Are you in New York City? Have you been trying to think of ways to occupy your time in the often damp weather? Why not come and hear me read a short short story at the L Magazine's Summer Fiction Shindig on July 23rd at KGB?
More details to follow.
--Emma
PS- If you like, you can read the short short here, but really, wouldn't you rather come and see my smiling face?
Friday, July 10, 2009
Tuesday, July 07, 2009
Summer Reading Thus Far
The days are long, packing is tedious, and one can only take so many naps a day. It's high time for some summer reading. Now, some of my friends in the bookselling biz have been racking up the new fall titles (Lorrie Moore, Dan Chaon, et al), but I've been doing the opposite, strolling the aisles of my local bookstores and picking things off the shelf. Nothing says summer like a paperback. Thus far, I've read Kathryn Davis' odd and mercury-like 'The Thin Place,' and have just embarked upon Julie Klam's wild and witty memoir, 'Please Excuse My Daughter.' Given the deliciousness of this season of HBO's True Blood, I might have to go back to the Sookie Stackhouse series. Perhaps while sitting in my new house, waiting for paint to dry and boxes to arrive.
Anyone else got a good list going?
--Emma
Anyone else got a good list going?
--Emma
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Come on, people: it's Dan Chaon
If you like Dan Chaon's writing, you should check out "The Hobblers." If you don't like Dan Chaon's writing, I'm pretty sure you weren't reading it right.
Here's an interview to go along with it.
And here's something else, as well.
They teach you in your college English classes that you're not supposed to confuse the author with his/her work. And, being the good Modernist that I was, I listened to that advice. I listened to a lot of dumb things back then, though. Now, I just hear them.
--Steph
Here's an interview to go along with it.
And here's something else, as well.
They teach you in your college English classes that you're not supposed to confuse the author with his/her work. And, being the good Modernist that I was, I listened to that advice. I listened to a lot of dumb things back then, though. Now, I just hear them.
--Steph
Friday, June 26, 2009
AVERY 4 Reviewed by Book/Mark Quarterly
Wendy Jacobson reviewed AVERY 4 for Book/Mark Quarterly's most recent issue, calling our stories "tasty little brain snacks." She elaborates, "Nothing presented is obtuse and overwrought, but uncomplicated doesn't stand for simplistic. It's more of a chat with new literature rather than a lecture on the subject. So much of new fiction is exhausting in its narcissism and avarice or pain, often all three, Yikes! It's a wonder that publishers, and audiences, could sustain an interest for so long in the vapid and the desperate. The AVERY 4 ANTHOLOGY is different."
Her comments shed light on what we editors are trying to do with our little lit mag: get people interested in and invested in reading again. In a publishing world often full of too much seriousness or too much cleverness or (God forbid) both, we're looking for that happy balance that keeps people reading. And thinking. And hoping. We've been lucky enough to stumble upon this balance, I think, thanks to some amazing writers who have a tremendous amount of talent and skill and who, according to Jacobson, "are on their way to increased notoriety and success."
Thanks, Wendy. We truly appreciate it. And hope to continue to live up to it.
--Steph
Her comments shed light on what we editors are trying to do with our little lit mag: get people interested in and invested in reading again. In a publishing world often full of too much seriousness or too much cleverness or (God forbid) both, we're looking for that happy balance that keeps people reading. And thinking. And hoping. We've been lucky enough to stumble upon this balance, I think, thanks to some amazing writers who have a tremendous amount of talent and skill and who, according to Jacobson, "are on their way to increased notoriety and success."
Thanks, Wendy. We truly appreciate it. And hope to continue to live up to it.
--Steph
Monday, June 22, 2009
Through Sheer Effort?
In “How David Beats Goliath” the ever enlightening Malcolm Gladwell tells the story of Vivek Ranadive, a man from Mumbai who came to the U.S. as a teenager, knowing as little about the sport of basketball then as he did when, recently, he decided to coach his daughter’s junior high basketball team. The result of his and their efforts offers Gladwell the opportunity to talk about David versus Goliath stories, as Ranadive’s girls manage to win easily (though not effortlessly) against those clearly more skilled than they.
Over the course of history, David has taken on Goliath and has usually lost. He loses, Gladwell points out, because he attempts to beat Goliath at his own game – a game of skill. But when David makes the game about effort instead of skill, David wins almost all the time. Take Lawrence of Arabia, for example. Or, Ranadive’s basketball team.
What these Davids lack in skill, they make up for in effort. Ranadive’s team, for example, never lets up. They never slow down and let the other team do anything with the ball, whether that be pass or dribble. They full-court press all the time with all their energy. In short, they are always on.
Now, this is not how basketball is usually played. Basketball, on the contrary, is a sport that likes its down time. A team gets this “down town” when, once its opponent scores a point, the new offensive point guard slowly dribbles the ball up the court. While he/she does so, every other player on the court can relax and wait for the next play to be run.
In his article Gladwell points out that we like to think that everything from basketball to war is about ability and skill, not effort. But we’re wrong, he says. It’s all about effort. All of it.
However, this can make for horrifying scenarios. Gladwell explains, “All the things that distinguish the ideal basketball player are acts of skill and coordination. When the game becomes about effort over ability, it becomes unrecognizable – a shocking mixture of broken plays and flailing limbs and usually competent players panicking and throwing the ball out of bounds” (48). He goes on to say that foregoing skill for effort is something that only an outsider would attempt and that doing so garners the disapproval from those insiders. The Goliaths, in other words.
This happened when Ranadive’s team played other, more skilled teams. One opposing coach was even prepared to fight Ranadive in a parking lot over the way Ranadive’s team was playing the game. And remember, Ranadive’s team was doing nothing illegal and nothing wrong. They weren’t fouling and they weren’t even playing rough. They were just playing their hearts and bodies out.
Now, I love basketball. I used to play it in high school – I lived for it. And I was the point guard, the one who was supposed to slow the game down, get her team to relax, and using (okay, I’ll admit it, not much) skill, run and help execute a designed play. Gladwell’s piece definitely got me thinking differently about basketball – a sport I still adore – but I found myself wondering whether or not the same concept (that enough effort can trump an abundance of skill) can be applied to writing.
Can a writer through sheer effort become great? To answer this question, you probably need to address another: is writing a skill or a talent? If it’s a skill, you can hone it, sharpen it, and get great at it. Ideally, you can be taught how to do so (here, I’m reminded of a more recent New Yorker article that traces the history and proliferation of MFA programs). But is writing truly a skill or is it a talent? And, can sheer effort and endurance trump either?
I’m not sure. You may be able to win a basketball game or even a war because you’re willing to hustle and outplay your opponent. But who’s the opponent in writing? The reader? Other writers? Yourself? Whom are you supposed to outplay? And, if you can’t outplay any specific person or body, then how can an abundance of effort make the slightest bit of difference?
Part of me wants to believe that with enough effort, anyone can become a great writer. I want to believe that writing is a skill that with the right amount of effort can be sharpened into something fine and significant. That’s what keeps us writing, no? That’s what keeps us teaching it, too.
But, if I’m wrong – and I think I might be – something more horrifying than “broken plays” and “flailing limbs” happens: writing becomes about talent, not skill.
I realize that I’m needlessly creating a dichotomy here. After all, writing doesn’t have to be either/or. In fact, it shouldn’t be. We can simply say that great writers are fashioned by a little bit of talent and a little bit of skill and a little bit of effort. But even so, the talent has to be there first.
Doesn’t it?
For fear of trying too hard to answer an unanswerable question, I’ll simply return to where I began: when it comes to writing, can an abundance of effort trump a lack of skill? And, has it ever?
--Steph
Over the course of history, David has taken on Goliath and has usually lost. He loses, Gladwell points out, because he attempts to beat Goliath at his own game – a game of skill. But when David makes the game about effort instead of skill, David wins almost all the time. Take Lawrence of Arabia, for example. Or, Ranadive’s basketball team.
What these Davids lack in skill, they make up for in effort. Ranadive’s team, for example, never lets up. They never slow down and let the other team do anything with the ball, whether that be pass or dribble. They full-court press all the time with all their energy. In short, they are always on.
Now, this is not how basketball is usually played. Basketball, on the contrary, is a sport that likes its down time. A team gets this “down town” when, once its opponent scores a point, the new offensive point guard slowly dribbles the ball up the court. While he/she does so, every other player on the court can relax and wait for the next play to be run.
In his article Gladwell points out that we like to think that everything from basketball to war is about ability and skill, not effort. But we’re wrong, he says. It’s all about effort. All of it.
However, this can make for horrifying scenarios. Gladwell explains, “All the things that distinguish the ideal basketball player are acts of skill and coordination. When the game becomes about effort over ability, it becomes unrecognizable – a shocking mixture of broken plays and flailing limbs and usually competent players panicking and throwing the ball out of bounds” (48). He goes on to say that foregoing skill for effort is something that only an outsider would attempt and that doing so garners the disapproval from those insiders. The Goliaths, in other words.
This happened when Ranadive’s team played other, more skilled teams. One opposing coach was even prepared to fight Ranadive in a parking lot over the way Ranadive’s team was playing the game. And remember, Ranadive’s team was doing nothing illegal and nothing wrong. They weren’t fouling and they weren’t even playing rough. They were just playing their hearts and bodies out.
Now, I love basketball. I used to play it in high school – I lived for it. And I was the point guard, the one who was supposed to slow the game down, get her team to relax, and using (okay, I’ll admit it, not much) skill, run and help execute a designed play. Gladwell’s piece definitely got me thinking differently about basketball – a sport I still adore – but I found myself wondering whether or not the same concept (that enough effort can trump an abundance of skill) can be applied to writing.
Can a writer through sheer effort become great? To answer this question, you probably need to address another: is writing a skill or a talent? If it’s a skill, you can hone it, sharpen it, and get great at it. Ideally, you can be taught how to do so (here, I’m reminded of a more recent New Yorker article that traces the history and proliferation of MFA programs). But is writing truly a skill or is it a talent? And, can sheer effort and endurance trump either?
I’m not sure. You may be able to win a basketball game or even a war because you’re willing to hustle and outplay your opponent. But who’s the opponent in writing? The reader? Other writers? Yourself? Whom are you supposed to outplay? And, if you can’t outplay any specific person or body, then how can an abundance of effort make the slightest bit of difference?
Part of me wants to believe that with enough effort, anyone can become a great writer. I want to believe that writing is a skill that with the right amount of effort can be sharpened into something fine and significant. That’s what keeps us writing, no? That’s what keeps us teaching it, too.
But, if I’m wrong – and I think I might be – something more horrifying than “broken plays” and “flailing limbs” happens: writing becomes about talent, not skill.
I realize that I’m needlessly creating a dichotomy here. After all, writing doesn’t have to be either/or. In fact, it shouldn’t be. We can simply say that great writers are fashioned by a little bit of talent and a little bit of skill and a little bit of effort. But even so, the talent has to be there first.
Doesn’t it?
For fear of trying too hard to answer an unanswerable question, I’ll simply return to where I began: when it comes to writing, can an abundance of effort trump a lack of skill? And, has it ever?
--Steph
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Suzanne Vega is Smart and Funny
Suzanne Vega just posted a list of songs to help you procrastinate, wasn't that nice of her? The whole list is over yonder on the Paper Cuts blog, but here are a few choice cuts:
3) The Fact Remains, Juliana Hatfield. Listen to her voice! Isn’t it cool? She has published an autobiography, “When I Grow Up.” She says Proust is “boring” but goes into detail about the gross hotels she has stayed in and the grungy venues she has played. At one point she mentions “Nausea” by Jean Paul Sartre. I think she’s an existentialist! Run to the philosophy section of your library. While pondering the idea of yet another black turtleneck, thumb through Simone de Beauvoir’s autobiographies, from “Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter” to “All Said and Done.” Feel dizzy just thinking the amount of work she was able to accomplish in her lifetime.
6) Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now, the Smiths. “I was looking for a job and then I found a job! And heaven knows I’m miserable now!” Truer words never spoken. Morrissey is the Oscar Wilde of the pop world. He used to perform with flowers sticking out of his back pocket. And you know just how he feels in this song. If only you didn’t have this deadline in your face!
Oh, Suzanne. You are charming and funny and I love you.
--Emma
3) The Fact Remains, Juliana Hatfield. Listen to her voice! Isn’t it cool? She has published an autobiography, “When I Grow Up.” She says Proust is “boring” but goes into detail about the gross hotels she has stayed in and the grungy venues she has played. At one point she mentions “Nausea” by Jean Paul Sartre. I think she’s an existentialist! Run to the philosophy section of your library. While pondering the idea of yet another black turtleneck, thumb through Simone de Beauvoir’s autobiographies, from “Memoirs of a Dutiful Daughter” to “All Said and Done.” Feel dizzy just thinking the amount of work she was able to accomplish in her lifetime.
6) Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now, the Smiths. “I was looking for a job and then I found a job! And heaven knows I’m miserable now!” Truer words never spoken. Morrissey is the Oscar Wilde of the pop world. He used to perform with flowers sticking out of his back pocket. And you know just how he feels in this song. If only you didn’t have this deadline in your face!
Oh, Suzanne. You are charming and funny and I love you.
--Emma
Friday, June 19, 2009
Real Jackets for Fake Books
So there I was, blithely going about my clicky-clicky day, when I came upon this: an exhibit of book jackets for books that are alluded to in works of fiction, but don't actually exist. Yes! Yes, yes, yes. I love this. The geniuses behind the show are the Ink Illustration collective and the Real Fits Literary Foundation, both of whom I will now stalk on the internet.
The exhibition is in London at a gallery called Tenderpixel, which you can read all about here. They're even having writers write the opening and closing of each imaginary novel. Where do I send my resume? What delicious, delicious fun.
Click here for all the details, should you find yourself in the UK this summer.
--Emma
The exhibition is in London at a gallery called Tenderpixel, which you can read all about here. They're even having writers write the opening and closing of each imaginary novel. Where do I send my resume? What delicious, delicious fun.
Click here for all the details, should you find yourself in the UK this summer.
--Emma
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Literary baby name list
Just off the top of my head, here are some potential baby names if not for/in spite of/because of their literary counterparts - in no particular order other than this first name is my favorite and would probably be my son's name if it weren't for my self-consciousness:
Beckett
Baxter
Eco
Chabon (Believe it or not, I once taught a kid whose given name was Shae Bon Jovi Long. And yes, he was born in the '80s.)
Salinger (Sal is a great nickname, though I'm not sure Salinger would appreciate it.)
Carver
Calvino
Baldwin
Blake
Byron (I once taught a Byron, who indeed was tall, dark, and mysterious.)
Milton (God help this child.)
Morrison
Bronte
Byatt
Amis
Ellison
Emerson
Eggers
OK, so I just threw that last one in there to see if you were paying attention.
--Steph
Beckett
Baxter
Eco
Chabon (Believe it or not, I once taught a kid whose given name was Shae Bon Jovi Long. And yes, he was born in the '80s.)
Salinger (Sal is a great nickname, though I'm not sure Salinger would appreciate it.)
Carver
Calvino
Baldwin
Blake
Byron (I once taught a Byron, who indeed was tall, dark, and mysterious.)
Milton (God help this child.)
Morrison
Bronte
Byatt
Amis
Ellison
Emerson
Eggers
OK, so I just threw that last one in there to see if you were paying attention.
--Steph
Tuesday, June 09, 2009
Check out ThoughtCast
I've been meaning to blog about this for a few weeks now, ever since Andrew (Palmer) made me aware of ThoughtCast. In the words of its creator, Jenny Attiyeh, "ThoughtCast offers something that is glaringly absent from the media today: a bridge between the publications and pursuits of the intellectual world and a curious, informed, mainstream audience." Attiyeh talks with (and posts podcasts of other people talking with) economists, politicians, and writers, and though I've only listened to a few of these podcasts so far, I found them quite enlightening. Then again, I'm down with anything Andrew vouches for.
But don't take our word for it. Check it out yourself. In particular, I'd listen to Harvard Book Store's interview with James Wood, who talks about how impossible it is to create round characters in short stories but how that really doesn't matter.
--Steph
But don't take our word for it. Check it out yourself. In particular, I'd listen to Harvard Book Store's interview with James Wood, who talks about how impossible it is to create round characters in short stories but how that really doesn't matter.
--Steph
Monday, June 08, 2009
A question and a list
My book collection has been cursed by many a friend.
“Damn these God damned books,” they say, as they lift, carry, load them from the old apartment to the moving truck and from the moving truck to the new apartment.
“That box you’ve got there is actually a pretty good one,” I say. After seeing my friend’s face, I decide not to elaborate on the crisp, clean, yet sweeping style of William Trevor and Alice Munro, the two authors whose works are being precariously carried by said friend (who just so happens to not be a reader).
Adam and I are moving yet again, and though we sold quite a bit of our book collection last time round, we still have too many to take with us.
So, I’ve gotta start making some decisions, and so I suppose I’ve got to face the following question: why do certain books have this weird staying power?
I mean, take Julian Barnes’ CROSS CHANNEL and METROLAND. These books have been staring at me for at least a few years, and I’ve yet to open either of them. Yet, they made the cut these past three moves.
Or, take A.M. Holmes’s THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW and THE SAFETY OF OBJECTS. I read both of those years ago, and well … I hate admitting this, but I really didn’t love either of them. I found the latter pretty good, but I know I won’t read it again.
Then, why the hell are they still sitting on my shelves?
Take Kertesz’s FATELESS and Saramago’s ALL THE NAMES. I bought these books because I fell in love with other novels by those same authors. Yet, I really don’t think I’ll ever pick up FATELESS or ALL THE NAMES. Still. There they sit, having made the cut every damn time.
And then, of course, you’ve got those books you’ve had since you were an undergraduate English major – books like Flaubert’s A SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION and Stein’s THREE LIVES. Now, let’s admit it. I am not – not – going to re-read these books, no matter how beautiful or moving they might be.
And then there are the Nortons. Because, yes. I do still have all my Nortons.
I don’t know what makes me keep the books I choose to keep. I think I just don’t like the idea of giving away something I once loved or something I might soon love. Maybe it’s ego, though. Maybe I want to show these books off. But I don’t think that’s it. After all, it’s not like we’re having dinner parties every week.
More likely, it’s physical: I just like having them, looking at them, flipping through their pages every now and again. They’re there, if I want them.
Whatever it is, it’s got to end. I’m 30 years old. I can’t keep lugging – and having my friends lug – trade paperbacks around with me every time I move. So, all those titles I’ve just mentioned above, they’re probably going to go. I’m sure I’ll miss them. What I’m also sure of is this: I’ll replace them with others soon enough. And I’ll be in the same position once again.
I find solace, however, in the fact that I am not – by any means – alone.
And so, I offer you this list, which is by no means exhaustive:
WHEN TO GET RID OF A BOOK
1.) You can’t remember when or why you bought it.
2.) You don’t get all teary eyed with nostalgia when you hold it.
3.) You look at that cover and are pretty damn sure you’re not going to open it this year.
4.) You read the back cover and choose not to read it right now.
5.) You have to google the author’s name.
6.) The last time you read it, you were taking a 19th century American Lit class.
7.) Someone asks you if it’s good and you respond, “eh.”
8.) You simply look at it and go, “eh.”
9.) You catch your two-year-old son licking it and you don’t stop him.
--Steph
“Damn these God damned books,” they say, as they lift, carry, load them from the old apartment to the moving truck and from the moving truck to the new apartment.
“That box you’ve got there is actually a pretty good one,” I say. After seeing my friend’s face, I decide not to elaborate on the crisp, clean, yet sweeping style of William Trevor and Alice Munro, the two authors whose works are being precariously carried by said friend (who just so happens to not be a reader).
Adam and I are moving yet again, and though we sold quite a bit of our book collection last time round, we still have too many to take with us.
So, I’ve gotta start making some decisions, and so I suppose I’ve got to face the following question: why do certain books have this weird staying power?
I mean, take Julian Barnes’ CROSS CHANNEL and METROLAND. These books have been staring at me for at least a few years, and I’ve yet to open either of them. Yet, they made the cut these past three moves.
Or, take A.M. Holmes’s THINGS YOU SHOULD KNOW and THE SAFETY OF OBJECTS. I read both of those years ago, and well … I hate admitting this, but I really didn’t love either of them. I found the latter pretty good, but I know I won’t read it again.
Then, why the hell are they still sitting on my shelves?
Take Kertesz’s FATELESS and Saramago’s ALL THE NAMES. I bought these books because I fell in love with other novels by those same authors. Yet, I really don’t think I’ll ever pick up FATELESS or ALL THE NAMES. Still. There they sit, having made the cut every damn time.
And then, of course, you’ve got those books you’ve had since you were an undergraduate English major – books like Flaubert’s A SENTIMENTAL EDUCATION and Stein’s THREE LIVES. Now, let’s admit it. I am not – not – going to re-read these books, no matter how beautiful or moving they might be.
And then there are the Nortons. Because, yes. I do still have all my Nortons.
I don’t know what makes me keep the books I choose to keep. I think I just don’t like the idea of giving away something I once loved or something I might soon love. Maybe it’s ego, though. Maybe I want to show these books off. But I don’t think that’s it. After all, it’s not like we’re having dinner parties every week.
More likely, it’s physical: I just like having them, looking at them, flipping through their pages every now and again. They’re there, if I want them.
Whatever it is, it’s got to end. I’m 30 years old. I can’t keep lugging – and having my friends lug – trade paperbacks around with me every time I move. So, all those titles I’ve just mentioned above, they’re probably going to go. I’m sure I’ll miss them. What I’m also sure of is this: I’ll replace them with others soon enough. And I’ll be in the same position once again.
I find solace, however, in the fact that I am not – by any means – alone.
And so, I offer you this list, which is by no means exhaustive:
WHEN TO GET RID OF A BOOK
1.) You can’t remember when or why you bought it.
2.) You don’t get all teary eyed with nostalgia when you hold it.
3.) You look at that cover and are pretty damn sure you’re not going to open it this year.
4.) You read the back cover and choose not to read it right now.
5.) You have to google the author’s name.
6.) The last time you read it, you were taking a 19th century American Lit class.
7.) Someone asks you if it’s good and you respond, “eh.”
8.) You simply look at it and go, “eh.”
9.) You catch your two-year-old son licking it and you don’t stop him.
--Steph
Friends Are Nice
Especially when they do exciting things that you can talk about on your blog.
Dzanc Books, run by the very excellent Dan Wickett, has just announced their newest program-- the Creative Writing Sessions. The DCWS is an online program that will pair writers with Dzanc authors and editors for one-on-one sessions. How utterly fabulous. You can sign up for sessions with gobs and gobs of excellent writers, but may I suggest you choose one of the Avery writers on the list, Ryan Call or Blake Butler? Click here for the complete list of participating writers, and for all the pertinent info. Go Dzanc!
In other news, our pals at Flatmancrooked have recently opened their contest, the 2009 Flatmancrooked Prize for Excellent Writing Done During a Period of Economic Renewal. It's a mouthful, and for good reason. They've got the fabulous Aimee Bender at the helm, and are giving away $1000. Yes, $1000. Way to make us look like cheapskates, kids.
Both Dzanc and Flatmancrooked are wonderful enterprises, and we couldn't support them more. So click away and give them your love, too!
--Emma
Dzanc Books, run by the very excellent Dan Wickett, has just announced their newest program-- the Creative Writing Sessions. The DCWS is an online program that will pair writers with Dzanc authors and editors for one-on-one sessions. How utterly fabulous. You can sign up for sessions with gobs and gobs of excellent writers, but may I suggest you choose one of the Avery writers on the list, Ryan Call or Blake Butler? Click here for the complete list of participating writers, and for all the pertinent info. Go Dzanc!
In other news, our pals at Flatmancrooked have recently opened their contest, the 2009 Flatmancrooked Prize for Excellent Writing Done During a Period of Economic Renewal. It's a mouthful, and for good reason. They've got the fabulous Aimee Bender at the helm, and are giving away $1000. Yes, $1000. Way to make us look like cheapskates, kids.
Both Dzanc and Flatmancrooked are wonderful enterprises, and we couldn't support them more. So click away and give them your love, too!
--Emma
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Workshops are Hilarious
While everyone is busy talking about the piece in the New Yorker, I'm going to focus my attention elsewhere. Sometimes workshops are great. Sometimes they're not. McSweeney's just posted this list of helpful comments, which made me laugh out loud about six times in a row.
Some highlights:
"Is this a typo or are you being experimental?"
"I love that everyone in this story has the same name, but it was a bit confusing."
It hurts because it's true.
--Emma
Some highlights:
"Is this a typo or are you being experimental?"
"I love that everyone in this story has the same name, but it was a bit confusing."
It hurts because it's true.
--Emma
Tuesday, June 02, 2009
Comic Novels
As loyal readers of this blog know, I like a funny book. So does Ed Park, who shared this wonderful syllabus for his Comic Novels class with Bookforum. I love that he says that his students blanched when asked to actually note on the text the first laugh outloud moment. Click here to read Park's list.
What novels would you add? I recently laughed outloud at Jim Harrison's The English Major, Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and, of course, The Game, which I suppose doesn't count because it isn't a novel. But, oh, is it funny.
--Emma
What novels would you add? I recently laughed outloud at Jim Harrison's The English Major, Junot Diaz's The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, and, of course, The Game, which I suppose doesn't count because it isn't a novel. But, oh, is it funny.
--Emma
Thursday, May 28, 2009
Short Story Month <3s Avery, and Vice Versa!
Oh, Matt Bell, you charming human being! What a lovely review of Jamie Iredell's story in Avery 4, "After the Revolution.'
Click here to read Matt's thoughts on the story.
Click here to watch me talk to Jamie about it at AWP!
Three cheers all around. The whole idea of Short Story Month makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
--Emma
Click here to read Matt's thoughts on the story.
Click here to watch me talk to Jamie about it at AWP!
Three cheers all around. The whole idea of Short Story Month makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.
--Emma
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Celebrity Writers, Jealously, and Me
Okay, fine, so when I read that Scribner was going to publish James Franco's collection of short stories, I wanted to beat my head against a wall. But you know what? At least he actually seems to care, and is taking classes both at NYU and Columbia, which requires at the very least, a metrocard's worth of dedication.
But then there's Kanye West. In this recent interview, Kanye proudly says that he doesn't like to read books. Which would be fine (well, not really, seeing as rappers need to use words, and books are pretty good places to learn more of those), except that he's writing a book. A 52 pages book. Full of 'Kanye-isms' such as "Life is 5% what happens and 95% how you react." How have we lived with this thus far?
The best part: he wrote it with help. Because, you know, 52 pages is a lot of Kanye-isms.
Barf.
--Emma
But then there's Kanye West. In this recent interview, Kanye proudly says that he doesn't like to read books. Which would be fine (well, not really, seeing as rappers need to use words, and books are pretty good places to learn more of those), except that he's writing a book. A 52 pages book. Full of 'Kanye-isms' such as "Life is 5% what happens and 95% how you react." How have we lived with this thus far?
The best part: he wrote it with help. Because, you know, 52 pages is a lot of Kanye-isms.
Barf.
--Emma
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