Is this yesterday? She asks, picking through the pile of recycled newspapers. No, I say. Today is today. Yesterday is yesterday.
It’s the little things, the little precise verbal things, that make a relationship go. As in go South. No, that new sweater does not make you look fat. It’s the fat that makes you look fat. Then she gets mad at me for no apparent reason.
I have harshed her mellow, as one major newspaper says they say in the marijuana patches of Mendocino county. When we travel, people look askance when we say we’re from Mendocino.
In fact, it’s worse than askance. They seriously smirk. You smokie the dopie? Shreddy the hemp-y, bogart the joint and all that? No, we explain. We live in Caspar. You’ve never heard of Caspar, that’s why we say we’re from Mendocino. That’s MEN-DO-CI-NO, on the COAST. It’s cold there. You can’t grow a red tomato, you can’t raise a green pepper, and you certainly can’t grow pot. In a hothouse, maybe. Five miles inland, no problem. but very little dope growing in lettuce peas and potatoes country. We haven’t seen the sun in five months.
When the sun does show up we go around asking each other what is that shiny yellow thing in the sky. Everyone smiles, but in fact no one knows for sure. We could Google it – What Is The Sun? – but we’re too busy watering the lettuce so it doesn’t dry out in the yellow glow.
The sun’s out! my garden-loving weed-pulling wife announces as she runs outside. It ‘s not really “out” I mutter to myself. If it was out, everything would be really dark and cold and that would be highly disturbing. The light is out, but the sun is... what is it... maybe “on.” The sun’s on! Come and look.
It’s good I don’t say this out loud. I know what’s good for me, or at least I’m learning.
An in-depth article in the Washington Post this week reviewed the Mendocino marijuana industry, interviewing pot heads, medical users, growers, politicians, the Sheriff, and others. The author notes that Mendocino’s golden age of dope growing ended when “growing acceptance of marijuana elsewhere in the Golden State unleashed a confluence of demand, tolerance and legal ambiguity rooted in political cowardice.
“The result set in motion forces that seriously harshed the mellow here and brought the ‘war on drugs’ to the one place in America it had never really reached.”
Harshed the mellow. I haven’t heard that since Sir Douglas walked and talked in the park in Mendocino, which, of course, he never did, as the closest Sir Douglas and his famous song hit “Mendocino” ever got to Mendocino was a bar in Wichita, but that’s another story, and there isn’t any park in Mendocino, unless you count Mendocino Headlands State Park, which probably hadn’t been invented when Sir Douglas first sang his famous song, and who knighted him, anyway?
Jean Jacques Rousseau once confessed, in his “Confessions,” that “women, especially great ladies, must be amused, and that it is better to offend them than to bore them; and I judged, from her remarks upon the conversation of the people who had just taken leave of her, what she must have thought of MY silly nonsense.”
Yes dear, that is yesterday’s paper, the sweater does NOT make you look fat, and the sun is out.
NOTES:
Here’s the URL for the Washington Post article, but they may make you register (free) in order to read it.
I have a lovely old Modern Library (#243) version of Rousseau’s “Confessions” complete with dust jacket and “15 cents” penciled on the top. However, it’s long out of print. Here’s the only current paperback version available as a new book:
“The Confessions of Jean Jacques Rousseau” by Jean-Jacques Rousseau. BiblioLife paperback $18.99. ISBN 1103029916
My wife just asked: “Why does he have to confess?”
30 July 2009
23 July 2009
Thoroughly & Completely Entertaining
What do you call a book that is thoroughly and completely entertaining from start to the final page? I call it fortunate that I accidently discovered the book in the first place. I was browsing in my local independent bookstore when a “Staff Favorite” sticker came up and waved in my face.
The sticker was attached to David Benioff’s novel “City of Thieves,” set in Leningrad during the terrible siege of 1942. Staff member Jeanette Boyer squeezed the following blurb onto a tiny Staff Fave flag:
“You wouldn’t think two young men’s quest for a dozen eggs would prove a dangerous venture, but set it in war-torn Russia in the midst of a Nazi invasion and you have a spell-binding story.”
When you open “City of Thieves” you meet the narrator in Florida, where he has traveled to interview his Russian emigre grandparents.
“I brought a tape recorder with me. I thought maybe we could talk about the war.”
... “You’re forty years old. Now you want to know?”
“I’m thirty-four. I looked at my grandfather and he smiled at me. ‘What’s the matter? You guys were Nazis? You’re hiding your Nazi past?
“‘No, he said, still smiling. ‘We weren’t Nazis.”
Any reasonable reader at this point would expect he’s about to encounter yet another war memoir. But the author undercuts that assumption at the start. Pestered for names, locations, weather conditions on certain days, grandfather counsels the author: “David, he said. ‘You’re a writer. Make it up.”
And so he does, creating a highly believable true-ish story based on highly likely situations. Benioff thus has freedom to tell his compelling tale the way he imagines it. Every page seems real as old shoes stuck in frozen mud. You will get your fill of death and starvation, selfishness and courage, suspense and danger, bizarre scenes and painfully romantic ones. It’s as if Tolstoy had managed to make “War and Peace” both short and very personal.
The story begins, “You have never been so hungry; you have never been so cold. When we slept, we dreamed of the feasts we had carelessly eaten seven months earlier... In June of 1941, before the Germans came, we thought we were poor. But June seemed like paradise by winter.”
Leningrad has become a forlorn city littered with frozen corpses, abandoned to fate, cut off from the countryside, bombed from the sky and mortared from nearby emplacements.
The survivors deal with it in a variety of surprising accommodations. “The boy sold what people called library candy, made from tearing the covers off of books, peeling off the binding glue, boiling it down, and reforming it into bars you could wrap in paper. The stuff tasted like wax, but there was protein in the glue, protein kept you alive, and the city’s books were disappearing like the pigeons.”
An NKVD colonel pulls from prison the narrator and a charismatic friend named Kolya, sparing their lives in return for an impossible task: Go out into the starving city and somehow locate a dozen fresh eggs. The colonel’s wife wants to bake a wedding cake for her beautiful (and well-fed) daughter.
Impossible eggs or instant execution: Kolya and Lev choose eggs. They have four days. The rest of the book details their adventure.
If I was still on staff I would have made “City of Thieves” my favorite as well. When I came to the final page, I said “Wow” out loud. I don’t do that very often.
Author David Benioff is a screen writer and novelist. His first novel, “The 25th Hour,” was made into a feature film directed by Spike Lee; and he has published “The Nines Roll Over,” a short story collection.
NOTES:
“City of Thieves” by David Benioff. Plume Books paperback $15. ISBN 0452295297.
“When the Nines Roll Over: And Other Stories” by David Benioff. Plume Books paperback $15. ISBN 0452286646.
“The 25th Hour” by David Benioff. Plume Books $15. ISBN 0452282950.
The sticker was attached to David Benioff’s novel “City of Thieves,” set in Leningrad during the terrible siege of 1942. Staff member Jeanette Boyer squeezed the following blurb onto a tiny Staff Fave flag:
“You wouldn’t think two young men’s quest for a dozen eggs would prove a dangerous venture, but set it in war-torn Russia in the midst of a Nazi invasion and you have a spell-binding story.”
When you open “City of Thieves” you meet the narrator in Florida, where he has traveled to interview his Russian emigre grandparents.
“I brought a tape recorder with me. I thought maybe we could talk about the war.”
... “You’re forty years old. Now you want to know?”
“I’m thirty-four. I looked at my grandfather and he smiled at me. ‘What’s the matter? You guys were Nazis? You’re hiding your Nazi past?
“‘No, he said, still smiling. ‘We weren’t Nazis.”
Any reasonable reader at this point would expect he’s about to encounter yet another war memoir. But the author undercuts that assumption at the start. Pestered for names, locations, weather conditions on certain days, grandfather counsels the author: “David, he said. ‘You’re a writer. Make it up.”
And so he does, creating a highly believable true-ish story based on highly likely situations. Benioff thus has freedom to tell his compelling tale the way he imagines it. Every page seems real as old shoes stuck in frozen mud. You will get your fill of death and starvation, selfishness and courage, suspense and danger, bizarre scenes and painfully romantic ones. It’s as if Tolstoy had managed to make “War and Peace” both short and very personal.
The story begins, “You have never been so hungry; you have never been so cold. When we slept, we dreamed of the feasts we had carelessly eaten seven months earlier... In June of 1941, before the Germans came, we thought we were poor. But June seemed like paradise by winter.”
Leningrad has become a forlorn city littered with frozen corpses, abandoned to fate, cut off from the countryside, bombed from the sky and mortared from nearby emplacements.
The survivors deal with it in a variety of surprising accommodations. “The boy sold what people called library candy, made from tearing the covers off of books, peeling off the binding glue, boiling it down, and reforming it into bars you could wrap in paper. The stuff tasted like wax, but there was protein in the glue, protein kept you alive, and the city’s books were disappearing like the pigeons.”
An NKVD colonel pulls from prison the narrator and a charismatic friend named Kolya, sparing their lives in return for an impossible task: Go out into the starving city and somehow locate a dozen fresh eggs. The colonel’s wife wants to bake a wedding cake for her beautiful (and well-fed) daughter.
Impossible eggs or instant execution: Kolya and Lev choose eggs. They have four days. The rest of the book details their adventure.
If I was still on staff I would have made “City of Thieves” my favorite as well. When I came to the final page, I said “Wow” out loud. I don’t do that very often.
Author David Benioff is a screen writer and novelist. His first novel, “The 25th Hour,” was made into a feature film directed by Spike Lee; and he has published “The Nines Roll Over,” a short story collection.
NOTES:
“City of Thieves” by David Benioff. Plume Books paperback $15. ISBN 0452295297.
“When the Nines Roll Over: And Other Stories” by David Benioff. Plume Books paperback $15. ISBN 0452286646.
“The 25th Hour” by David Benioff. Plume Books $15. ISBN 0452282950.
In the Land of Long Fingernails
I picked up “In the Land of Long Fingernails” for the macabre title and the nice purple cover. I stayed for the jokes, for the gory details, for the sense of reliving the Sixties, stoned, all over again, but this time stoned in a graveyard in Canada.
The book is subtitled “A Gravedigger in the Age of Aquarius,” and it’s a hoot, especially if you’re a coot who lived through the short-lived Age of Aquarius. Aquarius lasted a couple of years, max.
“In the Land of Long Fingernails” is less deep, so to speak, than “Stiff” by Mary Roach, and not as poetic as books by Thomas Lynch, undertaker and poet, author of a number of seriously literary works.
Following his graveyard employment, “Fingernails” author Charles Wilkins went on to publish a dozen books and became a writing teacher. Here he dives back into his memory, perhaps with a bit of fiction thrown in, to recall a long summer he spent forty years ago at what he euphemistically names Willowlawn Everlasting Cemetery.
“To call (the cemetery) by its real name in this era of inquisitional conformity,” he explains, “would be an open invitation to, at best, a law suit, at worst a contract hit – on me.”
Perhaps Wilkins exaggerates, perhaps not. There are issues of union rules and the abuse of these rules. There are employees hailing from southern sections of Italy, graves dug or undug in the night. Who knows, maybe there’s a whole other story of criminal conspiracy hiding under the surface of this tale, but the surface of this story is strange enough.
How strange? For example: Hundreds of “welfare graves” in the oldest section of the graveyard – city burials, no gravestones – are secretly dug up, the plots emptied, cleaned up, resold.
ACTUAL LATE BREAKING NEWS: “A group of Illinois grave diggers were charged Thursday with running a morbid scam in which they exhumed corpses in a black cemetery so they could resell the empty plots, cops said.
Investigators suspect more than 300 bodies were dug up in the suburban Chicago graveyard and discarded in a pit so the ghouls could cash (in).”
Back to our story: Nearby neighbors find femurs and hip joints in their back yards. They are assured they are animal bones, nothing more, and the objects are hastily gathered up and reburied. “The problem, shrugs (one employee) is that ground pressure and frost keep pushing the bones to the surface. And the dogs and coons just keep digging down to get them.”
Then there’s the gravediggers’ strike that took place during a heat wave. Don’t ask.
Those five months during the Canadian summer of 1969 were an education for Wilkins, more or less as wild as the stuff going on every other place in the Western world in those years.
“For those of you who missed it, or have forgotten,” he writes, “1969 was, among other things, a time of flower children, free love, campus protest, the battle for civil rights, the death of God.” That year half a million seekers got themselves back to the garden at Woodstock, and a pair of US astronauts “planted an American flag on the moon... (and) knocked a golf ball around amid the rocks and moon dust.”
On his first day at Willowlawn Everlasting, Wilkins is shown how to bury the “ornate little caskets” containing cremated human remains.
“Luccio dug a knee-deep hole and said, ‘Throw me one of those birdhouses.’ ‘Which one?’ I said, examining them on the ground. ‘Any of them.’ “I looked at him, thinking I had misunderstood.
“‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘They’re all the same.’”
That sets the tone. So does this advice from another gravedigger: “‘There are two things you have to do to survive around here,’ he told me as he twisted a bud of shredded marijuana into a rolling paper. ‘The first is to pay no attention whatever to anybody in any position of authority – that’s crucial. The second is to spend as little time as possible thinking about reality.’”
Still useful advice for some of us. “In the Land of Long Fingernails” finds humor in the rituals of death and entertainment in the earthy details. All probably much more fun to read about than experience first hand.
NOTES:
“In the Land of Long Fingernails, A Gravedigger in the Age of Aquarius” by Charles Wilkins. WW Norton hard cover $24.95. ISBN 9781602397095.
Cover blurb: “I don’t know how Charles Wilkins escaped my notice until now, but I intend to read as many of his books as I can before I, too, end up in the land of long fingernails.”
– Mary Roach, author of “Stiff”
News | 07/09/2009: Four nabbed in ghoulish scheme at historic cemetary by Bill Hutchinson
The book is subtitled “A Gravedigger in the Age of Aquarius,” and it’s a hoot, especially if you’re a coot who lived through the short-lived Age of Aquarius. Aquarius lasted a couple of years, max.
“In the Land of Long Fingernails” is less deep, so to speak, than “Stiff” by Mary Roach, and not as poetic as books by Thomas Lynch, undertaker and poet, author of a number of seriously literary works.
Following his graveyard employment, “Fingernails” author Charles Wilkins went on to publish a dozen books and became a writing teacher. Here he dives back into his memory, perhaps with a bit of fiction thrown in, to recall a long summer he spent forty years ago at what he euphemistically names Willowlawn Everlasting Cemetery.
“To call (the cemetery) by its real name in this era of inquisitional conformity,” he explains, “would be an open invitation to, at best, a law suit, at worst a contract hit – on me.”
Perhaps Wilkins exaggerates, perhaps not. There are issues of union rules and the abuse of these rules. There are employees hailing from southern sections of Italy, graves dug or undug in the night. Who knows, maybe there’s a whole other story of criminal conspiracy hiding under the surface of this tale, but the surface of this story is strange enough.
How strange? For example: Hundreds of “welfare graves” in the oldest section of the graveyard – city burials, no gravestones – are secretly dug up, the plots emptied, cleaned up, resold.
ACTUAL LATE BREAKING NEWS: “A group of Illinois grave diggers were charged Thursday with running a morbid scam in which they exhumed corpses in a black cemetery so they could resell the empty plots, cops said.
Investigators suspect more than 300 bodies were dug up in the suburban Chicago graveyard and discarded in a pit so the ghouls could cash (in).”
Back to our story: Nearby neighbors find femurs and hip joints in their back yards. They are assured they are animal bones, nothing more, and the objects are hastily gathered up and reburied. “The problem, shrugs (one employee) is that ground pressure and frost keep pushing the bones to the surface. And the dogs and coons just keep digging down to get them.”
Then there’s the gravediggers’ strike that took place during a heat wave. Don’t ask.
Those five months during the Canadian summer of 1969 were an education for Wilkins, more or less as wild as the stuff going on every other place in the Western world in those years.
“For those of you who missed it, or have forgotten,” he writes, “1969 was, among other things, a time of flower children, free love, campus protest, the battle for civil rights, the death of God.” That year half a million seekers got themselves back to the garden at Woodstock, and a pair of US astronauts “planted an American flag on the moon... (and) knocked a golf ball around amid the rocks and moon dust.”
On his first day at Willowlawn Everlasting, Wilkins is shown how to bury the “ornate little caskets” containing cremated human remains.
“Luccio dug a knee-deep hole and said, ‘Throw me one of those birdhouses.’ ‘Which one?’ I said, examining them on the ground. ‘Any of them.’ “I looked at him, thinking I had misunderstood.
“‘It doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘They’re all the same.’”
That sets the tone. So does this advice from another gravedigger: “‘There are two things you have to do to survive around here,’ he told me as he twisted a bud of shredded marijuana into a rolling paper. ‘The first is to pay no attention whatever to anybody in any position of authority – that’s crucial. The second is to spend as little time as possible thinking about reality.’”
Still useful advice for some of us. “In the Land of Long Fingernails” finds humor in the rituals of death and entertainment in the earthy details. All probably much more fun to read about than experience first hand.
NOTES:
“In the Land of Long Fingernails, A Gravedigger in the Age of Aquarius” by Charles Wilkins. WW Norton hard cover $24.95. ISBN 9781602397095.
Cover blurb: “I don’t know how Charles Wilkins escaped my notice until now, but I intend to read as many of his books as I can before I, too, end up in the land of long fingernails.”
– Mary Roach, author of “Stiff”
News | 07/09/2009: Four nabbed in ghoulish scheme at historic cemetary by Bill Hutchinson
11 July 2009
Do evil, get rich
Let’s see... Pacifica Foundation, a non-profit progressive radio network founded by pacifists in 1949 currently is $740 thousand dollars in the hole. Our community radio station, KZYX, is about $140 thousand behind. Mendocino’s Symphony of the Redwoods is suffering from lack of funds, so are any number of other non-profits.
Is there anyone or anything not currently in the red zone?
Oh yes, this headline: “Dick Cheney gets $2 mill to pen memoir.”
The most secretive, torture-embracing politician of our time, main brain behind the Bush disaster, gets two million dollars to speak about mishandling the economy, spying on Americans and shooting his duck hunting partner.
Do evil, get rich. It’s the American way.
Publisher Simon & Schuster is paying Cheney, and the same publisher is about to unleash the world’s biggest/fastest most tasteless instant book in history, 500,000 copies of “Unmasked: The Final Years of Michael Jackson.”
One day after Jackson’s death, Simon & Schuster bought the rights and undertook a race with the pallbearers. Jackson died on June 25; the tell-all will be published on July 14.
As reported by the Wall Street Journal, the publisher took only four days from first hearing of the manuscript until it delivered files to the printer. Seven copy editors worked on the manuscript during that period.
Meanwhile, newly-resigned Alaska governor Sarah Palin is writing a book, due next year, for a reported advance of “several million dollars,” according to her agent. At least 20 books have already been published about Ms. Palin, with another half dozen scheduled. No one knows if her resignation will hurt or help her own book, but the betting in publisher world is that it’s better to get these books out fast than to wait.
One former Penguin editor said, “The truth about all these books is that you treat the authors like stocks: You want to buy low and sell high, or buy high and sell even higher. With Palin, you don't know where her stock is going to be in a few years. So you want to sell now.”
Finally, consider the new yearbook published for Vineland High School in New Jersey. When students unpacked their yearbooks they discovered the wrong year printed on the spine.
The publisher apologized and sent 525 stickers to cover 08 with 09. They did not offer to return the $75 to $85 each student paid for a copy of the yearbook.
One graduating student told her local newspaper, "I think they should have checked it out -- just to see if there were mistakes -- before giving them to the school. Or they should've given us better stickers," she said, noting the decals aren't adhering very well.
I can’t finish this litany of bad news without mentioning Amazon and their book reading device The Kindle. News this week is that they’ve lowered prices so you can obtain one for just under $300.
The other news, more technical but potentially much more important: Amazon has applied for a group of patents that may allow them to insert adverts into books you would read on your Kindle.
Lessee... You’re reading along in “Oliver Twist” and you get to the part where little Oliver pleads, “Please sir, I want some more” and up pops an ad for McCann’s Finest Steel Cut Oat Meal. You’re reading Kerouac’s “On the Road” and you find yourself staring at a Ford truck video. Pickapeppa Sauce for Faulkner. Marlboros for Sedaris. Won’t reading be fun one day!
notes...
The Wall Street Journal on the instant Michael Jackson book
Is there anyone or anything not currently in the red zone?
Oh yes, this headline: “Dick Cheney gets $2 mill to pen memoir.”
The most secretive, torture-embracing politician of our time, main brain behind the Bush disaster, gets two million dollars to speak about mishandling the economy, spying on Americans and shooting his duck hunting partner.
Do evil, get rich. It’s the American way.
Publisher Simon & Schuster is paying Cheney, and the same publisher is about to unleash the world’s biggest/fastest most tasteless instant book in history, 500,000 copies of “Unmasked: The Final Years of Michael Jackson.”
One day after Jackson’s death, Simon & Schuster bought the rights and undertook a race with the pallbearers. Jackson died on June 25; the tell-all will be published on July 14.
As reported by the Wall Street Journal, the publisher took only four days from first hearing of the manuscript until it delivered files to the printer. Seven copy editors worked on the manuscript during that period.
Meanwhile, newly-resigned Alaska governor Sarah Palin is writing a book, due next year, for a reported advance of “several million dollars,” according to her agent. At least 20 books have already been published about Ms. Palin, with another half dozen scheduled. No one knows if her resignation will hurt or help her own book, but the betting in publisher world is that it’s better to get these books out fast than to wait.
One former Penguin editor said, “The truth about all these books is that you treat the authors like stocks: You want to buy low and sell high, or buy high and sell even higher. With Palin, you don't know where her stock is going to be in a few years. So you want to sell now.”
Finally, consider the new yearbook published for Vineland High School in New Jersey. When students unpacked their yearbooks they discovered the wrong year printed on the spine.
The publisher apologized and sent 525 stickers to cover 08 with 09. They did not offer to return the $75 to $85 each student paid for a copy of the yearbook.
One graduating student told her local newspaper, "I think they should have checked it out -- just to see if there were mistakes -- before giving them to the school. Or they should've given us better stickers," she said, noting the decals aren't adhering very well.
I can’t finish this litany of bad news without mentioning Amazon and their book reading device The Kindle. News this week is that they’ve lowered prices so you can obtain one for just under $300.
The other news, more technical but potentially much more important: Amazon has applied for a group of patents that may allow them to insert adverts into books you would read on your Kindle.
Lessee... You’re reading along in “Oliver Twist” and you get to the part where little Oliver pleads, “Please sir, I want some more” and up pops an ad for McCann’s Finest Steel Cut Oat Meal. You’re reading Kerouac’s “On the Road” and you find yourself staring at a Ford truck video. Pickapeppa Sauce for Faulkner. Marlboros for Sedaris. Won’t reading be fun one day!
notes...
The Wall Street Journal on the instant Michael Jackson book
23 June 2009
Mony Tiksak's Bords on Wooks
Like you, I listen to Mony Tiksak’s Words on Books whenever I can. It’s a really good show, as I think we all agree, and it doesn’t cost this radio station a single penny to produce.
Many Sundays I simply forget to go listen to myself. I already know where I’m going to cough and what I’m going to say. I wrote the script. So I miss it, the day goes on, no big loss.
However, the program that follows Words on Books on Sundays, This American Life with host Ira Glass, is a different bag of bones. It’s a must-listen, driveway-moment stunner of a show that never fails to elevate my spirit and my weekend.
The danger is that This American Life and a number of other expensive programs may soon be subtracted from the play list of this station, due to long and short-term budget shortfalls.
Listeners who have been paying attention already have heard about this dire situation. The rest are beginning to find out now. Programmers are chattering amongst themselves. The Anderson Valley Advertiser is reporting the situation in their reliably unreliable way. The board of directors is yakking. GM John Coate is communicating. The bottom line: We will soon go broke for good unless the station makes some painful changes.
My humble opinion about all this: Lose nothing, keep everything. And I understand why that particular jolly option is rapidly sliding off the table. We have to keep our limited funds for electricity and salaries and all the rest. Other expensive things, like Prairie Home Companion, have necessarily become optional.
Still, I say do not slam the brakes on Car Talk. Don’t end This American Life. Don’t fricassee the BBC or burn down the Prairie. That’s my wish, anyway, and my wishful thinking.
A great number of similar organizations and worthy businesses are bailing the same boat. I was struck by the relevance of this interview with author Patti Callahan Henry, printed in the Fayetteville Observer and distributed by the newsletter Shelf Awareness.
Ms. Henry said, “...I've watched the commitment and dedication that it takes to keep an independent bookstore afloat, viable and interesting... I believe many people love their independent bookstores but don't understand the problems the bookstore is going through. Readers are very upset when a local indie shuts down, yet they don't understand the things they could have done to prevent the bookstore's demise! I think the best things we can do to help save our local indies are to visit them, buy our books from them and spread the word about them. Buy local: It's not just a slogan, but a real way to save our indies and help the local economy thrive."
Henry’s words could just as well apply to this community radio station. We need to think globally and listen locally. Utilize KZYX and pay for it. Cough up money and volunteer time. Double the amount each of us contributes. Stuff like that.
A group of business people and concerned citizens in New England have started a new movement they call the “10-Percent Shift.”
They take a pledge “to shift 10% of their existing purchases from non-local businesses to locally owned and independent businesses.” One member said, “If the five million households in New England take 'The 10-Percent Shift Pledge' we can create thousands of new jobs and keep billions of dollars of economic activity in the region.”
That goes for this station as well. Even though many of us also listen to other radio stations, read newspapers both in print and on line, watch TV, rent movies and play our own music, all of us also make use of this station for entertainment, music and news.
KZYX&Z gives us a feeling. We feel connected to each other and to the wider world.
There is hardly anything more important than that.
It’s your turn to help. Now. Thank you.
NOTES:
Patti Callahan Henry in an interview with the Fayetteville Observer, redistributed by the online news service for the book trade, Shelf Awareness. Her latest novel, “Driftwood Summer” Penguin paperback $15, ISBN 9780451226884, focuses on the complicated relationship among three sisters as well as the challenge of running an independent bookstore.
This American Life has its own financial worries:
“Help Keep the Podcast Free! As you may have heard, last year it cost Chicago Public Radio more than $120,000 to pay for the bandwidth required to deliver our free podcast and streaming files. That's not computers. That's not staff. That's not the production of the show. That's just the server bandwidth required to get the show to you on the internet. In the past we've been able to cover these costs with a flood of small donations—if we can keep that up, we can keep the podcast free. Would you consider helping out? Five, ten bucks—anything you can give will be greatly appreciated!”
Many Sundays I simply forget to go listen to myself. I already know where I’m going to cough and what I’m going to say. I wrote the script. So I miss it, the day goes on, no big loss.
However, the program that follows Words on Books on Sundays, This American Life with host Ira Glass, is a different bag of bones. It’s a must-listen, driveway-moment stunner of a show that never fails to elevate my spirit and my weekend.
The danger is that This American Life and a number of other expensive programs may soon be subtracted from the play list of this station, due to long and short-term budget shortfalls.
Listeners who have been paying attention already have heard about this dire situation. The rest are beginning to find out now. Programmers are chattering amongst themselves. The Anderson Valley Advertiser is reporting the situation in their reliably unreliable way. The board of directors is yakking. GM John Coate is communicating. The bottom line: We will soon go broke for good unless the station makes some painful changes.
My humble opinion about all this: Lose nothing, keep everything. And I understand why that particular jolly option is rapidly sliding off the table. We have to keep our limited funds for electricity and salaries and all the rest. Other expensive things, like Prairie Home Companion, have necessarily become optional.
Still, I say do not slam the brakes on Car Talk. Don’t end This American Life. Don’t fricassee the BBC or burn down the Prairie. That’s my wish, anyway, and my wishful thinking.
A great number of similar organizations and worthy businesses are bailing the same boat. I was struck by the relevance of this interview with author Patti Callahan Henry, printed in the Fayetteville Observer and distributed by the newsletter Shelf Awareness.
Ms. Henry said, “...I've watched the commitment and dedication that it takes to keep an independent bookstore afloat, viable and interesting... I believe many people love their independent bookstores but don't understand the problems the bookstore is going through. Readers are very upset when a local indie shuts down, yet they don't understand the things they could have done to prevent the bookstore's demise! I think the best things we can do to help save our local indies are to visit them, buy our books from them and spread the word about them. Buy local: It's not just a slogan, but a real way to save our indies and help the local economy thrive."
Henry’s words could just as well apply to this community radio station. We need to think globally and listen locally. Utilize KZYX and pay for it. Cough up money and volunteer time. Double the amount each of us contributes. Stuff like that.
A group of business people and concerned citizens in New England have started a new movement they call the “10-Percent Shift.”
They take a pledge “to shift 10% of their existing purchases from non-local businesses to locally owned and independent businesses.” One member said, “If the five million households in New England take 'The 10-Percent Shift Pledge' we can create thousands of new jobs and keep billions of dollars of economic activity in the region.”
That goes for this station as well. Even though many of us also listen to other radio stations, read newspapers both in print and on line, watch TV, rent movies and play our own music, all of us also make use of this station for entertainment, music and news.
KZYX&Z gives us a feeling. We feel connected to each other and to the wider world.
There is hardly anything more important than that.
It’s your turn to help. Now. Thank you.
NOTES:
Patti Callahan Henry in an interview with the Fayetteville Observer, redistributed by the online news service for the book trade, Shelf Awareness. Her latest novel, “Driftwood Summer” Penguin paperback $15, ISBN 9780451226884, focuses on the complicated relationship among three sisters as well as the challenge of running an independent bookstore.
This American Life has its own financial worries:
“Help Keep the Podcast Free! As you may have heard, last year it cost Chicago Public Radio more than $120,000 to pay for the bandwidth required to deliver our free podcast and streaming files. That's not computers. That's not staff. That's not the production of the show. That's just the server bandwidth required to get the show to you on the internet. In the past we've been able to cover these costs with a flood of small donations—if we can keep that up, we can keep the podcast free. Would you consider helping out? Five, ten bucks—anything you can give will be greatly appreciated!”
17 June 2009
Stone's Fall
So I finally finished “Stone’s Fall” by Iain Pears, he of the very hard to spell first name, he of the very entertaining and complicated historical novels, forward slash mysteries. You may remember Pears for “An Instance of the Fingerpost,” which was a smash hit some time ago, and “The Dream of Scipio” from 2002.
When I say “finally finished” I mean it... “Stone’s Fall” is almost 600 pages, weighs a ton, covers a century of time and dozens of characters, not all of whom make it through to the surprising end. Several times along the way I asked myself, “Self, why are you spending your valuable time on this brick?”
I’m still asking myself that. Two weeks of intense concentration on one complicated novel is almost too much for this pea-brain. Next up: “War & Peace” or “Ulysses.”
“Stone’s Fall” opens in Paris, 1953: “The Church of St.-Germain des Pres, at the start of what was supposed to be spring, was a miserable place, made worse by the drabness of a city still in a state of shock, worse still by the little coffin in front of the altar which was my reason for being there, worse again by the aches and pains of my body as I kneeled.”
From Paris we swiftly move to London, 1909, remaining there for about 200 pages; then Paris, 1890, Venice, 1867, and finally back to London.
I am glad I persevered. The book is rich in so many ways: setting, atmosphere, characters, pretty much overstuffed with detail. Then there’s the twisting, surprising finish. Suddenly, in the final pages, the entire novel lights up and appears in a new light, retrospectively. I put down the book and tried to recall aspects of the convoluted plot and complicated characters, thinking “Aha! so THAT’S what happened... I get it now, probably.”
Were there a couple of characters left over? Whatever became of Xanthos, John Stone’s lifelong and ruthless accomplice? Did we finish with Mary, the harlot-turned spiritualist assistant? A few loose ends remain in a book stuffed with minor but intriguing characters.
The main characters will be remembered: First, the astonishing Elizabeth Stone, aka Lady Ravenscliff, aka the Countess Hadik-Barkoczy von Futak uns Szala, aka Madame Robillard. She is someone to admire and to fear.
Then Mr. John Stone himself, central to the story, creator of an armaments empire, marionette-master behind intricate financial and political arrangements.
“Stone’s Fall” is a great achievement, but I’m not certain it’s an altogether satisfying work. Still, you cannot write a book this large and all-encompassing without getting off some interesting observations along the way. These two among many others caught my attention:
On money: “Money is merely another term for people, a representation of their desires and personalities. If you do not understand one, you cannot hope to understand the other.”
On travel: “I wished to meet a man who knew about (Venice) – knew how it worked, that is, rather than knew about its buildings, which is always the easiest thing to discover... I have always found it strange that people are willing to travel to a place, and devote some considerable energy to doing so, yet leave with not the slightest knowledge or interest in the lives of the inhabitants.”
“Stone’s Fall” is an absorbing read, but this may be one of those books to borrow from a friend or library or wait for the cheaper paperback.
NOTES:
“Stone’s Fall” by Iain Pears. Spiegel & Grau (Random House) hard cover $27.95 ISBN 9780385522847.
“The Dream of Scipio” by Iain Pears.Riverhead Books (Penguin) paperback $15. ISBN 1573229865.
“An Instance of the Fingerpost” by Iain Pears. Berkley Publishing Group (Penguin) mass market paperback $7.99. ISBN 0425167720.
NY Times review of “Stone’s Fall”
An excellent blogged review of Stone's Fall.
When I say “finally finished” I mean it... “Stone’s Fall” is almost 600 pages, weighs a ton, covers a century of time and dozens of characters, not all of whom make it through to the surprising end. Several times along the way I asked myself, “Self, why are you spending your valuable time on this brick?”
I’m still asking myself that. Two weeks of intense concentration on one complicated novel is almost too much for this pea-brain. Next up: “War & Peace” or “Ulysses.”
“Stone’s Fall” opens in Paris, 1953: “The Church of St.-Germain des Pres, at the start of what was supposed to be spring, was a miserable place, made worse by the drabness of a city still in a state of shock, worse still by the little coffin in front of the altar which was my reason for being there, worse again by the aches and pains of my body as I kneeled.”
From Paris we swiftly move to London, 1909, remaining there for about 200 pages; then Paris, 1890, Venice, 1867, and finally back to London.
I am glad I persevered. The book is rich in so many ways: setting, atmosphere, characters, pretty much overstuffed with detail. Then there’s the twisting, surprising finish. Suddenly, in the final pages, the entire novel lights up and appears in a new light, retrospectively. I put down the book and tried to recall aspects of the convoluted plot and complicated characters, thinking “Aha! so THAT’S what happened... I get it now, probably.”
Were there a couple of characters left over? Whatever became of Xanthos, John Stone’s lifelong and ruthless accomplice? Did we finish with Mary, the harlot-turned spiritualist assistant? A few loose ends remain in a book stuffed with minor but intriguing characters.
The main characters will be remembered: First, the astonishing Elizabeth Stone, aka Lady Ravenscliff, aka the Countess Hadik-Barkoczy von Futak uns Szala, aka Madame Robillard. She is someone to admire and to fear.
Then Mr. John Stone himself, central to the story, creator of an armaments empire, marionette-master behind intricate financial and political arrangements.
“Stone’s Fall” is a great achievement, but I’m not certain it’s an altogether satisfying work. Still, you cannot write a book this large and all-encompassing without getting off some interesting observations along the way. These two among many others caught my attention:
On money: “Money is merely another term for people, a representation of their desires and personalities. If you do not understand one, you cannot hope to understand the other.”
On travel: “I wished to meet a man who knew about (Venice) – knew how it worked, that is, rather than knew about its buildings, which is always the easiest thing to discover... I have always found it strange that people are willing to travel to a place, and devote some considerable energy to doing so, yet leave with not the slightest knowledge or interest in the lives of the inhabitants.”
“Stone’s Fall” is an absorbing read, but this may be one of those books to borrow from a friend or library or wait for the cheaper paperback.
NOTES:
“Stone’s Fall” by Iain Pears. Spiegel & Grau (Random House) hard cover $27.95 ISBN 9780385522847.
“The Dream of Scipio” by Iain Pears.Riverhead Books (Penguin) paperback $15. ISBN 1573229865.
“An Instance of the Fingerpost” by Iain Pears. Berkley Publishing Group (Penguin) mass market paperback $7.99. ISBN 0425167720.
NY Times review of “Stone’s Fall”
An excellent blogged review of Stone's Fall.
10 June 2009
You won't need those bookshelves much longer...
I’ve been thinking about how I ruin books. Maybe I should go electric, get a Sony E Reader, or an Amazon Kindle 3Dog Fire Starter, or whatever they call electronic book reading devices these days.
My real books are displaying distressing amounts of wear and tear, plus water stains from wet hands.
I have in the past inflicted serious damage upon books, especially novels of great length that take weeks to finish. Take the one before me, for example: “Stone’s Fall” by Iain Pears, 594 pages.
To keep it fresh, I took off the dust jacket and hid it somewhere. When I finish peering at the acknowledgments, outside flyleaf, inside flyleaf, right rear flyleaf, left outside rear flyleaf, typeface explication, table of contents, Also By This Author page, title page, second extra big title page, copyright page, To My Mother page, Part One page, and page one itself... when I finish all those pages and the book itself, I will go hunt for the dust jacket. If I haven’t accidentally torn it, or crushed it under a box, dropped it in the sink, or hit it with a splash of chocolate milk, I will put it back on the book like a clean diaper, protecting the body from dust damage.
These potential disasters would be history if I owned an electronic book reading machine. If you drop Kindle into the bath tub, pull it out immediately. If you do that to your book, well, that’s why they invented the microwave. Tip: Do not microwave your Kindle. It makes sparks and funny noises!
To get my hands on a Kindle, short of stealing it from someone who falls asleep using it in a public place, I would have to buy it for, say, $359 dollars, no sales tax, because this is The Internet.
I’d want that leather book cover, $29.95. After a couple of recharges and some extended excitement downloading things I could have 1500 titles in my hands, some free, others $9.99 each, unless marked otherwise.
Another way I hurt books is I carelessly leave things inside. Last night I dozed off near page 312 and left a bundle of Post-it notes inside the book. This afternoon I realized I had bent the spine by laying other books on top. You can’t do that to a Kindle, unless you rest a chair leg on the screen and then sit down by accident.
I have a lot of books due to lack of electronic book reading machines. Few of my books are well cared for, though most are loved. Some are stacked the way they should be stacked, in tight, neat rows on bookshelves. Others recline sideways and upside down, in piles on the floor, on tables, at my elbow, behind my back, on footstools and on benches in the garden. Some of these books will eventually fall to the ground, get eaten by snails, or stepped on by me, the wife, the cat, or all three of us and this would likely be less of a problem with a Kindle.
This morning in my local independent wood-and-nails bookstore I saw Michael Chabon’s collection of literary essays, “Maps & Legends: Reading and Writing Along the Borderlands” and it jumped into my hand. Then I picked up Charles Bukowski’s early poetry collection, “The Roominghouse Madrigals,” to check on a particular poem. Somehow those books followed me to the cash register, two irresistible puppies.
The Kindle experience could be something like that. There are many intriguing titles (online you can: Look Inside the Book!) and it’s easy to buy them. After you have a couple hundred in your Kindle, there’s the question of finding time to read one all the way through.
The Kindle is neat and efficient, and its editorial contents are not likely to rot, mold, bend or get eaten by puppies.
Look at that new Kindle, resting on the empty bookshelf. Kind of makes you want to sit down with a good book, doesn’t it?
My real books are displaying distressing amounts of wear and tear, plus water stains from wet hands.
I have in the past inflicted serious damage upon books, especially novels of great length that take weeks to finish. Take the one before me, for example: “Stone’s Fall” by Iain Pears, 594 pages.
To keep it fresh, I took off the dust jacket and hid it somewhere. When I finish peering at the acknowledgments, outside flyleaf, inside flyleaf, right rear flyleaf, left outside rear flyleaf, typeface explication, table of contents, Also By This Author page, title page, second extra big title page, copyright page, To My Mother page, Part One page, and page one itself... when I finish all those pages and the book itself, I will go hunt for the dust jacket. If I haven’t accidentally torn it, or crushed it under a box, dropped it in the sink, or hit it with a splash of chocolate milk, I will put it back on the book like a clean diaper, protecting the body from dust damage.
These potential disasters would be history if I owned an electronic book reading machine. If you drop Kindle into the bath tub, pull it out immediately. If you do that to your book, well, that’s why they invented the microwave. Tip: Do not microwave your Kindle. It makes sparks and funny noises!
To get my hands on a Kindle, short of stealing it from someone who falls asleep using it in a public place, I would have to buy it for, say, $359 dollars, no sales tax, because this is The Internet.
I’d want that leather book cover, $29.95. After a couple of recharges and some extended excitement downloading things I could have 1500 titles in my hands, some free, others $9.99 each, unless marked otherwise.
Another way I hurt books is I carelessly leave things inside. Last night I dozed off near page 312 and left a bundle of Post-it notes inside the book. This afternoon I realized I had bent the spine by laying other books on top. You can’t do that to a Kindle, unless you rest a chair leg on the screen and then sit down by accident.
I have a lot of books due to lack of electronic book reading machines. Few of my books are well cared for, though most are loved. Some are stacked the way they should be stacked, in tight, neat rows on bookshelves. Others recline sideways and upside down, in piles on the floor, on tables, at my elbow, behind my back, on footstools and on benches in the garden. Some of these books will eventually fall to the ground, get eaten by snails, or stepped on by me, the wife, the cat, or all three of us and this would likely be less of a problem with a Kindle.
This morning in my local independent wood-and-nails bookstore I saw Michael Chabon’s collection of literary essays, “Maps & Legends: Reading and Writing Along the Borderlands” and it jumped into my hand. Then I picked up Charles Bukowski’s early poetry collection, “The Roominghouse Madrigals,” to check on a particular poem. Somehow those books followed me to the cash register, two irresistible puppies.
The Kindle experience could be something like that. There are many intriguing titles (online you can: Look Inside the Book!) and it’s easy to buy them. After you have a couple hundred in your Kindle, there’s the question of finding time to read one all the way through.
The Kindle is neat and efficient, and its editorial contents are not likely to rot, mold, bend or get eaten by puppies.
Look at that new Kindle, resting on the empty bookshelf. Kind of makes you want to sit down with a good book, doesn’t it?
07 June 2009
03 June 2009
Gods Barely Behaving
Artemis is walking the dogs to get out of the house. Apollo is shagging Aphrodite for the millionth time with another million to go (they’re immortal, after all). Old man Zeus is holed up in the attic watching TV, and his wife Hera hasn’t spoken in years. Demeter’s in the garden, Hephaestus is repairing the house, Hermes rides a motorcycle to collect dead souls and Dionysus is mixing songs for his nightclub. Eros is a Jesus freak and oh yes, Ares spends his days fomenting wars in faraway countries.
“ ‘You need a shave,’ said Artemis, standing in the doorway.
“ ‘Mmm,’ said Ares, without turning his head. ‘This War on Terror isn’t producing enough casualties. Bringing in Iran is the obvious choice, but I don’t think they’ve got enough firepower yet. I wonder if I could somehow antagonize Japan?’ ”
The quote is from the novel, “Gods Behaving Badly,” by first-time British author Marie Phillips. In her book the Greek gods are living unhappily together, crowded into a squalid flat full of uneaten food (they don’t eat human food; they just like to look at it) and dusty cobwebs.
“The family had moved there in 1665,” she writes, “when the plague was keeping property prices rock bottom, and just before the destruction of the Great Fire sent them spiraling upwards again. This had been a typically canny piece of financial engineering by... Athena, the goddess of wisdom.”
The gods have always behaved badly, of course, but in the old days humans believed in them, tolerated their faults and feared their arbitrary power. The popularity of monotheistic faiths robbed them of much of their strength.
In “Gods Behaving Badly” Phillips wallows in the fun of imagining Greek gods on the downlow. She spent some considerable time arriving at this idea.
In a short essay called On Writing and Thinking and Lying Down, Phillips says, “I rewrite so obsessively that my computer is littered with files labeled ‘final draft’ ‘final final draft,’ ‘absolutely the last draft,’ and ‘absolutely the last draft with changes.’ The book that I end up with bears little relation to my opening draft or even to the idea that began it.”
On YouTube, in another interview, Phillips continues: “In the first draft (these gods) were very powerful.... I was trying to satirize organized religion a bit, and that didn’t really work for me. And then I realized, of course, it’s more realistic... it’s more fun, to imagine them having been forgotten. They really could be living in a run-down flat in London. It really COULD be happening this way.”
“Gods Behaving Badly” is a great deal of fun to read. Juxtaposed with the unruly and selfish gods are two highly ordinary humans, Alice and Neil, who are slowly falling in love with each other. Alice finds herself the obsessive object of Apollo’s love and Zeus’s anger, expressed as lightning bolts from the sky that kill her dead. With the help of the gods Neil undertakes a quest to bring Alice back from the underworld and, by the way, to relight the Sun, accidently blown out by Apollo.
It turns out one entrance to Hades is located at Angel tube station on Upper Street in the London district of Islington. Hermes uses it all the time to transport souls. It’s down the stairs on a secret platform “on the other side of (a) wall at the bottom that leads to a train to the underworld.”
That particular train is likely to remind readers of Harry Potter’s Hogwarts Express. Even if American readers can’t possibly decipher all the inside jokes, “Gods Behaving Badly” will be a quick and delicious read.
NOTES:
“Gods Behaving Badly” by Marie Phillips. Back Bay Books paperback $13.99. ISBN 9780316067638
A non-visual interview with Marie Phillips
TV interview with the author
Islington described on Wikipedia with literary references to writers Phillips admires, such as Neil Gaiman and Douglas Adams. Adams lived in Islington; Gaiman named a character after the Angel tube station: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Islington
“ ‘You need a shave,’ said Artemis, standing in the doorway.
“ ‘Mmm,’ said Ares, without turning his head. ‘This War on Terror isn’t producing enough casualties. Bringing in Iran is the obvious choice, but I don’t think they’ve got enough firepower yet. I wonder if I could somehow antagonize Japan?’ ”
The quote is from the novel, “Gods Behaving Badly,” by first-time British author Marie Phillips. In her book the Greek gods are living unhappily together, crowded into a squalid flat full of uneaten food (they don’t eat human food; they just like to look at it) and dusty cobwebs.
“The family had moved there in 1665,” she writes, “when the plague was keeping property prices rock bottom, and just before the destruction of the Great Fire sent them spiraling upwards again. This had been a typically canny piece of financial engineering by... Athena, the goddess of wisdom.”
The gods have always behaved badly, of course, but in the old days humans believed in them, tolerated their faults and feared their arbitrary power. The popularity of monotheistic faiths robbed them of much of their strength.
In “Gods Behaving Badly” Phillips wallows in the fun of imagining Greek gods on the downlow. She spent some considerable time arriving at this idea.
In a short essay called On Writing and Thinking and Lying Down, Phillips says, “I rewrite so obsessively that my computer is littered with files labeled ‘final draft’ ‘final final draft,’ ‘absolutely the last draft,’ and ‘absolutely the last draft with changes.’ The book that I end up with bears little relation to my opening draft or even to the idea that began it.”
On YouTube, in another interview, Phillips continues: “In the first draft (these gods) were very powerful.... I was trying to satirize organized religion a bit, and that didn’t really work for me. And then I realized, of course, it’s more realistic... it’s more fun, to imagine them having been forgotten. They really could be living in a run-down flat in London. It really COULD be happening this way.”
“Gods Behaving Badly” is a great deal of fun to read. Juxtaposed with the unruly and selfish gods are two highly ordinary humans, Alice and Neil, who are slowly falling in love with each other. Alice finds herself the obsessive object of Apollo’s love and Zeus’s anger, expressed as lightning bolts from the sky that kill her dead. With the help of the gods Neil undertakes a quest to bring Alice back from the underworld and, by the way, to relight the Sun, accidently blown out by Apollo.
It turns out one entrance to Hades is located at Angel tube station on Upper Street in the London district of Islington. Hermes uses it all the time to transport souls. It’s down the stairs on a secret platform “on the other side of (a) wall at the bottom that leads to a train to the underworld.”
That particular train is likely to remind readers of Harry Potter’s Hogwarts Express. Even if American readers can’t possibly decipher all the inside jokes, “Gods Behaving Badly” will be a quick and delicious read.
NOTES:
“Gods Behaving Badly” by Marie Phillips. Back Bay Books paperback $13.99. ISBN 9780316067638
A non-visual interview with Marie Phillips
TV interview with the author
Islington described on Wikipedia with literary references to writers Phillips admires, such as Neil Gaiman and Douglas Adams. Adams lived in Islington; Gaiman named a character after the Angel tube station: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Islington
30 May 2009
letter from Italy (3 maggio 2009)
Hello Everyone,
We are happy and safe and about to sail over Tuscany in a balloon...
we are drinking the red wine,
visiting the hilltop villages, and eating the food. The only thing
we,ve done that was terribly upsetting is letting a couple of thieves
distract us long enough to escape with one piece of luggage. This was
the one, of course, with two cameras, our computer (with copies of
every pic and every video we had made), a GPS for driving, and etc.
As a result Tony got to explain the whole thing in Italian to a
carabiniere at the complaints office just down the block from the AVIS
office where this took place. Just another opportunity to speak
Italian, I guess.
But as a result of this we wont be taking pix or sending many emails.
I know all our friends will understand. Ir is an important life
lesson... to focus on the moment, on what we see and hear and feel,
and let the objects fly away if they wish to do so.
I also lost my reading glasses for music, and several books I was
reading, and our beautiful Florentine stationery.
Please send us your best thoughts and sympathetic vibrations, but tea
in the garden is waiting for us, it is a lovely day in Montisi,
Tuscany, with people we like, and after all we are still where we want
to be.
Love and hugs to all, Tony and Joselyn
Hello Everyone,
We are happy and safe and about to sail over Tuscany in a balloon...
we are drinking the red wine,
visiting the hilltop villages, and eating the food. The only thing
we,ve done that was terribly upsetting is letting a couple of thieves
distract us long enough to escape with one piece of luggage. This was
the one, of course, with two cameras, our computer (with copies of
every pic and every video we had made), a GPS for driving, and etc.
As a result Tony got to explain the whole thing in Italian to a
carabiniere at the complaints office just down the block from the AVIS
office where this took place. Just another opportunity to speak
Italian, I guess.
But as a result of this we wont be taking pix or sending many emails.
I know all our friends will understand. Ir is an important life
lesson... to focus on the moment, on what we see and hear and feel,
and let the objects fly away if they wish to do so.
I also lost my reading glasses for music, and several books I was
reading, and our beautiful Florentine stationery.
Please send us your best thoughts and sympathetic vibrations, but tea
in the garden is waiting for us, it is a lovely day in Montisi,
Tuscany, with people we like, and after all we are still where we want
to be.
Love and hugs to all, Tony and Joselyn
another letter from Italy (21 aprile 2009)
ciao a tutti,
Already, just a week in Italy and we could fill a book.... we are
happy and well fed, and astounded. In short: posso parlare italiano!
Lake Como -- bellissima.... more beautiful than we expected, with
Swiss alps in view to the north, mountains all around, villages, ducks
(we named them Muck and Squawk)... Quiet, not too many stranieri like
us... felt like a true discovery.
Of course, getting off the train in Monterosso (CTerre) was a shock...
hordes, crowds, cohorts, whatever, pushing on, pushing off.... ouch. I
hated every second until we located our lovely albergo, got situated
and got hiking... many miles of coastal trails, and all the views,
flowers and German marchers complete with double hiking sticks you
could ever hope for.
At one point the local train was 2 hours late, and later we discovered
a woman had fallen or thrown herself on the tracks and was killed. One
death = two hour delay.
We are leaving here (Monterosso) a day early in order to walk through
Pisa and land for a day in Lucca before going to Firenze on the 23rd
for a week.
Italy -- I recommend it to all. Wonder why more people haven't heard
of this peninsula? It sits somewhere between Croatia and Africa.... I
do believe when more people hear about this country they'll want to
visit. They even have 25 variations on coffee!
abbracci... Joselyn and Tony
ciao a tutti,
Already, just a week in Italy and we could fill a book.... we are
happy and well fed, and astounded. In short: posso parlare italiano!
Lake Como -- bellissima.... more beautiful than we expected, with
Swiss alps in view to the north, mountains all around, villages, ducks
(we named them Muck and Squawk)... Quiet, not too many stranieri like
us... felt like a true discovery.
Of course, getting off the train in Monterosso (CTerre) was a shock...
hordes, crowds, cohorts, whatever, pushing on, pushing off.... ouch. I
hated every second until we located our lovely albergo, got situated
and got hiking... many miles of coastal trails, and all the views,
flowers and German marchers complete with double hiking sticks you
could ever hope for.
At one point the local train was 2 hours late, and later we discovered
a woman had fallen or thrown herself on the tracks and was killed. One
death = two hour delay.
We are leaving here (Monterosso) a day early in order to walk through
Pisa and land for a day in Lucca before going to Firenze on the 23rd
for a week.
Italy -- I recommend it to all. Wonder why more people haven't heard
of this peninsula? It sits somewhere between Croatia and Africa.... I
do believe when more people hear about this country they'll want to
visit. They even have 25 variations on coffee!
abbracci... Joselyn and Tony
letters from Italy... 25 aprile 2009
Hi,
We are in Florence now. Arrived 2 days ago, and the first night we joined
a fun restaurant club - the Teatro del Sale, which was crazy fun. There
are club rules - mostly to not be an isolationist, but share in the
conversation. Pay a set fee, and at 7:30, the doors are open to rush in
and get a table. Then food is displayed on a big table and people line up
to get it. The kitchen with flames and chef hats is in view. Every time a
dish is created, it's placed on the food table. The shouting chef
announces to the room (in Italian, of course) the new dish, and people
scramble to get a plate. More rules: do not pile food up on your small
plate, just take it, return it later to the dirty dishes window, and get a
fresh one. The good part is the chef is famous here and this is his
entertainment. All the dishes were delicious and in this format we could
try many local foods. The atmosphere was festive, in this large room with
columns, and a stage for the entertainment after the dinner.
After about an hour of eating, there is a show. The show for us was a 70's
band of four Italians playing on amplified acoustic guitars singing Simon
& Garfunkle, Carol King, Crosby, Stills and Nash, and Cath Stevens songs
with Italian accents. It was interesting hearing their versions of these
songs not always in perfect harmony, but with great spirit. The guitar
playing was actually the best and we did enjoy it.
We sat with a group of Italian women friends whom we met at dinner. They
all were divorced. Most were married for 20-30 years, had kids and were
now enjoying the single life. They were very friendly and lots of fun.
Tony used his Italian to communicate which was the only way we could have
had the conversation. He gets compliments often for his Italian and it's
so much fun and helpful.
Tony is making his first espresso here in our apartment and is using a
brass door knob to tamp down the coffee. There are lots of interesting
adjustments when traveling, aren't there?
More later. This is just "a day in the life of the Italian travelers".
Ciao,
Joselyn and Antony
Hi,
We are in Florence now. Arrived 2 days ago, and the first night we joined
a fun restaurant club - the Teatro del Sale, which was crazy fun. There
are club rules - mostly to not be an isolationist, but share in the
conversation. Pay a set fee, and at 7:30, the doors are open to rush in
and get a table. Then food is displayed on a big table and people line up
to get it. The kitchen with flames and chef hats is in view. Every time a
dish is created, it's placed on the food table. The shouting chef
announces to the room (in Italian, of course) the new dish, and people
scramble to get a plate. More rules: do not pile food up on your small
plate, just take it, return it later to the dirty dishes window, and get a
fresh one. The good part is the chef is famous here and this is his
entertainment. All the dishes were delicious and in this format we could
try many local foods. The atmosphere was festive, in this large room with
columns, and a stage for the entertainment after the dinner.
After about an hour of eating, there is a show. The show for us was a 70's
band of four Italians playing on amplified acoustic guitars singing Simon
& Garfunkle, Carol King, Crosby, Stills and Nash, and Cath Stevens songs
with Italian accents. It was interesting hearing their versions of these
songs not always in perfect harmony, but with great spirit. The guitar
playing was actually the best and we did enjoy it.
We sat with a group of Italian women friends whom we met at dinner. They
all were divorced. Most were married for 20-30 years, had kids and were
now enjoying the single life. They were very friendly and lots of fun.
Tony used his Italian to communicate which was the only way we could have
had the conversation. He gets compliments often for his Italian and it's
so much fun and helpful.
Tony is making his first espresso here in our apartment and is using a
brass door knob to tamp down the coffee. There are lots of interesting
adjustments when traveling, aren't there?
More later. This is just "a day in the life of the Italian travelers".
Ciao,
Joselyn and Antony
A Kick in the Boot
We’re back from five weeks in Italy. As previously noted: The Coffee, the Women, the Pizza, the Light, the Architecture, the Gondolas, the Pesto, the Food, the Wine, the Food.
Here in northern California rhododendrons continue to bloom in deep burgundy, blood red, royal purple, even white with black speckles. In our back yard flowers now, dead-heading later. Out in the forest a last few wild pink flowers adhere to ancient branches.
We’re shaking off jet lag by reveling in local sunshine. The mind understands it’s high noon, but the body balks, and lags nine hours behind. Considering how long this dislocation lasts, it’s more like Propeller Lag than Jet Lag. Right now it’s five in the morning and both of us are wide awake. Too bad no one else is.
We ventured into Mendocino on Memorial Day weekend, known locally as the Summer Fog Celebration. The Farmer’s Market was full of friendly farmers, and fishermen, and artisan bread chefs. Tip: strawberries are fantastic right now.
Our quest to locate bookstores in Italy was largely successful. Books were everywhere, a few in English and other non-Italian languages, at newsstands and gift shops, autostrada stops and even in bookstores.
In Florence we specially enjoyed the Melbookstore, actual name, part of a regional bookstore chain. Libri! Musica! Video! ... and a blissfully quiet coffee shop a block from the Duomo, with fresh squeezed orange juice and fine Italian coffees.
Italians learn English in school, starting as early as pre-school. Children are too shy to try out English on strangers, but when you turn away they call out “Good Bye-eee!”
Some years ago, members of the Italian parliament were promoting bills to reject English words and English syntax, all of which are rapidly sneaking into the language of Dante (and Roberto Benigni).
There is a Manifesto in Defense of the Italian Language. Its supporters say it’s not so much the use of English words like “computer” or “OK” but rather the use of English syntax. A grammatical Italian would write, “Thank you for not having smoked” but English-influenced signs in airports and elsewhere now use English syntax: “Thank you for not smoking.”
Saverio Vertone, one of the signatories, said he fears "colonization of syntax." He noted “The Italian language is not rich with words (but) it compensates for its relative poverty with a wealth of syntactic constructions, which lend it great subtlety."
Signor Vertone was careful to point out that despite the Manifesto, Italians are not “excessive” about their language, like the French. French language purists insist that a “computer” is an “ordinateur.” In Italy a computer is a computer, email is email, and OK is O-kay-EE.
One online commentator, who threw up his virtual hands and posted “Mama mia!” noted that English is succinct. In English one might post “Passenger Emergency Exit.” In Italian this could likely read: “L’uscita comune per i passeggeri del treno in caso di emergenza.” Three words or twelve. Which is better in an emergency?
So. It seems we’re home, still living on Italian time, reacquainting ourselves with the cat. California is as beautiful as Italy. And in our back yard, the rhodies still are blooming.
Here in northern California rhododendrons continue to bloom in deep burgundy, blood red, royal purple, even white with black speckles. In our back yard flowers now, dead-heading later. Out in the forest a last few wild pink flowers adhere to ancient branches.
We’re shaking off jet lag by reveling in local sunshine. The mind understands it’s high noon, but the body balks, and lags nine hours behind. Considering how long this dislocation lasts, it’s more like Propeller Lag than Jet Lag. Right now it’s five in the morning and both of us are wide awake. Too bad no one else is.
We ventured into Mendocino on Memorial Day weekend, known locally as the Summer Fog Celebration. The Farmer’s Market was full of friendly farmers, and fishermen, and artisan bread chefs. Tip: strawberries are fantastic right now.
Our quest to locate bookstores in Italy was largely successful. Books were everywhere, a few in English and other non-Italian languages, at newsstands and gift shops, autostrada stops and even in bookstores.
In Florence we specially enjoyed the Melbookstore, actual name, part of a regional bookstore chain. Libri! Musica! Video! ... and a blissfully quiet coffee shop a block from the Duomo, with fresh squeezed orange juice and fine Italian coffees.
Italians learn English in school, starting as early as pre-school. Children are too shy to try out English on strangers, but when you turn away they call out “Good Bye-eee!”
Some years ago, members of the Italian parliament were promoting bills to reject English words and English syntax, all of which are rapidly sneaking into the language of Dante (and Roberto Benigni).
There is a Manifesto in Defense of the Italian Language. Its supporters say it’s not so much the use of English words like “computer” or “OK” but rather the use of English syntax. A grammatical Italian would write, “Thank you for not having smoked” but English-influenced signs in airports and elsewhere now use English syntax: “Thank you for not smoking.”
Saverio Vertone, one of the signatories, said he fears "colonization of syntax." He noted “The Italian language is not rich with words (but) it compensates for its relative poverty with a wealth of syntactic constructions, which lend it great subtlety."
Signor Vertone was careful to point out that despite the Manifesto, Italians are not “excessive” about their language, like the French. French language purists insist that a “computer” is an “ordinateur.” In Italy a computer is a computer, email is email, and OK is O-kay-EE.
One online commentator, who threw up his virtual hands and posted “Mama mia!” noted that English is succinct. In English one might post “Passenger Emergency Exit.” In Italian this could likely read: “L’uscita comune per i passeggeri del treno in caso di emergenza.” Three words or twelve. Which is better in an emergency?
So. It seems we’re home, still living on Italian time, reacquainting ourselves with the cat. California is as beautiful as Italy. And in our back yard, the rhodies still are blooming.
28 April 2009
25 April 2009
13 April 2009
The Coffee, Women, Pizza, Light, Architecture, Gondolas, Pesto, Food, Wine, Food
The other day I received an excellent letter from my friend, author Todd Walton. I had asked him for some words about his new collection of stories.
The new book is titled “Under the Table Books, A Novel of Stories,” written as well as illustrated by Todd Walton and published this month by Lost Coast Press in Fort Bragg. Todd and his wife, cellist Marcia Sloane, currently are on a book tour through the Pacific northwest.
When they’re in town you can find Todd and Marcia performing music and stories together. Todd is a composer and guitarist as well as a writer of whimsical, moving, stories. His most recent previous collection was “Buddha in a Teacup” and you also can find his work in audio format.
This is Todd’s letter:
Dear Tony,
I hope you have a splendid time in Italy. I've never been, but I hear nothing but good things about the place. The coffee, the women, the pizza, the light, the architecture, the gondolas, the pesto, the food, the wine, the food.
(Since you asked,) "Florence" is really my story. All of them are. And this is the largest work I've published. Some of these stories are recorded on the CD I made with Marcia: “I Remember You.”
The outside story about this book is as follows:
In 1992 (living in Sacramento) I wrote a collection of eight or nine stories (I have a copy around here somewhere) entitled “Under the Table Books.” The stories were set in an anarchist bookstore, but they (the stories) were not otherwise connected. Consciously. I made fifty photocopies of the collection and sold them at readings. The copies went fast and reaction was swift – write more of these goodies, they make us happy.
I spent a couple years writing more bookstore stories. The characters turned out to know each other and the stories added up to a novel. I made a few copies of that second edition and illustrated it with a dozen or so black and white photographs. I gave these copies to a few trusty readers. Reaction was swift. Make more copies and spread them around. But first I moved to Berkeley.
Once settled in Berkeley, I decided to replace the photographs with pen and ink drawings, and in 1995, for the third edition, I created one hundred and fifty bound photocopies and gave them to friends and sold them at readings. The copies went fast and reaction was swift – get this book published!
I showed the manuscript to four literary agents. Reaction was swift and unanimous. "You will never convince a mainstream publisher to take a chance on this crazy thing."
Ten years went by. Then in one amazing stretch of five days in 2005 I received four letters and three phone calls from people (of all ages and political persuasions) encouraging me to reissue “Under the Table Books.”
So I read the book for the first time in a decade and was greatly inspired to write new stories to go with the old. One thing led to another and I wrote forty-four new chapters. I then shuffled these new tales into the existing manuscript and rewrote the whole thing. Then I put the book away for a year, rewrote it yet again, and made fifty copies for all the people clambering for copies. That was in 2006. Now it is 2009 and “Under the Table Books” has finally been published. Just in time to save the world.
It really is a novel, though the stories may be read as free-standing stories, though I think it ultimately succeeds more profoundly as a novel. The End.
Thanks and bon voyage, Todd
NOTES:
“Under the Table Books, A Novel of Stories” by Todd Walton. Lost Coast Press hard cover $26.95. ISBN 97819354489020. Illustrations by the author.
Todd Walton’s web site
The new book is titled “Under the Table Books, A Novel of Stories,” written as well as illustrated by Todd Walton and published this month by Lost Coast Press in Fort Bragg. Todd and his wife, cellist Marcia Sloane, currently are on a book tour through the Pacific northwest.
When they’re in town you can find Todd and Marcia performing music and stories together. Todd is a composer and guitarist as well as a writer of whimsical, moving, stories. His most recent previous collection was “Buddha in a Teacup” and you also can find his work in audio format.
This is Todd’s letter:
Dear Tony,
I hope you have a splendid time in Italy. I've never been, but I hear nothing but good things about the place. The coffee, the women, the pizza, the light, the architecture, the gondolas, the pesto, the food, the wine, the food.
(Since you asked,) "Florence" is really my story. All of them are. And this is the largest work I've published. Some of these stories are recorded on the CD I made with Marcia: “I Remember You.”
The outside story about this book is as follows:
In 1992 (living in Sacramento) I wrote a collection of eight or nine stories (I have a copy around here somewhere) entitled “Under the Table Books.” The stories were set in an anarchist bookstore, but they (the stories) were not otherwise connected. Consciously. I made fifty photocopies of the collection and sold them at readings. The copies went fast and reaction was swift – write more of these goodies, they make us happy.
I spent a couple years writing more bookstore stories. The characters turned out to know each other and the stories added up to a novel. I made a few copies of that second edition and illustrated it with a dozen or so black and white photographs. I gave these copies to a few trusty readers. Reaction was swift. Make more copies and spread them around. But first I moved to Berkeley.
Once settled in Berkeley, I decided to replace the photographs with pen and ink drawings, and in 1995, for the third edition, I created one hundred and fifty bound photocopies and gave them to friends and sold them at readings. The copies went fast and reaction was swift – get this book published!
I showed the manuscript to four literary agents. Reaction was swift and unanimous. "You will never convince a mainstream publisher to take a chance on this crazy thing."
Ten years went by. Then in one amazing stretch of five days in 2005 I received four letters and three phone calls from people (of all ages and political persuasions) encouraging me to reissue “Under the Table Books.”
So I read the book for the first time in a decade and was greatly inspired to write new stories to go with the old. One thing led to another and I wrote forty-four new chapters. I then shuffled these new tales into the existing manuscript and rewrote the whole thing. Then I put the book away for a year, rewrote it yet again, and made fifty copies for all the people clambering for copies. That was in 2006. Now it is 2009 and “Under the Table Books” has finally been published. Just in time to save the world.
It really is a novel, though the stories may be read as free-standing stories, though I think it ultimately succeeds more profoundly as a novel. The End.
Thanks and bon voyage, Todd
NOTES:
“Under the Table Books, A Novel of Stories” by Todd Walton. Lost Coast Press hard cover $26.95. ISBN 97819354489020. Illustrations by the author.
Todd Walton’s web site
09 April 2009
Anyway, They Won't Be Able to Read It
Some time in March, in Maine Township, which is not in Maine but in fact is an unincorporated region in central Illinois, someone just about lost their home burning books in the fireplace.
North Maine Fire Marshall Arnie Witzke said gaps that formed in the mortar between aging fireplace bricks allowed outside air to get inside the fireplace. “That, combined with the extreme heat generated by the large amount of paper material and ink being burned caused a fire to grow in the chimney and fireplace wall,” Arnie said.
This story is repeated every winter anywhere wood stoves meet old chimneys. However, it was the book burning aspect of this conflagration that got my attention.
What were the titles of the burned books? Why those particular books? How much heat would an old book give if an old book could give heat? Are burned books hotter than scorched newspapers? Were some books saved for later? If not, what happened the next cold night? Is burnt ink toxic? Did the homeowner run out of furniture to burn?
We need follow-up on this story. We need details. We need safer chimneys.
Meanwhile, in Canada, a 1,553 page, five inch thick Webster’s Dictionary borrowed from a library in Ontario in 1899 was returned 110 years late. The fine would have been $9,000, but local librarians waived it.
"It's amazing ... It's great to see a book from here come back after all this time. I'd just like to see one (returned) that's just been gone a month," librarian Ruth Blanchard said. "And I've been involved with libraries for 36 years and I've heard all the excuses," she added.
There’s more to this story, but all that’s important is the book got returned.
You don’t need to know that Mutt Baird, scion of the Baird family, carried the dictionary on a skid from Canada into New York over the frozen St. Lawrence river, then journeyed to Colorado, where the book languished in the Rockies for more than a century, from where Uncle Mutt’s descendants returned it to Canada this month.
Returned just in time for big printed dictionaries to be replaced by their online counterparts. Thanks a lot, descendants of Mutt. You might have thought of that before you went and invented the World Wide Web.
When I scan the World Wide Web for news about books I find stories that read like this one: Mary Bousted, general secretary of the Association of Teachers and Lecturers, is complaining that “school reforms have destroyed English as a subject and denied children the chance to read books.”
British literacy as measured by standard tests is well up, but the teaching of English, in all its subtlety and glory, apparently is being overlooked.
In a speech to her association, Bousted said “...literacy, as a subject, is based on the naming of parts. Children rarely read whole books; they read parts of books - extracts. These extracts are mined for adjectives, and adverbs, and active verbs, and nouns.
“And so a whole generation of children have lost the opportunity, in school, to learn how to talk and how to listen to others," she said. "And for those children who spend their lives at home cocooned in front of the television, interacting with no-one, this loss will be incalculable."
A high level to-do in London the other day makes Bousted’s argument for her.
When photographers snapped pictures of a Secret document being carried into 10 Downing Street by Britain’s most senior anti-terrorist policeman, those who could read were accidentally alerted to a planned operation against a suspected al-Qaeda cell.
Bob Quick, the Assistant Commissioner who didn’t close the cover on these secret documents, has apologized and resigned. Photographer Steve Back, who also is a magistrate, said “(the Assistant Commissioner) looked at us. He knew we were there.”
The photographer claimed he had tried to warn the Government that photographers were able to read top secret papers when people go through the door of 10 Downing Street. He said, "I have told Downing Street before that the quality of lenses and digital lenses means that we can read ministerial papers.”
This proves it. Photographers, at least some of them, can read.
So, officials: Go ahead and wave your secret docs at the fish and chips crowd. They won’t be able to read them anyway.
NOTES:
Book Burning Leads to Chimney Fire: "If you have a fireplace, and if you burn wood, you should have it cleaned out every year," he said.
Book Returned 110 Years Late
School Reforms teach literacy, not English
Bob Quick resigns
North Maine Fire Marshall Arnie Witzke said gaps that formed in the mortar between aging fireplace bricks allowed outside air to get inside the fireplace. “That, combined with the extreme heat generated by the large amount of paper material and ink being burned caused a fire to grow in the chimney and fireplace wall,” Arnie said.
This story is repeated every winter anywhere wood stoves meet old chimneys. However, it was the book burning aspect of this conflagration that got my attention.
What were the titles of the burned books? Why those particular books? How much heat would an old book give if an old book could give heat? Are burned books hotter than scorched newspapers? Were some books saved for later? If not, what happened the next cold night? Is burnt ink toxic? Did the homeowner run out of furniture to burn?
We need follow-up on this story. We need details. We need safer chimneys.
Meanwhile, in Canada, a 1,553 page, five inch thick Webster’s Dictionary borrowed from a library in Ontario in 1899 was returned 110 years late. The fine would have been $9,000, but local librarians waived it.
"It's amazing ... It's great to see a book from here come back after all this time. I'd just like to see one (returned) that's just been gone a month," librarian Ruth Blanchard said. "And I've been involved with libraries for 36 years and I've heard all the excuses," she added.
There’s more to this story, but all that’s important is the book got returned.
You don’t need to know that Mutt Baird, scion of the Baird family, carried the dictionary on a skid from Canada into New York over the frozen St. Lawrence river, then journeyed to Colorado, where the book languished in the Rockies for more than a century, from where Uncle Mutt’s descendants returned it to Canada this month.
Returned just in time for big printed dictionaries to be replaced by their online counterparts. Thanks a lot, descendants of Mutt. You might have thought of that before you went and invented the World Wide Web.
When I scan the World Wide Web for news about books I find stories that read like this one: Mary Bousted, general secretary of the Association of Teachers and Lecturers, is complaining that “school reforms have destroyed English as a subject and denied children the chance to read books.”
British literacy as measured by standard tests is well up, but the teaching of English, in all its subtlety and glory, apparently is being overlooked.
In a speech to her association, Bousted said “...literacy, as a subject, is based on the naming of parts. Children rarely read whole books; they read parts of books - extracts. These extracts are mined for adjectives, and adverbs, and active verbs, and nouns.
“And so a whole generation of children have lost the opportunity, in school, to learn how to talk and how to listen to others," she said. "And for those children who spend their lives at home cocooned in front of the television, interacting with no-one, this loss will be incalculable."
A high level to-do in London the other day makes Bousted’s argument for her.
When photographers snapped pictures of a Secret document being carried into 10 Downing Street by Britain’s most senior anti-terrorist policeman, those who could read were accidentally alerted to a planned operation against a suspected al-Qaeda cell.
Bob Quick, the Assistant Commissioner who didn’t close the cover on these secret documents, has apologized and resigned. Photographer Steve Back, who also is a magistrate, said “(the Assistant Commissioner) looked at us. He knew we were there.”
The photographer claimed he had tried to warn the Government that photographers were able to read top secret papers when people go through the door of 10 Downing Street. He said, "I have told Downing Street before that the quality of lenses and digital lenses means that we can read ministerial papers.”
This proves it. Photographers, at least some of them, can read.
So, officials: Go ahead and wave your secret docs at the fish and chips crowd. They won’t be able to read them anyway.
NOTES:
Book Burning Leads to Chimney Fire: "If you have a fireplace, and if you burn wood, you should have it cleaned out every year," he said.
Book Returned 110 Years Late
School Reforms teach literacy, not English
Bob Quick resigns
01 April 2009
Frogs in the Sun
We were sitting around in the late March sunshine, four guys of a certain age, talking, surrounded by green growing things, and birds, and women and children, as old men ought to be surrounded in the spring.
We were talking about a village in Zimbabwe in the 1990's where 400 sculptors had gathered in a cooperative to produce art. The only rule: No copying each other. People came from the wider world to see the village and buy the art.
We were talking about the death of newspapers. One of us asked, rhetorically, did we think there would be any newspapers left publishing on paper in our lifetime? And if not, what comes next?
Newspapers, like books, are the products of a long chain of events. In the case of books it may be years from the idea to the book in your hand. In the case of newspapers, maybe a day or two, idea to print.
You pick up the finished product, look it over, skim to the Sports or read a chapter in a book that interests you. You can read as much or as little as you wish, but someone else thought it through and laid it out before you picked it up.
On the Internet, right now, you can design your own book and create your own newspaper. If all you want to read is Sports, that’s all you will read. You will not have to page through the news, Home & Garden, or anything else. Just Sports, if that’s what you want.
Same for books. Leaving aside stories, tales, novels, comics and poetry, leaving fiction aside, you easily can look up a topic on Google, research Wikipedia, visit any number of web sites in any number of places, and make your own book, at least in your own mind.
You won’t be going on a book tour. You won’t write like Rebecca Solnit or have adventures as thrilling as Bernard Cornwell’s inventions, but you can find the facts yourself.
Then there’s the bookstore. When you enter a good one, you enter into someone else’s mind. I always thought of my bookshop as a mind filter. There’s a universe of books and newspapers out there, but in my store you find only what made it through my personal filter. Books I liked even before they were published and hoped you’d like. Picked for you, or someone just like you.
So the question came up, Tony, you’re about to travel in Italy. What are the bookstores like over there? And what about libraries? Do they even have libraries with free lending over there?
Good question, my friend. I’m going to look around and ask questions. I have seen modern Italian bookstores, sleek and clean, in the big cities. I don’t remember seeing bookstores in other places, little towns. I don’t remember seeing bookstores anywhere in Italy but in the cities.
Same for libraries. There are famous and important libraries in Italy, but they are mostly museums for manuscripts. They keep the originals safe and scholars consult them in white gloves. Italy never had Andrew Carnegie to build brick palaces throughout the land for free lending libraries. Are regular books available for regular people in regular libraries? I have no idea.
* * * * *
Children raced around the garden, making trails that never were, climbing trees, shouting to each other. The women came and went, staring. In silence they watched us, squatting in the sun like frogs, shooting the spring breeze. Waiting for instructions.
It is so fine to be an old frog in the sun, pondering the world and its many wonders. No need to jump. No reason, right now, to go inside and do the dishes.
Spring, sun, and friends. Italy, books, and libraries, and newspapers and African sculptors who invented a tobacco farm into a cooperative village in the former Rhodesia.
How are they doing in that village now? I asked. Zimbabwe is a mess.
They’re still there; I think they’re doing fine, my friend said. That’s what he said. Maybe someone should go look.
We were talking about a village in Zimbabwe in the 1990's where 400 sculptors had gathered in a cooperative to produce art. The only rule: No copying each other. People came from the wider world to see the village and buy the art.
We were talking about the death of newspapers. One of us asked, rhetorically, did we think there would be any newspapers left publishing on paper in our lifetime? And if not, what comes next?
Newspapers, like books, are the products of a long chain of events. In the case of books it may be years from the idea to the book in your hand. In the case of newspapers, maybe a day or two, idea to print.
You pick up the finished product, look it over, skim to the Sports or read a chapter in a book that interests you. You can read as much or as little as you wish, but someone else thought it through and laid it out before you picked it up.
On the Internet, right now, you can design your own book and create your own newspaper. If all you want to read is Sports, that’s all you will read. You will not have to page through the news, Home & Garden, or anything else. Just Sports, if that’s what you want.
Same for books. Leaving aside stories, tales, novels, comics and poetry, leaving fiction aside, you easily can look up a topic on Google, research Wikipedia, visit any number of web sites in any number of places, and make your own book, at least in your own mind.
You won’t be going on a book tour. You won’t write like Rebecca Solnit or have adventures as thrilling as Bernard Cornwell’s inventions, but you can find the facts yourself.
Then there’s the bookstore. When you enter a good one, you enter into someone else’s mind. I always thought of my bookshop as a mind filter. There’s a universe of books and newspapers out there, but in my store you find only what made it through my personal filter. Books I liked even before they were published and hoped you’d like. Picked for you, or someone just like you.
So the question came up, Tony, you’re about to travel in Italy. What are the bookstores like over there? And what about libraries? Do they even have libraries with free lending over there?
Good question, my friend. I’m going to look around and ask questions. I have seen modern Italian bookstores, sleek and clean, in the big cities. I don’t remember seeing bookstores in other places, little towns. I don’t remember seeing bookstores anywhere in Italy but in the cities.
Same for libraries. There are famous and important libraries in Italy, but they are mostly museums for manuscripts. They keep the originals safe and scholars consult them in white gloves. Italy never had Andrew Carnegie to build brick palaces throughout the land for free lending libraries. Are regular books available for regular people in regular libraries? I have no idea.
* * * * *
Children raced around the garden, making trails that never were, climbing trees, shouting to each other. The women came and went, staring. In silence they watched us, squatting in the sun like frogs, shooting the spring breeze. Waiting for instructions.
It is so fine to be an old frog in the sun, pondering the world and its many wonders. No need to jump. No reason, right now, to go inside and do the dishes.
Spring, sun, and friends. Italy, books, and libraries, and newspapers and African sculptors who invented a tobacco farm into a cooperative village in the former Rhodesia.
How are they doing in that village now? I asked. Zimbabwe is a mess.
They’re still there; I think they’re doing fine, my friend said. That’s what he said. Maybe someone should go look.
26 March 2009
The Sands of Time: Two books on Italy
This week I celebrated another birthday (in Italian it’s called a “compleanno” or “completed year”). According to the Beatles, when I’m 64 I’m “old.” Not so fast, say the Medicare bureaucrats.
On a sunny, chilly morning in March, Big River Beach below the town of Mendocino qualifies as one of the wonders of the world.
As I imprinted EarthShoe-like heel prints in soft sand down where river meets ocean and dogs go crazy to get off leash, I happened to ponder the phrase “sands of time,” Thanks to Google, I later discovered that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow used the words in his poem “A Psalm of Life.”
It’s one of those rhymes that gave 19th century poetry a reputation for being way too uplifting and sincere. Longfellow wrote:
I’ve been reading two books this week, one that had been sitting on a shelf for at least five years when I happened to take a closer look, the other to be published in May.
“The Dark Heart of Italy” by Tobias Jones is subtitled “An incisive portrait of Europe’s most beautiful, most disconcerting country.” That would be Italy, of course.
Jones begins his take on contemporary Italy by describing his early encounter with the language, how it reveals character. The first chapter is titled Words, Words, Words.
“The more words I learnt... the more the country seemed not chaotic but incredibly hierarchical and formal. Even ‘ciao’ was a greeting, I discovered, derived from the word ‘schiavo,’ ‘slave.’ The cheery ‘ciao,’ Italy’s most famous word, originally implied subservience and order, as in ‘I am your slave.’”
Jones discusses political Italy, held in thrall by the much maligned but extremely powerful Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, who, the saying goes, owns everything from Padre Nostro (Our Father, the Pope) to Cosa Nostra (Our Thing, the Mafia).
A much gentler but no less incisive portrait of Italy emerges from “La Bella Lingua” by Californian Dianne Hales. La Bella Lingua, or The Beautiful Language, was her ticket to the real Italy.
“... unlike Italophiles who trek through frescoed churches or restore rustic farmhouses, I chose to inhabit the language, as bawdy as it is beautiful, as zesty a linguistic stew as the peppery puttanesca sauce named for Italy’s notorious ladies of the night.”
Where Tobias Jones discovers the Italians’ undying cynicism about government and the rule of law, Dianna Hales finds a people trying to survive: “Through centuries of often brutal foreign domination, words remained all that Italy’s people could claim as their own” she says.
Art, music and poetry are on every Italian’s tongue. Hales tells the wartime story of an (anti-fascist) shepherd in Tuscany who “was ordered to shoot anyone who couldn’t identify himself without doubt as an Italian. One night he stopped a professor... after curfew without any identification documents. The (shepherd) asked the scholar to prove his identity by reciting the 17th canto of the ‘Inferno.’ (The professor) got to line 117 but couldn’t remember the rest.
“The shepherd finished the canto for him.”
The background of both writers is journalism. Each conducts interviews and research to find deeper layers of Italian culture customarily hidden from visitors. Taken together their visions, one much brighter than the other, paint a realistic and revealing portrait.
Tobias Jones quotes an Italian columnist: “In Italy, as in chemistry, nothing is created, nothing is destroyed, everything is transformed.”
Jones adds, “It seems there’s no crime or conviction sufficient to end an Italian politician’s career, no historical event which can’t be ‘smemorizzato,’ conveniently forgotten.”
At one poignant moment Jones encounters a former student. Learning about this forthcoming book, the student exclaims “You foreign journalists are so facetious and condescending. You only write about how terrible our country is.”
“But I’m only repeating what you all tell me. And it’s true, it is terrible.” The two sat in silence.
“He caught me looking at him and began to apologise. ‘Excuse me, Tobia,’ he said finally. ‘Excuse me. It’s just that Berlusconi brings so much shame upon our country, and you mustn’t add to that. You must write about the other sides of the country.’
“I will. I promise, Marco, that’s what I’ll write about next. And I didn’t mean it’s all terrible here. I love it here, it’s just that....
“ ‘It’s terrible.’ He nodded, smiling.”
NOTES:
“Sands of Time” from "A Psalm of Life," 1839, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807 - 1882.
The sands of time are running out. - "Time is getting short; there will be little opportunity to do what you have to do unless you take the chance now. The phrase is often used with reference to one who has not much longer to live. The allusion is to the hourglass." From "Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable" revised by Adrian Room (HarperCollins Publishers, New York, 1999, Sixteenth Edition).
“The Dark Heart of Italy” by Tobias Jones. North Point Press paperback $15. ISBN 0865477248.
Jones does not have his own web site, but GoodReads describes some of his books.
A Wikipedia stub on Jones.
“La Bella Lingua, My Love Affair with Italian, The World’s Most Enchanting Language” by Dianne Hales. Broadway Books hard cover $24.95. ISBN 9780767927697.
Dianne Hales’ website.
I’m friends with Dianne on Facebook, and she has a group there named La Bella Lingua. You could join and look her up, too.
On a sunny, chilly morning in March, Big River Beach below the town of Mendocino qualifies as one of the wonders of the world.
As I imprinted EarthShoe-like heel prints in soft sand down where river meets ocean and dogs go crazy to get off leash, I happened to ponder the phrase “sands of time,” Thanks to Google, I later discovered that Henry Wadsworth Longfellow used the words in his poem “A Psalm of Life.”
It’s one of those rhymes that gave 19th century poetry a reputation for being way too uplifting and sincere. Longfellow wrote:
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime.
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
We can make our lives sublime.
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time.
I’ve been reading two books this week, one that had been sitting on a shelf for at least five years when I happened to take a closer look, the other to be published in May.
“The Dark Heart of Italy” by Tobias Jones is subtitled “An incisive portrait of Europe’s most beautiful, most disconcerting country.” That would be Italy, of course.
Jones begins his take on contemporary Italy by describing his early encounter with the language, how it reveals character. The first chapter is titled Words, Words, Words.
“The more words I learnt... the more the country seemed not chaotic but incredibly hierarchical and formal. Even ‘ciao’ was a greeting, I discovered, derived from the word ‘schiavo,’ ‘slave.’ The cheery ‘ciao,’ Italy’s most famous word, originally implied subservience and order, as in ‘I am your slave.’”
Jones discusses political Italy, held in thrall by the much maligned but extremely powerful Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, who, the saying goes, owns everything from Padre Nostro (Our Father, the Pope) to Cosa Nostra (Our Thing, the Mafia).
A much gentler but no less incisive portrait of Italy emerges from “La Bella Lingua” by Californian Dianne Hales. La Bella Lingua, or The Beautiful Language, was her ticket to the real Italy.
“... unlike Italophiles who trek through frescoed churches or restore rustic farmhouses, I chose to inhabit the language, as bawdy as it is beautiful, as zesty a linguistic stew as the peppery puttanesca sauce named for Italy’s notorious ladies of the night.”
Where Tobias Jones discovers the Italians’ undying cynicism about government and the rule of law, Dianna Hales finds a people trying to survive: “Through centuries of often brutal foreign domination, words remained all that Italy’s people could claim as their own” she says.
Art, music and poetry are on every Italian’s tongue. Hales tells the wartime story of an (anti-fascist) shepherd in Tuscany who “was ordered to shoot anyone who couldn’t identify himself without doubt as an Italian. One night he stopped a professor... after curfew without any identification documents. The (shepherd) asked the scholar to prove his identity by reciting the 17th canto of the ‘Inferno.’ (The professor) got to line 117 but couldn’t remember the rest.
“The shepherd finished the canto for him.”
The background of both writers is journalism. Each conducts interviews and research to find deeper layers of Italian culture customarily hidden from visitors. Taken together their visions, one much brighter than the other, paint a realistic and revealing portrait.
Tobias Jones quotes an Italian columnist: “In Italy, as in chemistry, nothing is created, nothing is destroyed, everything is transformed.”
Jones adds, “It seems there’s no crime or conviction sufficient to end an Italian politician’s career, no historical event which can’t be ‘smemorizzato,’ conveniently forgotten.”
At one poignant moment Jones encounters a former student. Learning about this forthcoming book, the student exclaims “You foreign journalists are so facetious and condescending. You only write about how terrible our country is.”
“But I’m only repeating what you all tell me. And it’s true, it is terrible.” The two sat in silence.
“He caught me looking at him and began to apologise. ‘Excuse me, Tobia,’ he said finally. ‘Excuse me. It’s just that Berlusconi brings so much shame upon our country, and you mustn’t add to that. You must write about the other sides of the country.’
“I will. I promise, Marco, that’s what I’ll write about next. And I didn’t mean it’s all terrible here. I love it here, it’s just that....
“ ‘It’s terrible.’ He nodded, smiling.”
NOTES:
“Sands of Time” from "A Psalm of Life," 1839, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1807 - 1882.
The sands of time are running out. - "Time is getting short; there will be little opportunity to do what you have to do unless you take the chance now. The phrase is often used with reference to one who has not much longer to live. The allusion is to the hourglass." From "Brewer's Dictionary of Phrase and Fable" revised by Adrian Room (HarperCollins Publishers, New York, 1999, Sixteenth Edition).
“The Dark Heart of Italy” by Tobias Jones. North Point Press paperback $15. ISBN 0865477248.
Jones does not have his own web site, but GoodReads describes some of his books.
A Wikipedia stub on Jones.
“La Bella Lingua, My Love Affair with Italian, The World’s Most Enchanting Language” by Dianne Hales. Broadway Books hard cover $24.95. ISBN 9780767927697.
Dianne Hales’ website.
I’m friends with Dianne on Facebook, and she has a group there named La Bella Lingua. You could join and look her up, too.
19 March 2009
Spade & Archer, Archer & Spade
“(The fat man) sighed comfortably and said: ‘Now, sir, we’ll talk if you like. And I’ll tell you right out that I’m a man who likes talking to a man that likes to talk.’”
What a line, what a moment. Here’s another:
“It only took a piece of skin off, but he still had the scar when I saw him. He rubbed it with his finger – well, affectionately – when he told me about it. He was scared stiff of course, he said, but he was more shocked than really frightened. He felt like somebody had taken the lid off life and let him look at the works.”
Dashiell Hammett, at his smoky best, in “The Maltese Falcon.”’
Now listen to these lines:
“Spade leaned over a littered desk where a hulk-shouldered man in a woolen tweed suit was counting money into a green tin box.
“‘Stan Hagar around?’
“The money counter looked up. His nose had been bent to one side by a board or a brick. His face was heavy and needed a shave. It would always need a shave. His eyes were brown, dead.
“‘Who’s askin’?’
“‘Sam Spade. I want to see him on business.’”
That scene could easily be Hammett. It’s meant to read like Hammett, but it’s from a new book by veteran thriller writer Joe Gores, titled “Spade and Archer, The Prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon.” Gores’ book is good, very good.
Joe Gores has the tough guy persona down, the persona pioneered by Dashiell Hammett in his short, two-decades long writing career. Hammett became famous for his West Coast tough guy adventures, and Gores studied and learned from the master. Gores lays down San Francisco places and streets thicker than fog on Broadway. He makes delicious re-use of Spade’s mannerisms. Where Hammett doesn’t supply details, Gores fills in like choppy water surging through the Golden Gate.
In an interview Gores said he wrote “Spade and Archer” after thinking about a comment a Hammett scholar once made about The Maltese Falcon. He called it “America’s first existential novel.”
“I thought yes, that’s exactly right: you don’t know anything about the past of these people: they just appear full-blown as if they sprang from the head of Zeus. So I became fascinated by that idea,” Gores told the interviewer. “Who is Spade, where did he come from, why he can essentially say to the fat man, ‘If you’d stayed away from me you would have been okay, but when you cross me then you have to deal with me now, because this is my town.”
Gores wrote a biography of Hammett some years ago, so a prequel to “The Maltese Falcon” must have come naturally. Gores’ novel is stuffed with authentic settings, amusing patter and scary bits. It inspired me to go out and read and reread a goodly pile of real Dashiell Hammett stories and novels. I bought a few, borrowed a few more, and immersed myself in another place and time in the city in which I grew up.
Hammett learned to pare down his tales to the minimum. Because they are so spare the reader may well imagine there’s more here than Hammett cares to share. Joe Gores fills it in somewhat, but never overshadows the original works. He just makes it a bit deeper and even more fun.
And he does it with style. Here are the final sentences of Joe Gores’ “Spade & Archer”:
“... Spade was smoking behind his desk when Effie Perine came in. He looked up at her.
“‘Yes, sweetheart?’
She finished shutting the door behind her, leaned against it, and said, ‘There’s a girl wants to see you. Her name’s Wonderly.’
“‘A customer?’”
“‘I guess so. You’ll want to see her anyway: she’s a knockout.’
“‘Shoo her in, darling,’ said Spade. ‘Shoo her in.’”
This moment is delightful for Hammett aficionados because Gores is quoting Hammett, ending his novel with exactly the words that begin “The Maltese Falcon.” It’s a great trick, a graceful handoff, seamless. Gores stands in the gumshoes of the master and holds his own.
Slice of life, bite of the knife. Danger on the streets, crime in high places. It’s all here, gritty stuff, no matter which master you choose to read.
“Shoo her in, darling,’ said Spade. ‘Shoo her in.’
NOTES:
“Spade & Archer: The Prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon” by Joe Gores. Knopf hard cover $24. ISBN 9780307264640.
“The Maltese Falcon” by Dashiell Hammett. Vintage Crime/Knopf paperback $12.95. ISBN 0679722645. Really good garish cover, just right.
Other ways to read Hammett:
“Nightmare Town: Stories” by Dashiell Hammett. Vintage paperback $14.95. ISBN 0375701028. From the publisher: This collection of 20 long-unavailable stories from the author of "The Maltese Falcon" includes classic noir styles that Hammett made famous.
“Dashiell Hammett: Complete Novels.” Library of America Hardcover $35. ISBN 1883011671. Lovely heirloom/definitive edition.
Pretty much everything Hammett wrote, even a play or two, his letters, and more, is in print or easily available on the used book market.
From the book jacket: “Joe Gores, formerly a private eye, is the author of sixteen other novels, including “Hammett” (out of print) which won Japan’s Falcon Award (what else?). He has received three Edgar Awards, one of only two authors to win in three separate categories: Best First Novel, Best Short Story, and Best Episode in a TV Series.”
Most of Joe Gores’ other books are out of print but easy to find used. He is usually published in mass market size, and this kind of book goes in and out of print rapidly.
To get a more contemporary, non-Hammett taste of Gores’ writing, you might try this:
“Glass Tiger” (an Otto Penzler Book). Harvest Books paperback $14. ISBN 0156032740. From the publisher: “In this fast-paced thriller, ex-Ranger Brendan Thorne is tapped by the FBI to stop a legendary Vietnam sniper from killing the recently elected president of the United States.”
What a line, what a moment. Here’s another:
“It only took a piece of skin off, but he still had the scar when I saw him. He rubbed it with his finger – well, affectionately – when he told me about it. He was scared stiff of course, he said, but he was more shocked than really frightened. He felt like somebody had taken the lid off life and let him look at the works.”
Dashiell Hammett, at his smoky best, in “The Maltese Falcon.”’
Now listen to these lines:
“Spade leaned over a littered desk where a hulk-shouldered man in a woolen tweed suit was counting money into a green tin box.
“‘Stan Hagar around?’
“The money counter looked up. His nose had been bent to one side by a board or a brick. His face was heavy and needed a shave. It would always need a shave. His eyes were brown, dead.
“‘Who’s askin’?’
“‘Sam Spade. I want to see him on business.’”
That scene could easily be Hammett. It’s meant to read like Hammett, but it’s from a new book by veteran thriller writer Joe Gores, titled “Spade and Archer, The Prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon.” Gores’ book is good, very good.
Joe Gores has the tough guy persona down, the persona pioneered by Dashiell Hammett in his short, two-decades long writing career. Hammett became famous for his West Coast tough guy adventures, and Gores studied and learned from the master. Gores lays down San Francisco places and streets thicker than fog on Broadway. He makes delicious re-use of Spade’s mannerisms. Where Hammett doesn’t supply details, Gores fills in like choppy water surging through the Golden Gate.
In an interview Gores said he wrote “Spade and Archer” after thinking about a comment a Hammett scholar once made about The Maltese Falcon. He called it “America’s first existential novel.”
“I thought yes, that’s exactly right: you don’t know anything about the past of these people: they just appear full-blown as if they sprang from the head of Zeus. So I became fascinated by that idea,” Gores told the interviewer. “Who is Spade, where did he come from, why he can essentially say to the fat man, ‘If you’d stayed away from me you would have been okay, but when you cross me then you have to deal with me now, because this is my town.”
Gores wrote a biography of Hammett some years ago, so a prequel to “The Maltese Falcon” must have come naturally. Gores’ novel is stuffed with authentic settings, amusing patter and scary bits. It inspired me to go out and read and reread a goodly pile of real Dashiell Hammett stories and novels. I bought a few, borrowed a few more, and immersed myself in another place and time in the city in which I grew up.
Hammett learned to pare down his tales to the minimum. Because they are so spare the reader may well imagine there’s more here than Hammett cares to share. Joe Gores fills it in somewhat, but never overshadows the original works. He just makes it a bit deeper and even more fun.
And he does it with style. Here are the final sentences of Joe Gores’ “Spade & Archer”:
“... Spade was smoking behind his desk when Effie Perine came in. He looked up at her.
“‘Yes, sweetheart?’
She finished shutting the door behind her, leaned against it, and said, ‘There’s a girl wants to see you. Her name’s Wonderly.’
“‘A customer?’”
“‘I guess so. You’ll want to see her anyway: she’s a knockout.’
“‘Shoo her in, darling,’ said Spade. ‘Shoo her in.’”
This moment is delightful for Hammett aficionados because Gores is quoting Hammett, ending his novel with exactly the words that begin “The Maltese Falcon.” It’s a great trick, a graceful handoff, seamless. Gores stands in the gumshoes of the master and holds his own.
Slice of life, bite of the knife. Danger on the streets, crime in high places. It’s all here, gritty stuff, no matter which master you choose to read.
“Shoo her in, darling,’ said Spade. ‘Shoo her in.’
NOTES:
“Spade & Archer: The Prequel to Dashiell Hammett’s The Maltese Falcon” by Joe Gores. Knopf hard cover $24. ISBN 9780307264640.
“The Maltese Falcon” by Dashiell Hammett. Vintage Crime/Knopf paperback $12.95. ISBN 0679722645. Really good garish cover, just right.
Other ways to read Hammett:
“Nightmare Town: Stories” by Dashiell Hammett. Vintage paperback $14.95. ISBN 0375701028. From the publisher: This collection of 20 long-unavailable stories from the author of "The Maltese Falcon" includes classic noir styles that Hammett made famous.
“Dashiell Hammett: Complete Novels.” Library of America Hardcover $35. ISBN 1883011671. Lovely heirloom/definitive edition.
Pretty much everything Hammett wrote, even a play or two, his letters, and more, is in print or easily available on the used book market.
From the book jacket: “Joe Gores, formerly a private eye, is the author of sixteen other novels, including “Hammett” (out of print) which won Japan’s Falcon Award (what else?). He has received three Edgar Awards, one of only two authors to win in three separate categories: Best First Novel, Best Short Story, and Best Episode in a TV Series.”
Most of Joe Gores’ other books are out of print but easy to find used. He is usually published in mass market size, and this kind of book goes in and out of print rapidly.
To get a more contemporary, non-Hammett taste of Gores’ writing, you might try this:
“Glass Tiger” (an Otto Penzler Book). Harvest Books paperback $14. ISBN 0156032740. From the publisher: “In this fast-paced thriller, ex-Ranger Brendan Thorne is tapped by the FBI to stop a legendary Vietnam sniper from killing the recently elected president of the United States.”
12 March 2009
Never Tell a Lie; Never Swat a Fly
Last week we established that a good number of people in Britain will lie about which books they’ve read. People here lie, too, but we don’t have a readers’ survey to prove it.
The next day a local bookseller handed me a copy of Pierre Bayard’s book “How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read.” In his overeducated yet witty way Monsieur Bayard unpeels the deeper layers of meaning.
He claims “Reading is first and foremost non-reading. Even in the case of the most passionate lifelong readers, the act of picking up and opening a book masks the counter gesture that occurs at the same time: the involuntary act of NOT picking up and NOT opening all the other books in the universe.”
You may remember the TV show Cosmos with late astronomer Carl Sagan. At one point Sagan strolls along vast stacks of books in a stage-set library, pointing out the mathematical impossibility of living long enough to read the books in even one well-stocked library.
In “How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read” Professor Bayard makes the case that simply understanding where a book fits into the overall culture may be just as important as having actually read the book.
“For instance, he writes, “I’ve never ‘read’ Joyce’s ‘Ulysses,’ and it’s quite plausible that I never will. This means that I feel perfectly comfortable when ‘Ulysses’ comes up in conversation, because I can situate it with relative precision in relation to other books... And as a result, I often find myself alluding to Joyce without the slightest anxiety.”
This startling insight from an author who is a professor of French literature at the University of Paris, a psychoanalyst, and author of many other books.
Bookseller Paul Takushi in Sacramento wrote: “Hi Tony. The only books I claim to have read, but have not (at least, not the ENTIRE book), are most of whatever’s on the current bestseller list and books for author events. I lie about bestsellers in order to make the sale to people I don’t know and will never meet again...
“...I never lie within earshot of co-workers, store regulars, friends, or family because they’ll just turn to that customer and expose me...
“When I (used to tell customers) I hadn’t read a certain title, the look of horror... or disgust on their faces made me feel insecure and inadequate about being a bookseller. But c’mon! You couldn’t read every dang book in the store anyway...
Paul continued, “I (once attended)... an education session at a (booksellers’ convention).
“(The speaker told the booksellers), ‘When customers come in looking for a book on a certain subject, pick one off the shelf, put it in their hands, and tell them that the book is the best book in the store on that subject, even if you’ve never read it. When... they ask you if it’s any good, just say yes...
“A bookseller in the audience immediately piped up: ‘But don’t you think that lying to your customers is bad for your business in the long run?’
“(The speaker) replied, ‘Oh yes, of course... BUT, only if that person finds out that you lied to them. AND, you’re not going to just hand them crap, right? I mean, it’s YOUR store – there IS no crap in it, right?
Paul’s letter continues, “...I sat there stunned. Then I began to see the somewhat twisted logic in what he was saying... Half the audience thought he was a total ass. The other half sat there like me, thinking, ‘Hmmm...’ ”
“Don’t worry Tony,” Paul concluded. “I would never lie to you.”
NOTES:
“How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read” by Pierre Bayard with a foreword by Francine Prose. Bloomsbury hard cover $19.95. ISBN 9781596914698. The $14 paperback will be published in September, 2009. This book is witty in a subtle, cumulative way. Highly recommended.
Susan in Maine wrote:
"Out of curiosity, I went to those hundred books and I've actually read 51 of them; don't ask whether I remember the content of all of the books I've read however. It did strike me that there were a surprising number of Terry Pratchett titles. I haven't read any of Terry Pratchett (that I recall). As to the 10 you've listed in your "column," alas, only 4. Fun observations. In passing, I don't recall that in my youth, seeming smarter to attract a mate, at least for women, was encouraged...."
Jane in Mendocino wrote:
Hello Tony!
Concerning “How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read” by Pierre Bayard...
If you haven't read Proust, this book can help you out. If you have read Proust, you will love this book. It is very funny, culturally astute, and it will inspire you to read -- at least I was inspired. It is truly a book for those who love books.
It's not just about literature & our shared experiences with literature -- there's a fair amount of other stuff going on. It's a book that you can dip into again & again.
The next day a local bookseller handed me a copy of Pierre Bayard’s book “How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read.” In his overeducated yet witty way Monsieur Bayard unpeels the deeper layers of meaning.
He claims “Reading is first and foremost non-reading. Even in the case of the most passionate lifelong readers, the act of picking up and opening a book masks the counter gesture that occurs at the same time: the involuntary act of NOT picking up and NOT opening all the other books in the universe.”
You may remember the TV show Cosmos with late astronomer Carl Sagan. At one point Sagan strolls along vast stacks of books in a stage-set library, pointing out the mathematical impossibility of living long enough to read the books in even one well-stocked library.
In “How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read” Professor Bayard makes the case that simply understanding where a book fits into the overall culture may be just as important as having actually read the book.
“For instance, he writes, “I’ve never ‘read’ Joyce’s ‘Ulysses,’ and it’s quite plausible that I never will. This means that I feel perfectly comfortable when ‘Ulysses’ comes up in conversation, because I can situate it with relative precision in relation to other books... And as a result, I often find myself alluding to Joyce without the slightest anxiety.”
This startling insight from an author who is a professor of French literature at the University of Paris, a psychoanalyst, and author of many other books.
Bookseller Paul Takushi in Sacramento wrote: “Hi Tony. The only books I claim to have read, but have not (at least, not the ENTIRE book), are most of whatever’s on the current bestseller list and books for author events. I lie about bestsellers in order to make the sale to people I don’t know and will never meet again...
“...I never lie within earshot of co-workers, store regulars, friends, or family because they’ll just turn to that customer and expose me...
“When I (used to tell customers) I hadn’t read a certain title, the look of horror... or disgust on their faces made me feel insecure and inadequate about being a bookseller. But c’mon! You couldn’t read every dang book in the store anyway...
Paul continued, “I (once attended)... an education session at a (booksellers’ convention).
“(The speaker told the booksellers), ‘When customers come in looking for a book on a certain subject, pick one off the shelf, put it in their hands, and tell them that the book is the best book in the store on that subject, even if you’ve never read it. When... they ask you if it’s any good, just say yes...
“A bookseller in the audience immediately piped up: ‘But don’t you think that lying to your customers is bad for your business in the long run?’
“(The speaker) replied, ‘Oh yes, of course... BUT, only if that person finds out that you lied to them. AND, you’re not going to just hand them crap, right? I mean, it’s YOUR store – there IS no crap in it, right?
Paul’s letter continues, “...I sat there stunned. Then I began to see the somewhat twisted logic in what he was saying... Half the audience thought he was a total ass. The other half sat there like me, thinking, ‘Hmmm...’ ”
“Don’t worry Tony,” Paul concluded. “I would never lie to you.”
NOTES:
“How to Talk About Books You Haven’t Read” by Pierre Bayard with a foreword by Francine Prose. Bloomsbury hard cover $19.95. ISBN 9781596914698. The $14 paperback will be published in September, 2009. This book is witty in a subtle, cumulative way. Highly recommended.
Susan in Maine wrote:
"Out of curiosity, I went to those hundred books and I've actually read 51 of them; don't ask whether I remember the content of all of the books I've read however. It did strike me that there were a surprising number of Terry Pratchett titles. I haven't read any of Terry Pratchett (that I recall). As to the 10 you've listed in your "column," alas, only 4. Fun observations. In passing, I don't recall that in my youth, seeming smarter to attract a mate, at least for women, was encouraged...."
Jane in Mendocino wrote:
Hello Tony!
Concerning “How to Talk About Books You Haven't Read” by Pierre Bayard...
If you haven't read Proust, this book can help you out. If you have read Proust, you will love this book. It is very funny, culturally astute, and it will inspire you to read -- at least I was inspired. It is truly a book for those who love books.
It's not just about literature & our shared experiences with literature -- there's a fair amount of other stuff going on. It's a book that you can dip into again & again.
05 March 2009
Today is World Book Day and I'm Not Lying About That
In the news: “Most Britons have lied about the books they’ve read.”
Now, you could let that statement “lie” there and die a genteel death. Or you could ponder the implications.
The news report is more about what people say about books than the books themselves. It hit a nerve worldwide, at least in the English-speaking world, which is the only world I can read well. The story was reprinted in dozens of locations, including the Los Angeles Times, The Guardian, The Irish Times, The Scotsman, the BBC, even by Stuff, which calls itself “New Zealand’s leading news, sport and entertainment website.”
The news that a majority of Britons will lie about what they read resulted from an online survey in conjunction with World Book Day, asking online readers if they have ever told someone they had read a book when they had not. About two-thirds admitted lying from time to time.
If you’d like to test yourself, and your honesty about your reading, here are the ten titles in the survey, ranked from most lied about to least lied about. How many of these do you SAY you’ve read?
1. 1984 - George Orwell (42%)
2. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (31%)
3. Ulysses - James Joyce (25%)
4. The Bible (24%)
5. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert (16%)
6. A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking (15%)
7. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie (14%)
8. In Remembrance of Things Past - Marcel Proust (9%)
9. Dreams from My Father - Barack Obama (6%)
10. The Selfish Gene - Richard Dawkins (6%)
Forty-two per cent of the surveyed readers admitted they said they had read “1984" when in fact they had not. One third lied about “War and Peace” down to only six per cent who lied about “The Selfish Gene.” Maybe the selfish gene controls an honesty switch in the cerebral cortex. Maybe the book is hard to lie about because scientific-minded readers know when you’re faking it.
The survey was conducted online in January and February, and there were 1342 responses. A spokesman for Britain’s National Literacy Trust concluded that people avoid the truth sometimes in order to seem more intelligent to potential mates.
“Research that we have done suggests that the reason people lied was to make themselves appear more sexually attractive," he said. "People like to be seen to be readers. It makes them look good. They said they were prepared to lie about what they'd read to impress people, particularly when it came to potential partners."
Recently on Facebook, a friend of mine, a real friend, not just a Facebook friend, asked people to take a different quiz first devised by the BBC. She posted a list of 100 famous and popular books and asked her friends to indicate how many we’ve all read.
Her personal count of books consumed was a whopping 58 out of 100, a staggeringly high number. After that other survey, the one where people lied about what they’d read, it’s difficult to take her results at face value. But I do. She’s my friend.
She noted that many of her personal “greats” weren’t even on the list, which would of course have made her score even higher. The BBC’s list of 100 books includes “Pride & Prejudice,” and “The Lord of the Rings” as well as “Catch 22" “The Da Vinci Code” and “Hamlet.”
Other friends chalked scores ranging from a low of 32 up to a respectable 54. I was the friend who scored the unimpressive 32. Am I less well read, than everyone else (answer: yes) or more honest? It’s a difficult question to ask, and impossible to know for sure.
I will return to that list and try to figure out if I lied anywhere. Did I really read “Catch-22" or only see the movie? No, it was assigned in school, so I must have read it. On the other hand “The Wind in the Willows” was read TO me. Does that count?
Such surveys of course are fairly silly. But it’s fascinating to know what others like to read, or say they have read, or indeed have lied about reading.
Maybe once you told a potential mate you knew Tolstoy. She assumed you had read Tolstoy, maybe “War & Peace,” twice. All you meant was you knew Tolstoy, as in you’d heard of him somewhere. I hope the two of you are happy.
NOTES:
“Stuff” on lying about books
The BBC 100
And they’ve ALWAYS lied...
Now, you could let that statement “lie” there and die a genteel death. Or you could ponder the implications.
The news report is more about what people say about books than the books themselves. It hit a nerve worldwide, at least in the English-speaking world, which is the only world I can read well. The story was reprinted in dozens of locations, including the Los Angeles Times, The Guardian, The Irish Times, The Scotsman, the BBC, even by Stuff, which calls itself “New Zealand’s leading news, sport and entertainment website.”
The news that a majority of Britons will lie about what they read resulted from an online survey in conjunction with World Book Day, asking online readers if they have ever told someone they had read a book when they had not. About two-thirds admitted lying from time to time.
If you’d like to test yourself, and your honesty about your reading, here are the ten titles in the survey, ranked from most lied about to least lied about. How many of these do you SAY you’ve read?
1. 1984 - George Orwell (42%)
2. War and Peace - Leo Tolstoy (31%)
3. Ulysses - James Joyce (25%)
4. The Bible (24%)
5. Madame Bovary - Gustave Flaubert (16%)
6. A Brief History of Time - Stephen Hawking (15%)
7. Midnight's Children - Salman Rushdie (14%)
8. In Remembrance of Things Past - Marcel Proust (9%)
9. Dreams from My Father - Barack Obama (6%)
10. The Selfish Gene - Richard Dawkins (6%)
Forty-two per cent of the surveyed readers admitted they said they had read “1984" when in fact they had not. One third lied about “War and Peace” down to only six per cent who lied about “The Selfish Gene.” Maybe the selfish gene controls an honesty switch in the cerebral cortex. Maybe the book is hard to lie about because scientific-minded readers know when you’re faking it.
The survey was conducted online in January and February, and there were 1342 responses. A spokesman for Britain’s National Literacy Trust concluded that people avoid the truth sometimes in order to seem more intelligent to potential mates.
“Research that we have done suggests that the reason people lied was to make themselves appear more sexually attractive," he said. "People like to be seen to be readers. It makes them look good. They said they were prepared to lie about what they'd read to impress people, particularly when it came to potential partners."
Recently on Facebook, a friend of mine, a real friend, not just a Facebook friend, asked people to take a different quiz first devised by the BBC. She posted a list of 100 famous and popular books and asked her friends to indicate how many we’ve all read.
Her personal count of books consumed was a whopping 58 out of 100, a staggeringly high number. After that other survey, the one where people lied about what they’d read, it’s difficult to take her results at face value. But I do. She’s my friend.
She noted that many of her personal “greats” weren’t even on the list, which would of course have made her score even higher. The BBC’s list of 100 books includes “Pride & Prejudice,” and “The Lord of the Rings” as well as “Catch 22" “The Da Vinci Code” and “Hamlet.”
Other friends chalked scores ranging from a low of 32 up to a respectable 54. I was the friend who scored the unimpressive 32. Am I less well read, than everyone else (answer: yes) or more honest? It’s a difficult question to ask, and impossible to know for sure.
I will return to that list and try to figure out if I lied anywhere. Did I really read “Catch-22" or only see the movie? No, it was assigned in school, so I must have read it. On the other hand “The Wind in the Willows” was read TO me. Does that count?
Such surveys of course are fairly silly. But it’s fascinating to know what others like to read, or say they have read, or indeed have lied about reading.
Maybe once you told a potential mate you knew Tolstoy. She assumed you had read Tolstoy, maybe “War & Peace,” twice. All you meant was you knew Tolstoy, as in you’d heard of him somewhere. I hope the two of you are happy.
NOTES:
“Stuff” on lying about books
The BBC 100
And they’ve ALWAYS lied...
26 February 2009
We lose money on every sale but we make it up on volume
I was walking across the town of Mendocino recently. Sandwiched between two paperbacks I had purchased at my local independent bookstore was a fresh copy of the San Francisco Chronicle.
It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that I was lugging around dinosaurs. Books printed on paper? See: Kindle and Ebooks. The Chron? Losing a million dollars a month, and still cutting back, so far back that soon there may be no newspaper at all.
Headline: “Chronicle faces cuts in staff, expenses.”
I worked for the Chron once, when I was still in high school, back in the previous century. I played Copy Boy. I never did see a Copy Girl. Copy Boys responded to shouts of “Boy!” from reporters out of paper and carbons (Remember carbons? Remember paper?) or copy editors (Remember copy editors?) who needed galleys taken somewhere, or columnists who wanted a fresh cup of coffee.
Late at night we gathered up icky sticky paste pots and cleaned them and refilled them in the bathroom. Then we cleaned the bathroom. We were the lowest of the low on the city room floor. But we could see everyone, hear everything, and best of all we were completely invisible.
We Copy Boys had a table all to ourselves. Stationed just behind us was Entertainment Editor Judy Stone, sister or daughter, I don’t remember, of the famous lefty writer “Izzy” I. F. Stone.
We could feel the city down there on 5th and Mission, across from the old Mint, at the edge of skid row and the Tenderloin. Sam Spade had just left the building, and you could smell his cologne in the elevator. Upstairs were the linotype machines, dinosaurs even then. Downstairs was a huge printing plant, and you could smell that, too. There were no computers, no cell phones, none of that.
In those days the De Young family owned the Chron, and Hearst ran The Examiner over on 3rd and Market, an afternoon rag, not a worthy competitor. As each edition of the EX hit the streets copies were delivered to Chronicle editors who scrutinized it for leads.
Ink, paper, sweat, a lot of running around, and a lot of energy. To a high school kid it felt like heaven in the real world. The memories still are sweet.
These days the already greatly-reduced Chronicle spends ten dollars on each copy of the Sunday paper and sells it for four. The Chron runs a great free web site but online it’s darned hard to figure out how to subscribe to the paper. Might as well read it for free online. Does anyone else remember the days when newsboys stood on corners selling papers to passing commuters or pedestrians? Get-chur pay-per...!!!
By the way, John Coate, the current General Manager of KZYX&Z had a lot to do with inventing the Chron’s online presence. And he did a great job.
The most important issue for newspapers is how to pay for reporters and the infrastructure that supports them. Subscriptions don’t cover it, class ads don’t cover it, and the web provides only a trickle of income.
I still love reading the paper even though I also read it online. Herb Caen is long gone, but now I read everything Jon Carroll writes, and Sports, and the editorials, and the geeky page, and other stuff, too.
I still get a big kick from headlines such as “Lincecum’s goal: doing even better this season” or “Toxics lurk beneath bay.” I think of Dashiell Hammett when I come across a headline like this: “Decomposed body found in deserted home.” “Wind farm blows into the delta” must have made some editor smile.
I have a message for Hearst, now owner of the Chron: Don’t give up. Don’t let it go. Too many memories, too many laughs, too many good things to just go away. Fix it. That’s right. Just fix it.
Now I’m going to pour a second cup of coffee and read the obituaries. Good times.
NOTES:
I don’t know Bill Roddy, but his America Hurrah web site is full of memories and photos. For one thing, he remembers being a Copy Boy on the 1941 Examiner.
Another Copy Boy memory, from an interview with journalist Tom Tugend:
"After I was discharged (from service in the Korean War), I got a job as a copy boy on the San Francisco Chronicle. That was one of the few ways to get in [to journalism]. If you made it, they made you a reporter. I was a copy boy for nine months. Herb Caen was there. Pierre Salinger. Other copy boys included a former philosophy professor and a socialite lawyer from New York. All odd balls. The most intelligent group of people I've known putting carbon sheets between sheets of paper and getting coffee for the reporters.
The entire interview
It occurred to me, and not for the first time, that I was lugging around dinosaurs. Books printed on paper? See: Kindle and Ebooks. The Chron? Losing a million dollars a month, and still cutting back, so far back that soon there may be no newspaper at all.
Headline: “Chronicle faces cuts in staff, expenses.”
I worked for the Chron once, when I was still in high school, back in the previous century. I played Copy Boy. I never did see a Copy Girl. Copy Boys responded to shouts of “Boy!” from reporters out of paper and carbons (Remember carbons? Remember paper?) or copy editors (Remember copy editors?) who needed galleys taken somewhere, or columnists who wanted a fresh cup of coffee.
Late at night we gathered up icky sticky paste pots and cleaned them and refilled them in the bathroom. Then we cleaned the bathroom. We were the lowest of the low on the city room floor. But we could see everyone, hear everything, and best of all we were completely invisible.
We Copy Boys had a table all to ourselves. Stationed just behind us was Entertainment Editor Judy Stone, sister or daughter, I don’t remember, of the famous lefty writer “Izzy” I. F. Stone.
We could feel the city down there on 5th and Mission, across from the old Mint, at the edge of skid row and the Tenderloin. Sam Spade had just left the building, and you could smell his cologne in the elevator. Upstairs were the linotype machines, dinosaurs even then. Downstairs was a huge printing plant, and you could smell that, too. There were no computers, no cell phones, none of that.
In those days the De Young family owned the Chron, and Hearst ran The Examiner over on 3rd and Market, an afternoon rag, not a worthy competitor. As each edition of the EX hit the streets copies were delivered to Chronicle editors who scrutinized it for leads.
Ink, paper, sweat, a lot of running around, and a lot of energy. To a high school kid it felt like heaven in the real world. The memories still are sweet.
These days the already greatly-reduced Chronicle spends ten dollars on each copy of the Sunday paper and sells it for four. The Chron runs a great free web site but online it’s darned hard to figure out how to subscribe to the paper. Might as well read it for free online. Does anyone else remember the days when newsboys stood on corners selling papers to passing commuters or pedestrians? Get-chur pay-per...!!!
By the way, John Coate, the current General Manager of KZYX&Z had a lot to do with inventing the Chron’s online presence. And he did a great job.
The most important issue for newspapers is how to pay for reporters and the infrastructure that supports them. Subscriptions don’t cover it, class ads don’t cover it, and the web provides only a trickle of income.
I still love reading the paper even though I also read it online. Herb Caen is long gone, but now I read everything Jon Carroll writes, and Sports, and the editorials, and the geeky page, and other stuff, too.
I still get a big kick from headlines such as “Lincecum’s goal: doing even better this season” or “Toxics lurk beneath bay.” I think of Dashiell Hammett when I come across a headline like this: “Decomposed body found in deserted home.” “Wind farm blows into the delta” must have made some editor smile.
I have a message for Hearst, now owner of the Chron: Don’t give up. Don’t let it go. Too many memories, too many laughs, too many good things to just go away. Fix it. That’s right. Just fix it.
Now I’m going to pour a second cup of coffee and read the obituaries. Good times.
NOTES:
I don’t know Bill Roddy, but his America Hurrah web site is full of memories and photos. For one thing, he remembers being a Copy Boy on the 1941 Examiner.
Another Copy Boy memory, from an interview with journalist Tom Tugend:
"After I was discharged (from service in the Korean War), I got a job as a copy boy on the San Francisco Chronicle. That was one of the few ways to get in [to journalism]. If you made it, they made you a reporter. I was a copy boy for nine months. Herb Caen was there. Pierre Salinger. Other copy boys included a former philosophy professor and a socialite lawyer from New York. All odd balls. The most intelligent group of people I've known putting carbon sheets between sheets of paper and getting coffee for the reporters.
The entire interview
12 February 2009
Like Not Totally Depressing
Book news from all over, not all of it totally depressing:
If you ran a prison library in, say, Erlestoke near Devizes, Wiltshire, England. If you ran that library, would you include books in there on how to escape from prison? Inmates at Her Majesty's Prison can read "Escape" by David McMillan, which describes how the author once broke out of Thailand's so-called 'Bangkok Hilton' prison.
Or they can check out a book about great escapes during World War II. And it's not just escapes. There are plenty of books on famous criminals, including "Pretty Boy" about an armed robber who among other things assaulted prison guards while jailed.
It's the Conservatives in England who have compiled this list of books to keep out of the hands of prisoners, and boy, are the New Labours in power going to get in trouble over this one.
Really, why allow prisoners to have books at all? They just hide blades in them, and learn about Parisian existentialism. It encourages them to think. That can't be good, can it? Luckily, inmates watch a lot of TV, where jail breaks are unknown and all crime is punished.
Same goes for school children and members of Congress. If they read, they won't get their homework done or show up to vote. Better off not reading at all.
In other news, online every-thing seller Amazon is about to release version two of its electronic book reader machine, the Kindle. You didn't know there was a version one? It's the coming thing: books on screens. You can take the Kindle camping, traveling, read it on the subway, at lunch, pretty much anywhere but in the shower and they're working on that. If you have fast Internet access, and who doesn't these days, you also can read newspapers and magazines on your Kindle.
Or you can take a book to all those places, no batteries are required. The Kindle sells for $359, order now. You can hold it in one hand! It's in black and white! One nice thing: It can read the text out loud to you in your choice of male or female voices.
This prediction from a bookselling friend of mine: "Within seven years something big is going to happen on the tech front of Ereaders making them wildly popular and chic. Ebooks will be easy to access and easy to purchase. The (book) chains will dump all of their storefronts and shift completely and exclusively to the Web. The number of brick-n-mortar bookstores will go down to 1/4 or 1/5 of the number of stores that exist today. Either that or the independent stores will no longer resemble bookstores. They'll be boutiques and books will comprise about 1/3 to ½ of the merchandise."
That's if publishers and booksellers survive that long. Retail sales at bookstores in December came in at one thousand fifty-one million dollars. That's huge! People are still buying books! However, that grand sales total reflects almost a five per cent drop in sales from two years ago.
For the year, yearly bookstore sales were down only one half of one percent from two years ago. That is actually very good news in light of recent economic and electronic developments.
The news from publishers is grim: HarperCollins has killed off the Collins part of the company and laid off a lot of people. Canadian booksellers have canceled, probably forever, their annual convention. Oxford University Press laid off 60 people and they all work for Cambridge University Press now, just kidding.
Down the highway in Sebastopol, tech books publisher O'Reilly laid off 30 workers. There's a pay freeze at Penguin, but that's OK, because they're penguins.
And while all this was going on, an early edition of Grimms' Fairy Tales sold for $11,000, and a first edition, probably signed, of "Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban" went for a cool $12,874.
I wonder how much my copy is worth?
NOTES:
Prison chiefs criticized for choice of books
"Escape: The True Story Of The Only Westerner Ever To Break Out Of Thailand's Bangkok Hilton" by David McMillan is available used and out of print in the range of approximately $8 to $67 from various international booksellers. Go to Addall books and search.
"Pretty Boy" by Roy Shaw. John Blake Publisher paperback $14.99. ISBN1857825519. Published in the UK and may not be easy to find in the USA. From the publisher: Roy Shaw is the ultimate hardman. He has cult status and commands a respect that few, even in the violent world he moves in, can equal. To him, violence is simply an accepted part of his profession. He doesn't exaggerate it, he can't excuse it and he refuses to apologize for it. His name may mean nothing to you--he's no actor, no showman, no wannabe celebrity. He does, however, live by a merciless code, and though he may not have cloven hooves and a tail, if he goes after someone, all hell comes with him.
If you ran a prison library in, say, Erlestoke near Devizes, Wiltshire, England. If you ran that library, would you include books in there on how to escape from prison? Inmates at Her Majesty's Prison can read "Escape" by David McMillan, which describes how the author once broke out of Thailand's so-called 'Bangkok Hilton' prison.
Or they can check out a book about great escapes during World War II. And it's not just escapes. There are plenty of books on famous criminals, including "Pretty Boy" about an armed robber who among other things assaulted prison guards while jailed.
It's the Conservatives in England who have compiled this list of books to keep out of the hands of prisoners, and boy, are the New Labours in power going to get in trouble over this one.
Really, why allow prisoners to have books at all? They just hide blades in them, and learn about Parisian existentialism. It encourages them to think. That can't be good, can it? Luckily, inmates watch a lot of TV, where jail breaks are unknown and all crime is punished.
Same goes for school children and members of Congress. If they read, they won't get their homework done or show up to vote. Better off not reading at all.
In other news, online every-thing seller Amazon is about to release version two of its electronic book reader machine, the Kindle. You didn't know there was a version one? It's the coming thing: books on screens. You can take the Kindle camping, traveling, read it on the subway, at lunch, pretty much anywhere but in the shower and they're working on that. If you have fast Internet access, and who doesn't these days, you also can read newspapers and magazines on your Kindle.
Or you can take a book to all those places, no batteries are required. The Kindle sells for $359, order now. You can hold it in one hand! It's in black and white! One nice thing: It can read the text out loud to you in your choice of male or female voices.
This prediction from a bookselling friend of mine: "Within seven years something big is going to happen on the tech front of Ereaders making them wildly popular and chic. Ebooks will be easy to access and easy to purchase. The (book) chains will dump all of their storefronts and shift completely and exclusively to the Web. The number of brick-n-mortar bookstores will go down to 1/4 or 1/5 of the number of stores that exist today. Either that or the independent stores will no longer resemble bookstores. They'll be boutiques and books will comprise about 1/3 to ½ of the merchandise."
That's if publishers and booksellers survive that long. Retail sales at bookstores in December came in at one thousand fifty-one million dollars. That's huge! People are still buying books! However, that grand sales total reflects almost a five per cent drop in sales from two years ago.
For the year, yearly bookstore sales were down only one half of one percent from two years ago. That is actually very good news in light of recent economic and electronic developments.
The news from publishers is grim: HarperCollins has killed off the Collins part of the company and laid off a lot of people. Canadian booksellers have canceled, probably forever, their annual convention. Oxford University Press laid off 60 people and they all work for Cambridge University Press now, just kidding.
Down the highway in Sebastopol, tech books publisher O'Reilly laid off 30 workers. There's a pay freeze at Penguin, but that's OK, because they're penguins.
And while all this was going on, an early edition of Grimms' Fairy Tales sold for $11,000, and a first edition, probably signed, of "Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban" went for a cool $12,874.
I wonder how much my copy is worth?
NOTES:
Prison chiefs criticized for choice of books
"Escape: The True Story Of The Only Westerner Ever To Break Out Of Thailand's Bangkok Hilton" by David McMillan is available used and out of print in the range of approximately $8 to $67 from various international booksellers. Go to Addall books and search.
"Pretty Boy" by Roy Shaw. John Blake Publisher paperback $14.99. ISBN1857825519. Published in the UK and may not be easy to find in the USA. From the publisher: Roy Shaw is the ultimate hardman. He has cult status and commands a respect that few, even in the violent world he moves in, can equal. To him, violence is simply an accepted part of his profession. He doesn't exaggerate it, he can't excuse it and he refuses to apologize for it. His name may mean nothing to you--he's no actor, no showman, no wannabe celebrity. He does, however, live by a merciless code, and though he may not have cloven hooves and a tail, if he goes after someone, all hell comes with him.
06 February 2009
Don't forget to tip...
Tipping, or more precisely, how much to tip, is a source of constant controversy among those Americans who actually can afford to eat in a restaurant once in a while.
When the check arrives I take a look at the total and figure out ten percent, double it, and if that feels too small, throw in another dollar or two. Or I don't. I am definitely inconsistent when it comes to tipping. I used to bartend, and I still remember how bad it felt to be shorted on a tip.
Other people will inspect the receipt, line by line. Subtract the sales tax and invoke The Eisenhower Rule: It was 10 per cent then and it's ten per cent now.
Taken all together, tips even out. Some diners over-tip, some under. Some tip out of guilt, others to show off. A few people hang on to cash like it was their own blood. All together, an average night in an average restaurant.
Wait staff has their opinions, too, and you'll certainly hear them in "Waiter Rant." Waiter Rant is the name of a new book by The Waiter. That's his name. He's anonymous because he's still working.
The rest of the title is "Thanks for the Tip – Confessions of a Cynical Waiter" and it's a great read, enlightening for anyone eating out and just as useful, probably, for someone considering entering the food trade.
Not long ago both of us here at home read another book on the trade, "Service Included: Four Star Secrets of an Eavesdropping Waiter" by Phoebe Damrosch. We learned a lot about tipping and about everything else it takes to run, or simply to eat in, a good restaurant. We started telling Damrosch stories to our friends.
Ms. Damrosch worked at Per Se in New York, sister restaurant to Napa Valley's French Laundry. Per Se is a fancy place, as high-level as they come. The waiters take dance lessons to learn how to stand gracefully, attend seminars on sea salts and virgin oils, learn to juggle complicated sets of plates and silver, and best of all, study the names of all features in Central Park visible from the restaurant's tables. In case a customer asks, and they never do.
The Waiter is a different kind of cat. Before he worked as a waiter he had a job restraining rich mental patients in a clinic for drug abusers. This prepared him for restaurant work.
At Amici's in New York, before his first shift, the headwaiter announced two waiters had suddenly quit.
"You mean there are only four of us taking care of two hundred people?" The Waiter asked.
"This place is a meat grinder, kid. You're meat. Get used to it."
He did, and The Waiter continues to work, anonymously, and collect stories.
The Waiter rants. Phoebe Damrosch explains. The closest she comes to a rant is naming two customers Mr and Mrs Bichalot. "Service Included" is a revelation. It takes way more moxie than I could muster to successfully set up a new multi-starred restaurant in the big city. The whole thing is rather amazing.
Some passages cover the same territory as Elizabeth Gilbert in her best-selling memoir, "Eat, Pray, Love." Damrosch's slow-developing love affair with a fellow worker is the weakest part of an otherwise enthralling book, although certainly the most heart-felt. The best parts are when she's working a busy weekend at the restaurant. Caviar is flying off the frozen mother-of-pearl spoons, the roasted turbot cheek is plating, and half of Table Four just went outside to check their Blackberrys.
Both of these writers have a lot to say about people who take advantage of all that service and skill but don't know how to act or how to tip. These two books provide a major service to diners: After all, getting along well with the people who feed us is a life-enhancing skill.
Both books are unstoppable entertainments. You may never willfully ignore, abuse, or undertip a waiter again. Never. Unless they deserve it. Or you're Mrs Bichalot, or the guy who... well, you'll have to read the books.
NOTES:
Oh, how I wish I had an hour-long show on this subject. There's so much more meat in these books than I can indicate here. Restaurants are to good stories as frogs are to ponds. They just naturally go together.
"Waiter Rant" by The Waiter. Ecco/HarperCollins hardcover $24.95. ISBN 9780061256684.
"Service Included" by Phoebe Damrosch. HarperCollins paperback $13.95. ISBN 9780061228155.
Eat, Pray, Love
Have you read "Waiting" by Debra Ginsberg, or "Turning the Tables" by Steven A. Shaw? More here
And now a word from another abused segment of the working class, the airline stewards.
A TIP (from "Service Included"): If you want to change the majority of the components in a dish, you might consider choosing something else.
ANOTHER TIP (from "Waiter Rant"): If you can't afford to leave a tip, you can't afford to eat in the restaurant. Stay home.
When the check arrives I take a look at the total and figure out ten percent, double it, and if that feels too small, throw in another dollar or two. Or I don't. I am definitely inconsistent when it comes to tipping. I used to bartend, and I still remember how bad it felt to be shorted on a tip.
Other people will inspect the receipt, line by line. Subtract the sales tax and invoke The Eisenhower Rule: It was 10 per cent then and it's ten per cent now.
Taken all together, tips even out. Some diners over-tip, some under. Some tip out of guilt, others to show off. A few people hang on to cash like it was their own blood. All together, an average night in an average restaurant.
Wait staff has their opinions, too, and you'll certainly hear them in "Waiter Rant." Waiter Rant is the name of a new book by The Waiter. That's his name. He's anonymous because he's still working.
The rest of the title is "Thanks for the Tip – Confessions of a Cynical Waiter" and it's a great read, enlightening for anyone eating out and just as useful, probably, for someone considering entering the food trade.
Not long ago both of us here at home read another book on the trade, "Service Included: Four Star Secrets of an Eavesdropping Waiter" by Phoebe Damrosch. We learned a lot about tipping and about everything else it takes to run, or simply to eat in, a good restaurant. We started telling Damrosch stories to our friends.
Ms. Damrosch worked at Per Se in New York, sister restaurant to Napa Valley's French Laundry. Per Se is a fancy place, as high-level as they come. The waiters take dance lessons to learn how to stand gracefully, attend seminars on sea salts and virgin oils, learn to juggle complicated sets of plates and silver, and best of all, study the names of all features in Central Park visible from the restaurant's tables. In case a customer asks, and they never do.
The Waiter is a different kind of cat. Before he worked as a waiter he had a job restraining rich mental patients in a clinic for drug abusers. This prepared him for restaurant work.
At Amici's in New York, before his first shift, the headwaiter announced two waiters had suddenly quit.
"You mean there are only four of us taking care of two hundred people?" The Waiter asked.
"This place is a meat grinder, kid. You're meat. Get used to it."
He did, and The Waiter continues to work, anonymously, and collect stories.
The Waiter rants. Phoebe Damrosch explains. The closest she comes to a rant is naming two customers Mr and Mrs Bichalot. "Service Included" is a revelation. It takes way more moxie than I could muster to successfully set up a new multi-starred restaurant in the big city. The whole thing is rather amazing.
Some passages cover the same territory as Elizabeth Gilbert in her best-selling memoir, "Eat, Pray, Love." Damrosch's slow-developing love affair with a fellow worker is the weakest part of an otherwise enthralling book, although certainly the most heart-felt. The best parts are when she's working a busy weekend at the restaurant. Caviar is flying off the frozen mother-of-pearl spoons, the roasted turbot cheek is plating, and half of Table Four just went outside to check their Blackberrys.
Both of these writers have a lot to say about people who take advantage of all that service and skill but don't know how to act or how to tip. These two books provide a major service to diners: After all, getting along well with the people who feed us is a life-enhancing skill.
Both books are unstoppable entertainments. You may never willfully ignore, abuse, or undertip a waiter again. Never. Unless they deserve it. Or you're Mrs Bichalot, or the guy who... well, you'll have to read the books.
NOTES:
Oh, how I wish I had an hour-long show on this subject. There's so much more meat in these books than I can indicate here. Restaurants are to good stories as frogs are to ponds. They just naturally go together.
"Waiter Rant" by The Waiter. Ecco/HarperCollins hardcover $24.95. ISBN 9780061256684.
"Service Included" by Phoebe Damrosch. HarperCollins paperback $13.95. ISBN 9780061228155.
Eat, Pray, Love
Have you read "Waiting" by Debra Ginsberg, or "Turning the Tables" by Steven A. Shaw? More here
And now a word from another abused segment of the working class, the airline stewards.
A TIP (from "Service Included"): If you want to change the majority of the components in a dish, you might consider choosing something else.
ANOTHER TIP (from "Waiter Rant"): If you can't afford to leave a tip, you can't afford to eat in the restaurant. Stay home.
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