain not normal. That's cool. I dig the not-normal. But when you launch into a book that is supposedly not-normal, and the first half or so is focused on the disruption of the routine of a completely normal guy's life (with maybe a psychic or something thrown in there for flavor), you start to wonder if all that talk about the not-normal elements was misplaced. Not, mind you, that anything in the first half is anything less than compelling. Just, ya know, there's no footnotes, and nothing so terrifically weird as to make one stand up and take notice. Unless, I suspect, one has never read anything too-weird before, in which case, well, yes. That being my other concern: maybe I've read so much not-normal stuff by this point that I've gained a sort of immunity. A resistance, if you will.
Nope. No resistance. At least, not to this book.
See, thing is, this novel, it's got a fascinating shape. Picture for yourself--or click here for assistance--the stereotypical mushroom blast. Sort of a column of smoke, upon which a cloud sits. Hang on to that image; tip it over on its side. You can slice it horizontally through the middle if you wish but it's not necessarily crucial here. Either way, what you've now got, reading that image from left to right, is the shape of Murakami's novel. The narrow focus of narrative through the first two sections of the book, the drive and direction of it, giving way to...a point, where things change. Where the book becomes less a story and more a rush in outward directions.
I was hooked on the book through the first two sections fine enough, but it's in the third part (which comprises half the book) where the story really begins to dance. The story expands and connections begin to form and it just really becomes something other, more cloud than column. I'm repeating myself; point being, if you're new to Murakami (like me), and you find yourself wondering, through the first two sections...just, keep going. It's good. It's really damn good.
It's funny. I mean, occasionally. There's little bits that are laugh out loud hysterical. (A Van Halen t-shirt? That's just awesome. Or maybe that's just me. Dunno.) But what I really mean is that it's funny in that there's the funny stuff and then there's the brutal stuff, the stuff that's just...oh, lord, there's a bit with people digging a hole, it happens in a flashback (of sorts), and there's a baseball bat...yeah, it's just. Geez. Really compelling stuff.
And it's funny in that, though this is definitely literature, capitalized or whatever, your call--the books it brought to mind weren't really what the literature-crowd would think of as literature. I found myself occasionally thinking of Stephen King, though not necessarily for the most convincing reasons. I also found myself thinking of Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon, in the way the book dealt with modern-day (okay, 1980s, but close enough) material versus World War II-era material. Not that I want to drive the comparison too far but I think there's something illuminating here in reading the books side-by-side (or as distanced by years, hey, whatever) in that, both books were written well after the war in question, but in completely different cultures. There's something to seeing that one book was written in a culture that came out of that war this way, and that the other book was written in another culture that came out of the war that way, and those are very different ways. Something to that. (Hint: I liked Stephenson's book plenty well enough, but I think I like it slightly less now, after reading Murakami's book.) Or maybe I'm way off base here. Dunno.
But okay, what I really mean when I say it's funny, is that it's funny that the book should change character midway through. To go back to that. The book, so much of its subject is the ways in which people change. And I don't mean change over the course of a lifetime, but the ways in which people become literally (philosophically? you be the judge) entirely different people. Who are still the same people, but different people nonetheless. It's funny. Funny, like that.
Anyways. Random babbling aside. If you're like me and you heard the hullabaloo over Kafka on the Shore coming out a while back, but the library's got you queued at like 78 and the number keeps getting bigger, I'd happily recommend The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Just, y'know...keep an eye on your cat.
See, here's the deal. The novel, I was told or was informed ahead of time, was weird, or surreal, or post-modern, or just plain not normal. That's cool. I dig the not-normal. But when you launch into a book that is supposedly not-normal, and the first half or so is focused on the disruption of the routine of a completely normal guy's life (with maybe a psychic or something thrown in there for flavor), you start to wonder if all that talk about the not-normal elements was misplaced. Not, mind you, that anything in the first half is anything less than compelling. Just, ya know, there's no footnotes, and nothing so terrifically weird as to make one stand up and take notice. Unless, I suspect, one has never read anything too-weird before, in which case, well, yes. That being my other concern: maybe I've read so much not-normal stuff by this point that I've gained a sort of immunity. A resistance, if you will.
Nope. No resistance. At least, not to this book.
See, thing is, this novel, it's got a fascinating shape. Picture for yourself--or click here for assistance--the stereotypical mushroom blast. Sort of a column of smoke, upon which a cloud sits. Hang on to that image; tip it over on its side. You can slice it horizontally through the middle if you wish but it's not necessarily crucial here. Either way, what you've now got, reading that image from left to right, is the shape of Murakami's novel. The narrow focus of narrative through the first two sections of the book, the drive and direction of it, giving way to...a point, where things change. Where the book becomes less a story and more a rush in outward directions.
I was hooked on the book through the first two sections fine enough, but it's in the third part (which comprises half the book) where the story really begins to dance. The story expands and connections begin to form and it just really becomes something other, more cloud than column. I'm repeating myself; point being, if you're new to Murakami (like me), and you find yourself wondering, through the first two sections...just, keep going. It's good. It's really damn good.
It's funny. I mean, occasionally. There's little bits that are laugh out loud hysterical. (A Van Halen t-shirt? That's just awesome. Or maybe that's just me. Dunno.) But what I really mean is that it's funny in that there's the funny stuff and then there's the brutal stuff, the stuff that's just...oh, lord, there's a bit with people digging a hole, it happens in a flashback (of sorts), and there's a baseball bat...yeah, it's just. Geez. Really compelling stuff.
And it's funny in that, though this is definitely literature, capitalized or whatever, your call--the books it brought to mind weren't really what the literature-crowd would think of as literature. I found myself occasionally thinking of Stephen King, though not necessarily for the most convincing reasons. I also found myself thinking of Neal Stephenson's Cryptonomicon, in the way the book dealt with modern-day (okay, 1980s, but close enough) material versus World War II-era material. Not that I want to drive the comparison too far but I think there's something illuminating here in reading the books side-by-side (or as distanced by years, hey, whatever) in that, both books were written well after the war in question, but in completely different cultures. There's something to seeing that one book was written in a culture that came out of that war this way, and that the other book was written in another culture that came out of the war that way, and those are very different ways. Something to that. (Hint: I liked Stephenson's book plenty well enough, but I think I like it slightly less now, after reading Murakami's book.) Or maybe I'm way off base here. Dunno.
But okay, what I really mean when I say it's funny, is that it's funny that the book should change character midway through. To go back to that. The book, so much of its subject is the ways in which people change. And I don't mean change over the course of a lifetime, but the ways in which people become literally (philosophically? you be the judge) entirely different people. Who are still the same people, but different people nonetheless. It's funny. Funny, like that.
Anyways. Random babbling aside. If you're like me and you heard the hullabaloo over Kafka on the Shore coming out a while back, but the library's got you queued at like 78 and the number keeps getting bigger, I'd happily recommend The Wind-Up Bird Chronicle. Just, y'know...keep an eye on your cat.
Saturday, September 03, 2005
...
I plan to say more about this, but right now: tired, thinking muddled. It's been a rough week. But yeah, go, click that, read; offer help if you can. I plan on writing something for the project, so.
You've heard lots of horrible shit this week. But there is still plenty of good in this world.
You've heard lots of horrible shit this week. But there is still plenty of good in this world.
Friday, September 02, 2005
I'd throw in an extra buck for Naughty Pynchon Reading Photos, except, not really, cuz, that'd just be weird
Just a quick note to say that I think this blog-based "mini-seminar" at The Valve on Philip Roth's The Plot Against America is a pretty sweet idea. I haven't read the book yet so I haven't dug into any of the posts yet, so I don't know how substantial or of what merit they are, but I definitely like the idea. (And this did motivate me to finally want to read the book sooner rather than later, so I've ordered a copy of the book from the good ol' Cleveland Public Library. My girlfriend and I, we agreed I wasn't allowed to buy any more books until I made a significant dent on what's already in the apartment; but we never said anything about ordering from the library! Score! Except, oh wait, this will just slow down my progress through the already-bought pile...aw, crud.) In any case, I think it's something I'd like to see more of, enough so that I've given some thought to adopting, bastardizing, and mutating the hell out of the idea myself. Though I probably won't. Lazy. (And yes, friend Chris, I'm looking at you, over there, mister "freely admitted to wanting to write a paper on dorky lit and philosophy stuff" man. Bad idea, or best idea ever?)
And in other news, if you dig contests, and really, who in their right mind doesn't enjoy contests, then take note: the Return of the Reluctant has extended the deadline for the Naughty Reading Photography Contest, and over at The Elegant Variation there's the "Kipen & Pynchon 4ever" contest. Check 'em.
And in other news, if you dig contests, and really, who in their right mind doesn't enjoy contests, then take note: the Return of the Reluctant has extended the deadline for the Naughty Reading Photography Contest, and over at The Elegant Variation there's the "Kipen & Pynchon 4ever" contest. Check 'em.
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