Books

The ever-fabulous Cecil Castellucci posts the exquisite corpse written at last night’s speakeasy event featuring a bunch of LA YA luminaries.

So, I’ll leave something out here, I know. (I haven’t even finished The King’s Last Soldier yet, for instance.) But in the frenzy of prepatory cleaning for Scott and Justine‘s visit later this week*, I had cause to re-sort my priority reads. You know the kind; things I wish I could lay hands on and have downloaded into my brain, emotional responses and all, because I just haven’t had the time to read them quite yet.

I’ve been writing a pretty good amount, which slows my reading, since I usually want to watch television in the downtime and, also, when the writing’s going well? You must be careful and stay very still and not love another book too much or you’ll scare it away**.

Here are some books in my stack I can’t BELIEVE I haven’t read yet:

Map of Dreams (stories) by M. Rickert
Grey by John Armstrong (this only just arrived, but it looks great)
Half-Life by Shelley Jackson
Just in Case by Meg Rosoff
The Machine’s Child by Kage Baker
Saffron and Brimstone: Strange Stories by Elizabeth Hand (in my defense, Christopher stole this one for a bit)
Chasing the Dead by Joe Schreiber
H2O by Mark Swartz
Only Revolutions by Mark Danielewski
Grand & Humble by Brent Hartinger
Death of a Writer by Michael Collins
The Future is Queer anthology edited by Richard Labonte and Lawrence Schimel
Rain Village by Carolyn Turgeon
From the Files of the Time Rangers by Richard Bowes
The Exquisite by Laird Hunt
My Dirty Little Book of Stolen Time by Liz Jensen
The Talking Horse and the Sad Girl and the Village Under the Sea (poems) Mark Haddon
The End of Mr. Y by Scarlett Thomas
Maul by Tricia Sullivan
Starred Wire (poems) Ange Mlinko
Saint Iggy by K.L. Going
Flora Segunda by Ysabeau Wilce
The Boy Detective Fails by Joe Meno

And, of course, I won’t even end up reading all these, not any time soon. For there are Yet More Books. Books that will come to displace them; books for the LBC; books, books, books.

Life is good. I wish I could perfect the absorption technique. And, wow, just realized I don’t even _have_ Eduardo Galeano’s latest yet. For shame.

(So many of these are BEA books from May. Bad reader. Bad.)

*If we’re really, really careful, maybe the house will stay all spiffed until Thanksgiving. Dreams!

**Okay, not true, but it can feel that way.

In her review of Susanna Clarke’s new collection, Ursula Le Guin writes:

Those who dislike fantasy dismiss it as inconsequential: Inconsequentiality is in fact fatal to it. Explanation is irrelevant, but coherence, inner consistency, is essential to the flight of imagination. Gabriel García Márquez does not explain where the man with enormous wings flew from; Jorge Luis Borges does not explain the mysterious appearance of the Aleph; J.R.R.Tolkien does not explain the existence of Middle Earth: They simply tell, and the narrative is both explanation and justification, because it is strictly consequential. The imaginary act has inevitable consequences; the fantastic threat is carried out; the uncanny cause has its ineluctable effect. A fantasy lacking consequence, like a spell spoken wrong, is mere nonsense.

Which is lovely and has the added benefit of being true. (Le Guin, btw, is not convinced that Clarke meets this challenge and the review is positive overall but with reservations.)

Ed’s kicking off a gigantabulous roundtable on Richard Powers’ (now NBA-nominated) The Echo Maker today. Some of us … um, that would be me … got too tied up in other things and behind on the reading and still haven’t finished the book*. But those who did participate are the smartest of the smarties and have said some amazing things. And Powers will weigh in at the end with some amazing comments of his own. So go thither.

*I’m very much enjoying the book, so I may throw some thoughts up here when I’m done.

Stolen shamelessly from Sarah, who thinks it sounds awesome:

David J. Schwartz’s SUPERPOWERS, dubbed "The Incredibles" meets THE AMAZING ADVENTURES OF KAVALIER & CLAY, in which after a night of heavy drinking, five friends wake up to discover they have superhuman abilities, but lacking super-villains they find that the ramifications of their new powers are more complicated than they anticipated, to Jason Pinter at Three Rivers Press, by Shana Cohen at the Stuart Krichevsky Agency (NA).

I have no doubt it will be. Yay, Dave! (And Shana!)

Here’s a link to his story The Lethe Man, which is one of my favorite stories that we’ve ever published in Say… And his bibliography has links to more stories online.

Again with the YAY!

Tomorrow, the final installment of Lemony Snicket’s Series of Unfortunate Events books hits the streets. The Washington Post asked 13 fans how they think it will end. Half think happy ending, half think dark as night. The results are charming:

"The series will end with Mr. Snicket writing two endings to the book. One of the endings will be happy, and one of the endings will be sad. Mr. Snicket will say something like, ‘If you like happy endings, read the next chapter, and if you like sad endings, read the chapter after the happy ending.’ " — Henry Brandmark, 12, Vienna

"Olaf and the orphans travel to a remote island and miraculously find the orphans’ parents. The Count tricks them into letting him have their money in exchange for their children. But then he kills the parents anyway and escapes in a boat, leaving the murder weapons behind. Soon some fishermen arrive, see the dramatic scene and assume that the orphans killed their parents. The children are sent to jail and live miserably ever after." — Alexander Kopenhaver, 12, Arlington

The sweet thing is how most everyone wants some sort of happy ending. Oh, woe, that is so not what these books are about–but a kid can dream.

National Book Award nominations are out, and I’m so so so happy to report that M.T. Anderson’s Octavian Nothing is among the Young People’s Lit nods. Yay!

There’s lots of other cool kid favorites or, at least, Danielewski, Spiotta and Powers.

Complete list here.

(Thanks, Shana!)

Christopher will be reading in Louisville this Friday night at the fabulous InKY series–probably from an awesomely spooky, brand-new story "The League of Last Girls," which will appear in the forthcoming Jason Sizemore-edited Aegri Somnia anthology. (Pre-order now.) The flier’s so fabulous, I’m just inserting it below for the details.

A WORD OF WARNING: Some of you may remember my hazardous enthusiasm for Geoff Ryman’s Air. This is going to be similar.

A SECOND WORD OF WARNING: This is going to be composed of fragmented responses. I’ve been having difficulty figuring out exactly how to write about this book; I think it will be more understandable if I don’t try to be too cohesive about it. What’s a blog for, after all?

THE LAST WORD OF WARNING: It’s been several weeks now since I read the book, but I keep coming back and worrying certain parts of it again and again. I’m confident that I remember it well enough to be accurate here, but it’d be kind of fitting to get it a little wrong at times. I’ll do my best not to anyway. Oh, and I have a(nother) head cold.

I’ll say up front that if you’re going to read one new fantasy novel this year, I suggest making it Jeff VanderMeer’s Shriek: An Afterword. If you’re worried about not having read other works set in the city of Ambergris (it’s a world, though, isn’t it? like all the best cities), don’t be. This book serves as a fine introduction to environs Ambergrisian.

I was throroughly sucked in right from the opening page, which is as easy and interesting a way to give you the premise of the novel as any:

A NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR

The following is my account of the life of noted historian Duncan Shriek. This text was originally begun as a belated afterword to Duncan Shriek’s The Hoegbotton Guide to the Early History of Ambergris, but circumstances have changed since I began the book.

Having begun this account as an afterword, ended it as a dirge, and made of it a fevered family chronicle in the middle, all I can say now, as the time to write comes to an end, is that I did the best I could, and am gone. Nothing in this city we call Ambergris lasts for long.

As for Mary Sabon, I leave this account for her as much as for anyone. Perhaps even now, as late as it has become, reading my words will change you.

Goodbye.
                                                                                                          – Janice Shriek

[When I found this manuscript, I contemplated destroying the entire thing, but, in the end, I didn’t have the will or the heart to do so. And I found I really didn’t want to. It is flawed and partisan and often crude, but it is, ultimately, honest. I hope Janice will forgive or forget my own efforts to correct the record. – Duncan]

As indicated in this opening note (and the note upon it), the novel is told primarily by Janice, documenting not only her brother’s rise, fall, and persistent obsession with the gray caps–the curious, fungal, below-city dwellers at the heart of so much of the novel’s action–but the mysteries of Ambergris leading up to and through a war in which bombs are organic and motivations are constantly shifting.

It is a version of Duncan’s life, a version of Janice’s, a family history, a sideways city history, and, also, something more. Through the interplay of Janice’s telling of events and Duncan’s agreement, disagreement, and commentary we can build a narrative of combination, of subtext and supertext. Though we still don’t quite have the answers, and maybe because we don’t, the story is immensely sastisfying and surprisingly touching.

And like that, I’m having trouble coming up with a more elegant way of saying that the book as a whole does the same thing. It: is beautifully written (not a word or a line feels out of place); nonlinear and yet compellingly plotted; has just the right amount of the grotesque and the wonderful; is funny as hell at times; creates a rich world with a life of its own; and has darkness but somehow transcends it. The novel adds up to more than the sum of its parts. Which is why I hate putting it this way, but see aforementioned head cold.

I love how the book is packaged as a fragment of a secret world, a secret history of a secret world (which contains yet more secrets)–I’m a sucker for that kind of thing. Peel back the jacket and there’s a Hoegbotton and Sons logo raised above the green under-cover. I want to tell you more, but I don’t want to, because this isn’t the sort of book I want to spoil even the tiniest thing about. Okay, well one, just for an example.

One of the most resonant and evocative events in Ambergrisian history is the Silence. It casts an early shadow over Duncan’s excursions in search of the gray caps and a sinister one over the city’s future. Here’s Janice’s description of it:

More than two hundred years before, twenty-five thousand people had disappeared from the city, almost the entire population, while many thousands had been away, sailing down the River Moth to join in the annual hunt for fish and freshwater squid. The fishermen, including the city’s ruler, had returned to find Ambergris deserted. To this day, no one knows what happened to those twenty-five thousand souls, but for any inhabitant of Ambergris, the rumor soon seeps through–in the mottling of fungi on a window, in the dripping of green water, in the little red flags they use as their calling cards–that the gray caps were responsible. Because, after all, we had slaughtered so many of them and driven the rest underground. Surely this was their revenge?

I think you can see from this small section that, while fantastic, the politics of Ambergris behave recognizably, and, as such, fungal bombs or no, there is something valuable being said about the way wars happen, and about how they affect cities and civilians. About how and why nations and peoples indulge in such treachery. And how incomprehensible such things really are–you can spend a lifetime (Duncan), but you still won’t know why. You may know all sorts of things, but why seems an impossibility.

When I said this was a fantasy novel at the very beginning? It is. It’s also very much a literary novel, and that means discerning readers of all stripes should consider giving it a shot. I’d especially recommend it to fans of Borges (who gets a shout out with the Borges Bookstore) and Jeanette Winterson (think The Passion, dense, lyrical) and, of course, China Mieville (cage match!).

One puzzling thing. I’ve seen (what feels like) several reviews–including a starred one from PW–that use some variation on "difficult" to describe Shriek. Complex? Yes. Difficult? This is the kind of off-putting word that implies a book is work to read; nothing could be further from the truth here. I found the story on a page by page level absolutely engaging and a pleasure to read.

I wish I could have delved more, analyzed more, swirled more here, but I’ll leave that to the book. I have a head cold, after all, and am, as always, sans net. Read it. Because:

Then we can talk about it! Like how I was left with such a deep affection for Janice and Duncan, lovable screw-ups both (why aren’t there more characters that are just unbelievable screw-ups and likable anyway?). About our theories on what the gray caps secret revenge plans actually are. I tell Emma the Dog and Christopher the Rowe that the "Gray caps will get you!" when they sniff around off-limits places now. So if you’ve already read Shriek, feel free to post in the comments: I want to talk about this one!

See also:
Jeff VanderMeer’s blog
Shriek the Novel site
Shriek the Movie site
On the Bat Segundo Show
Audio and commentary at the Agony Column

John Green’s An Abundance of Katherines is a really funny book.

Now, the rest of you may find books truly, laugh-out-loud funny all the time; I don’t. Most novels that attempt any sort of comedy in this day and age commit some sin. Three examples off the top of my head would be: cutesy, goofy, and obvious-y. But Katherines is just plain funny. There’s straightforward gags, sweet boy humor, and hilarious brainy stuff. Not to mention the timing. It’s so hard to do funny banter in prose in any kind of sustained way. Green pulls it off and then some.

An aside: A lot of humor in novels and short stories is largely invisible. Have you ever been to a reading where the writer reads a piece that when you read it on the page you never even cracked a smile, but out loud people are cracking up at every semi-witty phrase? I’ve even been to readings where people laughed at things that weren’t funny–or intended to be–at all. Audiences at readings want to laugh, they seek out opportunities to find something funny. And sometimes the audience is right, sometimes these things are funny, but not so much on the page. Or not if you don’t have a firm sense of the writer or narrator’s voice to reveal what’s funny. I never realized how funny Karen Joy Fowler’s books were until I heard her read; knowing her inflections and speech patterns fundamentally changed my experience of her work. Anyway, if there are readings of this book planned, and you go, take a garbage bag along for protection*…

So back to Katherines. What’s it about? Former child prodigy Colin Singleton has just graduated high school and been dumped by his nineteenth girlfriend named Katherine. He’s not feeling much like a genius, more like the wallowing. Enter his best friend Hassan–the most lovable wise-cracking Muslim character of the year–and plans of a roadtrip. Bad things are said about Kentucky (Green’s own reversal on such smacktalk is on record), and the boys land in Gutshot, TN, after following a roadside sign to the grave of Archduke Franz Ferdinand, where they meet a clever girl who isn’t named Katherine but Lindsey. Lindsey’s tampon-string magnate mother hires them to help capture the town’s local history over the summer. Lindsey encourages Colin on his quest to complete the ultimate mathematical formula to predict how long a relationship will last and who will be the dumper. And, well, I think that’s about enough plot description. I hate plot description. (I just wanted to get to use the phrase "tampon-string magnate," in truth. Now I have: twice.)

One of the things I love most about Green’s work to date is that it’s set in a South I recognize, with dumb kids, yes, but with really, really smart kids too. It’s not gothic, it’s not twee, and there’s none of that Lil Abner shit. It’s fugging refreshing.

Katherines was the only must-acquire-ARC on my list at BEA and I must admit that (way back when) I started reading it there was a momentary groan at the sight of footnotes. BUT. They work. The clever footnotes work, Colin’s cleverer obsession with anagrams works, and the howlingly clever substitution of fug for fuck WORKS (see def 6). I highly recommend this novel to David Foster Wallace fans who think these techniques are dunt, or to DFW haters, who think they never worked anyway.

You’ll laugh, you’ll sigh.

Read it. (And read Looking for Alaska if you haven’t already!)

See also:
John Green’s blog
John Green’s Katherines FAQ
The first three stops of his 18-blog tour

*From the spit-take of the person next to you, natch. I am in no way implying a resemblance between John Green and Gallagher.