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CCCP@CCLaP
Posted in book reviews, books, CCLAP Fridays
Tagged architecture, book reviews, books, communism, culture, economics, maximalism, non-fiction, photography, politics, pop culture, science fiction, Soviet Union, Taschen, USSR
Robertson’s Book of Firsts: Who did what for the first time, by Patrick Robertson
The first coins, the first hamburger, the first military motor vehicle. These are but a sampling of Robertson’s Book of Firsts. Researched and compiled by Patrick Robertson as a culmination of a lifelong passion, the book aims to chronicle not invention, but innovation. This means a look at social and technological development and some surprising entries. Robertson approaches this collection of firsts from a unique position. A former government employee and a former chairman of the Ephemera Society, he also owns the largest private collection of vintage magazines in Britain. Firsts are ephemeral, since once a first is achieved, social and technological change will prompt more firsts to occur. Just look at the developments of the cell phone and the demographic make-up of the United States Supreme Court.
The alphabetically arranged articles vary in length. For example, the article on blood transfusion covers nearly two full pages. To break it down, there is the first blood transfusion done on June 12, 1667 by Jean-Baptiste Denys, the personal physician to Louis XIV, for “a boy of fifteen suffering from a severe fever.” The first U.S. blood transfusion took place in 1795 by Dr. Philip Physick. The first panel of blood donors occurred in 1921, being four volunteers “from the Camberwell Division of the London Branch of the British Red Cross Society.” The Red Cross established the first blood donor panel in the United States in August 1937 in Augusta, Georgia. In 1931 the first blood bank was established by Prof. Sergei Yudin “at the Sklifosovsky Institute, Moscow’s central emergency service hospital,” but Bernard Fantus “coined the term” in 1937 for Cook County Hospital’s centralized blood storage depot. Finally, the first pre-natal blood transfusion was performed by Prof. George Green and Sir William Liley in Auckland, New Zealand on September 20, 1963.
The Book of Firsts is chock-full of such information. The first antique automobile movement happened on July 12, 1925, celebrating the 25th anniversary of the Allgemeiner Schnaufer-Club (“Tin Lizzy Club”) in Munich, Germany. The year 1623 saw the first publication of a hymn book containing original matter by George Wither, although the first hymn book in a vernacular tongue was “published in Prague by Severin for the Hussites of Bohemia on 13 January 1501.” The first naval vessels to be equipped with radio-telephone apparatus were the USS Virginia and the USS Connecticut in 1907. The lists go on and on, from the first legal abortion to the first women’s track and field events.
Whether reading a single entry with all developments chronicled or searching for a specific “first,” The Book of Firsts will captivate and infuriate readers. Expect to have your pre-conceptions about certain “firsts” refuted. As with any book of this kind, it is subject to the winds of change. The entry on gay marriage has quickly become obsolete, the last sub-entry on U.S. gay marriage ending with the passage of Proposition 8. But that is hardly a demerit in terms of the sheer wealth of information and entertaining factoids one can harvest from this book, whether casually browsing the pages or capturing a “first” for research purposes. This is a good book to have on the bookshelf next to the dictionary, thesaurus, Schott’s Miscellany, and the Meaning of Tingo.
Posted in book reviews, books, cars, miscellaneous
Tagged book reviews, books, culture, economics, firsts, non-fiction, politics, pop culture
CCLaP Fridays: On Being Human: An Introduction
My introductory essay to my themed essay series, “On Being Human” has been posted at CCLaP.
Posted in books, CCLAP Fridays, film, nature, The Horus Heresy, The Internet, TV, Warhammer 40K
Tagged books, capitalism, culture, economics, fantasy, fiction, film, horus heresy, philosophy, politics, pop culture, religion, RPG, science fiction, series, the internet, TV, UK, UK fiction, warhammer 40K
An Interview with Marc Schuster
What inspired you to write The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom and Super Girl?
I was working on a paper in graduate school when I started reading a pair of books called The Steel Drug and Cocaine Changes. As the titles suggest, they were about cocaine, and they included case studies of people who had used and abused cocaine. Some of them were very compelling, but due to the nature of the books, the stories were also very fragmentary. With The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom and Party Girl I wanted to flesh out some of the details in a fictionalized forum, to try to come up with a more fully imagined version of the scraps I had read and started to piece together.
Tell us about your blog, Small Press Reviews, and the appeal of reviewing the works of small presses.
I started Small Press Reviews in November of 2007 after sitting in on a discussion of small presses at a local writers’ conference. One of the speakers was an author named Curtis Smith. I bought his book The Species Crown and loved it. Between his talk and the book, I was sold on small presses. Part of the appeal is that I feel like small press readers and writers share a strong sense of community. I had lunch with a small press author named Christian TeBordo a few weeks ago, and though we’d never really met before—aside from running into each other once or twice when we both taught at Temple University—we found that we shared a common language, so to speak, as we dropped names of small presses we really admire like Featherproof and Atticus Books, as well as small press books we both enjoyed like The Universe in Miniature in Miniature by Patrick Somerville. Being part of the small press scene is a little bit like belonging to an exclusive club, but one that’s—ironically, I guess—open to anyone who’s interested in joining. All you need to do is read a few books and join the conversation.
What’s the premise of Don DeLillo, Jean Baudrillard, and the Consumer Conundrum? What is the “Consumer Conundrum” and how is it reflected in the works of DeLillo, an American novelist, and Baudrillard, a French social theorist?
The book basically looks at the problem of consumerism in the western world. Early in his career, Jean Baudrillard wrote a book called The System of Objects in which he argued that humans have surrounded themselves with commodities which no longer serve any real purpose other than to signal status. This observation in itself is nothing new, but Baudrillard’s argument was that by surrounding ourselves with objects, we’ve taken on the status of objects ourselves—that our sense of self-worth is bound up in the constellations of objects we arrange around ourselves as signs of value. This is a bit of an oversimplification of his argument, but the conundrum I talk about in the book is that of figuring out how to overcome the inertia of commodification, how to stop being objects and, instead, become subjects, become human again. Baudrillard offered a lot of commentary on this predicament over the course of his career and eventually decided that it really couldn’t be done. Don DeLillo, on the other hand offers a more hopeful view of our species’ potential to regain its humanity—through art, though language, through doubting the logic of accumulation that surrounds us. It’s been a long time since I wrote that book. I’m a little fuzzy on the details.
Is there a link between capitalism’s need for gain (profits, acquisition, expansion, accumulation) and an addict’s need for increased dosages just “to maintain”? (“Wonder Mom” seemed to touch on this indirectly, albeit from the perspective of a Drug Morality Tale. Audrey’s inevitable crash late in the novel and the global economic cataclysm aren’t too dissimilar. Or am I reading too much into it?)
No, you’re not reading too much into at all! In fact, a part of me always hoped that readers would draw a similar parallel. Look at the publishing industry, for example. John B. Thompson wrote a book a couple of years ago called Merchants of Culture, and in it he talks about the publishing industry’s need to make 10% more money in any given year than they did in the previous year. That’s why you always see a glut of crappy, gimmicky books just before the holiday season. The publishers are gambling that people who don’t generally read might buy these books as gifts, that they’ll be good for a laugh or will look good on a shelf in someone’s house somewhere. Yet another reason, I suppose, to favor small presses over big conglomerates. The same thing, as you note, happens to Audrey as she continues to fall deeper and deeper into her addiction. She’s hollowing out her soul as she strives for that extra 10% that will help her keep her head above water, at least until she needs her next hit. I always had consumerism in mind when I was working on that book.
Between your novels, your blog, and your teaching, what’s your work schedule like? Do you ever feel like one area is being neglected while you tend to another?
Hah! Yes! All the time! I teach five courses with an average enrollment of about twenty students each. On any given weekend, I’m grading between forty and sixty papers. I love teaching, but that much grading really takes a toll. Needless to say, I don’t get much time for writing during the school year, but I do try to squeeze it in here and there. On one hand, I wish I had more time to write, but I also wouldn’t want to give up teaching. Not just because of the steady paycheck and benefits, but because I really feel like I come alive in front of a classroom—sharing ideas with students, helping them learn to express their ideas and participate in the wider dialogue not just of academia but of culture at large. Even so, I frequently wish I had more time to write. And blogging? I liken it to punk rock. When I’m working on a novel or an essay or a short story, I’m obsessing over craft and getting the content and form of the piece just right, like Brian Wilson taking months to record “Good Vibrations.” But with blogging, it’s more like the Ramones recording their first album in a day. Get it done, and get it out there. Share it with the world, warts and all.
What projects are you working on these days?
My second novel comes out in May. It’s called The Grievers. I should be getting galley copies this week, so I’ll be proofreading and making notes for any minor changes I want to make before it goes to print. Otherwise, I’m mainly gathering scraps in a notebook and hoping they eventually coalesce into something somewhere down the line.
Who are your favorite authors (novelists and/or academics)?
I like anyone who bridges the gap between “ivory tower” academic discourse and a more down to earth yet intelligent public discourse. There’s a lot in the news lately about the hollowing out of the middle class. I think there’s also been a gutting of the ability to have an intelligent conversation in the United States. At one end, there are academics who speak and write in impenetrable and, frankly, boring prose, and at the other end there’s the bombast and vitriol of the shouting heads on TV and radio, not to mention the histrionics of anyone involved in reality TV. It’s tough for regular people like you and me to have a thoughtful, intelligent, public conversation about the arts or culture or even politics anymore, but it is possible. Authors like Jonathan Lethem and Steve Almond do it in their nonfiction, and a lot of bloggers are doing it, too. Anyone who raises the bar on public discourse is okay in my book.
But if you’re looking for names, I love pretty much everything by Kurt Vonnegut. I was also on a George Saunders kick for a while, hot on the heels of a Chuck Palahniuk kick, a Neil Gaiman kick, and my perennial Philip K. Dick kick. Over the summer, I read Chistopher Moore’s Fool and told all of my friends to read it. More recently, I’ve been reading a lot of short stories. Robin Black’s If I Loved You, I Would Tell You This is amazing, and I really enjoyed Steve Almond’s God Bless America. I also liked Don DeLillo’s The Angel Esmerelda. If I’m not teaching or writing, I’m reading.
Posted in books, Interviews, Permanent Press
Tagged authors, books, capitalism, culture, drugs, economics, fiction, interviews, non-fiction, philosophy, politics, pop culture, publishing, small presses, war on drugs
Republic of Words: the Atlantic Monthly and Its Writers, 1857 – 1925, by Susan Goodman
The history of the Atlantic Monthly is also the history of America. Susan Goodman’s Republic of Words: the Atlantic Monthly and Its Writers, 1857 – 1925, traces the intellectual and editorial history of the magazine. Conceived by luminaries including Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr., Harriet Beecher Stowe, Ralph Waldo Emerson, John Greenleaf Whittier, and James Russell Lowell, the Atlantic began with an adamant pro-Union perspective. Lowell, the first editor, brought together numerous contributors associated with the Abolition and Transcendentalist movements.
Goodman excels at bringing American history to life, charting the course of the magazine and the nation through the Civil War, Reconstruction, the Gilded Age, and the First World War. Throughout the book a cavalcade of the famous passes before the reader. These include novelists, humorists, poets, environmentalists, journalists, and philosophers. With biographies of Edith Wharton (an Atlantic contributor) and William Dean Howells (an Atlantic editor), Goodman has a firm grasp on her subject matter. The history of America proceeds either in lock step or in counterpoint with the history of the Atlantic Monthly. The magazine undergoes periodic transformations with each successive editor. As an example, Howells slowly changed the perspective of the Atlantic from a more East Coast, Boston-area, Harvard-educated milieu to one that looked westward.
The book ends in the Roaring Twenties, the Atlantic battered but enduring in its commitment to act as a purveyor of culture. Two insurgent forces threatened its mission of mass appeal, the Crisis, the militant African-American magazine helmed by W.E.B. du Bois and the elitist New Yorker.
A final note, Republic of Words sports a playful cover by the artist Jonathan Wolstenholme. Wolstenholme’s book-centric illustrations, like Republic of Words, will delight anyone with a passion for literature and American history.
Posted in book reviews, books, nature
Tagged America, book reviews, books, culture, economics, fiction, journalism, non-fiction, pop culture, US history
After Lyletown, by K.C. Frederick
A game of tennis with a good friend signifies that Alan Ripley has achieved “the good life.” It is 1988 and Alan works as a Boston area real estate lawyer, has a loving wife working in academia, and a growing son. The idealistic picture of late twentieth century domestic bliss fractures when Rory Dekker enters Alan’s life. Alan met Rory twenty years ago as the intense fires of Sixties idealism curdled into resignation and rage. With Nixon ascendant, Alan and his friends decide to “make a difference.”
Inspired by a seductive ideologue named Lily Culp and aided by a couple ex-cons, the tiny cadre of revolutionaries decide to participate in a heist. The heist involved raiding a gun store, stealing the weapons, and distributing them to blacks. It all seemed to make sense, at least on paper. Then the day Alan should have participated in this nascent revolutionary action, he becomes sick and has to bow out. The Lyletown Six became the Lyletown Five. In the resulting melee, one person died, the others fled, and Rory ended up serving hard time. Now Rory has returned into Alan’s life and Alan doesn’t know why. Blackmail? Revenge? The reunion of friends possesses an ominous tinge.
After Lyletown by K.C. Frederick is a meticulously constructed narrative that Alan and Rory dealing with the consequences from the events of the Sixties. On the surface, the premise is reminiscent of a thriller. The novel itself operates on a much smaller, much more psychological level. It is a novel of interiors. Much is given over to Alan thinking and rethinking his decisions in the past and calculating the degree of his culpability. The superficial portrait of the upper middle class real estate lawyer is only part of the picture. Between the fires of Sixties idealism and thriving in Reagan’s America, Alan suffered one failed marriage and a dead-ended literary career. He then reinvented himself as a law student, divorced his first wife Martha, and remarrying an attractive literary scholar named Julia.
Because of Rory’s silence in prison, Alan thinks he owes the ex-con something. This is exacerbated by Alan’s realization that he could have lost everything if Rory chose to expose Alan’s part in the botched heist. To further complicate matters, Alan chose to not reveal this part of his life to Julia.
What follows is a series of meetings between Alan and Rory. Alan mired in self-guilt, Rory noticeably vague on his current situation. Rory says he needs money, but doesn’t elaborate. Alan, with lawyerly rationalizations, decides best not to ask, since too much knowledge would make him more culpable, especially if Rory’s plans for the money aren’t exactly legal.
Some passages in the novel seem a bit too on-point, like when Alan visits an elderly Polish woman who is his client in an eviction case. The woman worked for the Polish resistance and lives on a modest pension. The woman’s work in the resistance seems like an obvious mirror to Alan’s work with the Lyletown Five. On the other hand, Julia’s father fought in the Second World War but refused to talk about it. The war left him taciturn and tortured on a deep psychological level. The omnipresence of war creates these peculiar ripple effects. Since the story is set in the Late 80s/Early 90s, the reader could project the future for Tommy and how the future War on Terror will effect him.
The novel is an exploration of how war, prison, and affluence effect individuals, told at an unhurried pace. The writing shimmers with descriptions of Innisfree, the Vermont cabin Julia’s father built, and Boston bars (dive bars and trendy Yuppie havens alike). Not a narrative of spectacular confrontations but one that builds menace with a slow intensity and allows for the exploration of human interrelationships damaged by bad personal and foreign policy decisions.
Posted in book reviews, books, Permanent Press
Tagged book reviews, books, culture, east coast, economics, fiction, hippies, k.c. frederick, law, real estate, revolution, Vietnam, vietnam war, war, war on terror, world war 2
The Letter Killers Club, by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovksy
In an industry usually concerned with “moving units,” cashing in on the latest literary by-product of a reality television non-personality, or pushing out fiction that degrades the genre to a near metaphysical endpoint, it is a rare occasion when a publisher can be said to have acted “heroically.” The Letter Killers Club by Sigizmund Krzhizhanovsky (hereafter referred to as SK) represents an occasion to celebrate. With a downright intimidating name (unlike the two-syllable names of thriller writers on bestseller lists), the novel revolves around the machinations and stories told by a secret society in the 1920s Soviet Union. It is heroic to publish such a perplexing little volume by a Ukrainian Soviet writer who, according to the copy on the back cover, “went unpublished, though he was active among Moscow’s literati in the 1920s.” Seriously, why publish this? One could make more money releasing another volume of Ghostwriters Working for the Kardashian Machine. Let’s add zombies to Jane Austen or androids to Tolstoy. “Hey, at least people are reading!” quoth the sycophants of the Lowest Common Denominator.
Don’t let the author’s name or the strange plot dissuade you from reading this remarkable novel. Written in 1926 when Soviet Modernism slowly faded into the Stalinist Philistinism of the 1930s, the novel follows the meetings of a secretive group named “the Letter Killers Club.” Totalitarian paranoia taints the barbed elliptical narratives of the group members, creating stories that bristle with erudition, humor, and beauty.
“The Letter Killers Club” involves each member taking an alias that is a nonsense syllable. The names (Rar, Mov, Tyd, etc.) sound like the characters from Samuel Beckett’s Endgame (1957). The group gathers in a dark study. Empty bookshelves surround them. Every week a single member tells his story, but is duty bound not to publish his “conception.” The strictures recall the random oppressions of the police state. While the 1920s saw an aesthetic flowering in the Soviet Union, its totalitarian terrors existed under the aegis of Lenin and the Party. Stalin simply intensified and expanded the Reign of Terror. The rigidity of the rules also predicts the severity of Oulipo (a literary movement that began in the 1960s).
The meetings frame the stories, each meeting offering a different genre. The first story is actually a play, a heretical dissection of Hamlet. The play splits the characters into two entities; ergo Guildenstern becomes Guilden and Stern. Dueling Hamlets recite the “To be or not be” speech. In addition, the play’s actors go to The Land of Roles meeting previous actors who played Hamlet. The story is playful and postmodern, anticipating Tom Stoppard’s riff on the Bard’s most famous play. The fourth-wall-breaking and Land of Roles remind one of the anarchic interrelationships of Los Angeles and Toontown in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? (Robert Zemeckis, 1988).
Another story involves the transmission of a virus that turns people in automatons. Part science fiction, part biological horror, and part political satire, the story explores the same territory of Yevgeny Zamyatin’s We (1921). In this case, a scientist desires to make the mentally insane more productive members of society with a technique of remotely controlling the brain functions. What started as a technology “for the common good” becomes an instrument of totalitarian control.
The people turning into automatons because of technology should make people pause and think about the ties between self, autonomy, the state, and surveillance. (Whether it is Facebook or the National Security Agency, sacrificing one’s privacy to a monolithic institution usually involves a willing self-sacrifice. Our chains are self-inflicted.)
Other stories include a fable set in medieval times and a tale of a recently deceased Roman missing his requisite obol for his journey across the River Acheron. To complicate matters, the narrators get interrupted, chastised, or, a la “Exquisite Corpse”, other members finish the stories. The interruptions and snide commentary should be familiar to anyone seeing an Internet comment thread. If you disliked a casting choice in a movie involving a Marvel superhero or something similar, then you’ll enjoy the snark targeted at the storyteller. The snark and commentary in this cabal-like setting stands in stark contrast to the public uniformity of the police state. Even with the strictures and severity, the narratives, albeit unwritten, transcend the terror and stifling monotony outside the dark walls.
SK’s The Letter Killers Club is a monumental literary discovery, a gem buried in the Soviet Archives and only unearthed in 1976. With its daring experimentalism and acid commentary on state power, the book still stands as a work of revolutionary power.
Posted in book reviews, books, film, Forgotten Classics, New York Review Books, The Internet, theater, TV
Tagged Beckett, book reviews, books, communism, culture, economics, Endgame, Facebook, fantasy, fiction, film, Hamlet, hollywood, internet, nyrb, oulipo, philosophy, police state, pop culture, Roger Rabbit, secret society, Shakespeare, Soviet, Stalin, TV, USSR
The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom & Party Girl, by Marc Schuster
Audrey Corcoran is unhappy, affected by the vague nameless malaise that creeps into those with thwarted ambitions and unrealized desires. Audrey works at Eating Out, a “shopper magazine” one usually sees in grocery stores and restaurants. In this case, the “magazine” – really a glorified press release and advertising delivery device – caters to the businesses on the Golden Mile, a strip of middlebrow chains and franchises. The Singular Exploits of Wonder Mom & Party Girl chronicles Audrey’s alienation and annoyance at the petty power games and trivialities in her comfortable middle class existence.
Living with her two children, the studious Catherine and the wild Lily, she survives as a divorcee in a Philadelphia suburb. Her work life is one of false bonhomie and hollow comparisons to “a family”, made by Vic, her sleazy adulterous boss. The office environment has all the earmarks of a workplace sitcom: the sexy faded Eastern European named Svetlana, the Indian guy named Raj, and the haggard mom named Melinda. During one of these “family get togethers” at a local restaurant, Svetlana and Melinda goad Audrey into trying cocaine. Audrey refuses. This triggers an internal war inside her. She wants to have fun, but she also has to be the perfect mom for her two children.
Eventually Audrey gives in to her temptations and tries it. Her gateway is Owen Little, jazz aficionado and owner of Nick’s American Grill. The occasional thrill becomes more habitual until it becomes an all-encompassing burden, an insatiable beast that has to be fed the stuff or else it will trigger a crash.
Written in the first person, Schuster captures the comical and tragic inherent in the American middle class lifestyle. Amidst the constant justifications and rationalizations Audrey gives herself to take cocaine just one more time, he balances humor with personal failure. As a divorcee, it is easy for Audrey to feel like a failure and not the proper role model for her children. Thus she joins the local school board and then gets appointed on the anti-drug task force. She meets a comically over-the-top anti-drug motivational speaker/superhero/exercise equipment salesman. In that meeting, she buys an expensive piece of exercise equipment, recruits said superhero, and realizes she needs to sniff another line of coke along with figure out how to pay for the equipment. Thus Audrey crosses the line from drug consumer to drug distributor, aided by Melinda.
Schuster gives Audrey an uncanny degree of psychological realism. Not only is her drug consumption and paranoia handled well, but the coke paranoia exacerbates her middle class attitudes. The middle class exists less as a concrete socioeconomic cohort than an ingrained perspective akin to the French term bourgeois. (While many are economically bourgeois, they’d never deign call themselves that term, despite the bourgeois ideology being omnipresent in society.) One key facet of the middle class attitude is resentment. In the case of Audrey, it shows up in how she reacts to people outside her tax bracket. She detests her husband’s new fiancée Chloe, driving her gigantic Escalade and her wealthy parents. As a drug pusher, she threatens to call the police on a couple of “scummy looking” addicts. In a fateful encounter on the Silver Mile (a rundown, decrepit section of the suburb yet to be properly gentrified), Audrey and Melinda get some coke in a very sketchy neighborhood. Alas, poor people are frightening.
One of the beauties of Wonder Mom is Schuster’s non-judgmental attitude towards Audrey. It is too easy to turn addiction stories into cod-Temperance morality tales. Audrey is hardly “the weaker sex,” especially since she has to work as a single parent and juggle her work and school duties. Audrey doesn’t necessarily triumph, but she perseveres. Cocaine was one way she dealt with her busy life. America’s schizophrenic attitude towards pleasure and its misguided failed War on Drugs only compounded Audrey’s bad decision.
(Marlise Tkaczuk’s “Wonder Mom” cover is delightful. It shows Audrey in a makeshift costume holding a spatula, her red hair offset by the vibrant greens and yellows. A quirky comic book-style cover betrays the comical and tragic tale inside.)
Posted in book reviews, books, film, Permanent Press, TV
Tagged book reviews, books, capitalism, culture, drugs, economics, fiction, film, hollywood, middle class, philadelphia, pop culture, TV, war on drugs
New name, same blog
What’s all this then? As they say in boardrooms across this fair land of ours, it’s “time to take things to the next level.” The Driftless Area Review now has a more memorable web address:
http://driftlessareareview.com/
It’s easy to remember, you have less to type, and should help with Google searches. If you’re a publisher or author, my contact information remain the same. Make sure to update your bookmarks.
Posted in film, miscellaneous, The Internet
Tagged capitalism, culture, economics, fantasy, fiction, film, the internet















