David can be reached at the following email address davidwthayer at msn.com
Archive for May, 2006
Book Scanning Robot Apprehended
Sunday, May 14th, 2006The state of the art page turning robot employed to digitize university libraries surrendered to authorities outside Wellington Leg after a low speed pursuit involving units from HRH Copyright Strike Force. The robot fled while preparing to add Voltaire’s Miasma, the earl’s masterwork, to a collection at Inagaddavida University in the towne’s leafy northern suburbs. “We think it began reading,” said Viscount Eduardo of the Metro Police, “we think it made a judgment call.”
A discarded Google glove led investigators to a bench in Gorky Park where the earl was snoozing. The earl reported that he had been playing catch with “that Swiss fellow.” The Swiss fellow was, of course, the fugitive robot. “In retrospect,” the earl confessed, “I realize that, despite my exhortations, he never caught the ball.” Indeed the robot’s faceplate was dented in several places.
“Playing catch with a book scanning robot is the height of irresponsibility,” huffed DCI Borchardt. “Small wonder we endure such lawlessness upon the land and between the hills and defiles where the wild things grow.”
The Mother’s Day Parade is scheduled for noon, reports Mrs. Chalfont-Smythe, chair of the parade committee. Her chapbook, Busted Flat in Satin Shoes, wil be scanned as soon as the robot is released from custody. “It made bail,” said Chalfont-Smythe, “One can only speculate as to why a russet potato was affixed to its faceplate.”
She pointed that the earl often carries russet potatoes “on or about his person.” She added, “Literature is suffering today.” Police remind everyone that snoozing in Gorky Park is forbidden unless “one is involved or plans to be involved in an activity which snoozing is an integral part thereof or in anticipation of same.”
Working in the Post Kaavya World
Saturday, May 13th, 2006James Frey revealed that portions of My Friend Leonard were fabricated with particular attention to both his jail time and a character called Porterhouse. The story was broken by the Associated Press and caused your reporter to reflect on Frey, Ms. Viswanathan, the state of the publishing business, our little corner of the world. My sympathy index remains lodged in Kaavya’s Korner where as cut man and towel boy I extend some solace to a young woman who has been royally screwed, albeit with a little DIY assistance from herself. Frey is a whole other matter.
“The fault lies not with the gods, but with ourselves, Dear Brutus.” I may have mangled that quotation from Julius Caesar. This reporter reacts badly to the sight of James Frey, very badly, and that’s a bit of a mystery since powerful but inexplicable responses cannot go unexamined. I have to go all the way back to childhood where lurked my nemesis Tank. He and I went three rounds in the schoolyard until the referee called a draw. We got detention. We went five rounds a year later and fought with each other on sight. When we were twelve we went at each other so hard that our teeshirts fell apart from all the punches we landed. After that we were okay. I broke my nose playing baseball, so even a tap was painful. He knew that and never went for my nose, so Tank was a standup guy.”So wise so young they say never do live long.”
It’s probably not fair but I think Frey is the kind of guy who would tap us on the nose. Even as Oprah’s manifest frustration beamed into our living rooms it did not serve. “My words fly up, but my thoughts remain below. Words without thoughts never to heaven go.”
Your reporter could be wrong about Frey. Before slaughtering any more of Shakespeare’s plays, it might be wise to pause and reflect. Our schoolyard is plenty big and we can avoid one another. One more detention and I’m suspended.
Hogs Seize City Hall
Friday, May 12th, 2006Dateline: Goth, Armbruster Toll reporting. This sleepy village on the banks of the River Sticks shuddered to a standstill this morning after its historic city hall and rotunda were seized by the earl’s hogs. Business at the courthouse and the office of the county clerk had to be cancelled. Bob Shantz, who had stopped by to register for the Mister Goth Contest, said the hogs invaded the first floor before punching all the buttons in the elevators. Bob, last year’s Mr. Goth, said he tore off his shirt and flexed his biceps to prevent the hogs from rooting through a stack of marriage licenses. “They turned tail and ran,” he said.
Mr. Shantz reported being “buffeted” by several hogs. Buffeting is forbidden in Goth by a statute that dates to the time of Charlemagne. Constable JCH Constable and Sergeant AJC Sergeant cleared the rotunda before the arrival of Captain Hook, who took command of the situation. “All of the weekend weddings will proceed on schedule,” he said. Constable Constable is himself engaged to a Goth woman.
Before they withdrew, the hogs set the musak to play “My Sharona” in a continuous loop. The Mister Goth Contest will not be postponed said the Sheriff of Nottingham. “The business of the city of Goth will continue,” he vowed. Technicians expect “My Sharona” will continue playing through next Tuesday. A Mrs. Foldenblumen of nearby Henley Hornbrook alertly used her cellular phone to photograph the carnage. The gilt frame portrait of Hizzoner appears askew in one dramatic shot. For the Druidical & Literary this is Armbruster Toll saying good night and is it just a trick of my mind, Sharona?
Geoffrey Chaucer Hath a Blog, My Sister Hath an Agent
Friday, May 12th, 2006It isn’t often I mention Chaucer and my sister Terri in the same sentence. The last time was one of those childhood brawls involving Chaucer, elbows and Chef Boyardee. Terri signed with Jessica Faust of Bookends LLC. Soon it will be soirees with the swells at the Waldorf and my brothers, sister Kate, will have our noses pressed against the glass while security guards shoo us away in the middle of the worst blizzard in history. “We’re relatives!” we’ll cry as Terri’s limo pulls from the curb. It’ll be just like a family wedding. Congratulations Terri, and when your book is out, it will get a big fat glowing review here.
Meanwhile Geoffrey is dispensing advice to the lovelorn at his blog. And, with Hideki Matsui gone for a while plenty of advice will be required. Sources close to the Yankees think the earl will be called up from Single A Fiji. “Right now they’re close to a deal,” said reporter Bobby G. “They’re hung up on his motorized golf cart.”
Professor Moriarity is not so sanguine. From his cottage near Newburyport, in the heart of Bosox country, the professor had this to say: “Installing a fictional character in left field is fraught with difficulties. They’ll have to employ a full time writer to animate him. Even a Google bot would have a hard time tracking a screaming liner in the corner.”
“Redford did it. Wesley Snipes played center field,” Bobby G pointed out. “My work station is in a stairwell. How hard is left field?”
Dan Conaway and the Enigma Factor, Part One
Thursday, May 11th, 2006Dan Conaway knows about the enigma factor. An executive editor at Putnam, Dan electrified the lit blog community with his Mad Max blog and may have been the first publishing executive to wear a gorilla suit to BEA. He emerged from behind the Mad Max persona to blog about Sara Gran’s novel Dope; as far as I know he’s also one of the few senior editors to embrace the Repo Man Code. Dan has developed an idea called The Enigma Factor along the lines of Malcolm Gladwell’s Blink. He wonders how this element of mystery applies to blogging and now, thanks to Dan, I’m wondering the same thing.
Blink is about the two second rule of thinking, instant cognitions. I’ll post a link to an interview with Malcolm Gladwell rather than rehash his thesis. The genesis of this conversation is a remark I made about why this blog is popular in Japan; my theory is they don’t understand what I’m saying.
A more interesting idea is this: I don’t understand what I’m saying. If that sounds odd, let’s take a look at novelists, all novelists. I would be wiiling to bet that every novelist who has ever lived is astounded by the reaction to their work, amazed by the interpretation of critics and readers, that in their private selves examine their pages and think, “That isn’t what I said.”
The enigma factor is not limited to literature. Keith Richards fell out of a tree on Fiji. Aside from the fact that this is something I’d like to do, the simple headline generates mystery after mystery. Is Keith all right? The only news source seems to be the E! Network whose coverage of celebrities falling out of trees is suspect at best. Equally not up to the task are the police in Suva who simply confirm that Keith fell from a coconut palm. Did he want a coconut? Don’t coconuts fall when ripe? Wouldn’t a band like The Rolling Stones have experts on staff to answer questions like that?
Dan, I’m failing miserably at developing your thesis. Perhaps you, faithful reader, have thoughts about the enigma factor. I think we’re joined at the hip, we humans, in this collective misunderstanding, and that the enduring value of literature may be to capture moments of confusion and preserve them for future generations. They can say, boy, those people were really dense, they fell out of coconut trees when everyone knows that the coconut, it comes to you.
Quick Note to the American Dry Cleaning Association
Wednesday, May 10th, 2006This isn’t a dry cleaning blog and it pains me to confess I didn’t know there was such a thing. Anyway I appreciate all the traffic and hope you guys enjoy a book or two when you’re not blogging about dry cleaning.
Dazed and Confused
Wednesday, May 10th, 2006Oops I almost emailed Lee Goldberg my latest chapter in the wee hours. Thankfully the earl awoke with a start after test driving his new John Deere. A man atop a riding mower is a man in full. The sight of him bearing down brought me to my senses.
Cornelia Read and Cara Black were at M is for Mystery Bookstore in San Mateo last night. I hope to see a full report on the event over at Naked Authors. Roman forces had beseiged San Mateo briefly but have since withdrawn north of the Golden Gate; they seem to think that the Petaluma River has strategic value. General Rumsfeld has promised a swift victory. Perhaps he’ll cross the Petaluma in a dinghy. Bona fortuna!
Bill Crider’s novel A Mammoth Murder has several references to feral hogs. It’s a smooth read. Isn’t Alvin Texas where Nolan Ryan is from? Is that a sentence? Speaking of Nolan Ryan the earl may soon join the Yankees rotation after last night’s debacle at the Stadium. The earl dominated the Wellington Leg All Stars with six innings of shutout ball last weekend. The game was called after the clean up hitter began crying. T-ball is tough.
In The Marketplace of Ideas
Tuesday, May 9th, 2006A common complaint about corporate owned publishers is that they value profit above all else, that they create products rather than books, brand authors, pump the handful at the peak of the pyramid. In this respect corporate publishers are like cereal makers, auto manufacturers, or steel fabricators, hell bent on beating or meeting quarterly targets, pressured by beancounters into compromising their standards for the sake of the bottom line. This profit motive has ruined the business, ushered in an era of mediocrity, rendered resistance futile through the sheer vitality of greed.
I’m going to say that it ain’t so. What drives corporations isn’t the desire for profit, but fear of uncertainty. I was able to capture one of these conglomerated beancounters in an imaginary smoke filled bar. We’ll call him Marty. In the third grade Marty and I sat next to one another; I wanted to be a fireman. Marty wanted to be an actuary. He’s still wary of me because he thinks I set his lunch bag on fire in the Sixth Grade. I’m like, Marty, get a hold of yourself and do this interview.
Marty works for Gigunda Corporation as CFO. Due to Sarbanes-Oxsley considerations Marty declined to be photographed. Gigunda owns every publisher in the world, has a toy division, centralized purchasing in Goa, which is accidentally cool, and manufacturers scissors that come with the warning, “don’t run with these, you knuckleheads.” Marty wants a Harley, but owns a Vespa, lives in New Jersey, works in Manhattan, is divorced, and believes his ex-wife may be cheating on him.
Marty, why did you buy all those publishers?
We have a corporate mandate to buy things and so, we do. The scissors division was throwing off excess cash flow and we had the litigation sequestered through aggressive use of finite risk, although, Jesus, they won’t stop running with scissors.
Well since you bought all those publishers literary culture is suffering. You guys keep shelling out huge advances for celebs. How come?
Uh, well, huge to me is a hundred million. Or five hundred million, unhedged. How big are the advances?
Alan Greenspan got seven million.
Uh huh, that’s not a lot of money. R&D for the second generation Slinky is over two billion. The new Slinky is made of a an alloy that deflects radar. What do we give the average author?
Five, ten grand.
Then what?
They deliver a book. You publish it.
What about children’s books?
Yeah you publish those.
We’re not employing children at those wages, are we?
No, the books are written by adults.
Man, you had me going. Well, I’m sorry that I ruined literary culture, but take a look at commodity pricing, take a look at the yuan imbalance, we all going to fall into that abyss, let me tell you. I could live with a bad quarter, or even consecutive bad quarters, but I can’t live with the negative arbitrage of literature versus derivatives at this point in the business cycle.
Marty, can I have a hundred million dollar advance for my next book?
It’s not up to me. We have a matrix of decision makers in each discipline and besides, you set my lunch bag on fire, creating an enduring sense of uncertainty that haunts me to this day. You made your bed, mister, you lie in it.
Wow, Marty destroyed literary culture because he was pissed off at me. My face is red.