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March 04, 2007

Comments

janitorman

You ever notice how Nabokov, the writer, is, in the States, often still pronounced "Nahbahkov", weak stress on the second syllable, but Nabokov, the goaltender, is pronounced in match commentary as "Nahbakoff", greater stress on the second syllable with the terminal Russian "v". Perhaps saying little about the literacy of hockey commentators but saying a whole hell of a lot about their skillful multi-language surname pronunciation abilities.

And, yeah, the old man is indeed king of the blocker save.

Jeff

Josh, finished your book this weekend, nearly in one sitting, and absolutely loved it. Great twist on a tired concept. Anyway, did you happen to see this story which crossed the wire this afternoon:

http://www.cnn.com/2007/US/03/05/workplace.shooting.ap/index.html

Not to imply that you're collecting such stories or anything, just thought it was interesting that it happened at a "press". One wonders if a proofreader got a little tired of correcting the same thing.

Dan Wickett

Josh,

Hope you can make it out to Shaman Drum tomorrow night at 7 p.m. (Tuesday). Local writer Steven Gillis will be reading from his new short story collection, Giraffes.

Poornima

Josh:

At the risk of sounding like a teen groupie, I simply loved, loved, loved your book! Any chance you will swing by Boston on a book tour?

Josh

Thanks for all your kind words about TWCTTE.

I'm not sure I'll be in Boston, but I'll holler loud from the building tops if I am.
jpf

Jake

Hello, Guest Blogger Josh. I sent an e-mail to the regular link about a possible post of interest, but the e-mail bounced with a message saying that Mark won't be reading until March 12. Do you have an e-mail address you care to share?

Julia Martin

Josh: Must chime in with an enormous rave for ATWCTTE. Alas, it transcends mere recommendation, and requires that I press copies into people's hands. Frayed friendships, and my Amazon bill, are on your head.

Although not a word evidences strain, I can but imagine the work required to produce such a pitch-perfect piece. It reminded me, in that respect, of A Short History of a Small Place. Given that your novel's setting necessarily eschewed florid elements such as dialect or monkeys, the accomplishment is that much more stunning.

And that sadness: seeping up from the dirty carpet and filling the cubicles to engulf you at the end!

I was reminded of these lines from Bishop's The Filling Station:
---------------------------------
Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe. Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:
ESSO--SO--SO--SO

to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.
--------------------

Surely -- surely! -- you will come read to us in Chicago?

Josh

Julia -- those are beautiful lines from Bishop. Thanks for sharing them -- never seen them before. And another thanks for your outrageously kind remarks about TWCTTE. I will be in Chicago, at the Borders on Clark & Diversey, on the 21st of March. I think the reading's at 7:30. I hope to see you there.

Dan -- sorry I couldn't make it to Shaman Drum on Tuesday. Official UMich activities kept me busy.

Jake -- try me at [email protected]

Julia Martin

Josh:

Ask and ye shall! I am so pleased, and definitely will cheer from the back.

In honor of your Chicago visit, we've slated 45 minutes of Spring. Post-rime, intra-slush: dress accordingly.

Two thoughts:

(1) Advise Golden Rule Jones of the details, as you don't yet appear on his master schedule. And who wouldn't crave inclusion with the upcoming H.P. Lovecraft Ice Cream Social?

(2) Remember that C&D Borders has large mezzanine space available (underused kids section), as alternative to frenzied first floor.

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TEV DEFINED


  • The Elegant Variation is "Fowler’s (1926, 1965) term for the inept writer’s overstrained efforts at freshness or vividness of expression. Prose guilty of elegant variation calls attention to itself and doesn’t permit its ideas to seem naturally clear. It typically seeks fancy new words for familiar things, and it scrambles for synonyms in order to avoid at all costs repeating a word, even though repetition might be the natural, normal thing to do: The audience had a certain bovine placidity, instead of The audience was as placid as cows. Elegant variation is often the rock, and a stereotype, a cliché, or a tired metaphor the hard place between which inexperienced or foolish writers come to grief. The familiar middle ground in treating these homely topics is almost always the safest. In untrained or unrestrained hands, a thesaurus can be dangerous."

SECOND LOOK

  • The Bookshop by Penelope Fitzgerald

    Bs

    Penelope Fitzgerald's second novel is the tale of Florence Green, a widow who seeks, in the late 1950s, to bring a bookstore to an isolated British town, encountering all manner of obstacles, including incompetent builders, vindictive gentry, small minded bankers, an irritable poltergeist, but, above all, a town that might not, in fact, want a bookshop. Fitzgerald's prose is spare but evocative – there's no wasted effort and her work reminds one of Hemingway's dictum that every word should fight for its right to be on the page. Florence is an engaging creation, stubbornly committed to her plan even as uncertainty regarding the wisdom of the enterprise gnaws at her. But The Bookshop concerns itself, finally, with the astonishing vindictiveness of which provincials are capable, and, as so much English fiction must, it grapples with the inevitabilities of class. It's a dense marvel at 123 pages, a book you won't want to – or be able to – rush through.
  • The Rider by Tim Krabbe

    Rider_4

    Tim Krabbé's superb 1978 memoir-cum-novel is the single best book we've read about cycling, a book that will come closer to bringing you inside a grueling road race than anything else out there. A kilometer-by-kilometer look at just what is required to endure some of the most grueling terrain in the world, Krabbé explains the tactics, the choices and – above all – the grinding, endless, excruciating pain that every cyclist faces and makes it heart-pounding rather than expository or tedious. No writer has better captured both the agony and the determination to ride through the agony. He's an elegant stylist (ably served by Sam Garrett's fine translation) and The Rider manages to be that rarest hybrid – an authentic, accurate book about cycling that's a pleasure to read. "Non-racers," he writes. "The emptiness of those lives shocks me."