Archive for January, 2009

I posted this on my other blog already, but it's so sad. John Updike is dead at age 76.

Just when I thought it was safe to go back in the water…this happens.

It's been a rough week here at Maven Manor. Nearly everyone suffered some kind of setback, rejection, or hurdle — only the Schnauzers remain unscathed by fortune, and they would probably complain of fewer walks if they could talk (shhhh, don't tell them they can't).

It doesn't really matter what the setbacks were, or who had a rougher time overall. All that matters is we keep going.                                                       

Plus, there is welcome change afoot here in our nation's capital, right?

Unfortunately, there is also rumor of an unwelcome change here in our nation's capital. Via Critical Mass, the blog of the National Book Critics Circle (full disclosure: I am a member), comes the news from the proverbial "reliable source" that Washington Post publisher Marcus Brauchli may eliminate the weekly Book World section from the newspaper. 

This is a setback that, if it happens, is going to be significant for a number of people, including the Book World staff, the Washington Post, and the publishing industry. But I believe it will be hardest for readers, who will lose yet another opportunity to learn about books they otherwise never see. 

NBCC President Jane Ciabattari posted this update last Friday. But look at what Brauchli says: "We are absolutely committed to book reviews and coverage of literature, publishing and ideas in the Washington Post." 

Nowhere in that quote does he say anything about Book World. Years ago I heard my fellow NBCC member and longtime Book World critic Michael Dirda speak on a panel about book reviewing. He said when asked about his section that Book World would never go under because then-publisher Donald Graham believed that a national newspaper without a book section was unthinkable.

We'll find out if Brauchli agrees. I hope that he does. But if he doesn't — if Book World is reduced to "Book Region," fighting against stories in the Style section about Michelle Obama's fashion choices and bad reality TV — where will you go for book coverage? NYTBR? NYRB? Bookforum? Harriet Klausner's Amazon reviews?

Welcome to yet another new feature! Now that it’s 2009 and my schedule has lightened up a bit, I plan to try out a slate of regular topics here and see which ones stick (picture blog as kitchen wall, strands of not-quite-al dente pasta strewn across). Earlier this week I wrote the first “Independents Day” post, in which I’ll highlight indie press titles (NB to indie press publicists: If you’d like to send me anything, my email addy is thebookmaven at gmail dot com).

Today I debut another new feature that is less promotional and more personal: “Character Flaws.” In CF, I’ll muse about literary characters who have bothered me over the years for some reason. Sometimes it will be because of who they were, sometimes because of what they did, sometimes simply (see today!) because of their hair color. The idea is twofold: We all get a walk down memory lane, and we can all discuss whether I’m completely right, or completely crazy.

Here’s what started it all: My Friend John and I were discussing something all writers talk about, which is contract negotiation. As I explained something I needed to look up, he laughed and said “You sound like Nancy Drew! It’s all Nancy Drew and the Secret Hidden Advance Payment.” I couldn’t even take umbrage at his taunt, because, well, he was right. I sounded ridiculous.

But what my mind immediately whirred and clicked to was an inner image of one of the old line drawings in the Carolyn Keen series of Nancy with her friends Bess and George, with a car. It’s the same illustration here; why is it so unforgettable?). “You know something?” I said to John. (Actually, I nearly wailed this.) “It used to make me so mad that the only brunette in Nancy Drew books was George, the butch friend. Iwas a girl and I was a brunette and Iliked boys like Ned Nickerson; why couldn’t Nancy or Bess have brown hair?”

Cue tape of John laughing uproariously.

But reader, it’s true. Blondes may not have more fun, gentlemen may not actually prefer them, but they get an awful lot of literary action, especially on the formative kiddie-lit front. Alice in Wonderland? Blonde. Eloise? Well, it’s hard to tell sometimes, but — blonde.  I remember becoming truly enraged when Mary Ingalls got blue hair ribbons and Laura was forced to wear pink ones, their Ma choosing them to match their coloring. I loathed pink and loved blue and wondered why I had to be born with lesser tresses. Even Pippi Longstocking had amazing, cool RED hair.

This is why I preferred the books with talking animals. Mr. Frog and Mr. Toad may not have been female, but at least they were not fettered with flowing blonde locks.

My question for you: Have you ever found yourself harboring an irrational dislike for a literary character? Or (and this is an option) am I completely crazy?

Next time: Sherlock Holmes Goes to AA

Remember how I said a few weeks back that I’d start an “Independents Day” feature?

Man, am I unreliable.

If there’s anyone out there still reading this blog, thank you. The month of December took its annual toll on me (and probably you, too, regardless of your religious affiliations and/or willingness to participate in the celebrations associated with said affiliations).

Besides, I know how hard it is to keep up with and keep reading any kind of online content, let alone a blog about books. Honk, shhhhhhh…could anything inspire more boredom? There are plenty of other book bloggers out there, if you really wanted to read about reading, and you’d probably rather read about scandals, shopping, and Scotch.

That is, if you’re anything like me.

Yet I know there are still a few, ye happy few, ye band of stalwarts, who still come back to book blogs and book news and book reviews and actually pay attention. It’s for ye that (who?) I write.

Thus, I kick off 2009′s regular blogging with…”Independents Day,” a feature in which I’ll spotlight a different book each week from an independent publisher (if you’re an independent publisher and you’re reading this, feel free to send me press releases: thebookmaven at gmail dot com). I’ll save my Maven-festo re indies for later this week and get right to the review:

A week or three ago, the good folks at Soft Skull sent me a box of books with no press releases whatsoever. The gods of serendipity must have been smiling upon Nancy Spiller, since the first volume I nabbed from the pile was her new, debut Entertaining Disasters: A Novel (With Recipes).

How delicious! Regular Book Maven readers will know from ages back (at least in blog years) that I love memoirs, with recipes (as opposed to “memoirs with recipes.” The two are entirely different. If you don’t see why, feel free to email me at the above address and listen to my not necessarily well-thought-out rant).

The book starts out cute: Freelance “food writer” FW (get it? get it?) admits that she’s been penning a column for a West Coast newspaper for years that she simply makes up whole cloth. She hasn’t held a dinner party in at least a decade, and her spouse Somebody ( a he, not that it matters) seems entirely oblivious to the neurotic mess living with him. (Either that, or he’s biding his time; one of the intriguing flaws of this book is that the reader isn’t sure.)

So, things sound like a darling, Kate Jacobsen-esque women’s novel. We’ll watch a chic, harried FW negotiate her way through dinner party prep while “Somedbody” becomes more and more endearing, beleaguered, and crucial to the final success of the whole thing.

Uh-uh.

(See, this is why it’s sometimes fun to be a book review blogger rather than a book critic; you can throw in the odd “Uh-uh” and no one is going to blue pencil your deathless prose. Or is that “deathly?”)

Nope. There’s more to FW than meets the eye, or tastebuds. She can bake a mean raspberry-glazed cheesecake, but she’s more than familiar with bark-flavored frog stew. The lady regrets she’s not able to lunch today because her past is overwhelming her dinner party. Or is she just delusional?

You’ll have to read Entertaining Disasters to find out, but I guarantee you’ll enjoy the experience. FW is less Martha Stewart than Martha Mitchell, less Bess Truman than Truman Capote. She knows where the bodies are buried, and she knows that it’s best to let them simmer a bit longer, too.