I’m working on a review of Danielle Trussoni’s memoir Falling Through the Earth, which I will post on Monday. It’s quite a work and I can see why it got so much praise.
For now, I’m off to go for a run along the Charles, taking advantage of the sun. We New Englanders know that Nature only opens her arms to us every once in a while, so you’ve got to take advantage.
I had a feeling that it would win and it surely deserves the prize. Cormac McCarthy’s The Road beat out all of the rest to win the Rooster. This is a book that’s lingered in my mind many, many months after I’ve read it. This book haunts you.
Coincidentally, Oprah announced yesterday that The Road will be her next selection for the Oprah Book Club. That’s great?
Not me—Robert Birnbaum of course. He sat down with Sigrid Nunez to discuss, among other things, music, writing, Susan Sontag, book tours and author readings, and whatnot. I read The Last of Her Kind at the tail of last year. I found it full of rich prose and powerful characters that stick in your mind.
Intrigued by the idea of the 100 Mile Diet, I eagerly grabbed the galley of this book which details a Vancouverite couple’s year of eating locally. I like the idea, I really do, but I live in New England. If you plug in my zip code on their handy map which will give you your 100 mile boundaries, I saw that I might be in some trouble in winter. But this couple did it, almost ruining their relationship in the meanwhile, but still, they went a whole year. And they were very hardcore. No salt, sugar, whatever, unless is came from a local source.
As for the book, the subject matter is the most interesting aspect of the book. It’s broken up into months and Alisa and James alternate writing the chapters. Their personal lives go through some tumult as Alisa deals with the loss of her grandmother and James tries to get to know his brother better. These parts, while adding some depth to the writers, detract in the end. I wanted to know more about how they persevered. How exactly did they can all those vegetables? I felt like I was getting fleeting glimpses into this diet, rather than the in depth perspective. It’s still an interesting read nonetheless. The chapter they spend in their cabin up North is particularly charming.
I felt rather dirty reading the climatic chapter of McEwan’s upcoming book on the subway last night. This novella recounts Edward and Florence on their first night together as man and wife in 1962. You might have read the first chapterin the New Yorker’s Fiction issue. It’s an odd, intimate book. McEwan carefully dissects this couples’ relationship. He goes almost minute by minute through their awkward honeymoon dinner to the bedroom and the aftermath. Woven into this narrative are flashbacks that help illustrate the complexities of the relationship.
What’s lovely about this novel is the way in which McEwan describes all of these details, letting the reader infer how the characters feel about one another. He also lets you see the class differences between Edward and Florence without it seeming like he’s deliberately pointing them out. At Florence’s family house, Edward is assigned what the family calls the “small room”. “The ‘small room’ was larger than any of the bedrooms at the Turville Heath cottage, and possibly larger than the its sitting room.” It’s too early for the sexual liberation to have reached them. The sexual oppression reaks havoc with their relationship in ways that they can’t even communicate. We the reader understand what each is feeling but they don’t have any idea or have the capability to talk about their nervousness. Edward worries about “arriving to soon” while Florence fears the whole act of sex. She’s even repulsed by French Kissing. Both believe that their love for one another can protect them. What’s remarkable about this book is that McEwan can paint such a wonderful portrait in such a short space. This book might be 176 pages, but it’s a smaller format hardcover—4 1/2″ x 7 1/4″. It’s truly a superb work.
The PEN World Voices schedule has been announced. It’s in NYC, so I’m unable to go, which is too bad—-the lineup looks fabulous. It’s running from April 24th-29th.
Jamestown by Matthew Sharpe has hit the shelves. The Village Voice liked it, the Austin American-Statesman seemed confused. Again, this is one of the best books I’ve read this year (I’ve read a lot of books in 2007).
Leave it to Powells to come up with something so cool:
Ian McEwan will be the subject of the first Out of the Book movie to be made by Powell’s Books, and the director will be Doug Biro, a former RCA Records creative director and director of music videos for Christina Aguilera and Rufus Wainwright, according to today’s New York Times.
The 23-minute video will be unveiled at BEA and shown at screenings June 13-17 through more than 50 bookstores across the country. McEwan’s new novel, On Chesil Beach, will be published on June 5 by Nan A. Talese/Random House. Except for his appearances in the video, McEwan will not tour U.S. bookstores for this title. (from Shelf Awareness)
According to this New York Times article, more than 50 stores will be airing the film—including mine!
It’s been busy here at chez Bookdwarf (you’ve noticed the lack of posts), so I’m just now noticing this dust up between Mark Sarvas and n+1. It’s sort of like watching your parents fight—you love them both and also see the faults in both. I don’t agree with Mark posting the emails, but I also don’t agree with Keith Gessen’s assessment of litblogs.
Honestly, Ed is right in his comment that this seems like a bunch of men sitting around flaunting the size of their penises. I’m tired of people trying to ascertain what “litblogs” are for and what we mean and how much backscratching/backstabbing goes on, etc. Some blogs offer wonderful, thoughtful critiques of literature, some offer gossip about the book industry, many I don’t read because they don’t interest me. And that’s it. I don’t need to worry about what various publications think of me. I’m tired of people trying to pigeonhole my efforts (or lack of) here. Hence, I don’t care what happens in this squabble. It’s a waste of time.
I’m off to Charlottesville, Virginia tomorrow morning, so you won’t hear anything from me until Tuesday. I’m excited that we’re stopping in D.C. for Friday and Saturday before heading to Mr. Bookdwarf’s hometown. I like D.C.—I was there for BookExpo last May. This time I’ll actually be able to see some of the museums, not like last year where I just went in to use their restroom. Not sure what I’m reading on the plane yet. I might read Bill McKibben’s new book Deep Economy or perhaps The Ocean in the Closet by Yuko Taniguchi, an intriguing looking novel coming from Coffee House Press in May. I’ll leave you with a few quick links:
Bookdwarf 