Ana's crossover bid in jeopardy

As Wonkette, Ana Marie Cox gained a reputation as Washington's dirtiest online gossip mongerer, broke a minor sex "scandal," fell in love with the sweetest thing ever, and made fun of an assortment of the "famous for DC." She was also amazing at liveblogging speeches and debates.

She had some great material to work with. Apparently, truth and speculation are funnier than fiction. her upcoming novel, Dog Days, for which she essentially ditched Wonkette, is getting seriously blasted. The L.A. Times took aim over the weekend, with Diana Wagman's review:

Why couldn't I just get with the wisecracking, confidential tone of this book and have fun? Why did I find it so offensive?

She continues with what is supposed to be a reason she'd love the book, but it seems to me to be the reason she'd probably hate it regardless:

Like Melanie, I was a 20ish aide in Washington, D.C., who worked for the losing side in a presidential race. I too can tell anecdotes about Ted Kennedy and Bob Shrum. I was also inappropriately sleeping with someone on another staff and drinking too much and traveling across the country day after day in the same old tired suit.
...
I object to people who are celebrities in another field selling novels and getting lots of attention — including reviews in papers like this one — they don't deserve.

Am I the only one who thinks she sounds a little jealous? Still, when Wagner writes that the novel is "predictable" and "mean-spirited," I can believe that it's true. Which makes me sad. Almost as sad as knowing that Cox has handed over the Wonkette mantle for good.

Ew...

For the link, I have to credit Daily Kos (which I almost never check - it must be serendipity?). But check this out from the Boston Globe. I feel really truly ill. I am also rethinking my occasional pastime of collecting aged books. Who knows what they may contain...

Bros. K - LIVE

Russian literature and the theatre make for a nice Saturday evening. We checked out the local Circle X Theatre Company's production of The Brothers Karamazov. The plot is full of love and hate and sex and violence, and all of this leads to both a rollicking good time and a fair amount of overacting. (Forgiveable.) The set was kind of fun - very minimal, with Russian "graffiti" carved or chalked in. Among the phrases that appeared multiple times - part 2, sinner, heart. Most of the cast members looked just right. Alyosha looked ridiculously Russian (although darker than I had once pictures); Dmitri was nice and swarthy; Ivan was picture-perfect; and Katya appropriately goody-goody. Grushenka was played by an understudy, one of the producers, and the regular actress probably is a better fit. Anthony Clarvoe's adaptation of the Dostoevsky novel departs from the original fairly often, with varying levels of success, and some of the character's line rang false - too anachronistic. But all in all, live theater rocks, and seeing the play made me want to re-read the book. Which is never a bad thing.

New Rules on Kashmir, or an unfunny attempt to condense holiday reviews

I read two books over the holidays, plus a fair amount of various other material. Both were enjoyable; both didn't make too many demands, fortunate due to family, illness, travel, yummy food, and presents.

Bill Maher's New Rules (which I hear is taken from a bit he does on his show), was a clever series of small things that he would change about our society. One example is that presidents must stop referring to "Washington insiders" - since they have become, by virtue of their job, the ultimate insider. There were other funnier ones (and ones I disagreed with too) but at this point I can't remember them well enough to report. Never mind. They are a great idea as a recurring part of his show - probably more enjoyable than Letterman's Top 10 lists - and since I don't have cable and I go to bed early, reading a compilation of them now and then works for me.

(Another point about Bill Maher that makes me feel good about myself. One problem with the political climate in this country is that people who care about politics tend to reinforce their beliefs by reading authors who share their views. I am totally guilty of this, and when I do read "the other side," I tend to choose those who I can essentially discount. Bill Maher, as I've mentioned in an earlier post, is a little complicated, and therefore challenges me a little more.)

The other reading choice was Salman Rushdie's Shalimar the Clown. My favorite thing about this book was that one major storyline occurred in LA in the early '90s. And not just LA, but practically my neighborhood. The day I finished the book, Michael and I, driving to Westwood, were able to pinpoint the block on which India Ophuls lived. And Rushdie likes nothing like filling his novels with scads of popular references and details. I felt right at home. (Michael has said he finds this obnoxious, which I guess I can see and why I liked the alternate plot which was...) Kashmir in the decades following partition. Identities shift from being Kashmiri to Muslim or Hindu (and back) - and violence, of course, must follow. It's a good history. The wars over Kashmir and the Israeli-Arab wars during the Cold War era are strange to me - I know they happened, but because I know so little of them, and they were so far away, and they didn't lead to nuclear holocaust, they seem a bit unreal.

So the broad strokes and the little details were good. What I didn't like was the love story. Which might have been my fault. Turns out there wasn't really a love story (the closest thing was between India and her father). Some tales of lust, but the ruling emotion was hatred. There was a LOT of hatred. That's hard to read, even if it is faithful to the tragedy of Kashmir. I could have used a little hope.

Now I'm caught up enough for a fresh start in 2006. I should be posting weekly, so hold me to it if I start flaking.

A final thought: I haven't reviewed them as a whole, but newspapers are good, guys, even when they're imperfect. Keep reading them.

New Year's Resolutions

1. Try to make some effort at remembering that I have a blog.

2. Figure out how to transfer archives off the main page of Erin's Library so that it's not so bloody long. -CHECK-

3. Read more (incl. a return to Russian history, a little intellectual history, recent Nobel winners, cheesy chick lit, and one really old classic).

4. Consider moving to the larger ("normal") font size.

So Happy 2006, any readers that still have faith that I am posting. I will try to win you back.

Envy

...by Kathryn Harrison. That's the title of the mystery novel. Envy. This is a freaky book; I can't think of any other succinct description. Harrison goes inside the head of Will Moreland, a forty-something psychoanalyst who is himself dealing with: the death of his young son, sexual unease between him and his wife, an absentee twin, a sex-crazed patient, his twenty-fifth college reunion, his father's new art career and new mistress, and surprising news from an old lover. And boy, it all fits together with quite a bang.

It's a bit much really, but she ties Will's life together so neatly that it's hard to begrudge Harrison her fun.

A couple quotes:

Will pondering: "I worry that my tendency to insist upon connections leads me to find significance where there isn't any. Create meanings that don't exist outside of my consciousness."

On his father: "Every once in a while his father makes an observation meant to prove he's not out of touch, leaving Will feeling less impressed than protective of whatever inspires this earnestness, because this is the quality that's most palpable when his father produces what he believes to be evidence of his being hip ... and it's the same quality that insures he'll never be hip."

In my last post, I spoke about how the novel was both cerebral and sexy. The sexiness also has a very creepy edge to it. So it's a dark book, but then again, envy is a dark emotion. And the envy that turns out to be the driving force behind this plot is as dark as it gets.

Teaser

I'm about halfway through a quite fascinating novel. I'm really intrigued by it, and not quite sure where it's going to take me. I like that. And because the book itself is a bit of a tease, I'm not going to tell you the title yet.

It's a very cerebral book, with a lot of discussions. This makes sense, seeing as how the main character is a psychologist. On the other hand, another overarching theme of the book is sex. Will (that's his name, a hint) is utterly consumed with thoughts of sex, but attempts to intellectualize the obsession. Analysis is in its own way pretty sexy. And everyone around him is as thought-provoking as he is.

I've been reading with a raised eyebrow. I like that.

The Curious Incident

This month's book club selection was Mark Haddon's The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, an autistic teen's tale of solving mysteries both big and small. The title refers to the event that kicks off the action, Christopher's discovery of his neighbor's stabbed dog. After being wrongly suspected of the killing, he vows to solve the mystery. He finds himself dealing with the more mysterious doings of the human heart.

Haddon, who worked with autistic children, shows what I have read called an acute understanding of the autistic mind. And Christopher is a compelling and fascinating character. Sympathetic to be sure, but even reading events through his eyes, you can see how he must be a handful for the adults around him. Achieving mutual understanding is a painstaking and ongoing process.

I haven't fully fleshed out another observation, and so it may sound ridiculous, but I also felt this novel evoked magical realism. Seen through Christopher's eyes, the whole world is a little fantastical.

That's it for commentary now, but if anything comes out of the book club, I'll report it as well. And there are plenty of new library books awaiting me, so posting may pick up in the next few weeks, despite the holiday madness.

I skipped a book

Despite composing an entry in my head while walking to the office, I completely forgot to post on a book that I read last week. I blame tryptophan blues.

The book was Susan Vreeland's Girl in Hyacinth Blue, another of the guilty-pleasure-art-historical-fiction novels that I keep coming across and reading as soothing and romantic intervals. This one chronicles the history of a Vermeer, beginning in the present day and journeying backwards to its germination. What you end up with is a very different conception of Vermeer - and "the artist" in general - than in the more famous Girl with a Pearl Earring. (For example, this has what I see as a more realistic view of how Vermeer must have felt about his wife, considering the passel of children they had. On the other hand, the relationship between Vermeer and Griet was far more delicious to read.)

The main story was the impact of the painting on people's lives, specifically why an array of owners felt that they couldn't live without it. Each found what it was they were searching for in the girl. It reminded me that art is a dialogue between the product and the viewer.

So while not the most important or memorable of novels, a sweet way to spend a little bit of time during a busy holiday season...

Boldtype

Other people do book reviews too! (In fact, I hear there are even other book blogs, such as Bookslut, but I am lame and haven't searched out proof.)

Anyway, Boldtype is a monthly newsletter by Flavorpill, and mainly distinguishes itself with a hipster vibe and independent, non-commercial streak. Also, each month has a theme - and like most themes, some work better than others.

November's newsletter is about kinship and the complexity of family ties. Joan Didion's Year of Magical Thinking received a nod from them as well:

Through her grieving, Didion comes to understand that death is not just about losing someone else; it's also about the loss of oneself. Time had stopped for her the day she married Dunne; then she abruptly awoke to her 71-year-old self, bewildered and alone. Now she has to navigate life without her lifelong partner's advice; now she has to make medical decisions for their terminally ill daughter. It becomes painfully obvious just how much she is a part of the people she loved.

When I wax philosophical, I occasionally wonder to what extent we exist outside of our relationships with others and how we are perceived by them. And by that measure, losing a loved one is clearly losing a part of ourselves. Also, loss is always a love story. Definitely will make it on my list.

Nothing else *particularly* caught my eye, but isn't that how much collections of book reviews go? As I remember, and dig through my inbox, I will be trying to share with you some other people's book reviews.

Which reminds me, feel free to comment/e-mail me if you want to recommend books or put something up here.

Erin reads the LA Times: pre-Thanksgiving edition

Thus far in my Times reading:

"[A] very surprised William T. Vollmann received a National Book Award for fiction for his widely praised novel Europe Central," a book on my "to read" list; another likely future read, Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking, also won honors. In the same article Anne-Marie O'Connor considers whether book awards have become too commercialized to be meaningful anymore.

Norman Mailer nevertheless made an impassioned defense of recognizing literature:

Mailer said it is important to celebrate the kind of serious literature that has imbued societies with powerful but intangible rewards, but is endangered today.

"Would England be a great nation without William Shakespeare?" Mailer asked. "Would Ireland be entering a period of prosperity today without James Joyce?"

But before boys get to be Mailers (hopefully without the bad attitude about women), they have to grow up readers. And shockingly enough, they have their own book clubs. A Virginia middle school has launched Club BILI (Boys in Literacy Initiative), with boy-friendly selections. The goal?

to help close the literacy achievement gap between boys and girls. The club focuses on books that appeal specifically to boys and includes read-aloud sessions, visits to elementary schools to promote reading, and trips to see movies based on the books they read.

On average, boys score seven to 11 points lower than girls on standardized reading comprehension tests. The discrepancy isn't limited to the United States — a study by the University of York in Britain found it exists in 22 countries. Scientists say boys are born with biological differences that make them read later than girls, though they eventually catch up. Boys also have a harder time sitting still for long periods, studies show.

Prevailing attitudes toward reading don't help.

"Society has created an aura about reading that it's a girl thing and it doesn't fit into adolescents' persona," said Jodie Peters, a reading peer coach at the school who co-founded Club BILI after coming upon a book about the gap called "Reading Don't Fix No Chevys." "We want to fight that."

It also turns out that the available reading in schools doesn't appeal to boys: Teacher and co-founder Rob Murphy noted that "the boys really hated the books that we were making them read in classrooms. There were a lot of female protagonists, and it was hard for them to make the connection with some of the plot lines."

It's too bad to think that youth reading ends up gender segregated, but it's better than the kids not reading at all. And fortunately, there's always Harry Potter...

Fabulous Fabulist LA

In this past Sunday's LA Times Magazine, Alan Rifkin muses about the fantastical Los Angeles brand of literature that is "the only American fiction that's really worth reading." (Sorry, after this Saturday, the link probably won't work anymore)

I don't subscribe to that notion, and I'm not even completely sure that I would like most of what he mentions, but I think there is a Hollywood/LA/desert sensibility to the city's writing (and the city itself) that is a little like a shimmering mirage, one that can be beautiful or grotesque - or more often, both at once. According to Rifkin, it was more like this in the 30s through the 60s, but it's still there, and still inspiring authors.

Two thought-provoking quotes:
Rifkin on the difference between the coasts: "They get that we're closer than they are to the vortex."
Rafael Luevano, an area religion professor: "The Anglo mind might be giving way to the Latino influence of magic, myth and symbol."

And a brief selection of titles that come up as Rifkin's examples: Evelyn Waugh, "The Loved One;" Carolyn See (Carolline's favorite), "Golden Days" and "Slipstream;" Francesca Lia Block's Weetzie Bat novels; Joy Nicholson, "The Road to Esmeralda"

A SoCal girl at heart, maybe I should give these books a try. I have read a Carolyn See novel - The Handyman - and can now see how the magical realism truly reflected this crazy city I call home.

Stop Hurting America

When Jon Stewart said that on Crossfire, I wanted to stand up and cheer. I can get so tired of punditry and fighting.

What I wish, however, was that more talking heads were actually coming up with concrete suggestions and ideas. Sort of like what Bill Maher did in his 2002 When You Ride Alone, You Ride with Bin Laden, a collection of posters (updated versions of WWII ones) and essays about what the government would be saying if it chose to be straight with the American people. His suggestions run the gamut from obvious (we need to wean ourselves from our oil dependence) to politically incorrect (racial profiling in airports makes sense) to unexpected (ladies, give up your blood-soaked diamonds). It's dated in many ways - a lot has happened in 3 years, even if we haven't had another terrorist attack in the United States - but still carries relevance today.

In a twisted way, something I admire about Bill Maher is how frequently I disagree with him. Because he doesn't fit neatly into any ideological box that I can think of, I usually believe that he's sincere about what he says. And I believe that he is sincerely angry at our government for not asking - not demanding - more of us. This nation is at its greatest when it pulls together, standing as one even as it respects individuality; even as this is a little too let-the-mighty-eagle-soar for me, I agree with the main point. We can and should do more; and our leaders can and should tell us that. So kudos to Maher for being willing to anger all sides because he's fighting for what he truly believes in: America.

(Also, he's convinced me: I don't need diamonds.)

All Alone in the New South Africa

My first Nadine Gordimer novel - a book club selection - was None to Accompany Me, a transitional novel. It came just a few years after she won the Nobel Prize, and in the midst of the stupendous upheaval that accompanied the end of apartheid and white hegemony. The novel is set in this tumultuous time and details several lives, but concentrates on Vera Stark, a strong and practical lawyer who has worked for black land rights.

Hers isn't an uplifting tale, although it is a sensual one. A woman deeply in touch with her sexuality, she left her soldier husband for a sexy artist who takes his place, and continues to find sex with her husband and a new lover powerful and fulfilling. (Though much of this is told in flashback) She's not so good at the emotional level though, and the intensity of her lover/husband's need for her repels her, as do the intimacies of her children and other family friends. She is passionately independent: having none to accompany her is her choice, not that of those around her.

But beyond Vera, this is a novel - written in the immediacy of the moment, coming out the year of the election that brought Nelson Mandela's ANC to power - about lives in flux, about how victory up-ends expected roles, and brings both expected and unexpected change.

The book got a fairly sour review during our club's discussion, and I think that is both fair and unfair. This is a difficult book to like; however, I think that it gains power when thought of in the context of when it was written and pubished. And I think that its very difficulties, the challenges, matter as well. That said, I hear July's People is a more auspicious pick.

The Apple's Bruise

This collection of stories by Lisa Glatt is not for your lighthearted moods. It's not quite dark (unlike Mary Gaitskill's "Secretary," which has none of the whimsy injected into the film version) but it doesn't sugarcoat.

The men and (mostly) women in the stories are involved in an array of unbalanced relationships - between friends, lovers, and others who come in and out of one's life. The first, "Dirty Hannah Gets Hit by a Car," is about a little girl and the bullying older girl who torments her. Another story is about a couple attempting to recover from the husband's injuries from lightning strike; two others feature the internal struggle between maintaining one's integrity and giving into what will make a loved one happy, whatever happiness really means. It is not surprising that most of these relationships are also troubled, and while it's not clear precisely what the future holds for these various characters, it's difficult to imagine a series of happy endings. Satisfactory ones perhaps, but not happy.

Glatt's is an intriguing voice. And the stories easy to read. She has also written a novel, A Girl Becomes a Comma Like That, and I'll be reading that to see how she holds up over a longer length.