The Many Faces of the Book Scarf

You may remember that I blogged about what not to buy a book lover for Christmas. Although I pride myself on my keen sense of foreshadowing, I never even guessed that this post would result in the best Christmas gift of 2007.

Oh yes. I got a book scarf. In a black bag. Because, you know, death is ahead.

Hm.

Of course, my dear Uncle Chiron didn't expect me to actually wear it. Nevertheless, I am always up for a challenge. Why not? I thought, the wheels in my dingy little brain turning. Perhaps I can learn to love the book scarf and turn it into something that even a fashionista might wear.

With this, I bring you:

THE MANY FACES OF THE BOOK SCARF

I call this first one "Beleaguered Starlet." There she is, ladies and gentlemen, plagued by the paparazzi. Unable to escape, she tries her best at venturing forth incognito. Unfortunately, it is to no avail. At night, she drowns her sorrows in quaaludes and vodka.

Next stop: rehab

This next one is "The J-Lo." Don't let the small ass and pale skin fool you, people: I'm a dead ringer for J-Lo. To quote the diva from the Bronx, "It take hard work to cash checks," and those are words that I live by.

Staying grounded as the amounts roll in

I call this next one "Sultan of Fab." Do sultans even wear turbans? Who does? The only guy who comes to mind is Punjab from Annie, and that's definitely not the look I'm going for here. There is no arguing, however, that this look screams fabulous, so that's what I'm calling it.

Fabulous it is

Finally, we have The Bandit, which might be the most useful out of all of these looks. Here, the book scarf comes in handy for those times in which you need to, say, rob a Barnes and Noble or something. Notice my life-like weapon.

Don't shoot, coppers! It's fake!

And so, you see, the book scarf can be a fashionable thing enjoyed by young and old alike. If it weren't for my dear uncle, I'd never have known the wonders that the book scarf holds.

Thanks, Uncle Chiron.

Dumb People + Haunted House = Predictability

Hell House
Richard Matheson

I know I've said this before, but if I knew of a house with a reputation for killing those who venture there, I wouldn’t visit it. Sure, I’d be curious. I’d probably drive up, maybe even stand on the porch. But go in? And, worse, stay overnight?

Of course, if everyone were like me, there’d be no Hell House. I was curious to read another work of Richard Matheson’s; after having just “Long Distance Call,” a truly creepy story of his, I remembered that I needed to experience more of his work. Hell House is in the same vein as Shirley Jackson’s The Haunting of Hill House, and there isn’t much difference between the two: basically, a group of people, each seeking either to prove or disprove the supernatural, spend some time in a house with a reputation for dangerous spirits.

Obviously, just as in Jackson’s work, Hell House has much to offer its tenants. Unlike Jackson, however, Matheson really ups the ante by revealing some really freaky shit about the house’s former inhabitants. In its heyday, Hell House was the scene of rampant debauchery that eventually ended in the most obscene and gruesome corruption. Now, it is a monument to evil, and the spirits trapped there act accordingly.

Unfortunately, I am so desensitized by today’s glut of All Things Shocking, Appalling, and Outrageous that Matheson’s attempt to horrify falls a little flat. Even the scene with the crucifix, arguably the most offensive incident in the book, did little more than make me wonder about the logistics of the scene.

Well, golly, how’d he manage THAT??

However, my desensitization is not Matheson’s fault, and I can’t knock the novel for that. I can, on the other hand, complain about the shitty explanation given to explain the haunting behind Hell House. I just found some of it a little silly, especially the part about the really evil guy not liking the fact that he was short.

Hm.

Wait -- what??

In a nutshell: Meh

Bibliolatry Scale: 3 out of 6 stars

Life: a small series of botched actions

The Book of Dave
Will Self

In the future, religious extremists rule. They are not, however, Christian or Muslim, but Davist.

Davists are pretty crazy. They don't blow things up, but they don't have to -- they're the only ones around. They have a monopoly on fanaticism, and if you disagree, you'll be broken on the Wheel. Davists believe, among other things, that moms and dads should be separated and that their children must divide their time equally among them. Under no circumstances should a child live with both parents. That’s just crazy, for Dave has forbidden it.

Who’s Dave, you ask? Not a fisherman or carpenter, not a mystic or son of God. No, Dave is a cabbie. A bitter, misogynistic, racist cabbie.

As The Book of Dave begins, we are taken 500 years into the future, to the Kingdom of Ingerland. This country is currently ruled by the PCO, formerly the Public Carriage Office, London's transit authority. So basically the country is ruled by Septa. No wonder they're in a world of shit.

a modern art masterpiece

In the future, instead of following the Bible or the Koran, people follow The Book of Dave. This tome was discovered after the MadeinChina, the creation that occurred after a flood destroyed the world as we currently know it.

The opening chapter of The Book of Dave introduces us to this future world, and to be fair, it’s a difficult chapter. The language is unfamiliar and the reader must frequently consult the glossary of terms at the end of the book. Their customs and creatures (the villagers breed a kind of weird, talking pig that helps to raise their children and is later slaughtered for its meat and oil) are also unfamiliar, which isn't too surprising since this society only rudimentally compares to our own. However, just as we begin to adjust to this bizarre world, we are returned to our own, where things seem much more understandable.

In our time, we meet Dave Rudman, the aforementioned cabbie who is filled with hatred after his wife leaves him and takes his son, Carl. The loss of his son puts Dave in a tailspin: his anger turns to depression, which soon turns to psychosis. Soon, he begins to type his knowledge of the city and his beliefs on how it should be run – and buries it in his son’s backyard, so that he might receive it when the time is right. Hey, he’s crazy. It probably made sense at the time.

Unfortunately, Carl never finds Dave’s book – the people of Ing do, 500 years in the future. Unfortunately, they take Dave’s bile as canon, and his book becomes the foundation for their way of life, influencing their harsh treatment of women and bizarre way of raising children. Even more bizarre is that their entire lifeview is built on Dave’s book – they believe the universe is viewed out of Dave’s windshield and that they are all his fares, which Dave sees in his rearview mirror.

The Book of Dave is not an easy read, but it is an intelligent one that prompts a lot of philosophical questions. Why do we view some things as sacred and not others? Can we be truly assured of the origin of our "divine" texts? For his part, Will Self has to be a genius. He creates a future world complete with its own religion, language, and cosmology just as he skewers the hypocritical world of today.

In fact, my only cavil with Self isn't with the book at all -- it's with his picture that graces the back cover, posted here. This has to be the most stereotypical author photo ever. Here sits our superintelligent author, pipe in hand, seriously glum expression on his face as though to say: My great intelligence, coupled with the general idiocy of the masses, wearies me. I need a smoke.

Now, check out these other photos of Self. How much better are these? He looks fun. He looks human. I’d much rather see these on the cover. This one is rather endearing. This one is odd, but intriguing. This one makes him seem confused, a beleagured genius. Highly likable. And finally, this one is authorly, but not overdone. Hence, it's the pipe that ruins it for me. HENCEFORTH, LET NO AUTHOR BE PHOTOGRAPHED WITH A PIPE. I have decreed it so.

Clearly, I am an expert in these matters. For this reason, I hereby dub myself the Official Approver of Author Photos. If you are an author and would like me to decide upon the picture that will grace the cover of your latest work, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will make sure you don’t look pompous. Don't be afraid; my rates are rather reasonable.*

In a nutshell: A challenging read, but one that is thought-provoking and brilliant. Makes you wonder who really wrote the texts that we revere as sacred. Ooh! I'm going to write my own. The Book of Bibliolatry. Can't wait for the future!

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars



*Only if you're rich

Bibliolatrist & the Kurgan 4EVA

The Long Walk
Stephen King

Okay, let me get something out of the way. I do a lot of cardio. A LOT of cardio. I walk, run, whatever, at least five times a week. And I can say unequivocally, without a doubt, that I would be the first mothereffer issued a ticket if I were a contestant in Stephen King’s The Long Walk.

Here’s how it works. Every year, 100 “lucky” young boys are chosen to participate in the government-sponsored “long walk.” The rules are simple: walk at a pace of at least 4 mph or you get a warning. Three warnings and you get a ticket. It’s pretty simple. Oh, except a ticket means you get killed.

Four mph??? Without stopping? Not even to pee? Not even to sleep? Four mph is pretty damn fast. I’d like to hear an expert’s opinion on this, because I'm calling shenanigans. I don’t think it’s possible. The long walk goes on for days. I mean, I suppose with the power of the mind and all that, but still. I’d be dead in an hour. Okay maybe two hours, but beyond that I’m a dead man. Woman. Whatever.

I find it simply unbelievable that one can keep that pace going for days. DAYS. Regardless of the possibilities of such a feat, by the end of the walk only one will remain.

There can be only one!

Okay so this is off topic, but how hot is the Kurgan? Many people I know swing more towards MacLeod, but I’m 100% about the Kurgan. He’s so dreamy. Those pins. That bald pate.

hubba hubba

So anyway. As I was saying, at the end of the walk only one person remains. And, yeah, that person gets a pretty cool prize, I guess, but really. Is it worth it?

The Long Walk follows its protagonist, Maine's own Ray Garrity. We watch as the walk briskly begins, and we eagerly anticipate the first ticket. Who will it be? Who can hold out the longest? Who will remain standing?

And while the action of The Long Walk is gripping, it's the psychological aspect that really makes one think. Why did these young men agree to participate in this competition? What about any individual who volunteers to fight such dire odds? And, in the case of the long walkers, is the prize really worth it? Just how powerful is the mind? Can it propel a person to keep going, walking mile after mile for days on end, all the while knowing death is just a stumble away?

In a nutshell: A fast, engaging read that won't blow your socks off but will leave you racing to the end.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4 out of 6 stars

If I could start again, a million miles away

Saturday
Ian McEwan

Oh, shit. I've gone ahead and ruined a good book.

My biggest gripe with Saturday lies not with McEwan or his work, but rather with myself. It was my fault, you see, for reading Saturday immediately after reading Atonement, a novel which blew me away and knocked me senseless. In short, I was setting myself up for failure, for Saturday is no Atonement.

But that’s not to say Saturday isn’t good in its own right, and if I hadn’t still been under the spell of what many consider to be McEwan’s greatest novel I probably would have enjoyed Saturday more. At any rate, reading Saturday did clinch my view of McEwan as a great contemporary writer, and I again reaffirm my need to make my way through more of his work, pronto. Well, perhaps spaced out a little more; I rushed through Lessing, and now I kinda hate her.

Slow down, homie! No need to rush things!

Saturday is a day in the life of Henry Perowne, a gifted neurosurgeon who wakes early in the morning just in time to witness what may be an omen of momentous import – or what may mean nothing at all. He continues his Saturday as he has countless others, only differing by his involvement in a minor car accident. As many know, however, minor incidents can have major effects, and that’s exactly what happens in here.

I won’t give anything away, although you can pretty much tell where the novel’s headed from pretty early on. Nevertheless Saturday is still an interesting rumination on the unexpected turns one’s life can take, and it adds a new perspective on the debate over whether free will or destiny controls our lives. For the record, I'm betting that McEwan's a free will kinda man. I, however, enjoy the notion of destiny, even though I don't truly believe in such a thing.

In a nutshell: Not better than Atonement, but still interesting. If you’re already a fan of his, you’ll enjoy Saturday; if not, start somewhere else.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

crap

I've just realized that I've lost the little box thinger that shows the book blogs I enjoy. If you are reading this and have linked to me, or know that I used to link to you, please comment below so that I can work on restoring my blog links. Lord knows where they went off too. Of course, if you don't link to me and would like to, comment here and I'll return the favor. Book blog links should be restored soon...ish.

grumble, grumble

What is it about this time of year that just PISSES ME OFF??

I think it's the people. Sometimes, I just HATE people. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe it's all the emphasis on finding that perfect gift, which I can never seem to do. Maybe it's that sense of good cheer I'm supposed to be feeling at this time of year. Maybe it's the carbs.

Nah, it's probably the people.

Hell, even I'M annoying me. That can't be good.

As a result of this funk, I haven't felt like posting. I've written several reviews in the little copybook I compose in, but I haven't had the energy to type them. I am entirely unable to be at all witty right now.

I do, however, have the energy to read, which I've been doing as usual. After I begin my holiday break (which, thankfully, commences later this week), I'm sure I'll have plenty of alone time that will allow me to lose the annoyance that clings to me like stink on shit.

The following reviews will be up at some point in the near future:

Saturday, by Ian McEwan
Hell House, by Richard Matheson
Poetry 180, and its follow up, both edited by Billy Collins
Fragile Things, by Neil Gaiman, which I should have finished by now but is annoying me, just as everything right now is annoying me.
The Grandmothers, by Doris Lessing (who has also begun to annoy me, which is why I haven't finished this book, either)
American Supernatural Tales, edited by S.T. Joshi

I'm also currently reading the following, so those reviews will be up in the slightly less-near future:

The Book of Dave, by Will Self
The Long Walk, by Stephen King
The Fall of the House of Bush, by Craig Unger

And I have a long list of other books just waiting right behind. So fear not -- I'm not dead, just disgruntled.

Bee Balms & Bibliolatry

Bee Balms & Burgundy
Nelson Pahl

From the outside, it appears Nick May has it all: he’s successful (and, even better, self-employed) and dating a beautiful woman with whom he shares a tumultuous relationship. Unfortunately, said bombshell is a raging bitch. Okay, so maybe he doesn’t have it all.

Fortunately, Nick knows enough to dump this shrew, and his method of doing so is quite ingenious: he kicks her out of his apartment before flying home to see his mother. Now that’s a smart move. While visiting his mother, Nick reconnects with Mia, his next-door neighbor and old friend. And he couldn't have come at a better time, for just as he is struggling with recent life changes, so too is Mia coping with some problems of her own.

Mia copes in part through her garden, taking comfort in the beauty that surrounds her. Her favorite flower, the Bee Balm, is one that I've never heard of before, which isn't surprising because I'm known for killing plants, not helping them thrive. Hey -- at least I can finally cook, and as anyone who knows me can attest, this is a giant leap in the evolution of Bibliolatrist.

If I didn't have a black thumb, I could probably grow this

As a participant in Pahl's virtual book tour, I had the pleasure of asking him a few questions. His responses are below, followed by a link to his website in case you'd like to learn more about the author and his work.


1. Do you believe that everyone has a soulmate, or is finding love just a matter of being in the right place at the right time?

I believe in soulmates. I just believe that we all have about 10,000 potential soulmates roaming this huge planet, and if we're lucky (or sometimes bright enough), we run across him or her. But, I don't know about that idea of "the one." Yet, even having only 10,000 potential soulmates on a planet of six billion people is pretty romantic.


2. What was the most difficult aspect of writing Bee Balms & Burgundy?

The revealing of my specific love nature. I don't have a camera in other people's bedrooms, hence I only know intimacy according to my experiences. Therefore, it's impossible not to reveal your love nature if you showcase intimate scenes within your story. That can be a little strange when your sister in-law reads the book then stares at you throughout Thanksgiving dinner, you know? She just didn't know "those things" about you.


3. What drew you to the romantic genre? Are you a romantic at heart?

Uh, I just had a story, you know? I didn't plan on the genre. In fact, I don't know if I'll ever write in this specific genre again. I know my second title isn't a love story, per se. And I know my next three titles won't be. Am I a romantic? I guess if Nicky is a romantic in the book then I, too, am a "romantic." I see myself as more of a sensualist in that regard; for me, romance and sensuality are entwined. A hug is romantic, and it's a must for any proud sensualist, whereas some romantics can live a thousand miles from their partner and still feel "romantic" about them.


4. If you were to write another novel in a different genre, what genre would you choose? Why?

I've just published my second title. It's in a new genre that's billed as "romance noir." It has a love story undercurrent, but it's also a tragedy through and through. It's dark, haunting, graphic to some degree. Again, I didn't choose the genre; it chose me. I lost a loved one, I had a ton of emotions raging through me, and I started, flushed out, and edited my second title in less than five weeks. Sometimes that's how it happens. Fourteen months for Bee Balms & Burgundy. Five weeks for Two for Tuesday. This is an odd profession.


5. Which author has had the greatest influence on your outlook as a writer?

No contemporary authors, really. I read mainstream people like Vince Flynn, John Grisham, Nevada Barr, Nora Roberts, whomever. But none have had any influence on my career in the least. People like Emerson, Thoreau, Fuller, a poet by the name of Sara Teasdale, these are people that make me want to write. But no "author" has had any influence on me. "Writers" influence me. (LOL.) Sorry to sound so pretentious.


6. I know this question is a bit commonplace, but it's one that genuinely interests me: when you compose, do you do so using pen and paper or a computer? Do you notice a difference in your writing depending on the medium being used?

I use a computer. I note things using pen and paper, all the time, but I "write" using my computers. I get ideas while with a friend, visiting my brother, biking, even while making love. So, I reach for the pen and paper and grab that thought before any part of it can elude me. But it all goes straight to my computer when I'm near it, immediately. I guess I don't really see a difference between mediums. It all takes place amid the story itself, the whole mental process of writing, so real life setting and/or tools become rather irrelevant in those terms.


7. If you could only pick only one "desert island book" (excluding your own books, that is), which book would you choose, and why?

Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway. So subtle yet so sublime.


8. In Bee Balms & Burgundy, Mia finds solace in nature, specifically in her garden. Do you also take solace in nature? What specifically gives you comfort?

Absolutely. I'm a sucker for the mountains and forests. In fact, I'm currently in the process of choosing a new residence in a more appealing natural setting. I love the connection of nature to spirit. I'm a guy with earth and water signs up and down his chart that desperately needs nature on a day-to-day basis. (That's why I despise the cold, dark, dead Midwest winters.)


9. How does writing affect your life? How has it changed it?

There's a necessary creative outlet that wasn't really there before. I find that because of such, I don't seem to have the same issues many of my friends and family do. I guess I'm saying that I have a purging mechanism. If a loved one dies, I pour it into a book. If I'm politically dissatisfied--which I always am--then I pour it into a book. Even if I'm horny and single, I can pour that into a book.


10. What are you listening to right now? Is there a certain music that aids the writing process, or do you prefer to compose in silence?

I have several friends in the indie label music industry. I also have a couple of business ventures in the realm. So, I'm always listening to ambient music, world music, contemporary jazz, or an audiobook. At present, I'm listening to a Twin Cities ambient group called Amazonas and their CD "A New Day." (Makes me wish I was back in Santa Fe, sitting on top of the Sangre de Cristo Mountains.)


Thanks, Nelson!

Bibliolatrist's Holiday Gift Guide, 2007

With the holiday season here, you might be wondering what to get the book lover in your life. Of course, if you’re reading this site, chances are good that you are the book lover in your life. If that’s the case, simply walk away from the computer after conveniently “forgetting” to close this window. The next person to use the computer will know just want to get you. Problem solved.

If you are looking for that perfect gift for a book lover, look no further. I present to you several fabulous gift ideas for anyone who loves a good book. I’ve even been so kind as to tell you which bookish gifts to avoid. Cheers.

First off, under no circumstances are you to purchase a book for your book lover. And yes, I DID make the accompanying graphic in MS Paint. Why, thank you, my computer skills *are* amazing, aren't they? Oh, please, stop. You're making me blush.

Anyway, although a book might seem like the obvious choice, you are actually walking blindly into the biggest trap of them all. You can never underestimate the voracity of a book lover, and you might very well end up purchasing a book that’s already been read. Or, worse: you might purchase a book by her most-hated author.

Either way, chances are good that you’ll only be forcing your poor book lover to slather on a fake smile and ooze warm wishes of thanks for your thoughtfulness. As if it’s the thought that counts. The only people who truly believe that are the ones who didn’t get stuck with a shitty book. I’m just saying.

(By the way, the ONLY exception to this rule is, obviously enough, if you have been directly instructed to buy a specific book for your book lover. In that case, buy away.)

If, however, you are not lucky enough to be explicitly told which books your book lover would like, then follow these suggestions for some smooth holiday giving. Of course, you could always wuss out and buy a gift certificate to a bookstore, but that's like saying, "I didn't know what to get a crazy book lover like you, you difficult shit!" And considering it's the holidays, it's best not to be insulting.

Without further ado, I bring you the good, the bad, and the ugly in bookish gifts.


THE GOOD

THE BOOKMARK. Look. Allow me to be blunt for a second, ok? It’s nearly impossible to fuck up a bookmark. Even a pill-popping starlet with the mental capacity of my left ass cheek would be able to pull this one off. Bookmarks are always needed and easily misplaced; therefore, having a lot of them is a must. Like shoes, just one won’t cut it. So go ahead and choose one or a dozen for your book-loving friend. I myself am partial to this one.

THE BOOK BAG. Here’s another fairly easy one. Book lovers rarely read one book at a time, so a book tote will always come in handy. Plus, you’ll score extra points if your book lover’s a woman, cause then it’s kinda like a purse, and what woman wouldn’t like another purse, especially if you can put books in it? Yeah yeah, girl power and all that. I’ve linked to a few good ones here, here, and here.

THE BOOKISH T-SHIRT. I debated over where to include this gift; bookish clothing automatically equals bad in my book. There are dozens of bookish t-shirts out there, and many of them are downright lame. However, I do kinda fancy this shirt. So, if you are able to locate a cool book shirt, then fine. Otherwise, stay away.

THE BACK REST. If your book lover's like me, then reading in bed is a favorite pastime. Unfortunately, if you don't keep a mountain of pillows on the bed, neck and back pain quickly follow. The solution? A nice little back rest. This one has a lot of bells and whistles, although less-expensive alternatives can be found with minimal searching.


THE BAD

THE MEAN GIFT. This one is actually kinda funny. You think you’re getting books, but – gotcha! It’s food. Sucker.

THE BOOKISH ACTION FIGURE. A librarian action figure?? For real? As in not a joke? Hm. I see this just collecting dust. Better to dance across a minefield than go this route.


THE UGLY

BOOK CLOTHING. Look, books are for reading. The only possibly acceptable form of wearable books comes in the form of jewelry. But even that's pushing it. In general, follow this rule: books + clothing = ugly. See? Shouldn't be too difficult to remember.

THE BOOK SCARF. This sneaky form of book clothing is so insidious it deserves its own entry. Many think that because scarves do not equal clothes that it is okay to purchase a book scarf as a gift. NO! Although this might seem like a good idea, under no circumstances should you ever purchase such a scarf for anyone. I don’t care if your book lover is eighty years old. NO ONE IS EVER OLD ENOUGH FOR A BOOK SCARF. Book scarves are like a huge neon sign saying DEATH AHEAD. Don’t do it.


And now, shop on. Warm wishes to you all, tra la la la la and all that.

Peer pressure kills

The Grass Is Singing
Doris Lessing

The Grass is Singing was my second jaunt into the world of Lessing; this, her first novel, is set against the backdrop of white-ruled South Africa. This short novel (practically a novella, really) is a study in psychology, portraying the suffocating nature of both the landscape and the society that inhabits it.

For awhile, I was so stifled by the setting that, despite the cool weather, I could feel the South African heat almost as if it were literally upon me. How on earth do people live in such conditions? The sun, the heat, the humidity — give me my foggy, dreary climes any day of the week. I prefer a jaunt upon the moors before a walk on the beach any day.

But a walk on the beach is most certainly what is this book is NOT, not matter how similar the weather may be. The novel begins as a black man is arrested for the murder of a white woman, arrested, interestingly enough, hours after the murder and yet still at the scene of the crime. The murderer, knowing his fate is sealed, makes no attempt to flee. Meanwhile, the victim’s husband wanders the nearby fields, having suffered a mental breakdown. What could have brought these three individuals to this state? We will soon learn that all three are victims, and Lessing will examine the myriad causes and effects that have laid these people so low.

Soon after describing this final scene, Lessing takes us back in time, to a moment when the deceased, Mary, is alive and well. In fact, she flourishes. One immediately wonders how such a happy person can meet such a fate, and we realize how much can change in an instant. Mary is what is deemed by others to be an odd sort of woman, although she herself is oblivious to their judgment – she is a single woman living independently and happily, and though she nears thirty, she has not married. In fact, she has no plans to – she enjoys her life as it is, free and complete.

Unfortunately, one day Mary overhears some friends discussing her odd lifestyle, and finds shame in their condemnation and curiosity. At once questioning her lifestyle, she decides it might be best if she married after all.

Wait, WHAT???

YOU EEDIOT!

And so, Mary enters into what is, not surprisingly, an unhappy and unfulfilling marriage with a man completely incapable of satisfying any of her needs. Poor Dick Turner. It’s not his fault; he didn’t know how poor his taste in a wife would turn out to be.

Dick is a farmer ... well, sorta. Dick has as much luck growing crops as I have at changing a tire. Dick slaves away, day after day, year after year, and only just manages to avoid total bankruptcy. While he tills the fields, Mary is left alone, sweltering in their tin can of a hut, alone with a rotating cast of servants, all black men she quickly alienates.

The South African society is partially to blame. As a white woman, Mary is forced by social codes to behave in a certain way. She is to be cold, aloof, demanding – even though she is by nature none of those things. And, although not originally a racist, Mary’s forced behavior modifies her way of thinking. Lessing is quite adept at portraying the subtle changes that occur in the attitudes of the whites who arrive in the area: all arrive hopeful, vowing to be different from the others, vowing to be open-minded and friendly. All soon succumb to racism.

Like the rest, Mary quickly changes from the open-minded woman of days past to a demanding, prejudiced housewife who takes out all of her frustrations on her servant. Because of her irrational standards, servant after servant leaves their employ.

Until, that is, Moses arrives. Moses and Mary begin to share an odd bond. Although he is her servant, Moses behaves more like her equal. Mary finds in Moses a comfort she cannot find anywhere else.

Why, then, would Moses kill Mary? Is he murderer or savior? Lessing leaves the reader to ponder these possibilities. If anyone is to blame, it is not Moses, but instead the stifling society into which all are thrown and from which none of them can escape.

In a nutshell: DON’T GET MARRIED JUST BECAUSE YOUR FRIENDS SAY YOU’RE WEIRD FOR BEING SINGLE. If you do, don’t be surprised when your life turns to shit. Duh.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars

And now for a brief interlude...

Now just sit back, kiddies, and let me tell you a story about a wee little website with some very humble beginnings.

* * *

Upon first learning that she was to give birth, our mother was nervous indeed, and it's true that many women are less than thrilled to learn they are about to give birth to a website. This mother, however, was not worried about having a website; on the contrary, she had hoped for one and was overjoyed when the doctor confirmed her suspicions (although to be fair many had predicted it, since she was carrying so low).

Her worries, then, were not for herself as mother, but rather for her child. Would anyone visit it? she fretted. What if no one likes it? Quite simply, our young mother worried no one would love her child.

However, first on her list of worries, oddly enough, was the name of her impending website. With this task she had a very difficult time: a single mother, she had no one to help her in this most momentous of tasks. Name after name rattled through her head. She scoffed at them all. Nothing was good enough.

She searched high and low for a name that would best represent her child in the world. The chosen name must be regal, lofty -- and yet it must not be confusing, lest no one remember it. It must be serious, weighty -- and yet a bit of irony was also a must. With this dilemma she occupied a stretch of several minutes.

Finally, she alighted upon the name, and on this very day just two short years ago, Bibliolatry was born.

Since then, Bibliolatry has developed into a bumbling, cheeky toddler. Like any two-year-old, she is irrational and must be watched closely at all times. She can often be found about to stick a finger in a socket or flushing something inappropriate down the commode. She is given to tantrums and flights of fancy, and her likes and dislikes frequently cannot be foretold. Often her poor, harried mother must drown her senses in a bottle of wine after Bibliolatry has fallen asleep.

All the same, our young mother wouldn't change her daughter for the world. Bibliolatry has improved much in these two years; she has grown from a barely articulate newborn into a fairly witty toddler. Mom has changed as well; she is less worried, for one. Her fears that her daughter would not be loved have proven unfounded, for Bibliolatry is not without its admirers.

Our tale draws to a close; it would be wise now to leave our mother and daughter, who are enjoying a rare moment of peace. It's a quiet Sunday evening; having just enjoyed some birthday cake, mother reads aloud to her daughter. We cannot tell whether Bibliolatry will like what she hears; one can never tell until the last page has been read. But until that time, our young mother is guaranteed a moment of peace. Let's leave them there, reading tranquilly by the fire. Such peace, we know, cannot last.

Well, hello, Bibliolatrist. Welcome to 2007.

It seems I've just discovered the podcast. Sure, I've heard about podcasts before, but I never actually listened to one. More importantly, I've just learned that there are podcasts about books. Egads, what an idea. (Yes, yes, I'm behind the times, whatever.)

Anyway, like a kid in a candy store, I subscribed to as many as I could find, and I have to say I'm enjoying them all. I don't know how to link to them from here, but if you enter the title in iTunes (or whatever it is you use), you should probably find it easily enough.

Enjoy!

• Garrison Keillor's The Writer's Almanac
  
• Sam Tanenhaus of The New York Times (Book Reviews)
  
• The Classic Tales Podcast
  
• The New Yorker Fiction
  
• iTunes: Meet the Author
  
• Hall of Mirrors: Tales of Horror and the Grotesque
  
• KQED: The Writers' Block
  
• NPR: Book Tour
  
• PRI: Selected Shorts
  
• SciFi Surplus
  
• The Washington Post Book World Podcast
  
• BBC World Book Club

If you know of any other interesting podcasts that I haven't listed here, please suggest them in the comments. Thanks!

The year of self-inflicted torture

The Year of Living Biblically: One Man's Humble Quest to Follow the Bible as Literally as Possible
A.J. Jacobs

My latest review is up at Pajiba, and you may click here to read it. This time I tackled The Year of Living Biblically, by A.J. Jacobs. Basically, the author follows every rule in the Bible for an entire year.

I have to say that I was really pleasantly surprised by this book; I hate to admit that I at first wrote the book off as boring, but I was wrong. To be fair, let me explain my train of thought, which went a little something like this: Bible = boring. Pretty simple stuff, really, but I never said I was deep. Okay, maybe I did say that. Whatever.

Anyway, I was wrong. The book was great. It made me laugh out loud (and not the fake LOL kind that actually means you didn't laugh out loud) and it even made me think about my own faith. Good stuff. (Plus, the fact that it wasn't boring didn't hurt.)

In a nutshell: The Year of Living Biblically provides a lot of interesting, thought-provoking bits -- without forcing the reader to suffer the same torture the author endured for a year. (And, in all honesty, the author didn't consider it torture but I sure would, especially if I were his wife.)

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars


And finally, for you Atonement fans, this website has clips of the film adaptation, which premieres in the US next month. Enjoy!

Wasting away the moments that make up a dull day

Here's a blogging meme I stole from Dewey. I should have another review posted tomorrow on The Grass is Singing, another Doris Lessing novel.

1. Do you remember learning to read? How old were you?
According to my grandmother, I learned to read at two. I can’t help but think she’s exaggerating, though. Perhaps she just means that I would read back the stories that she read to me. If she is correct, I’m a genius and I should be elected next ruler of the world. That is all.

2. What do you find most challenging to read?
I don't so much find anything in particular challenging to read; I do, however, find it challenging to read after a long day or when I'm tired. It's right to sleep if I do.

3. What are your library habits?
If by “library habits” you mean “shopping habits,” then I spend way too much on books. I always say I’m going to visit the library, but I really need to own my books. It's kinda like a fetish. I have a hard time letting go of them as well, something I have to do every so often in order to save space.

4. Have your library habits changed since you were younger?
Yes. When I was younger, I visited the library. Now I don’t.

5. How has blogging changed your reading life?
It’s kept me writing, which is the most important aspect of blogging to me, especially since I’m no longer a student so I don’t have the pressure to write like I used to have. It’s also a great way to remember what I’ve read, and I’ve “met” a lot of really great people through my blog. It also helps me decide which books to read next. I also read differently, since I’m always reading with a review in mind.

6. What percentage of your books do you get from: New book stores, second hand book stores, the library, online exchange sites, online retailers, other?
Online retailers, probably 95%. The rest would be from new bookstores.

7. How often do you read a book and NOT review it in your blog? What are your reasons for not blogging about books?
Hardly ever. I don’t review cookbooks, and I don’t review books that I’m teaching.

8. What are your pet peeves about ways people abuse books? Dogearing pages? Reading in the bath?
When people use my book as a coaster. (Yes, this has been known to happen.) Or when people bend the spine. Or the pages. Or the cover. Basically, if you touch my book, I hate you.

9. Do you ever read for pleasure at work?
All the time. That’s one of the perks of my job.

10. When you give people books as gifts, how do you decide what to give them?
It depends, really. I try to match a book to their interests, obviously. Generally I avoid the book gift, since I don’t want to be the “oh, look, the English teacher got me a book for a present” person.

Cover blurbs finally got it right: this book is perfection

Atonement
Ian McEwan

There are certain books that, after having finished them, one almost weeps for the experience. Reading Atonement, my first McEwan novel, was just such an event.

I’d heard his name bandied about for years, generally in connection to high praise or a literary award, and every time I’d come across another McEwan reference I’d think: “Oh yes, I really *do* need to read some of him right away” and then promptly forget all about the resolution. I only wish I had followed my intuition years ago, or else I would have sooner read Atonement, what might be McEwan's most well-known work (in addition to, perhaps, On Chesil Beach).

To say Atonement was astounding would be putting it mildly, and there really isn't much I can give in the way of praise that hasn't been said by persons more qualified than I. For once, all the praise, all the cover blurbs hailing McEwan as the second coming of [insert lit-changing author here] are true. Suffice it to say, I feel compelled to go out and buy every work of his I can lay my hands on, and I’m just thankful I purchased Saturday at the same time I grabbed this one so I need not wait.

For those of you who haven’t yet read this work (I feel as though I’m the last one to board this train), Atonement is a study in how one person’s incomplete understanding of a situation can have irrevocable, life-altering results. Briony, a young girl given to fantasy, witnesses a scene between her older sister and a young man. Naïve and immature, Briony entirely misinterprets the scene and imagines a reality far different from the one inhabited by her sister. Possessed by her truth, Briony feels compelled to act, and in so doing sets forth a chain of events that will change the lives of everyone involved.

Please bear in mind that the above summary does entirely zero justice the novel, which is grander in scope and much more compelling than it might seem. At first, Atonement forced a visceral reaction from me that prevented me from finishing the book more quickly. I loathed Briony with a passion and could not bear to read too much of the book at once. I wanted to tear the pages of the novel in an attempt to beat this brat senseless. As the novel progresses, however, the characters grow and change, and so too did my perspective. By the end of the novel, I had come to feel a sort of pity for Briony (even though I’d still like to give her a good smack), whose life is also forever affected by her unwise, childish actions.

Finally, IMDB lists this film as being released in the UK in September of this year. Has it premiered over here yet, or have I just been dolefully unaware of it? I’m not sure I can take Keira Knightly as Cecilia, but I suppose one must push on, regardless of the misfortunes life throws one’s way. Sigh.

In a nutshell: If there’s a flaw in this book I can’t find it, but far be it from me to point one out if I could. Atonement = perfection.

Bibliolatry Scale: 6 out of 6 stars

An interesting survey

I swiped this survey from Dewey, and it's been a lovely way of keeping me from doing work I actually have to do. But it was fun. Some real posts will be up soon.

Anyway, this questionnaire was first filled out by Marcel Proust. You can visit the original site and read more about it here. In the meantime, here are my answers, which are probably not as entertaining as Proust's.

Your most marked characteristic?
Introversion and a desire for knowledge.

The quality you most like in a man?
A sense of humor and intelligence.

The quality you most like in a woman?
The same as for men, but I also like women who lack cattiness (even though I have my moments).

What do you most value in your friends?
In general, a lack of cattiness and judgment, but I appreciate friends who are good at email and understand my anti-social tendencies.

What is your principle defect?
Laziness.

What is your favorite occupation?
Reading.

What is your dream of happiness?
A long and happy life.

What to your mind would be the greatest of misfortunes?
Losing my husband. Or my eyeball. Because, you know, that’s some nasty shit.

What would you like to be?
A writer type (a.k.a. someone who can get paid to read and not leave her house).

In what country would you like to live?
France, England, or Ireland. Somewhere cloudy. The sun and I don’t often get along.

What is your favorite color?
Cerulean. Okay, I also like purple.

What is your favorite flower?
Purty ones.

What is your favorite bird?
Good lord, I don’t care much for birds. Hm. Lemme think about this one. Birds, birds, birds. Nah, I’ll pass.

Ooh! I know! A dove.

Actually, I take that back. I really don't like birds.

Who are your favorite prose writers?
Margaret Atwood and David Mitchell; I think I could throw in a few others, but that’s it for now.

Who are your favorite poets?
Wislawa Szymborska and Louise Gluck.

Who is your favorite hero of fiction?
Heathcliff, and he’s a Byronic hero, thank you. And a little Patrick Bateman just for shits and giggles.

Who are your favorite heroines of fiction?
Lola, Catherine Earnshaw...I'm forgetting someone. Oh well.

Who are your favorite composers?
Beethoven. There is no other, although Vivaldi would be a close second.

Who are your favorite painters?
Don’t really have any.

Who are your heroes in real life?
My husband and my family.

What is it you most dislike?
Bugs, rude people, carbs (even though they are so so good), bad eyeballs, people who think too highly of themselves, bad drivers, stupid people, narrow-mindedness, country music, humidity, Paris Hilton, people who confuse your/you’re and to/too/two, etc.

I could go on but I think that’s rather enough.

What natural gift would you most like to possess?
I would like to be more sociable and outgoing. I daydream too much instead of interacting with those around me.

How would you like to die?
Surrounded by groupies and sycophants.

What is your present state of mind?
Awesome, as usual. That’s just how I roll.

To what faults do you feel most indulgent?
I’m quoting Dewey here by interpreting this to mean what faults can I most easily forgive in other people, not my own faults.

I dunno, I’m kind of a bitch.

What is your motto?
Non omnis moriar.

YES

Although I normally don't anticipate remakes, I must say my nether regions are all a-tingle over this.

Yeah, I admit: I know what CHUD stands for.

In fact, I OWN CHUD.

On VHS.

Whatever. It's a classic. Don't hate.

So, let's recap: We can soon enjoy an updated version of American Gladiators. Awesome. Soon, knock on wood, we can luxuriate in the joy that is CHUD. Don't screw it up, Zombie. Although, I must admit, CHUD is pretty amazing and can only be improved upon, in my humble opinion.

Don't enter the sewers!

Serves you right, fools

The Haunting of Hill House
Shirley Jackson

I always wonder to myself: If I had the opportunity to spend a night in a "haunted" house, would I go? I say so in theory, but would I really? Somehow, I think I'd chicken out. Visiting is one thing, but spending the night? Isn't that just asking for trouble? And when you tempt fate, don't be surprised when you get bitten in the ass. So, to the characters of Shirley Jackson's novella The Haunting of Hill House, I say serves you right.

The novella begins as Dr. Montague seeks people to assist him in studying Hill House. He wants to document evidence of supernatural phenomena, and he seeks those with some history of involvement with the paranormal. Despite the dozens of invitations he sends, only two assistants arrive at the door to Hill House: Eleanor, a shy and lonely woman who has recently been freed from servitude by the death of her mother, and Theo, a sophisticated lady who can pick up on the emotions and thoughts of others. Along with them is Luke, the nephew of the owner, there to keep an eye on things. The four of them plan to spend the summer in Hill House and see if the rumors are true.

And what, exactly, are the rumors? It’s true the house has a checkered past – lots of “accidental” deaths and even a suicide or two – but nothing that clearly proves the house is evil. Of course, there’s the unfortunate connection between “Hill” and “hell,” but that isn’t proof of the supernatural. And just because no one will go there after dark might be just out of respect. At any rate, the house is huge and impressive, and the rooms within rooms adds to the claustrophobic effect by making it difficult to find one’s way around. The house consumes its inhabitants.

okay, maybe I'd take a little evil if it meant living here

Despite the overwhelming sense of claustrophobia, nothing much happens at first. Doors close that were left open, but perhaps that’s just due to the odd geometry of the house. As the doctor explains, every angle in the house is wrong, creating a “large distortion” in the house. Soon enough, however, more sinister occurrences happen, and it becomes increasingly difficult to explain these events as purely innocent, especially as the suffocating nature of the house causes cracks in the psyche of each inhabitant.

However, it soon becomes clear that Eleanor is targeted in a different way than the others. This isn’t totally unforeseen, since she has from the beginning of the book repeated a line of poetry to herself over and over: Journeys end in lovers meeting. Perhaps that’s not the best sentiment one can feel upon meeting what is commonly assumed to be an evil place.

Eleanor is certainly affected differently than the others, and no wonder: she is all alone in the world, and it is her loneliness and need to belong that mark her as more susceptible to Hill House than the others. She becomes enmeshed in a world of illusions, and at times the reader finds it difficult to separate what is actually happening from what Eleanor is imagining. Are the others turning against her? Or is the house infiltrating her mind? And what will become of her -- can she withstand the onslaught of Hill House?

In a nutshell: An excellent psychological ghost story; it's a must for fans of Jackson or for anyone who enjoys a good, unnerving tale.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5.5 out of 6 stars

Happy Halloween!

Happy Halloween, everyone!

I make no secret of the fact that Halloween is my favorite time of year. I watch every scary movie available, and I pick up a few scary reads as well -- more on them later.

For now, though, you might enjoy this list that came to me via the Texas Pages book blog: a list of the 10 scariest characters in literature.

I posted the list below, but you can follow the above link to read the article in full.

1. Big Brother from "1984" by George Orwell
2. Hannibal Lecter from the novels by Thomas Harris
3. Pennywise the clown from It by Stephen King
4. Nurse Ratched from "One Flew Over a Cuckoo's Nest" by Ken Kesey
5. Count Dracula from Bram Stoker's novel
6. Annie Wilkes from "Misery" by Stephen King
7. The demon from "The Exorcist" by William Peter Blatty
8. Patrick Bateman from "American Psycho" by Bret Easton Ellis
9. Bill Sykes from "Oliver Twist" by Charles Dickens
10. Voldemort from the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling

I'm not sure I agree with all of the list -- No Poe? No Lovecraft? Also, I have beef with the number 1 slot. Big Brother is scary in that world domination is scary, but I'm not going to have a nightmare about it. Pennywise, on the other hand? Who isn't afraid of a freaky clown? Irrational fear should override intellectual fear. But that's just me.

scarier than totalitarianism? I don't think so.

So what are your picks for scariest characters, and scariest books in general? I can always use a few good recommendations.

Why does the cover have a chair in the air? and other serious questions

The Almost Moon
Alice Sebold

Another review is up over at Pajiba; you may click here to read it. As always, I'll include my usual touches below.

But honestly, I'm still kinda intrigued by the cover art for this one. A chair in the air. Why why why why why. I'm stumped. THINK, dammit. Symbolism is your forte, right?

Okay, let's see....the characters encountered chairs in the novel; surely they even sat on them once or twice. The chairs in question may even have looked like the one on the cover. But were they important enough to merit such a prime location? Hmmm. Maybe I missed something.

Perhaps the chair represents a stable home, one which is upended by the actions of

Nah. Hell with this.

Sometimes a chair in the air is just a chair in the air.

In a nutshell: Not earth-shaking, but engaging. Plus, you'll end feeling relieved that your life isn't as messed up as Helen's.

Bibliolatry Scale: 3.5 out of 6 stars

A Formula for Success: dumb parents + evil child = Nobel

The Fifth Child
Doris Lessing

I’ve tried to expose myself to some of Doris Lessing’s work, although the woman is so damned prolific that, despite thinking myself quite brilliant for choosing three of her works, I actually haven’t really read too much of her at all. I’ve chosen The Grass is Singing (1950), and The Fifth Child (1988), The Grandmothers (2003), so it’s a pretty good survey of her stuff.

I was nervous to read Lessing, since upon hearing of my intention to read some of her work, a poster had warned me against her “turgid prose,” and I feared my endeavor would be an exercise in pain. Keeping this warning in mind, I began my foray into the newest Nobel with the shortest – and therefore least intimidating – of my purchases, The Fifth Child.

Immediately, I was relieved: her prose was not turgid, in my opinion; instead, I found her writing both simple and elegant. Lessing begins the tale without delay or unnecessary frills, and we are quickly plunged into the world of the Lovatt.

The novel begins with the meeting of David and Harriet, who meet at an office party and instantaneously recognize in the other the very qualities they had been seeking. It isn’t long before the two are married, eager to embark upon the ONLY GOAL THEY HAVE: children.

No, seriously.

I’m not saying that having children isn’t an admirable goal, but these people take it to a whole ‘nother level. The second they are married, they buy a huge house they can't afford because they know that they will one day fill it with lots and lots of children. Harriet gets pregnant immediately and quits working, because working mothers = bad, or some such. And, despite financial problems that do not go away, they keep. having. children. What could go wrong?

sometimes a smackdown's necessary;
thankfully, Ben will do just that

Needless to say, I was really glad when Ben, the evil fifth child, was born. I sat back and snickered as these two freaks received a little karmic kickback. Their fifth child is, to put it bluntly, an evil little troll.

I’m not sure if The Fifth Child is meant to be a scathing indictment of those whose only goal is procreation, or if Lessing’s literary sword seeks a broader target, such as bourgeois domesticity at large. Lessing might simply be denouncing selfish parents, and lord knows there are plenty of those out there. Perhaps Lessing means none of these, and simply wants to stick it to her annoying protagonists – in which case, I can’t say I blame her. As someone with little-to-no domestic instincts, I couldn’t relate at all to the Lovatts, and I took a perverse joy in seeing Ben wreak utter havoc on their domestic bliss.

Ben is primitive and violent from the womb, and this behavior only worsens after his birth. To say that he does not interact well with other family members is putting it mildly, and soon, Ben has destroyed the peaceful domesticity that has reigned in the Lovatt house for years before his birth. The Lovatt house, which has become a haven for not only the immediate family but for anyone with even a slight connection to the happy couple, eventually stands empty and nearly abandoned.

The time quickly comes when Harriet must choose between her family and her fifth and final child. What’s a good mother to do? Unfortunately, Harriet’s a sucker. If Ben were my kid, I’d beat his monstrous, symbolic ass back to the Stone Age where he belongs.*

In a nutshell: Short, thought-provoking, and now with that nougaty, Nobel goodness.

Bibliolatry Scale: 5 out of 6 stars (although I think my overall hatred of the Lovatts is preventing me from rating The Fifth Child higher.)




*This is not entirely true. I’d have killed the little fucker long before it got to that point.**


**This is also not true, as I doubt any child will ever be dumb enough to exit my womb.***


***These points are all moot anyway, since I am very obviously Team Ben. Seriously. Watching Ben tear the Lovatts apart is really quite charming.

Get thee to a dermatologist!

A Spot of Bother
Mark Haddon

Having already read (and enjoyed) Mark Haddon’s first novel, The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-time, I was excited to read his new book, A Spot of Bother. Sure, it's not technically new -- it's been out for awhile -- but it's newly in paperback, so let's not argue over semantics, okay?

A Spot of Bother begins as George Hall, buying a suit for the funeral of a friend, finds a small spot on his hip. It is merely “a small oval of puffed flesh on his hip, darker than the surrounding skin and flaking slightly,” but it is enough to send poor George into a tailspin. Convinced it is cancer, George must confront his mortality and the accompanying all-consuming fear it causes.

Excuse me while I try not to vomit everything I've ever eaten

George is consumed by panic (and if his spot looks anything like the above example of eczema, who the hell could blame the poor fellow? I mean, am I right, or am I right?), and as a result, he suffers panic attacks and spells of incoherence. Unfortunately this all couldn’t come about at a worse time: everyone in George’s family is experiencing some sort of personal crisis right now as well, and George’s issues are only making everything worse. George must deal with his divorced daughter's impending marriage to a man disliked by everyone, come to grips with his son's homosexuality, and confront the fact that his wife is having an affair with an old coworker.

Poor fellow, indeed.

Admittedly, this entire situation does seem a bit contrived, and yet it all works, culminating is a brilliant comedic scene that actually made me guffaw a few times while reading -- and I do not use the word guffaw lightly.

My only gripe with A Spot of Bother is regarding the length; in my most humble opinion, the novel would be more effective if it were about 50 pages shorter, but this is nit-picking, really, since it was enjoyable all the same. I'm still a little freaked out by the pictured I posted above, so I think I'll just quit while I'm ahead. I suddenly feel the need to moisturize.

In a nutshell: An admirable follow-up novel; while it's not perfect (nothing ever is, though), A Spot of Bother is an amusing read that elicits both laughter and pathos.

Bibliolatry Scale: 4.5 out of 6 stars

Some interesting bits

My schedule has lately prevented me from sharing some interesting bits I've come across, but fear not. I've scoured the web yet again to find you some oddities and attractions. Enjoy.

Since I can't help but love the space stuff, I was interested to hear that black holes can sing.

After reading this, one can't help but wonder: at what point does a library cease to be a library?

For the Cormac McCarthy fan -- he speaks again!

Ruh-roh. Oprah's praised another stinker.

And, because Halloween is my most favorite time of year (okay, maybe it's tied with Christmas), I present to you the following spooky treats:

Here is all about the origins and history behind Halloween. Pretty interesting stuff.

RetroCRUSH presents the 100 Scariest Movie Scenes of all time.

New light is shed on Edgar Allan Poe's death.

Since we're on the subject of Poe, you might enjoy this oft overlooked tale.

Back from the brink

IT'S ALIVE! ALIVE!

I'm back from the brink of death with lots of reviews to post. I have recently fallen prey to my annual back-to-school illness, which left me able to read but not so eager to type. So perhaps it wasn't so much "brink of death-ish," but whatever -- I don't handle illness very well. I'm back, though, and better than ever.

Over the next several days, you can expect a review of Mark Haddon's A Spot of Bother, Neil Gaiman's Fragile Things, a poetry piece, some Halloweeny treats, a few interesting bits, and a piece on Doris Lessing, whom I've been enjoying immensely. Whew!

Stay tuned!

And the winner is...

As you've probably heard by now, Doris Lessing has won the Nobel Prize for Literature. According to The Local, Lessing "is the oldest person ever to win, and only the eleventh woman since it was first awarded in 1901."

The Nobel Committee has described her as "that epicist of the female experience, who with scepticism, fire and visionary power has subjected a divided civilisation to scrutiny." For further reading about this year's Lady of Literature, click here to read an interview with her.

I'll be posting some reviews of her work shortly, as I plan to immerse myself in as much of it as possible; I'll report my findings soon, so check back here.

And, off topic, but I don't think that ear belongs there. Good lord.

New review and random reading

A kinda-sorta new review is up at Pajiba: a reworking of my earlier review of The Road by Cormac McCarthy. The new review (one which focuses less on zombies and more on -- call me iconoclast, I know -- the work itself) can be found here.

You might also enjoy reading the following fascinating miscellanea:

Hollywood scumbags an Afghan kid.

Because we all know that people -- excuse me, dinosaurs -- don't actually read magazines.

Assuming he was in possession of nothing else, could you be arrested for a book?

Paper Cuts predicts the Nobel, which should be announced soonish.

For the Life of Pi fan, Yann Martel talks about his inspiration.

In case you give a damn, Oprah wants you to read this next.

Dude, I didn't even know you could put vodka there. That's kinda awesome.