Baby Got Books

Finally, that Coldplay song makes sense. Chris Martin was actually singing about Atlanta being covered, nay, buried, in yellow pine pollen. It is crazy here. Black cars are now yellow. Streets are yellow. Slow moving dogs and small children are yellow. Everything is yellow. The air quality guys say that a measurement of 120 partilces/cubic meter is “extremely high.” We’ve been over 5,000 for about a week. Half the city is goofed up on Claritin. The other half are waiting for their sinuses to explode at any minute. So far, I’ve managed to escape complete nasal apocalypse. Knock on wood…

I’ve received word from good authority that Marisha Pessl, author of Special Topics in Calamity Physics, will be coming to the Atlanta area for a reading. The Georgia Center for the Book will present Ms. Pessl at the Decatur Public Library on May 29th at 7:15 PM. Mark your calendars. If you don’t have the book, you can pre-order the paperback from our friends at Wordsmiths’ and pick it up at the reading. We may have a copy or two to giveaway as the event gets closer. You can read my review of the book, which made my 2006 Top 10 list, here. As always, this blog will continue to take the high road and not mention how hot the author is.

That Chuck Klosterman guy we were just talking about is getting paid top dollar by ESPN to blog at the Final Four all weekend here in Atlanta.

A journalist friend sent me an e-mail earlier in the week letting me know that the Romensko blog, a highly regarded journalism site, is following recent stories regarding whether David Sedaris should be given the James Frey treatment for his “non-fiction” stories. The pros and cons of the story are presented here and David Sedaris’ response can be found here. Has anyone ever read a Sedaris story and thought for one minute that it wasn’t embellished in one way or another? The man’s appeal is simply that he can tell a funny story…

Gary Shteyngart’s Absurdistan mercifully beat One Good Turn in the second match of the Zombie Round in the Tournament of Books. One Good Turn sounds truly awful. The Road is as close to a sure thing to beat Absurdistan in the finals as you are likely to see in your life time.

Finally, l’il Cayenne and I went down to Decatur Square last night to visit The Little Shop of Stories, hands down the best children’s book store within a tri-state area (I don’t know, pick any three). They have an ice cream store inside the book shop. We hung out on a huge couch, ate ice cream, and read Olivia stories. Great evening. I mention it for two reasons. 1) Wordsmiths’ is slated to move in next door – which will soon make the Square a day-long book lover’s destination for the whole family and 2) I just had to share with the world that we saw this sign outside the store:

Who sends their kid to “law camp” – is this the competitive edge your child needs to distance herself from the riff-raff on her application to private elementary school? I want to show up on the first day just to see who these people are. Then call them names.

I bought Siberia by Nikolai Maslov after reading impressive reviews, one after another. Siberia is a graphic novel, so if that sends you screaming for the door, please exit slowly and in an orderly fashion. Thank you.

Unlike other graphic books in the historical/memoir genre, Siberia contains little in the way of dialog and a minimum of exposition.

Instead, Maslov largely lets the pictures tell his story. The author/artist actually grew up in Siberia, as opposed to being sent there for punishment. He worked construction for a while, dodged the town’s drunks and rowdies, served in the Russian Army in Mongolia, and worked a variety of odd jobs. One such job was getting a job at a Moscow art gallery. Instead of the glamorous job he envisioned, the job mostly entailed packing official portraits of Lenin.

The story is one of desolation, pointlessness, beauty, despair, loss, art, violence, madness, and, occasionally, hope. It is no accident that the author’s landscapes and cityscapes are beautiful, while his pictures of average Soviet citizens are grotesque. The Soviet era does not appear to have been kind to its citizens.

The author laments that the Soviets did not allow his generation to create. In one scene, Maslov is threatened with arrest if he does not remove the drawings he has displayed for sale in a park. The book is filled with images of the destruction that replaced the creative impulse of a generation. Fields are littered with industrial/military debris. Senseless violence seems to be a staple of life. Life was to be endured, not lived. If nothing else, the book is a testament to the importance of the creative impulse. But it is more. Siberia also bears witness to the realities of a life on the extreme fringes of the Soviet nation.

The drawing in Siberia are relatively naive by modern graphic novel standards. The drawings are in pencil only. They have not been “finished” in ink or colored in any way. This is understandable, given that the artist has been creating the work in isolation – in a world where the art form is largely non-existent. That the work was created at all is fairly amazing.

The story of how the book came to be published is also interesting on its own. The author marched into the offices of a French publisher based in Moscow and presented him with three pages of drawings. Based on these, Maslov essentially demanded an advance so that he could quit his job and complete the book. It worked.

Siberia is greater than the sum of its parts. It almost requires multiple readings so that the full message of its images can be conveyed. The drawings, so simple at first blush, prove to be surprisingly complex. Maslov’s minimalist accounting of the life of a Siberian everyman in pictures could fill volumes.

Bonus: The nice people at Soft Skull Press have thoughtfully provided us with a copy of Siberia to pass along for free ($0) to one of our readers. If you have an interest in checking out Siberia, this is about as cost-effective a way to realize that dream as you are likely to find. Leave us a comment, and I’ll pick a lucky recipient from among the responses.

Cormac McCarthy vs. Thomas Pynchon

Update: Based entirely upon today’s events in the Tournament of Books, Oprah returns to fiction with today’s winner (thanks for the heads up, Russ)

The kudos that we receive around here tends to be of the, “hey, don’t you people have jobs?” variety. At least one of us does, in fact, have a job. We can prove it. A BGB contributor (not me) is featured prominently in this article regarding a marketing campaign for the local soda company. The story is getting picked up some well-defined circles and our person in fielding call for interviews, etc. Remember us for all of your Fortune 500 viral marketing needs.

Today, Match 2 of the The Tournament of Books Semi-Finals matches the-little-mystery-that-could One Good Turn against the literal 500-pound literary gorilla, Against the Day. Will Pynchon meet his match? Next up, the “zombie round” where previously eliminated books are brought back by popular vote to fight another day and eat tasty brains.

After reading today’s match up, which The Road won, I’ve got to seriously consider reading the book. Each round features entirely different judges gushing about the book in new ways. Here’s what the last judge, author Elizabeth Gaffney, had to say:

I stayed up all night reading it. I, who am not a softy, wept at the end. It made me want to change the world, to try to make sure it never comes to this. As a book, it’s awfully close to perfect. There is no sentence or word out of place. It is as well-crafted as a great poem, as riveting as any the most plot-oriented page-turner. I closed it with the thought that I would never forget it and the certainty that I would nevertheless want to reread it, both for the sentences and for the story.

Wow. Through the miracle of time travel, go back and read our own intrepid Dr J’s take on the post-apocalyptic novel.

Some reviews you have missed:

• Ian McEwan’s On Chesil Beach is reviewed in the Guardian (Read an excerpt).
• Jim Crace’s post-apocalytic American tale The Pesthouse is also reviewed in The Guardian.
• LA Times reviews Jamestown (another post-apocalyptic tale) by Matthew Sharpe (I’m reading it as we speak) – and the Village Voice calls it Jackass for the Jacobean set…
• LA Times runs a separate article to answer the question, “what’s up with all of this post-apocalyptic business?“
• Thomas Keneally (Schindler’s List) has a new book, The Widow and Her Hero.
• A review of The Raw Shark Texts by Steven Hall is reviewed in The Guardian here and in the LA Times here.
• Joshua Ferris’ Then We Came to the End in the NYTBR.
• Kurt Anderson’s gigantic Heyday, also in the NYTBR.
• Jane Smiley’s Hollywood story, Ten Days in the Hills is a modern telling of The Decameron. Also reviewed here.
• John Banville (won the Booker for The Sea) has written a crime novel, Christine Falls, under the name Benjamin Black. What’s the point of a pseudonym if everyone knows it’s you?
• You Don’t Me Yet, by Jonathan Lethem gets the NYTBR treatment.
• Open Up and Bleed, a biography of “classic American anti-hero” Iggy Pop, is reviewed at The Guardian.

And Round 1 of the Tournament of Books’ Semi-Finals pits Half Of A Yellow Sun against The Road (another post-apocalyptic book!)

Earlier today we took light-hearted umbrage at a quote from Steven Hall’s guest blog at Powell’s. The author of The Raw Shark Texts responds to our gripes in today’s post:

— I was talking about how I approach my own blog writing (or, more accurately, how my own blogs always seem to turn out!), I was speaking about myself, not passing judgement on anyone else! …
So sorry for any confusion, and a special sorry to the nice folks at babygotbooks.com who despite taking those comments to heart a little bit, still gave my book a very decent plug. Thanks guys, I have a kitten blood special edition here on my desk waiting for you if you want it. Give me a shout

Rest assured, I’ve given him a shout. I can’t wait to get my hands on the special kitten blood edition. Read what Wordsmiths’ Russ has to say about the book in this excellent review. If that doesn’t send you scrambling to the book store, I don’t know what will (or you can try the slandering the author route – whatever). And we thank the author for not calling us out for botching his name in the original post (which we have corrected).

Let’s say that you were looking to kill some time at work today. Hypothetically, of course… We’ve got you covered.

First things first, run out and pick out your cheese-y 70’s action guy name with the Hammer and Coop action name generator. Call me Thor Fisticuffs, please.

I was e-mailing with Wordsmiths’ Russ earlier in the week about book trailers. They’re really commercials, but I guess “trailer” sounds more artistic. There need to be more is what we’re thinking. Here’s a sampling:

• Mystery Guest may win as the funniest book trailer, but I don’t know anything about the book.
• I’ve linked to the King Dork trailer before. I think it does a nice job of summing up the novel’s ethos. Or something,
• Londonstani has a sinister, British hip-hop thing going on. One of these days I’ll read the book.
• While poking around, I came across this trailer for Neil Gaiman’s Anansi Boys – in Polish.
• This trailer for The Thunderbolt Kid by Bill Bryson is pretty awesome.
• If you watch this trailer for The Ghost Map – you just might learn something.

Please pass along other book trailers that we may have missed.

In music news: A friend of mine recently reminded me about a song that I haven’t heard since college. The connection to books is that the song is called Hemingway by a really obscure 80’s band – Blue Clocks Green. It is the most fantastically catchy song about shooting yourself in the head that you’ll hear all week. I guarantee it. Give the song a listen here (skip down to the second song).

Get caught up on the Tournament of Books Round 2 haps. Here’s a recap of what’s happened since our last update:

• The Road trounced Fermin.
  
• One Good Turn retired The Lay of the Land. The reviewer was not kind to Frank Bascombe.

In today’s round, Sam Lipsyte chooses between Alentejo Blue and Against the Day. Monica Ali or Pynchon?

Finally (because, really, you need to do something today), Steven Hall, the author of The Raw Shark Texts is guest blogging at Powells’ this week. The book has been getting good reviews, and the author is being compared to Mark Z. Danielewski (MZD is one of the Hall’s friends on his MySpace page). “Moby Dick meets the Matrix” is what they’re saying. Which is all very nice, however, the author begins his first guest post with this:

Ahhh blogging, that fantastic digital mash-up of random thoughts, half-baked product placement, free stuff and alcohol-induced slander.

I’m four beers into my evening, so I should point out that I have it on good authority The Raw Shark Texts was written with the blood of kittens that the author strangled in his back yard – with his bare hands – in his underpants – on the dope. Free books. I once had to change a flat in the rain.

More often than not, when I see a movie that was adapted from a novel I am usually disappointed.  That is definitely not the case with the movie I saw last night, The Namesake.  I originally posted on this book about 2 years ago and upon rereading my post, I remember that I was a little disappointed with the character development.  The strength of the movie and one of the many reasons that it was FANTASTIC was that Mira Nair, the director, beautifully developed all of the characters.  She really made you feel as if you were part of the Gangul family.  Her portrayal of family was not as a 3rd person observer; this was one of those films where you felt that you were immersed in all the personalities, conflicts and issues of the characters.  The cinematography was stunning and the scenes shot in India really captured what I imagine India to be like.  The beautiful costumes, music and even the lilting accents brought this story to life.  This movie not only got across its varying message of clashing cultures, how a name defines you, the identity struggle of many immigrants but it was also one of the movies that I would call an “escape.”  It made me completely forget about my little world for a couple hours and escape into that of an Indian family living in America.  Bravo.

I’ve long enjoyed Chuck Klosterman’s essays when I’ve encountered them, but I hadn’t read any of the several book length collections of his work. BGB correspondent and legal adviser, Shaft, handed Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs off to me one day at lunch. I had officially run out of excuses, so I took it out for a spin.

This collection of pop-culture essays are a mixed bag. Some are brilliant. For example, there is an outsanding piece on the MTV show The Real World. It argues that as the show goes on, the “roles” played by the cast members become more restrictive, and this is reflected in the youth culture at large. It makes sense when he says it.

Another essay that I particularly enjoyed explains the inner workings of newspapers. Klosterman convincingly argues that newspaper journalism is shaped more by who answers the phone first than by corporate agendas. An essay on the marketing of breakfast cereals is genius.

Then there are some essays that fall a little short. Chuck went to a Dixie Chick concert that was filled with gay guys and teenage girls. The article argues that the Dixie Chicks are huge because teenage girls are the new teenage boys. This same article also argues against the band Uncle Tupelo as inauthentically “authentic.” Parts of this one seemed a stretch.

What Klosterman does in these essays is tie bits of arcane but readily available nuggets of pop culture together to create new ideas. There is no support for some of these tenuous logical jumps other than Klosterman’s suggestion that the connection is there. Either you make the leap with him or you don’t. You take the red pill, or you take the blue pill. Most of the time, I was right there with him.

On the provenance of this book: We agreed yesterday that this is unnecessary, but the history of this particular copy of this book is interesting – to me, anyway. As I noted, this book was loaned to by Shaft. It was loaned to him by Swizzle D. I took the book with me on vacation, wherein it was mangled pretty badly in my luggage – but it remains readable. I passed it along to a friend of mine who is a newspaper journalist to get his take on the journalism article (he doesn’t have a snappy nickname). I’ll have to check on its current whereabouts. If this was a CD, the RIAA would make sure that we’d all be doing hard time.

Anyway, time for a book etiquette question: It would appear that I owe Swizzle D a new copy (or another book as a replacement) for being its destroyer. Or does the blame/responsibility lie with Shaft, the original borrower? Does the replacement need to be new? Or can it be used?

Klosterman-ia:

• Klosteroo writes about Muhamad Ali and Rap on ESPN.
• The Onion A/V Club interviews Chuckie.
• The K-man wonders where all the barefoot kickers in the NFL have gone.
• Chaz-meister on Bonds and Ruth and what it all means.
• Chuck-a-roni on the problem of Snakes on a Plane.
• Shaft’s BGB review of SD&CP is here.

I was reminded by Nitro’s Lit Mag as accessory post that I’ve been meaning to write about the n+1 vs. lit-blog dust up. The good thing about being late to the party is that there are nice summary posts on other blogs to point to. So here we go.

The Millions blog has a very nice (and even-keeled) summary of a brief essay that the lit mag n+1 ran, unattributed, in its latest issue. The n+1 essay explains why lit blogs are highly suspect. The gist is that lit-bloggers (and I count us in that group) are whores for advance copies, are only writing for the recognition/legitimacy of the publishing houses, and are essentially an unpaid army of publicists writing what is expected of them. Or something.

Wet Asphalt takes up the issue with a little more umbrage, pointing out the hypocrisy of n+1’s position.

The Elegant Variation reproduces Exhibit A – n+1 may think that bloggers are free publicists for the publishing house, because that was the expectation that they had when they provided free issues to bloggers.

The timing of this couldn’t be worse. After writing night and day for over two years, we’ve just to begun to receive a trickling of complimentary books. (To date this blog has received a grand total of five (5) free books from publishers.) We have been “recognized” by one publisher who used a blurb from a review that I wrote about a self-purchased book. We’ve clearly sold out for all this bling and respect – only to now be called on the carpet by n+1. I’m so ashamed.

Actually, no I’m not. It is nice to be recognized, but I suspect that we’d be doing this without the molehill of schwag that we’ve received to date. Don’t get us wrong, we love free stuff. And nothing is cooler than an advance copy. In fact, we’d be just fine if we never had to pay for a book again. That would be swell. (Please keep sending us stuff!)

Among the free copies that we’ve received, there has been no indication that the sender has an expectation of a positive review or even of a commitment to mention the book. Certainly nothing as blatant as Elegant Variation’s note from n+1. Maye a publisher would stop sending us stuff if we hated everything they sent us. But that would be a good thing, right?

Here’s some math – we’ve posted reviews of 199 books to date. One of those posts was based upon a free copy of the book. 0.5%.

So where does that leave us? Should we point out generally that some of the books that we write about may have been given to us by the publisher? Should we point out that a specific book was free? I’ve never seen either scenario anywhere. Ever. Does Michiko Kakutani buy her own books? (We’re certainly not Machiko, and we don’t mean to compare what we do here to what she does.) Help us chart our ethical path forward in our comments.

I still think that n+1 should have been the name of a statistics blog/journal.

Straight from this week’s New York Magazine, a guide to what your literary journal says about you —

• The Paris Review – You wear blazers with only a dash of irony and lament the deplorable state of modern cocktail parties. You consider T.C. Boyle a hip young writer
• The Believer and McSweeney’s – You balance your hipster wit with do-gooder earnestness. You thought Colbert kicked ass at the White House Correspondents’ Association dinner.
• n+1 – You think McSweeney’s writers are lightweights. You take pride in perfecting your intellectualized rants—cell phones and exercise as talismans of cultural decline, etc.
• Granta – You studied abroad in Britain, and you still won’t shut up about it. Graham Greene is your idol, and you use words like reportage.

Where to start? With all of the recent book events going on there are a few items that we’ve fallen behind on…

The Morning News’ Tournament of Books rounds that we’ve missed:

• Julian Barnes’ Arthur & George was upset by One Good Turn by Kate Atkinson;
• Judge Colin Meloy of the Decemberists deemed The Lay of the Land by Richard Ford superior to English, August by Upamanyu Chatterjee;
• Monica Ali’s Alentejo Blue put the smack down on Colson Whitehead’s Apex Hides the Hurt (I’m intrigued by Apex though);
• and finally, Pynchon’s 1100 page Against the Day advanced over a 100+ page graphic novel, The Pride of Baghdad by Brian K. Vaughan. Didn’t see that coming.

Round Two of the Tournament of Books begins today with Half of a Yellow Sun vs. The Emperor’s Children.

The longlist for the Orange Broadband Prize has been announced. The Orange Prize is awarded to outstanding fiction by female authors. The long list includes, among others: Half of a Yellow Sun, The Inheritance of Loss, and The Tenderness of Wolves. Check out the rest of the list.

In other writing competition, we remind you that BGB’s Herman Glimscher has entered his novel, Michael Drayton, Detective Guy in Gather.com Chapter’s Writing Competition. Read it and vote. Then share the love.

Smith Mag has two cool items that you should check out.

1. There is a(nother) writing contest – write a six word memoir. If yours is selected, it may appear in a collection to be published in 2008 that will also include brief memoirs by Dave Eggers, Moby, Mario Batali, Jonathan Lethem, Joyce Carol Oates, Stephen J. Dubner, et al. I’m still wrapping my head around it.
2. Chapter 1 of A.D.: New Orleans after the Deluge, a graphic novel, is available for your reading pleasure.

Speaking of Monica Ali, she is not reading from Booker-nominated Brick Lane at the Decatur Library next week. Not reading. I thought that you should know before you do anything crazy like make plans to get a babysitter, to have dinner on the square, and to catch the reading. She will not be there. You can go and talk about the book though with some other people though. It clearly says “book discussion” – not author reading. Jeez, get some sleep.

Dave Eggers and Valentino Achak Deng were in Atlanta for a reading last night in support of What is the What. The event was held at the Center for Southern Literature at the Margaret Mitchell House (which we are now supposed to call “The Lit”). It quickly became apparent that the reading was “kind of a big deal.” The line started forming outside at least an hour before the doors opened. When Mrs. Cayenne and I got in line, the woman who lined up behind us called no fewer than three friends to tell them where she was. I’ve been to numerous readings at “The Lit,” and I’ve never seen anything like this. It felt more like a concert than a book reading.

The line stretched down the block when we arrived

Things settled down to proper literary decorum once everyone was inside. It was standing room only when Dave and Velentino were introduced. Rather than launch directly into a reading, Eggers interviewed Deng for about an hour, and they passed the mic back and forth telling Deng’s story. Dave opened with, “Well, Valentino how does it feel to be back in Atlanta?” Given how things go in the book for Valentino during his stay here, he seemed genuinely happy to be back.

There were 10 or so Sudanese men (who had been Lost Boys) in the audience, including the former room mate featured prominently in the novel. Valentino introduced each of them to the audience to wild applause. Deng was also careful to recognize several friends and others in the crowd who had helped him out over the years. He called this the “homecoming” of their joint book tour.

Dave Eggers “a budding writer” and Valentino Achak Deng do their thing

The interview style of the event allowed Valentino to tell parts of his story in his own words. It was a moving evening, and the crowd reacted with spontaneous applause throughout.

After the interview/reading portion of the evening, questions were taken from the audience. In answering someone else’s question, Eggers addressed the question that I was going to ask: how did he make the decision to scrap the original version of the book (as it began to be serialized in The Believer) in favor of how it turned out. The short and paraphrased answer is that he felt that too much of his voice was showing up in the earlier version, because he was narrating events in which he was present and reporting on Deng’s life in a journalistic style. In order to better tell the story and get at its “truth,” he said that he needed to remove himself, inhabit Valentino’s voice, and use some of the tools of fictional story telling. So there you go.

Dave and Valentino signing after the reading

After the reading, we moved across the lawn and into the Margaret Mitchell House itself to get our books signed by Dave and Valentino. I felt a little self-conscious pulling Eggers’ entire catalog out of a bag for his signature. He happily signed everything, which was very cool.

Mrs. Cayenne and I were joined at the reading (and in line) by Frank of TTT and his friend Nicole. Frank recognized Lillian from Criminal Records in the signing line. I found out when we pulled up in front of our house that our neighbor from across the street was also there. It gives me hope that there is a solid audience here for literary events. The trick is getting the authors that we want to see.

Links:

• 10 things you can do for Sudan
• Our reviews: 1 and 2

Love is a Mix Tape (Life and Loss, One Song at a Time), by Rob Sheffield, is not a particularly happy book. But I knew that going in, since I think anyone who knows anything about the book or about Mr. Sheffield knows a little about the focal point of the underlying story — Rob’s wife dies suddenly and unexpectedly.

But it’s a pretty great book. As a successful writer and editor for Rolling Stone, Rob Sheffield knows how to talk to the kids, including yours truly. He’s got an easy-to-read writing style, and has a knack for dropping in hot button words and references frequently enough to keep you interested. While this book is not particularly long (219 pages), I still marvel at how quickly I read it, given my history of turning even small books into marathons.

The way Sheffield sets up the book, each chapter starts with the track listing for a specific mix tape that he or someone he knew put together, and which somehow ties in to the events that occur in that chapter. And unlike some other great books that include references to specific bands and songs (e.g., King Dork), I felt that the point of these track listings and the narratives that went with them was not so much about the specific songs, but about the ideas behind them. The idea of creating actual mix tapes in the 1980’s and 1990’s (as opposed to burning CD’s); this endeavor was truly a labor of love, and it shows in the painstaking way that the tapes were put together.

I don’t have a lot of history or knowledge of a lot of the songs on the featured mix tapes, but that doesn’t matter — it’s the thought that counts. And this book takes me back to a lot of important times in my life, when there was a particular song or artist, or even a mix tape, that was absolutely critical to me at the time.

The book chronicles Sheffield’s life as a music geek and student, and takes you through his relationship with his late wife and his attempt to cope with loss after her passing. It’s beautifully done and represents triumph over tragedy and the way music can aid you through difficult times. And I’d be shocked if most of you BGBers wouldn’t finish this in one sitting.

P.S. — Props to Mr. Sheffield for including some bands that I love but that I don’t think ever got the recognition they deserved (Sloan, Bettie Serveert, Lois, Unrest, Shonen Knife, Love Child, Fuzzy, the Wedding Present, Soul Coughing, and even Teenage Fanclub, who probably should have been the biggest band in the world).

[ed: Lagniappe: Check out this site for an excerpt, hear the author read, listen to some tunes, win a 30 gig iPod. Here's Love is a Mix Tape on MySpace.]

A month or so ago, Nitro wrote a nice overview of the Dave Eggers book What is the What. I won’t repeat her glowing review, which I thought was spot on. I will, however, add this: I went back through my old Believer magazines from 2004 and found the original serialization of what, at the time, was going to be a “biography”- titled “It was Just Boys Walking” (three portions were published in the March, April, and May editions of the mag) – and only later became the “fictional autobiography,” What is the What.

It is a fascinating glimpse into the origin of what would later become a much different book. In the serialized piece, Valentino still goes by the name Dominic Arou (explained in What is the What). The original concept of the book appears to be a narrative that switches back and forth between Eggers journey to Sudan with Valentino/Dominic and Valentino’s story. The pieces with Eggers along for the ride reads almost like a third world travelogue.

As written in these Believer articles, Eggers is prominent on almost every page, if only to provide a western background to the history, explain the politics, or highlight how different the whole experience is from our lives. The genius of What is the What is that Dave Eggers disappears entirely and only Valentino’s story remains.

What blows my mind is that it appears that at some point over this three month process Eggers decided that this book was going to be crap – and he scrapped the whole thing and started over. I won’t argue with him. The man is one of my favorite authors, and this series of articles, while interesting, does not provide anywhere near the experience of reading the “fictional autobiography.” The man knows what he is doing. He apparently trusts himself enough to know when it is time to just start over.

How hard is it to do that – throw away months (years?) of work if you intuit that it just might be done better another way? I don’t know, but it will be the question that I ask Mr. Eggers when I see him read (with Valentino) on Sunday night.

If you’re near the Atlanta metro area this weekend, cancel whatever you thought that you were going to do on Sunday night and come to this reading. It’s at the Center for Southern Literature (CSL) at the Margaret Mitchell House (MMH). An author’s reception begins at 6, the reading starts at 7. Since the novel focuses heavily on Valentino’s time here in Atlanta, I expect that there will be several of the Atlanta Sudanese Lost Boy community at the reading that are sure to provide additional perspective. Sadly, the reading is not free, nor do we have any books to give away for this one. Admission is $10, well worth it for this one, I say. Proceeds benefit the upkeep of the MMH (I think). At any rate, the CSL usually has free eats during the reception and a cash bar. You can reserve a spot (it may sell out) here.

Also: The title has been described elsewhere as “worst ever” – it actually makes total sense int he context of the book. It takes its name from a Sudanese creation myth. Just thought you should know.

Also: I’ve been fooling around with using Google Earth lately to check out geographic areas that I know nothing about while I’m reading about them. Below is a picture of the general area where Valentino’s village Marial Bai is located. See if you can find anything that remotely looks like civilization:

Last night’s reading at Aurora Coffee in Little 5 was attended by a small but enthusiastic group. There was wine on hand, and the lovely Lucy baked a mountain of cookies. They were quite good.  The beauty of a small reading, for the audience anyway, is the ability to talk with the author afterwards without monopolizing their time.

John Sheppard reads from Small Town Punk

Up first was John Sheppard reading from his novel Small Town Punk. I talked briefly with the author after the reading about punk rock movies and cartoons. He thinks that Repo Man did a much better job of capturing the 80’s Reagan-era punk gestalt than SLC Punk, which he hated. I agreed that Repo Man was clearly the superior movie, but I also really enjoyed SLC Punk. The difference in opinions appears to be variable tolerance levels for Matt Lillard. I didn’t realize it until I got the book home, but there is an enthusiastic blurb by Sam Lipsyte, author of Homeland, on the back cover of the book.  Cool.

Evan Mandery reads in front of a backdrop of concert posters

Evan Mandery followed with a reading from his novel Dreaming of Gwen Stefani. About two sentences in, singer Paulo Nuttini cranked things up next door at Criminal Records. While still recovering from that sudden intrusion, there was a loud effeminate yell from outside about a cowgirl singing – or something. These were momentary setbacks. After reading two witty sections of the book, Mandery took questions from the floor. I think we each got at least one question in.

Afterwards, Mandery hipped me to a book that slipped under my radar, personalized my book with a pithy quote from the Woody Allen movie Bananas, and volunteered his e-mail address to talk writing. Capital guy. Capital. His dad was also in attendance, which I think kept us all on our best behavior. Way to plan to ahead, Evan.

And that was it. Each of the authors was gracious and approachable. They genuinely didn’t seem to mind that there was a smaller crowd than they might have hoped. Many thanks to Russ and the gang at Wordsmiths for hosting the event. I hope that they continue to bring us interesting events. I can’t wait for the store to open already.

My family’s original plan for the event was to divide and conquer. I was going to check out the readings, and Mrs. and L’il Cayenne were going to rock out with Paulo Nuttini. Mrs. Cayenne enjoys his song New Shoes, because it’s about – uh – new shoes. However, they decided to bail at the eleventh hour, so I don’t have a report on the Scottish guy playing next door. Based upon the 14-year old girls packing the joint, Paulo must be dreamy.

We’ve carefully selected a winner for our great rock n’ roll book giveaway.  As you may recall, we are giving away a set of two books, Dreaming of Gwen Stefani and Small Town Punk, which will be available for signing at tonight’s literary/musical hootenanny (see link above for full details).  Our winner is Shaft.  Although I’m not sure that I followed his band trail completely, it does include this: “…whose show I saw at the 40 Watt in Athens one night in 1994 shortly before falling down an elevator shaft.”  There is no possible response more punk rock than that.  Congrats, Shaft.  ANYWAY: Tonight, two authors reading, one Scottish dude singing, wine drinking, home made cookies, and the family Cayenne in the house.

Kevin Patterson’s Consumption is a truly amazing novel. It may also be the first piece of Canadian literature that I’ve knowingly read, other than Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale (and John Irving, if we’re going to call him Canadian). It is an epic history of a family, as well as the chronicle of the fundamental and sweeping changes to a culture and a people.

An Inuit child, Victoria, is taken from her family and her village when she tests positive for tuberculosis onboard a government medical ship. She is treated for the disease by a common medical practice of the time, cutting out sections of her ribs so that they would collapse the tubercular sections of her lungs. The removal of sections of her ribs leaves a dent in her side that is as powerful a metaphor for the removal of culture as you’re likely to find.

When the dented and city-wise Victoria is returned to her village after 10 years away, she finds that the world that she thought that she knew is gone. When she left, her people were nomadic and lived off the land. When she returned, nearly everyone had “come in off the land.”

Dog teams were killed (the animals were not bred to make good pets), houses were built, and new jobs had been taken. Government support had come in the form of housing, central clinics, etc. While away, Victoria had spoken mostly in English and Cree. On returning, she found it difficult to communicate with her own family. She had also grown a foot taller than anyone else in the town. She is an outsider in her home town.

Victoria marries the white manager of the store in the village, further isolating herself from her community. In time she has three children. Each of these children adapt and rebel in divergent ways. The extent of the change in the culture of the people from Victoria’s parents’ generation to that of her children is staggering. As you might imagine, there is a fair amount of tragedy to the tale. I won’t give any more of the plot away…

The “consumption” in the title can be interpreted in several ways. Most obviously, consumption refers to the disease tuberculosis, which is now endemic in some arctic communities. The word is also a reference to the consumption of minority cultures by dominant cultures. Another interpretation refers to what Patterson calls the “curse of affluence” – the idea that comfort is a luxury – and one that is not all that good for us physically or spiritually. Greed. The erosion of ethics. In parts, it literally refers to the food that is being consumed. Each of these interpretations is touched upon as one of several central themes in the book.

Patterson’s writing is crisp and to the point. His restraint in the book is commendable, and he avoids the obvious temptation to be overly expository. If you don’t understand this exchange in Inuit, it actually feeds the story in that you too feel like an outsider:

“Ublukatiarak, attatatiak,” Pauloosie said.

“Igvalue, irnuktuq,” Emo answered.

There’s not a ton of this in the book – just enough to make the point. (I also learned that the correct spelling of a shelter made of blocks of ice is “iglu.”) Patterson can also write about native people hunting walrus, beluga whales, caribou, etc. without coming off as a total jackass. You try it.

The descriptions of the harsh and unforgiving environment of Rankin Inlet is as real as any of the characters. Rankin Inlet is, in fact, a real place that is impossibly far north in Hudson Bay. I went looking on Google Earth for virtually all of the place names described, because the were completely foreign to me. Here is what Rankin Inlet looks like:

That’s remote. And cold looking.

Patterson, besides being a gifted author, is also a medical doctor who has spent time living and working in the Arctic. He pokes fun of people like him in the book. In several places in the novel characters take a dim view of people (especially doctors) who come to work in a community for only a few years before leaving to write their book about the experience.

In the Acknowledgments, Patterson says that this book began as a collection of essays about cultural change and epidemiology. A very minor complaint is that it appears that the book ends with those essays slapped onto the last chapter and attributed as the writings of the doctor in the story. This would be really annoying if those essays weren’t completely absorbing. If you’re not as into armchair epidemiology as I am, this may bug you – or not.

My copy of this book is the Canadian edition with the beautiful cover above. When the book comes out in the US in August, it will be sporting the lame-o cover below. Out of focus woman in the snow. How evocative. Boo! If you want to read this book sooner than later, you can get it from Amazon.ca with the BGB-preferred cover. Otherwise, I’ll remind you in August to shop locally. It’s that good.

Special note of thanks to Ragdoll for passing along her extra copy of this book. You rock.

The first chapter of my novel, Michael Drayton, Detective Guy, is up on the First Chapters Writing Contest pages on Gather.com. Anyone who is interested is welcome to read the first chapters of manuscripts and rate them. You just have to sign up for a gather.com membership, which is free. Decisions concerning the first round will be announced on April 3rd.

My advice to one and all is to vote your heart if you vote at all. I’m not going to check either my ratings or any comments, since the possibility of being terribly hurt far outweighs the chance that I won’t.

The guidelines for voting read as follows:

All members who vote in the Competition as well as the Grand Prize judging panel must consider the following criteria equally when judging: 1) Quality of writing (including grammar and spelling); 2) Author’s ability to engage the reader; 3) Originality of the author’s voice; 4) Potential of the finished book in the marketplace.

I think my story scores well on all four counts, but you can never tell how these things will work out.

Anyway, if you’re interested, go take a look. You don’t have to be a member to just read, only vote, so why not go and see what you think. It might turn out to be worth your while.

Hot off the press and to continue with our rockin’ book discussion, comes Jonathan Lethem’s new book, You Don’t Love Me Yet. According to the publisher, this book is a comic novel about “a girl, a boy, their band and the sea of hipsters they swim among.” The reviews aren’t great so far but he’s already offering a film option on the book.

How could this not be a BGB mascot? Speaking of mascot’s – someone should nominate a book that best represents the blog.