If I told someone I had consumption, I’d expect they’d be simultaneously puzzled and concerned. They’d be puzzled because they probably wouldn’t know what consumption is, yet the name alone would likely give them some idea that consumption, whatever it is, isn’t exactly desirable.
When on occasion I mention to people that I’m a poet, I get a similar reaction. First, there’s the look of puzzlement. Most people don’t really know what poets do, or even that there are adult poets at all. I have a sneaking suspicion that many folks equate poets and poetry with rather marginalized art forms such as miming, and God forbid, clowns. Tim Pawlenty, my state’s governor, summed this up notion when he vetoed a bill to create a Minnesota Poet Laureate.
I’ve been looking at financial results for Barnes & Noble, Borders, and Amazon from years past. (Here’s some similar information and a pretty thorough breakdown: http://www.fonerbooks.com/booksale.htm)
Amazon’s sales keep going up, while BN and Borders sales are fluctuating a bit but generally trending downward. Most privately held companies (Auntie’s Books, Powell’s, etc.) don’t make their financial results so easily accessible, but it seems they are surviving a little better than the chains. (Note Auntie’s satellite store that just opened in downtown Spokane’s mall.) Interestingly, it’s BN’s and Borders’ smaller stores (the B. Dalton and Waldenbooks stores, respectively) that are really suffering. These are the ones in the mall that aren’t the cornerstone stores; they sit alongside Cinnabon and Lidz, and how they make any money at all is beyond me.
In light of this, I’m going to ask that annoying question again: Does the bookstore matter anymore? Read more »
I’d never heard of Mockingjay when my Twitter page exploded about its upcoming release last week. I follow mostly writers and publishers, to be sure, but the surge of popularity coupled with my complete ignorance left me feeling like the odd one out—like the only one who didn’t know what a Tamagotchi was while the rest of the school fed and played with their virtual pets. (Tangent: There’s probably a better simile to be had there, but do you remember those?!) For those that don’t know, I will share my new found knowledge: Mockingjay is the final book in The Hunger Games Trilogy, which is another one of those young adult series that has found just as many—if not more—adult readers—than child ones.
Had you mentioned a book called The Hunger Games to me I would have said, “Yeah, I think I’ve heard of it, maybe,” but I couldn’t have told you the first thing about it. But on Thursday, despite my lingering state of unemployment, I bought a copy. Then I came home, turned to page one, and started reading. Three-and-a-half hours (and one nasty migraine) later, after telling myself twenty times I would read just one more chapter, it was one thirty in the morning and I had just finished the book. Read more »
Some might call it a Dominican Series. On a recent set of flights to Tejas, I decided to read Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa. His characterization of Trujillo, Trujillo’s dictatorship, his assassins, and his successor were so complex and interesting that during the flights back, I decided to pick up Junot Díaz’ The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Díaz spared even fewer punches with the dictatorship, calling Trujillo “Truzilla,” and used such an invigorating style to discuss the diaspora, that I was hooked into a full-blown Dominican phase. I just started reading Julia Alvarez’s In the Time of the Butterflies, though I’ve had a few moments when I’ve thought about leaving it in the park for someone else to read. The Alvarez book I’d be the least likely to recommend. Read more »
turns out that one of the five key steps to inciting a revolution involves falling in love.
i ♥ penguin’s “great ideas” series, which includes george orwell’s why i write & william hazlitt’s on the pleasure of hating. on the occasion of the 100th (and final) volume, the guardian chats with the series editor about their beautiful covers and his ten faves.
review, author interview, & excerpt of gary shteyngart’s super sad true love story—which features this killer opening: “Dearest Diary, Today I’ve made a major decision: I am never going to die.”
i see you driving ’round town with the girl i love and i’m like, “fuck you!” (ooo, ooo, oooo!)
The last time I visited Auntie’s in Spokane, I nearly ran into a pillar. Thankfully, no one seemed to be watching. Also, that pillar was covered with staff-recommended books. The one closest to my head, which would have left its imprint on my forehead if I hadn’t snapped out of my daydream in time, was The Bell by Iris Murdoch.
I’d seen the movie Irisa couple of times (it features three of my very favorite actors–Judi Dench, Kate Winslet, and Jim Broadbent–who were, incidentally, all nominated for Oscars for their performances in this film) but had never encountered any of Dame Iris’s books before, so naturally I was curious.
For a book written by a noted philosopher, The Bell is surprisingly easy to read. The prose bears the marks of its time (some overwriting, adjective stacking, etc.) and at times, Murdoch does use some of the trademark tools of the philosophical novel (long speeches delivered by characters, stretches of philosophical internal monologue). But overall, she lets the reader figure out the message for him/herself–and I appreciated that. Read more »
Frank Zafiro is the author of the River City crime novels and also writes mainstream fiction under the name Frank Scalise, which is his actual name. Born and raised in Spokane, he joined the U.S. Army after high school graduation and served in Military Intelligence. He’s been a Spokane police officer since 1993 and has served as patrol officer, corporal, detective, sergeant and lieutenant. His current title is captain.
Zafiro has written seriously since he was thirteen, starting out with short stories and poetry. Last week I reviewed his River City series. If you didn’t read that post, let me summarize: I’m a big fan. As Frank’s latest stalker groupie, I emailed him with a bunch of questions about his journey towards publication and being a writer while working full time.
Here are the questions and his answers. Enjoy!
When and why did you begin writing?
When? Well, like most writers, I began pretty early. Maybe eight or so? But by ten, I knew I wanted to be a writer, so that is the age I usually give in response to this question. To be honest, I don’t ever remember I time where I didn’t want to be a writer.
Why? The same reason almost each of you write…because I’m a writer.
I know that sounds like I’m being a smart alec, but I’m really not. Much in the same way that a musician plays music or a carpenter works wood, I write because it is who I am. I’d write even if I couldn’t get anyone to read what I’ve written. I am a writer. I write. I suspect that most of the people reading this understand perfectly. The rest probably think I’m being pretentious. Read more »
So, both are signs of the evils of e-books? Or, this is just normal stuff that happens when the market (and the world) adjusts to new technology and market models? Questions, comments, concerns?
Portland is supposed to have a substantial literary scene, and I believe it with small presses and literary journals like Hawthorne Books, Tin House, Glimmer Train, Poetry Northwest, Portland Review, and others. But there’s nothing like a book and literary festival to excite the writers in a city enough to get them to come out and be social with each other. Wordstock, Portland’s annual book and literary festival, goes from October 7th to the 10th and includes a book fair, of course, as well as workshops and events such as the Text Ball hosted by the Independent Press Resource Center (maybe one of my favorite Portland finds). This year Wordstock will be graced by our very own Christopher Howell, which is very exciting. The list of authors is long and includes favorites such as Anthony Doerr, Aimee Bender, Kevin Sampsell, Steve Almond, Richard Robbins, and Michele Glazer. The book fair is only $10 for both days (or $7 for one), and workshops are $35 (with deals for signing up for more than one). Dylan and I will be at the book fair for sure and are looking into volunteering so we can get more time at the festival sans dinero. So…if any of you were looking for a reason to visit one of the coolest cities in the country (if not THE coolest), now you’ve got a good one.
I went to see Eat Pray Love yesterday. I’d read a review that made me a bit hesitant to spend my money on it, but it was hot out, the theater was air conditioned, and my husband had actually offered to accompany me to a chick flick (I now owe him one action movie). Unfortunately, the review I read was spot on. It had most of the plot points in order, but very little of the book’s emotional core.
But I’m not here to quibble about the movie’s faults and merits. Instead of spending the film wondering what the movie company had done to Liz Gilbert’s book (though I did spend a fair amount of time whispering my editorials to my husband, who had no idea what I was talking about), what mostly struck me was: What did they do to her life?
It’s hard enough for me to imagine my life story in print, selling millions of copies the way Liz Gilbert’s did. It’s even harder for me to imagine sitting in a movie theater, with Julia Roberts up on screen (or, if I’m imagining it’s me, maybe Ginnifer Goodwin or Maggie Gyllenhaal?), play-acting events that really changed my life. I would have to watch it–the whole train wreck effect–but how would I feel? The mind begins to boggle.
At the last Get Lit! festival in Spokane, I attended a panel where authors and screenwriters spoke about translating novels into film. The consensus seemed to be that authors had to separate themselves from the filmed product, release control, and thus release themselves from responsibility for what came out in theaters. But what about memoir? Can you really separate yourself from your life? And if you do, how does that affect the way you feel about your own memories? Do your experiences lose their impact when they run through so many filters?
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Some might call it a Dominican Series. On a recent set of flights to Tejas, I decided to read Feast of the Goat by Mario Vargas Llosa. His characterization of Trujillo, Trujillo’s dictatorship, his assassins, and his successor were so complex and interesting that during the flights back, I decided to pick up Junot Díaz’ The Brief and Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao. Díaz spared even fewer punches with the dictatorship, calling Trujillo “Truzilla,” and used such an invigorating style to discuss the diaspora, that I was hooked into a full-blown Dominican phase. I just started reading Julia Alvarez’s In the Time of the Butterflies, though I’ve had a few moments when I’ve thought about leaving it in the park for someone else to read. The Alvarez book I’d be the least likely to recommend.
