Take it with you

One of the most exciting things about taking a trip is leaving responsibilities behind: To me, this opens up wide expanses of unspoken-for time. No grad school presentation prep, no comp class planning. And I can read, read, READ! — with the all the enthusiasm of a mad, gleeful Frankenstein.

Too much enthusiasm. That's a photo of some of the reading material I brought with me on my literary road trip. You might notice that it begins with James Joyce's "Ulysses" (it's about time I stopped avoiding this iconic work of modernist literature). We all know "Ulysses" is quite enough to tackle, but I brought along a huge bagful of other books and magazines I was itching to read — just in case I whipped through "Ulysses" in no time.

The first night, I read all of the first line ("Stately, plump Buck Mulligan came from the stairhead, bearing a bowl of lather on which a mirror and a razor lay crossed.") before falling asleep.

The thing I fail to remember when packing is that time away isn't the block of empty space that it appears to be in my calendar. There are people to meet, meals to be eaten, places to visit, drinks to be imbibed, discussions to be had. Even sleep to be slept. All which makes travel worthwhile.

So maybe it would take reaching my destination before I made significant "Ulysses" progress. I probably wouldn't get to all the other books I packed, but you can read on for what I might have read, had I not been distracted by that margarita:

Carolyn Kellogg

Move over, Izaak Walton

The following few words for Memorial Day come to us from Chris Yates, whose lovely book “How to Fish”  was just published by The Overlook Press this month:

The obvious temptation now, after I've spent the last hour or so taking dictation from the river,is to cast again and try for another perch. Like any other angler who's just made a catch, I'm always fairly eager to get my line back in the water, but if I've just landed something special I feel it's not only dishonourable to the fish but also to the occasion if I don't pause to properly appreciate the moment. For now, I still feel a three-pounder is just too glorious to share the day with anyfish else.... I don't need a barrowful; all I ever hope is that, every now and then, some brilliant creature rises out of the secrecy of its river so I can rejoice in it and make a definite you-are-real-after-all contact.

If you can’t read this blog item, then I hope it means you are far from any computer, experiencing exactly the kind of quiet gestures of satisfaction that Yates is talking about.

If you are reading this item, promise that you will log off soon and, if the weather permits where you are, go outside and sit on the grass.

Nick Owchar

Josef Fritzl and Austrian literature

Many were horrified by the recent news, from Austria, that a man named Josef Fritzl had imprisoned his daughter in a cellar for 24 years and had seven children by her. One of the children had died, reports say, while three lived with her in a prison-like cellar and three lived normal lives upstairs with Fritzl and his wife.  In all those years the neighbors did not suspect a thing. 

Readers of the novels and plays of Thomas Bernhard, however, have always been aware of a much darker reality. Bernhard's novels "Gargoyles," "Correction," "Frost," "The Lime Works" and "Extinction" immediately come to mind. In fact, a recent TLS article —"Josef Fritzl's Fictive Forebears" — Ritchie Robertson discussed an earlier Austrian literature that seemed to fully acknowledge a long history of such creeps as Fritzl and reminded me to take down from the shelf a story by Adalbert Stifter, "Tourmaline," included in "Limestone and Other Stories" (translated by David Luke and published by Harcourt Brace & World in 1968).

In "Tourmaline" we listen as a girl tells some of her story:

"He [the father] taught me a great many things and told me a lot of stories.  He always locked the door when he went out. When I asked him what he wanted me to write as an exercise while he was away, he would answer: 'Describe how one day I shall lie dead in my coffin and they will bury me.'  And then I said: 'But, Father, I've described that often already.' He would answer: 'Then describe how your mother wanders about the world in the torment of her heart, and how she dares not return, and how in the end she does away with herself in despair.'  When I said: 'Father, I've described that as well many times already,' he would answer: 'Then describe it again.'... I would climb the ladder and look out through the window grating.  There I could see the hems of women's dresses going past and I saw men's boots and fine coattails or the four feet of a dog...."

Stifter takes a little getting used to, but a detail like "the four feet of a dog"  eases his writing into the memory permanently. Stifter's dates are 1805-1868.  At the end of his life, he developed cirrhosis of the liver and on Jan. 25, 1868, slashed his throat and died two days later.

Thomas McGonigle

Of sewers and labyrinths

Denise Hamilton's review of Rick Riordan's "The Battle of the Labyrinth," in our section last week, gave us this fascinating image of Daedalus' maze:

"Riordan's genius is in reimagining classic myths for the 21st century, making them relevant to young adult readers while staying true to the spirit of the originals. 'Battle of the Labyrinth' focuses on the sinister maze where Theseus slew the Minotaur. But the labyrinth isn't under a palace in Crete anymore; it lies just below the mortal world, where 'it's been growing for thousands of years, lacing its way under Western cities, connecting everything together underground.' "

Now, in the new issue of Book Review, comes an unexpected echo in Chris Daley's take on, well, shoot, Los Angeles' sewer system. The book that Daley assesses for us is Anna Sklar's "Brown Acres: An Intimate History of the Los Angeles Sewer System," published by Angel City Press. The review looks at a fascinating and obviously overlooked aspect of life in the city, and I couldn't help but detect a faint whiff (sorry, couldn't resist) of the myth in this statement: "To call the process of building the underground network of pipes and ultimately a sewage treatment plant Herculean would be an understatement."

The one word that unsettles me in the book's title is "intimate" — what does that mean? As far as I can tell from the publisher's site, Sklar didn't take the plunge like a latter-day Jean Valjean as part of her research. Thank goodness.

Read the rest of Daley's review here or peruse the entire issue of the Los Angeles Times Book Review here.

Nick Owchar

Being a freelance critic for $25

Freelance writers put up with a lot: Publishers Weekly is paying even less now for the brief reviews of forthcoming books that are a hallmark of every issue. The rate of $50 per review is dropping to $25. That's what Galley Cat reported this week, and that's what one of our contributors, very disgruntled about it, told me as well.

"Please know that we value the work you do for us," the announcement said, "and we sincerely hope you will continue to review for PW. Your astute reading and writing are what makes our magazine so valuable in the industry and we regret this necessary action. All of us here are also experiencing change but we expect that we will continue to be the gold standard in book reviewing."

This week PW's editor in chief, Sara Nelson, responded at Critical Mass, the blog of the National Book Critics Circle board of directors, and it's worthwhile to go there and read her comment and those who respond to it. I can't help but see both sides: In difficult times, no area of a budget is off limits. On the other hand, $25? There is a potential bright side in all of this, as pointed out by our frustrated contributor. She said that, for really fast readers, $50 was "a bit of pocket change to depend on.... I'm guessing this will ditch all the pros from PW's pages." If that happens, then maybe they should look us up. We're easy to find.

Nick Owchar

Experience the literary roadtrip, in video

Why don't I go to William Faulkner's house?

Carolyn Kellogg

Laura and Jenna 'Read All About It'

 

It's no simple task when Laura and Jenna Bush roll into Los Angeles for a book reading.

At 10 a.m., three hours before the First Lady and daughter took the stage at the L.A. Central Library, there were upward of 30 police officers milling about at the top of the grandiose escalators that creep down four stories beneath Grand Avenue. Outside, 17 Crown Victorias of varying neutral hues lined the no-parking zone on Flower Street.

The reading was to promote Laura and Jenna Bush's new children's book, "Read All About It."  At an invitation-only event for supporters of the Los Angeles Public Library and the Library Foundation of Los Angeles,  Laura and Jenna read from the book and took some questions in front of an audience of second-graders from Esperanza Elementary School and predominately well-heeled women. 

With invitees arriving around noon, the Bush family was held up half an hour. In total, the reading and questions took about 20 minutes.

"Jenna just happened to have a friend in San Francisco who's getting married this weekend, so we were happy to stop by," Laura said, taking her seat. During her introduction she also spoke briefly about the Big Read operation, which is a kind of book exchange program with Egypt where Americans are introduced to authors like Naguib Mahfouz while Egyptians, in turn, get to read selected American authors.

Mrs. Bush sat next to the newly married Mrs. Jenna Bush Hager--fresh and alarmingly tanned from a European honeymoon -- and together, they took turns reading from their book as illustrations were projected onto a screen behind them. Both the second-graders and the adults had copies placed in their seats to facilitate reading along.

And what of the book itself?

A writer's take on the new New Orleans

New Orleans today: a restored house next to one that remains vacant. Photo by Carolyn Kellogg.

Pia Z. Ehrhardt is the author of the book Famous Fathers and Other Stories; she has won many awards, including the 2005 Narrative Prize. She makes her home in New Orleans and, although she didn't know me from any other intrusive blogger, she graciously agreed to show me around. Before she'd finished, I was ready to move there. Erhardt sat down with Jacket Copy to talk about her hometown and her work:

Jacket Copy: How long have you lived in New Orleans and what do you like about the city?

Pia Z. Ehrhardt: I've lived in New Orleans since 1980, after leaving Mississippi to elope with my first husband. The marriage only lasted five shaky years, but I stayed put. I feel like I've been in a 30-year, up-and-down love affair with a city.

A lane of Live Oaks, shortly after Hurricane Katrina hit on Aug. 29, 2005. Photo by Pia Z. Erhardt.

JC: How did the transformations caused by Hurricane Katrina in affect your relationship to and perception of New Orleans?

PZE: When I first returned to New Orleans in October (for the day, because my son and I were living in Houston for the fall semester), I saw a knocked apart, deeply wounded city and it broke my heart, because I didn't know how to help, what to do, how to grieve. It was like watching someone you love suffer and the prognosis is iffy at best. But this a fiercely resilient place. Everything was the color of ash, but within a few months, green started poking through, grass, new leaves, and bushes that had stayed under polluted water for three weeks flowered. People dragged their belongings out to the street, and they were moving ahead, trying to reclaim their homes and businesses and lives. So you keep going on bits of hope and progress. This is a patient and proud and steadfast town, as are its people, and, come to find out, so am I.

More after the jump.

Unexpected roadtrip finds

I never know what I'll find on the road — for example, I was driving through Georgia and whizzed past this enormous peach on a pole.

In a more literary vein, later on I heard Mississippi public radio promote its upcoming special on Eudora Welty (to broadcast Sunday, May 25, or online here). Recorded at Symphony Space in New York earlier this month as part of the Selected Shorts series, the special includes readings of three Welty stories, biographer Suzanne Marrs and, as emcee, writer Ann Patchett. Guided tours of Welty's home in Jackson, Miss., are available Wednesdays-Fridays with advance reservations.

Still further down the road — Interstate 10, to be exact — after crossing from Mississippi into Louisiana, I suddenly found myself on the Stephen E. Ambrose Memorial Parkway. Ambrose, who died of cancer five years ago, wrote the well-known WWII books "Band of Brothers" and "D-Day." To honor his work with the National D-Day Museum in New Orleans, a segment of the I-10 was renamed for the famed historian in 2004. Which makes sense, but it certainly was a surprise.

Carolyn Kellogg

Don't forget what went into that book

Matt Bell's personal writing milestone, recorded in his blog post "100,000!," should be a splash of cold water to readers and reviewers everywhere.

In our Book Review offices, editorial assistants deliver finished books and galleys by the boatload. It's not an exaggeration (maybe even a little conservative) to estimate that we receive 300 to 400 books daily. That can lead to insensitivity if you're not careful. Someone else's long, intense labor can become the flavor of the moment until the next load arrives. I've been susceptible to that, and Bell's post is just the right antidote. He writes of his own manuscript:

It took 132 days to get here, which means an average of 726 words per day -- Sounds low, doesn't it?  My biggest word count gain in a single day was 2,390 words, and I've only had four days where I wrote over 2,000 words. My writing goal for the novel is five days a week, at least two hours or a thousand words a day.

Another interesting aspect of the writing life is captured in the blurb on the back of "Guernica," a novel coming from Bloomsbury in September. Yes, it arrived in today's deluge. The book tells the story of many lives in a Basque fishing village during the Spanish Civil War. The accompanying publicity material, seeking to draw parallels with other works, likens the novel to "The English Patient" and "Captain Corelli's Mandolin." More interesting to me was a comment about its author, Dave Boling, a sportswriter for the Tacoma News Tribune: The novel was written "almost entirely on the road as Boling traveled with the Seattle Seahawks football team..."

I've heard novelists explain that composing a novel roots them to one place and a predictable routine. Anything more disruptive threatens their concentration. Boling had no choice, of course. But I'm curious to know a little more about how constant travel, changing hotel rooms and sports deadlines detracted from -- or aided? -- his composing of this tale. You can be sure Jacket Copy will talk to him when the novel appears this fall.

Nick Owchar