As several other blogs have mentioned, David Foster Wallace has a story on the Maine Lobster Festival (or MLF–a great abbreviation by the way) in the August issue of Gourmet magazine. Now, DFW seems an odd choice for this magazine, but I had to read his article. It was definitely an intriguing and well-written, but almost seemed like two separate articles—one on the actual MLF (snicker) and one on the ethics of eating lobsters. The latter half was the most thought provoking as he debunks the myth that lobsters feel nothing. Today the Boston Globe has an article today on the Gourmet article and the controversy it is causing. Typically thoguh, in Boston Globe fashion, the article is short and does not say too much one way or the other. Unfortunately, the Gourmet article is not available online, but maybe I will post some of the good excerpts from it later.

Maud Newton has a great interview with A.L. Kennedy today.

The only quibble I have with the Guardian is when they try to get me to write less about Iraq than I’d like to. They’ve never toned me down. Then again, they do like pieces with edge and, frankly, will publish frothing nonsense, so long as it might annoy someone – so I don’t really sit back and think that my burning truth is irrestible and sweeps me into their pages by right. (Plus, our news climate is still less conservative than yours – although ludicrously hidebound if your read European papers or watch European TV) I don’t have to wait to be angry – I get news by email for the US/Israel/Sudan/Iraq/etc every day – so I’m angry every day. People dying for no good reasons really annoys me for some reason.

It seems I am not the only one to have picked up a George Apley book recently. I did a lot of things last week to occupy my mind including reading a lot of books and seeing a lot of movies. Marquand’s book is one I finished and I have to say I think it is brilliant. It takes a while for you to realize the tone the author has taken. At times it seems like a serious tribute to a Boston blueblood, but there is this impish tone that comes through in Marquand’s writing. Plus I enjoyed reading about the city in which I live. Boston seems so caught in the past sometimes. Often it feels like the city has one foot in the past and one foot in the future and you don’t know what direction she wants to step.
The Late George Apley is a fascinating portrait of a man caught between lives. Born into an aristocratic family, George Apley was being groomed for a life even before he was born. His feeble attempts at rebellion are sad and you long to shake him out of his stupor. George Apley falls in love with a woman not of his social class, named Mary Monahan. And even though she is a respectable woman in her own circle, their love cannot be. In his love letters to her, you see a glimpse of the man behind the curtain:

Darling: —-
Once and for all I want you to know that I mean every word I tell you. I never knew how dull existence was until I saw you. If your father is worried by my attitude towards you, I think I had better spearl to him myself. I shall gladly tell him what I have told you, that I love you adn want to marry you, and I shall try all my life to make you happy. If my own family were to see how sweet you are, how unuterrably beautiful, they would want it, too. Believe me, believe me, eveything I say I mean….

A brilliantly and subtly written book about a life full of disappointment and regret, Marquand wrote a great satire about Boston brahims. One that even the brahmins believed in apparently.

From the latest issue of Maisonneuve magazine, a story by Stephen Elliott, author of Happy Baby.

“Stop walking into me,” I say. We’re on Sixteenth Street and Bosco keeps brushing agaisnt me and I keep moving further away until I am against the buildings.
“I’m not. You’re walking into me.”
“From now on I’m going to call you Underfoot,” I say. “You see these lines on the sidewalk? Stay on your side of the line.”
“You stay on your side of the line.”
The streets are crowded and the fruit vendors are out. so it’s hard for either of us to stick to our grids. We pass the Victoria Theatre where Hedwig and the Angry Inch in in its final week.

This reminds me of visiting my sister years ago. She moved to NYC soon after graduating college (we went to the same school) and we did not see each other as often. She was in the I’m-out-of-college-and-trying-to-be-grown-up stage and I was in the I’m-out-of-high-school-and-trying-to-be-grown-up stage. It’s funny how just being in certain periods of your life can make talking to a sibling change so much.

Yesterday I attended an event co-hosted by my store and the Progressive Book Club. It was a panel on Books, Politics, and the Culture War with Sidney Blumenthal, Al Franken, Toni Morrison, Joe Conason, and Robert F. Kennedy, Jr. I was impressed. I don’t know about you, but I feel hardened sometimes, especially when it comes to politics. Its too hard and often disappointing to get worked up over issues, especially in the current climate. But the speakers yesterday renewed my political verve, especially Robert Kennedy. Man that guy can talk. Not the greatest orator, but passionate and knowledgeable. Al Franken was hilarious, Toni Morrison eloquent, Sidney Blumenthal well-spoken and Joe Conason’s two cents were worth a lot more.

The August/September issue of Maisonneuve magazine has hit the newstands. Yours truly has a letter to the editor published in it. It is merely a letter I sent saying how much I enjoy reading them. But I am embarassed at the same time because I managed to insult McSweeney’s by name in it too. Great.

The Rake introduced me today to a new blog, Chekhov’s Mistress. It’s nice to meet you! May I say that you have a beautiful blog? Seriously. I have been thinking that this bookdwarf needs some new duds.

Sometimes people think they know everything and they don’t know nothing. It is nice to see a careful and polite response (go here for the less polite response) to what I thought of as a snide and obtuse attack on a great blog.

I read on some blogs last week about Zembla, the hot new literary magazine in London. I tried to check out their website but when I went there, the screen opened so far to the left on my computer, I was unable to do anything with it. But honestly, I was not too upset. This article explains a bit about Zembla:

Often what you read can say as much about your cool cred as your funky home furnishings or your favorite local dive bar. In the United Kingdom, hip authors such as Zadie Smith and Gwendoline Riley are taking on rock-star status among the in-the-know elite.

And these informed readers are proudly touting Zembla, the “it” magazine of the moment. Named after a fictional setting in Vladimir Nabokov’s Pale Fire, this new literary magazine is also attracting the design and fashion crowds. The smart layout and artistic cover have not only lured devotees but also advertisers such as Marc Jacobs, Jil Sander, Christian Dior, Paul Smith and Issey Miyake. Who said bookworms had to look so bookish?

Uhm, yeah. The reason why I bring all this up today, is that the folks over at the LNR Book Diary put a great post about navigating the Zembla web site:

Readers, are you tired of navigable literary magazines? Are you disappointed that you can quickly find and read new articles at 3am and Spike? Would you like to spend more of life lost in a dark flash forest, unable to find the right path? Well, you’re in luck: Zembla Magazine International Literary Magazine is just the ticket!

Moorish Girl beat me to the punch in illuminating folks about 3 new books from Melville House. One of the exciting parts of the day for me is combing through the giant amounts of crap we get in the mail (do you know how many Christian publishers there are out there? I didn’t until I started working in this office). One of the packages today included these same 3 books that Moorish girl mentions. They all seem very interesting and are small attractive paperbacks to boot. Melville House also recently started publishing a series called The Art of the Novella. Included are beautiful small editions of Bartleby the Scrivener by Melville and The Lesson of the Master by Henry James.