First we had some goiter to deal with…
But now we are one step closer to our goat.
Uncle Silas by Sheridan Le Fanu
“She was very beautiful, curiously beautiful, for a person in her station. She was very like that Lady Hamilton who was Nelson’s sorceress– elegantly beautiful, but perfectly low and stupid. I believe, to do him justice, he only intended to ruin her, but she was cunning enough to insist upon marriage.”
Fish Feeding
Other monkey business and musings on the meaning of “vacation”…
Anthony Trollope on Anthony Trollope
“I do not think it probable that my name will remain among those who in the next century will be known as the writers of English prose fiction. . . .” (from An Autobiography, chiefly written in 1875)
Strandloper
When Alan Garner’s Strandloper (Harvill) appeared in 1996, it was immediately notable for a couple of uncommon reasons: Read more
Hmm
Is it just me, or does the New Yorker’s fiction really suck lately?
Don’t tell Cindy
but I finished The Mill on the Floss last night. It’s not flawless, by any means, but it is very good. I had not expected it to be so full of local dialect and humor, and more than once I forgot for a moment that it was George Eliot and not Anthony Trollope that I was reading. And I have just gotten my email that Trollope’s An Autobiography awaits me at the bookstore.
Greedy Pigs
That’s just his way. Ever since the debacle in ’49 Robertson’s just been sore. I told him not to put all his eggs in one basket. I don’t care how long it lives, a man can only make so much on a headless rooster. Smith, on the other hand, had high hopes, even fronted him $50 to travel to California; kept calling it his “Big Investment.” Now I’d call Smith a fool ‘cept he made a killing on horses and has more than a few jockeys in his pocket on account of gambling debts. And, now that he has finally filled those enormous stables of his, he’s started selling gelatin.
“No sense wasting a good horse,” he says.
Still, I think Smith feels bad for Robertson, after getting his own taste for the high life, since he sells him horse meat at a significant discount (so says Smith anyway). Then again, what else would eat horse meat other than Robertson’s pigs? They lap that shit up like it was caviar.
The Mill on the Floss: George Eliot
“Not that Tom was in awe of his uncle’s mental superiority: indeed, he had made up his mind that he didn’t want to be a gentleman farmer, because he shouldn’t like to be such a thin-legged silly fellow as his uncle Pullet — a molly-coddle, in fact. A boy’s sheepishness is by no means a sign of overmastering reverence: and while you are making encouraging advances to him under the idea that he is overwhelmed by a sense of your age and wisdom, ten to one he is thinking you extremely queer. The only consolation I can suggest to you is, that the Greek boys probably thought the same of Aristotle. It is only when you have mastered a restive horse, or thrashed a drayman, or have got a gun in your hand, that these shy juniors feel you to be a truly admirable and enviable character.”
p. 98 (Penguin, 2003)
Story of My Life
Rielle Hunter, the woman John Edwards had an affair with, was the inspiration for Jay McInerny’s (awful) third novel Story of My Life.
Around this time, McInerney told the New York Post, he was seeing the then-party girl, who was known as Lisa Druck. He was so repelled and fascinated by her wild antics, that he processed them into fiction. Thus was Story of My Life born. It’s a short novel, only 188 pages. It doesn’t aspire to immortality; it’s fluff, but thoughtful fluff. It looks at the sad life of Alison Poole in the spring of 1987. Alison isn’t easy to like. When we first meet her, she’s an STD-carrying slut who cons her latest lover into giving her money by telling him she needs an abortion. Her circle of friends is also spoiled and manipulative; they’re beautiful debutantes who destroy everything in their wake and expect others to foot the bill. Should we care about these characters? Not really. What salvages this work is Alison’s narrative voice. Breezy and confessional, it keeps you turning pages in order to discover what will happen to this pathetic girl whom you’d like to hug after slapping her silly.
New elimae
The August elimae is now posted.
The Woman Down the Hall–a review of an ebook by Lily Hoang
Here’s what I know about Lily Hoang: that her book Parabola won the Chiasmus Press First Book Prize in 2007, and that her book Changing is forthcoming from Fairy Tale Review Press. Now, over at Blake Butler’s Lamination Colony (Blake is becoming conspicuously ubiquitous, not only writing great fiction himself but managing to publish seemingly everywhere while at the same time putting up other people’s work as well), Hoang’s The Woman Down the Hall is available to read for free. It’s short, edgy, and I’ve read it three times tonight.
Lily Hoang’s narrator says this about the old woman who is asleep down the hall: “I wanted to be the first to propose murder, but I restrained myself. It isn’t proper for a lady to speak first, even if she is the designated killer.”
This is the way of good prose. This story, like much of Hoang’s other work, is a modern fairy tale, but she isn’t interested in being didactic. We don’t get a feel that there will be some moral lesson gained by the end; how could we with such a charming yet brutally honest narrator whose deepest desire is to commit murder? “I have never killed a woman,” the narrator admits, “but I have often wondered how I would do it. Now, I wonder if her neck, which is not slender or thick, would be easy to grasp or if my large hands would simply slip from smooth skin.”
Hoang’s imaginative leaps are mysterious and inevitable. She changes points of view, tells the story of the man and the dying bird and the old woman as a youthful princess whose beauty brought people to death simply from looking at her. She’s able to tie things together in such a small place. In fact, The Woman Down the Hall offers a whole lot in a small space, with surreal images to accompany the text. It’s like being at a great all-night party in a strange city. Really. This is a haunting and delightful story, and I highly recommend you go over to Lamination Colony and read it.
Barchester Towers again
(Volume 3, Chapter VI, “Ullathorne Sports.–Act II”)
“Beautiful woman,” at last he burst forth; “beautiful woman, you cannot pretend to be ignorant that I adore you. Yes, Eleanor, I love you. I love you with the truest affection which man can bear to woman. Next to my hopes of heaven are my hopes of possessing you.” (Mr. Slope’s memory here played him false, or he would not have omitted the deanery.) “How sweet to walk to heaven with you by my side, with you for my guide, mutual guides. Say, Eleanor, dearest Eleanor, shall we walk that sweet path together?”
The widow Eleanor had no intention of ever walking together with Mr. Slope on any other path than that special one of Miss Thorne’s, which they now occupied. . . .
“My name, Mr. Slope, is Mrs. Bold,” said Eleanor. . . .
“Sweetest angel, be not so cold,” said he, and as he said it the champagne [he had drunk] broke forth and he contrived to pass his arm round her waist. . . .
She sprang from him as she would have jumped from an adder, but she did not spring far; not, indeed, beyond arm’s length; and then, quick as thought, she raised her little hand and dealt him a box on the ear with such good will, that it sounded among the trees like a miniature thunder-clap.
(pp. 395-96)
Say Anything
My short piece of fiction, “Say Anything,” is up at Titular Journal.
Anthony Trollope
Barchester Towers (1857)
“Of the Rev. Mr. Slope’s parentage I am not able to say much. I have heard it asserted that he is lineally descended from that eminent physician who assisted at the birth of Mr. T. Shandy, and that in early years he added an “e” to his name, for the sake of euphony, as other great men have done before him.”
(p. 31, Barnes & Noble edition, 2005)
Brandon Hobson: The Levitationist
Just got my copy today. Read it once, this evening. I’m stricken.
If you haven’t gone out there to get it yet, you ought to.
No Colony — first issue
Blake Butler and Ken Bauman’s No Colony is about to release its first issue, including work from Kim Chinquee, Tao Lin, Brian Evenson, Robert Lopez, our fellow flocker Derek White, and more. Go buy a copy. They’re also reading for issue two, which will include a short piece by yours truly.
Dear Clusterflock
Is fiction’s job to disturb the comfortable, comfort the disturbed, or both?
On the Spot Story
I was going off to war and my mother said, Wait a minute, you will need some sandwiches, so I leaned on my rifle and she came back after a while with a sack, and she touched my hair and said just one second–let me get a comb “Mama, I have to–” Won’t take a second, she said, You don’t want people thinking nothing matters to you but killing, and she went to work on me but dropped the comb and took up the issue of my shoes–Oh your father has some better than these; I think they’ll fit, let me go get them “Mama, I don’t have all day, I’ve got to–” You can’t walk long as you’ll need to if stone can get to your feet–but when she came back with them she needed my knife to make them fit, and in the doing of the work she slipped and cut her hand, blood pouring–It’s nothing she said, nothing worth making you late. “Nonsense, It can wait, Mama. Who is going to say I shouldn’t care about what makes a person want to do anything at all?”–They will say that. They will–”I don’t care, they can wait or kill me instead of me killing them.” Let’s eat a little something, Mama said. Let’s think.
New elimae
The July issue of elimae is now posted.
Lish’s The Quarterly
We talked about this a few months ago, but can someone scan the table of contents of some of the issues? Or, rather, which are the best issues to purchase? I’d love to read the issues with Cooper and Daryl. And of course Diane Williams, etc. Thanks.
hotbooks
hotbooks has kindly taken note lately of publishers Ravenna and Calamari, their authors Kim Chinquee, Miranda Mellis, Robert Lopez and Brandon Hobson, and even elimae. Just scroll down a bit and. . .
The Woman in White
I just began Wilkie Collins’ famous “sensation novel” (1860) night before last, and I’m already pretty sure that Mr. Fairlie will be one of the most memorable minor characters I’ve yet encountered.
a short review of The Levitationist
Today Blake Butler wrote a short review of my book The Levitationist over at hotbooks.today.com.
Opium 6 Go Green! (But Save Me First)
The Go Green! issue of Opium Magazine (Spring 2008) is now available. Sample spreads at davidbarringer.blogspot.com. (You can also see sample spreads of issues 3, 4 and 5 on my site). Meanwhile, buy the issue or subscribe here.
Contents: stories by Aimee Bender, Benjamin Percy, and many others. Winners of the Opium Bookmark Story Contest. Each issue comes with a bookmark on which is printed the winning 250-word story. Interview with Amanda Lear. 100-word stories from Tuesday Shorts, including one by Jacquelyn Mitchard. Select stories from the wit-lit ezine Sweet Fancy Moses. Beautifully wrought satire from the “Go Green! Guidebook of Restraint & Responsibility,” by yours truly. Art from Tymek Jezierski. Cartoons from CM Evans and John Callahan. Editor Todd Zuniga.