“To know that no one before you has seen an organ you are examining, to trace relationships that have occurred to no one before, to immerse yourself in the wondrous crystalline world of the microscope, where silence reigns, circumscribed by its own horizon, a blindingly white arena — all this is so enticing that I cannot describe it.”

- Vladimir Nabokov

ColoradoGuy over at the Absolute Write Water Cooler is shepherding an interesting thread, spun off of this Times piece (which is, in turn, spun off the actual books reviewed therein, of course) on the endurance and evolution of humor through the ages of civilization.

Good stuff for pranksters and pedants alike, and definitely worth a perusal.

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Another casualty in the war of the relevance of print book reviews - The LA Times looks to discontinue their Sunday book review section.

But on their newsblog, The LA Times did have a fun article questioning a few book critics on whether they ever regretted a review they’d given.

The CBBC reviews Bear Grylls’, GOLD OF THE GODS. Is it good news when the author’s name is bigger than anything else on the cover?

Here’s a title sure to send my carpal tunnel singing - deep breath, here we go - THE LAST REAL SEASON: A HILARIOUS LOOK BACK AT 1975 WHEN MAJOR LEAGUERS MADE PEANUTS, THE UMPIRES WORE RED, AND BILLY MARTIN TERRORIZED EVERYONE. Phew. It’s about baseball and The National Sports Review didn’t love it.

The top ten books on ventriloquism. No, seriously.

F. Scott Fitzgerald’s courtship of Zelda Sayre:

Neil Powell takes on Kingsley and Martin Amis in a critical biography, and Peter Craven (writing for The Age) deems it “silly and sickening”.

The Guardian’s Stuart Evers laments the absence of Bernard Malamud from the current literary scene.

Del Rey Books and Epic Games join forces to produce Gears of War trilogy.

Google to host Bengali literary works and classic films.

R.I.P. Nancy Burdick Galbraith

“My instinct as an individualist and artist has always warned me most urgently against this capacity of men for becoming drunk on collective suffering, collective pride, collective hatred, and collective honor. When this morbid exaltation becomes perceptible in a room, a hall, a village, a city, or a country, I grow cold and distrustful; a shudder comes over me, for already, while most of my fellow men are still weeping with rapture and enthusiasm, still cheering and venting protestations of brotherhood, I see blood flowing and cities going up in flames.”

- Hermann Hesse

Dr. Peter Whitehouse’s new book, THE MYTH OF ALZHEIMERS: WHAT YOU AREN’T BEING TOLD ABOUT TODAY’S MOST DREADED DIAGNOSIS, looks at brain aging in a new old way.

America’s efforts at nation building take a hit from Ahmed Rashid with his book, DESCENT INTO CHAOS and the opednews.com takes its own shots.

Some books will float on their titles alone. DISHING WITH THE KITCHEN VIRGIN sounds like it happens to be as good fun as it should be.

The Economist reviews BOTTLEMANIA: HOW WATER WENT ON SALE AND WHY WE BOUGHT IT and finds it thorough.

A reading of Auden’s poem, “The Unknown Citizen”:

He was found by the Bureau of Statistics to be

One against whom there was no official complaint,

And all the reports on his conduct agree

That, in the modern sense of an old-fashioned word, he was a saint

For in everything he did he served the Greater Community.

Except for the War till the day he retired

He worked in a factory and never got fired,

But satisfied his employers, Fudge Motors Inc.

Yet he wasn’t a scab or odd in his views,

For his Union reports that he paid his dues,

(Our report on his Union shows it was sound)

And our Social Psychology workers found

That he was Popular with his mates and liked to drink.

The Press are convinced that he bought a Paper every day

And that his reactions to advertisements were normal in every way.

Policies taken out in his name prove that he was fully insured

And his Health-card shows he was once in a hospital but left it cured,

Both Producers Research and High-Grade Living declare

He was fully sensible to the advantages of the Installment Plan

And had everything necessary to the Modern Man,

A phonograph, a radio, a car and a frigidaire.

Our researchers into Public Opinion are content

That he held the proper opinions for the time of year;

When there was peace he was for peace when there was war he went.

He was married and and added five children to the population,

Which our Eugenist says was the right number for a parent of his generation,

And our teachers report that he never interfered with their education.

Was he free? Was he Happy? The question is absurd:

Had anything been wrong, we should certainly have heard.

More on Annie Barrows and her completion of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society following the death of her aunt (previously reported in Afternoon Viewing).

Four handwritten suicide notes by Japanese novelist Ryunosuke Akutagawa recovered.

The Welsh Assembly Government’s New York office launches walking tour to celebrate Dylan Thomas’ New York experiences.

James McMurtry, son of famed writer Larry, discusses the literary and character-driven aspects of his songwriting with the L.A. Times.

The New York Times devotes 9 pages to David Carr’s The Night of the Gun excerpt.

“Poetry, even when apparently most fantastic, is always a revolt against artifice, a revolt, in a sense, against actuality.”

- James Joyce

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If writing what you know comes from the cusp of celebrity, why name drop in your thinly disguised memoir-as-novel when The New York Times will do it for you?

Two thrillers and a soldier’s tale from the Oregon Register-Guard.

And Seacoastonline.com offers up two warm reviews for books about animals.

CNN dubs Rick Perlstein’s, NIXONLAND, ‘paranoid’.

And one more comic rounds out the night - a glowing review of the last installment of Y:THE LAST MAN from Salon.

Author Magazine (authormagazine.org) interviews American novelist Alice Hoffman:

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Talking about writing is often a pretty quick solution to being mistaken for a good conversationalist. When asked what you do, best just say you’re not at liberty to disclose the nature of your employment and ride the crest of mystique.

It isn’t that people aren’t interested in the creative process. They are. It’s only that it can be difficult to make the nuts and bolts of word-tinkering live up to the fantasy of orchestrating Genesis all day every day, and smoking and drinking at the Algonquin all night. Duels of wit and fits of eloquent agony and taking out the garbage and getting your teeth cleaned – it just takes more skill than most of us have to render this paradox intriguing in chit chat at the neighborhood barbeque.

So writing is most reliably a solitary venture. But with the advent of the internet and more recently the proliferation of writer’s sites, that’s not necessarily as true as it used to be. We can convene without combing our hair. We can debate the nuances of ‘leap’ versus ‘gambol’ with people who occasionally care. And we can form partnerships of the mind without consideration of distance, just a little thought to the time zones.

It really is quite brilliant.

Trish Stewart and Kevin Craig are ripe for commentary on this very phenomenon, as they are seven chapters into a collaborative project for all to observe on Yours, Mine… Ours.

Trish and Kevin have agreed to chat with AuthorScoop throughout the process, so we’ll start off with a basic Q & A.

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Jamie: So, Trish and Kevin, here’s what I know about you:

Not much. From my own experience, I know you as poets and contributors at Absolute Write’s Forum Boards. You both developed reputations there – good, solid, writerly ones – and now, you’re collaborating on a novel. Online, no less.

How did that happen? Who are you people?

Trish: It was all Kevin’s fault. We have been beta readers for each other for a while, so we’re familiar with each other’s styles of writing. He found a blog with nine people contributing to one novel. He thought we could give it a try; that it would be fun to see if we could meld our styles into one voice. So he set up the blog, even got my blog account and password set up for me. I said “I’d love to.” He said it would be fun, and just for exercise, so why the hell not?

As for me, I’m a wife, mother and Proposal Writer in Southern Illinois. Poetry is my first writing love, though I’ve been writing novels for the last several years. I’m presently querying my second novel, Taking Lessons from Ernest. My poetry can be most easily read at Absolute Write’s Poetry Forum.

Kevin: How did the collaboration happen? The collaboration felt like something that was imminent from the beginning. I responded to one of Trish’s first posted poems at A.W. with a poem. I just felt an immediate creative connection to her. We have critiqued each other’s novel manuscripts and built a creative trust between each other like no other. Then, one day I came across a blog where nine writers were collaborating on a FanFic novel. The first thing I thought was, “I could do this with Trish!” I emailed her that day and asked if she would want to collaborate on a novel and post it First-Draft-Ugly to a blog for all to see. Then I nervously waited for her reply.

Who Am I? I’m a husband and father. I’m an office worker. I’m a freelance writer on the side. And I was a closet writer for about twenty years. About 7 years ago I decided to come out of the closet and face writing head on and I haven’t stopped since.

Jamie: Tell us about the nature of collaboration. How did (do) you work out who does what?

Trish: Well, since Kevin did all of the work on the blog site and the whole thing was his idea from the beginning he chose me to write the first chapter and suggested that we would alternate from there. I was pleased with the alternating chapters, but terrified to write the first one. From that point, each of us writes our chapter in turn and the other proofreads the chapter before it gets posted. We share the site administration, of which there is virtually none. We email with ideas, prod each other, and occasionally send each other apologies for where the story left off at the end of a chapter.

Kevin: When Trish agreed to do this I elected her the writer of the first chapter. It was a total cop-out. I didn’t want to be the one to create the characters…I just wanted to walk into something that was already there and expand upon it. The plan was I would write Chapter two, she would write chapter three, and so on and so on. We’ve had a few emails between us with a couple of thoughts here and there, but we’ve been pretty much on our own with the process. I have the next chapter in my inbox and I still have to read it. I have NO idea what’s in it. I don’t know what direction she has taken things in. I like the way it’s happening…almost totally blind. I think I have asked Trish more questions…since she wrote the first chapter I am totally afraid of dragging everybody somewhere that she didn’t see them going. It’s almost like I’m playing with her characters. But at the same time, I read it and think, “these are my characters”. It’s one of the weirdest writing experiences I’ve ever had. It’s a thrill to take her next chapter and make it mine and add the next to it. And it’s also very scary.

Jamie: Are you flying blind or are you following an outline?

Trish: Completely blind. I wrote a first chapter and hoped Kevin would like it. He did, so he wrote chapter two. I feel too blind on occasion. Picking up where someone leaves off isn’t always easy. He can do whatever he wants with his chapter. I trust him to take it the right direction, and hope I make the right choices when it’s my turn. Going without an outline is a natural writing style for both of us, but doing so publicly means that we can’t go back and change a reference or add a clue in a previous chapter, at least not easily. I’ve tried to leave a few little tidbits for myself that I might be able to snag later in the story, though only having half control of the story might not allow for that.

Some of our readers ask us questions about what is going to happen or where something is leading, and the truth is we don’t even know. For instance, when Mickey disappeared from the grocery store in Chapter Three, I couldn’t tell Kevin where Mickey went because I didn’t know, so he had to figure it out. When the big man visits Duncan, Kevin couldn’t tell me who he was. I still haven’t figured that one out.

Kevin: No outline. Just a couple of emails here and there asking, “What do you think about this?” But not much more.

Jamie: And, so far, are the tears shed measured by the ounce or gallon?

Trish: Ounce, definitely. It is very challenging, and we’ve made a sort of game out of handing off chapters, leaving cliffhangers (and apologies) to one another at every turn. The process is invigorating and the pressure is more intense than just writing for ourselves.

Anyone who chooses to visit our blog is seeing a first draft of a chapter; pressure goes with that territory, and a bit of fear does, too. Sometimes putting a chapter out there feels like hanging laundry out your car window to dry while you drive around town. No one needs to see that. Or even worse is following a great chapter written by your co-author with aimless drivel in your own. There haven’t been a lot of tears, there has been a good deal of sweat, but I think we both agree that it is an absolute blast. The challenge has been a fun one.

Kevin: I’ve been constantly conscious of the fact that I might be going in the wrong direction. And Trish has been constantly reassuring me that there is no wrong direction…that I should take them where I want to take them, since that is what she’s doing. No tears. We have been backing each other creatively for a couple of years now. What we usually do is email each other the next chapter so we can read it before posting it. The email usually says something like, ‘This is terrible, but for what it’s worth…here’s the next chapter’. It’s almost inevitable that we apron-wring. And it IS inevitable that we tell each other not to apron-wring. That’s the nature of our creative relationship. Accept your work. Trish is a wonderful writer. That’s why I wanted to work with her.

Jamie: Any surprises so far?

Trish: I didn’t expect it to get harder as we go along, but it has. I also didn’t expect that first chapter would lead to where we are now. The story’s progression has been one surprise after another.

Kevin: I had no idea what to do when Trish put Duncan in a garage fire. I panicked for a bit, but then I had a vision of a Chatty-Cathy nurse and introducing her alleviated the panic. My favorite surprise wasn’t a surprise at all…her first chapter. I thought it was brilliant and I was extremely excited to pick up where she left off. She did a great job introducing three wonderful characters I could really sink my teeth into. I feel we have this connection…sure there will be surprises along the way, but we are writing a book. I have surprises along the way when I write a book solo…it’s the nature of writing without an outline. I’m more than ready for the next surprise! I’m about to read the next chapter…maybe I’ll find one there.

***

AuthorScoop will return to the adventures of Kevin Craig and Trish Stewart as their project develops. So stay tuned here and stay tuned there.

David Baddiel, writing for the Times, wonders if “there aren’t possibly more awards than there are writers”.

Bonnie J. Rough walks with an essayist.

After being named the next poet laureate, Kay Ryan sees a sharp spike in sales of her work.

Blogging stud ChinaBounder has decided to reveal his true identity in a tell-all book about his sexual exploits in China.

Jay Parini writes a beautiful essay on the intrinsic value of poetry for The Australian.

“All sorrows can be borne if you put them into a story or tell a story about them.”

- Isak Dinesen

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From The Dispatch Online out of South Africa, here’s a review of Valerie Tagwira’s debut novel, set in Zimbabwe, THE UNCERTAINTY OF HOPE.

Tim Zlouliadis’ account of Americans in Russian gulags is powerful reading according to The Telegraph.

Some great photos accompany this review of BETWEEN EARTH AND HEAVEN: THE ARCHITECTURE OF JOHN LAUTNER.

A medium warm review of James Woods’ book on book reviewing, in the book review section of Statesman.com. Still with me?

The title of this debut alone would make me look twice - THE 351 BOOKS OF IRMA ACURI, but the Minneapolis Star-Tribune makes it sound like it needs to be jotted down on the shopping list.

(in which I reveal my dirtiest little secret)

AuthorScoop is pleased to feature this guest column from novelist, essayist, and occasional poet, Graeme Cameron (Graeme.N.Cameron@gmail.com).

It’s not considered good form to hear voices in one’s head. Since the blossoming of popular culture’s morbid infatuation with mass murder, those of us so afflicted have carried a burden of homicidal expectation; an unspoken certainty that we have, at the very least, a screw loose – and more likely, a strangled hooker in the freezer.

At his trial in 1935, geriatric paedovore Albert Fish - today fêted as America’s first serial killer – blamed the very voice of God for his hefty catalogue of perversions. It didn’t work and, in a defining moment of poetic justice, they fried him shortly thereafter, but his psychobabble nonetheless quickly established itself as the ruse of choice for anyone seeking to dodge the ‘chair. We may have considered such behaviour unseemly since the day we hoisted our knuckles up out of the dirt, but it was Albert who made it the stuff of legend.

Now, given modern folklore’s take on the matter of intercranial instruction, you might be wondering why I’d so readily and publically admit to entertaining such Fishy folly. Well, there are two reasons for that. Firstly, I haven’t got much of an appetite for monkeys and pee wees. And secondly, I’m doing it so the rest of us don’t have to.

The difference between Albert and me, you see, is that my voices know who’s boss. They never presume to tell me how to do my job, and they only offer advice when I ask them for it. I don’t work for the voices; they work for me. And like any other employee, they’re out the door if they misbehave.

In fact, they’re not like those other voices at all. Mine all come with names and faces, addresses and birthdays; school reports, shoe sizes, hopes and regrets; haircuts, shopping lists and bobbly suit jackets that they just throw in the washing machine because there’s never a parking space outside the dry cleaners. They’ve got places to be and people to see, and rarely does any of that involve me. They always know when I need them to drop everything and come running, but they only do so if they’ve got nothing else on. It’s trying sometimes, but then none of them ever claimed to be omnipotent. Which, I think you’ll agree, is a good sign.

In fact, you could argue that I don’t actually hear voices at all – but rather that I’m surrounded by a very fickle bunch of imaginary friends. And yes, I know that serves only to offer a low mental age as an alternative to my being the Zodiac, but it’ll do, because I can justify it in just three short words:

I’m a writer.

You see, without wishing to overstate the obvious, writing fiction is all about making shit up. And therein lies the problem. Anyone who’s ever entertained an enthralling daydream knows that the line between fantasy and reality is very distinct. In one’s head, the facts never stand in the way. You can gloss over all the tedious little details that don’t add up; the practicality and the geography and the glaring errors in continuity. But when the cold light of day meets ink and paper, your torrid affair with Brangelina goes down like the Titanic.

That’s when the old cliché comes out – the one about ignoring your overactive and uninformed imagination and writing what you know. And in principle it makes sense, until it occurs to you that what you know is swiping groceries through a scanner for eight hours a day before coming home to bang a Rustlers rib into the microwave and fall asleep in front of the tv. There might be a book in that somewhere, but I’m pretty sure I don’t want to read it.

So if you can’t just make up random rubbish, and no one wants to hear about your gas bill, how are you supposed to write anything at all? Well, you can get off your arse and do some research, obviously, but more importantly this is where your imaginary friends come in.

To be successful, your made-up story needs to have a solid foundation in reality, regardless of whether it’s about shopping for shoes or slaying dragons - and it’s down to the people doing the shopping and chopping to build it. A reader will take as read the most ludicrous set of circumstances you could possibly cook up, provided your characters react to it like real people. Even the most pedestrian of tales is doomed to the bargain bin if “People just don’t talk like that.”

Put simply, the key to a good story is the people who are in it. Like the actors in a film, they need to be told where to stand and who to talk to, but they also need the freedom to improvise a little; to tailor their performance according to their own unique personality. Unlike an actor, though, a character can’t be relied upon to just turn up on the day and rattle off his lines. He is, after all, not the one hunched over the keyboard. He has no earthly body and can therefore neither act out a scene nor scribble down his thoughts. He relies solely on you, the writer, to express his feelings for him; to portray his reactions, his opinions and his method of getting the lid off a jar of pickles. And the only way you can hope to do that is by knowing him inside out.

Now I don’t know about you, but the way I like to get to know someone is by spending a little time with them, and when they only exist in my mind, that process is a whole lot easier. I don’t have to worry about missing appointments or emailing maps. I give them a shout and, if they feel like it, they just turn up – simple as that. And when they do, I can reach as far into their psyche as I want or need. I can pull up a chair and make idle smalltalk, or I can leap right in like Sam Beckett and spend an hour or two in their skin. And yes, I know this sounds like something I should seek professional help for, but I wouldn’t want to do it any other way. I may not be able to remember where I left my bloody sunglasses, but I know exactly what A***** is going to do when she finds out about T**, C***** and the f******, and that’s by far the more important issue.

So please, if you want to be a writer, forget about drawing tedious beardy character charts and just let out your inner child. Invite all your imaginary friends round for a tea party and find out what they’ve been up to. Slip inside their heads and see what the world looks like through their eyes. Your imagination is a wonderful thing, but with a little bit of theirs you’ll go a long way.

Part 1 of the short film, “Iconoclastic Individualism - Henry David Thoreau”:

Part 2:

The Fort Worth Business Press finds the writer behind the legend in the documentary “Gonzo: The Life and Work of Dr. Hunter S. Thompson”…

…and on its heels comes a book that can’t seem to get past the legend to find the writer.

Danielle Steele, while having her hair and makeup done for a TV interview, bemoans the author publicity machine.

Japanese literature edges ever closer to a sense of artistic globalism.

The Guardian’s Elizabeth Lowry looks for clues in Robert Browning’s monologue “My Last Duchess” to find out if the poet murdered Elizabeth Barrett.

“You can’t have three people looking over your shoulder, and you have to make sure not to censor yourself. You have to be willing to be wrong and you have to be risky. You have to take a certain amount of abuse, and the reason you’re willing to do that is because you love the truth.”

- Grace Paley

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