Counterbalance

Adrift on a Sea of Baker

I've not read a single review of Baker's The Anthologist.  I'm sure I will shortly, but I'm not sure I'd care. He does something with language in this book that reminds me of what I love best about DFW.  There is such forthrightness, such straight-forward talk that I spent much of the book thinking "yes, yes, this is how great stories are told...without all the linguistic somersaults and trumped up similes that other writers use...just honest, heartfelt words on a page."  Which is perfection on top of perfection, since that is what Baker spends much of his novel arguing against.  Kind of.

And yet.

He's employed some of the most somersaulty language I've seen in a long time.  Sentences that hop, skip, jump, lay flat then get back up again for another go, counterclockwise. Fantastic phrases. And all of it is delicious. And reminiscent of DFW in a not-very-similar way...but a little bit when you think of DFW's plain-speak coupled with his multi-page footnotes.  It looks quiet and lovely on the surface, a sweet little tale. Yet it is bursting with big arguments and universal truths and fully intended ironies and delectable avoidance techniques and heartache on a cosmic level. Quietly.

Here's the main thing: I laughed out loud more than I've laughed out loud in a very, very long time. (Perhaps this says more about my current mental state than it does about Baker's novel...) Especially when reading fiction.  Bravos and well-dones are in order, particularly on the heels of Human Smoke (which both destroyed me and inspired me) and I'm sure I'll eventually compose myself enough to hash out a proper tribute or review or smattering of more coherent thoughts.

But just now I'm thinking, what a delicious delight.

Loaded

We're in flight (Virgin America, digging your in-air wifi) and the eReader that shall not be named is loaded with much reading goodness:

• The Anthologist by Nicholson Baker
• Await Your Reply by Dan Chaon
• Nocturnes by Kauzo Ishiguro
• New World Monkeys by Nancy Mauro
• A Gate at the Stairs by Lorrie Moore
• Of Bees and Mist by Erick Setiawan
• Lies My Mother Never Told Me by Kaylie Jones
• Alice Fantastic by Maggie Estep
• Bury Me Deep by Megan Abbott
• This Is Where I Leave You by Jonathan Tropper

First up, the much-awaited Baker book. Simply cannot contain self. 

And yes, it would seem that I'd need far more than a week of packed-full vacation days in DC to complete all this delectable reading.  But it's all there...just in case.

Stay tuned.

I've Done It & I Feel Dirty

I had a choice.  I could purchase the armful of just-out hardcover books that I lugged around the bookstore today and then find a way to cram all of them into my suitcase for my upcoming (and oh so needed I cannot even tell you - but you probably get it, given how available I've been to blog here) vacation. Or I could put them all back in their places and order the eReader that shall not be named. 

Yes, I could have chosen others.  Sony's are interesting.  Yes, there will be cooler ones available next month and the month after that and the one after that. Yes, I have major issues with so many of the big-brother-esque features of the eReader that shall not be named.  Yes, I'd rather have a tool that does not tie me to one format. Yes, I wrote this. (I know.)

However: I can think of no other way to save as much cash (it now costs less than the armful of books I had), as many trees, and take a ton of books with me when I travel. Can you?

I held out for nearly two years, but I still feel dirty and embarrassed. 

Away We Go

I'll admit that when I first started on this travel writing reading jag, I didn't know if it had legs. Translation: I doubted it could capture my interest beyond the first book or two.  Add in the bevy dearth of very excellent new fiction that is coming out over the next few months, and I seriously wondered how long I'd manage to be intrigued by this genre of writing and this ever-seeking out of new place/old place understanding and adventure.

So I'm entirely surprised to find that not only has Theroux completely enchanted me with his very specific point of view in Dark Star Safari, but I'm becoming ever more interested in devouring all sorts of travel literature as the days pass. That's the good news.

The less good news is that I'm now at a decisive moment.  I could give myself entirely over to Theroux and read all of his big travel books in one go (there is something about his writing that carries me along and piques my interest whether I agree with him entirely or no and I can see that this might be an excellent time to become a Theroux non-fiction completist) or I can hop skip jump around to all the other journey lit that I've been obsessively identifying, collecting and placing in library queues.

So - I could go Theroux:

• Pillars of Hercules
• The Old Patagonian Express: By Train Through the Americas
• Riding the Iron Rooster: By Train Through China
• The Happy Isles of Oceania: Paddling the Pacific
• The Great Railway Bazaar: By Train Through Asia (which must obviously be read before...)
• ...Ghost Train to the Eastern Star: On the Tracks of the Great Railway Bazaar (published last fall)

Or I could go all over:

• A Journey to the End of the Russian Empire by Anton Chekhov
• The Jaguar Smile: A Nicaraguan Journey by Salman Rushdie
• Flaubert in Egypt by Gustave Flaubert
• And Let the Earth Tremble at Its Centers by Gonzalo Celorio
• A Trance After Breakfast by Alan Cheuse
• Hitching Rides with Buddha by Will Ferguson

Where would you go next?

Not My Typical Meet an Author Locale

As you know, bookstore readings are my thing (or at least they were before I started working so many hours a week that I find the last one I attended was eight months...eight months...ago) and I find the whole process fascinating -- from the reading itself to the audience's odd mannerisms and secret but not so secret conversations both before and after the author's part of the gig is over.

On the heels of both my grave disappointment at my recent track record for attending these events (I used to attend several per week so to say I'm out of sorts is to grossly understate this state of affairs) and my recent foray into journey-from-your-armchair-literature, I'm now considering kick-starting my anemic author-event attendance by showing up at...a business conference.  I know.

Whilst checking out the Triple Pundit and thinking about my secret sustainable wine project (which is also suffering from my crazy workload), I took a look at the Opportunity Green conference that will take place Nov 7 - 9th at UCLA.  After perusing the sponsors and speakers (MINI, I love you), I was delighted to see that Rick Ridgeway, author of The Shadow of Kilimanjaro: On Foot Across East Africa (which I finished a few short weeks ago and which inspired me to dive headlong into this reading direction), will be speaking in his role as VP of Environmental Programs and Communication at Patagonia.

Not my ideal author venue, but I'm willing to check it out.

Reader-Writer Moment #442

It is rare for me to be only pages - mere pages - into a book and scold myself for having missed out on such greatness for so long.  How could I have missed Theroux's travel writing entirely? It would be one thing if I didn't obsess about books daily...but to be so focused on writing and reading and to have missed this entire oeuvre of Theroux is just...maddening.  More worrisome: have others? The good news: I've discovered he writes more than novels, and boy does he ever. It is early going, but I suspect his work will lead me on a fascinating journey.  In addition to the work itself, I've already had a few of those extra-lovely moments where connections to other writers/folks of interest are made - writers that have either been on my list for a long time or those who've only recently come to my attention but now seem to appear in everything I read (which I always interpret as a message from the book universe that I must follow the tail as it darts in and out of whatever I'm reading and see where it takes me).

The first hook-line-sinker passage for me:

"Out of touch in Africa was where I wanted to be. The wish to disappear sends many travelers away. If you are thoroughly sick of being kept waiting at home or at work, travel is perfect: let other people wait for a change. Travel is a sort of revenge for having been put on hold, having to leave messages on answering machines, not knowing your party's extension, being kept waiting all your working life - the homebound writer's irritants. Being kept waiting is the human condition.

I thought, Let other people explain where I am. I imagined the dialogue:

    'When will Paul be back?'

    'We don't know.'

    'Where is he?'

    'We're not sure.'

    'Can we get in touch with him?'

    'No.'

Travel in the African bush can also be a sort of revenge on cellular phones and fax machines, on telephones and the daily paper, on the creepier aspects of globalization that allow anyone who chooses to get his insinuating hands on you. I desired to be unobtainable. Kurtz, sick as he is, attempts to escape from Marlow's riverboat, crawling on all fours like an animal, trying to flee into the jungle. I understood that.

I was going to Africa for the best reason - in a spirit of discovery; and for the prettiest - simply to disappear, to light out, with a suggestion of I dare you to try and find me."
 

                                       --Paul Theroux, Dark Star Safari

Epic Journeys from Your Armchair - Prelude

It started with meeting a wolf expert, grew stronger with a bookshelf reorg in which I rediscovered my once-loved photo books on Africa, and swelled into grand proportions after I started watching a little show called...Man vs. Wild.  Say what you will about Bear Grylls and how likely it is that he is truly in danger during each shoot and so on (a quick search of YouTube on this topic would render anyone a skeptic in this regard), his fascination with the inner journey one goes through while trying to survive in the wild struck a deep nerve in me and reminded me of the epic journey literature that my father introduced to me as a child.

Growing up near Jack London Square, perhaps it was a no-brainer that the first man vs. wild literature I ever read was Jack London's Call of the Wild.  At the time I distinctly remember it all being a bit intense and rugged and...something possibly more suited to boys. Full disclosure, even Black Beauty was a lot of violence for me to handle at that time.  Either way, I moved on to other literature and never looked back.  I had torrid summer affairs with Clive Cussler's grocery store novels (my grandmother's term, not mine) and although I knew then that the writing was subpar, I gravitated towards his stories that were less spy-ops, more adventure in the wild.

I had a brief spell of wanting to move to Africa to study zebras and then I spent two decades ignoring all this entirely.

Yet a few back to back episodes of Man vs. Wild (thank you Netflix Watch Instantly) and all the power of epic travel writing and intense journeys that challenge everything we know and believe about ourselves and the vast natural landscapes that cover our planet came roaring back. I'm not sure if this renewed interest is more escapism from daily worries or if it is purely about the journey and the animals along the way, which was certainly the fascination when I was younger.  As I've spent the last several years of my life focused on new, new fiction, my overflowing bookshelves afforded me very little in the way of a quick fix once I determined that I wanted to read some epic journeys through difficult landscapes. 

The first book I plucked from my shelves a few weeks ago was Rick Ridgeway's The Shadow of Kilimanjaro: On Foot Across East Africa.  I'm hooked.  So hooked, that I'm already casting about for what I'll read next.  It was in this casting about that I disovered the vast array of travel writing - classic and brand spanking new - that I've ignored entirely with my ever-vigilant focus on new fiction. Quick scans of travel writing sections revealed Paul Theroux's books (ahhh, so that's what he does) and so many others that I felt like a right dolt for having missed out entirely (and possibly thumbed my nose at, if I'm being honest) on this genre of writing. 

The good news: I've found it now and it is fair to say I'll be exploring the world of epic journey literature for quite awhile. The tradition is so rich, the landscapes so vast, the life altering realizations so abundant. I've got a few books on my radar to read next (Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux tops the list) and I'd like to consider this post a prelude to a longer discussion about this genre of literature.  In my years of book blogging (and I'm stunned to find it has been four), we've never had this discussion. In all of our emails and comments and texts and tweets back and forth about craft and gorgeous writing and novels that have changed us, we've never covered any of this.  Why is that?  Is it a literature we've deemed somehow lesser than the great fiction we celebrate?  Why do these journey stories resonate for me now in a way they never did before and have all of you been steeped in this literature for years and I'm a late arrival?  These are just the first questions of what I hope will be an ongoing dialogue here at Counterbalance.

I'm oh so looking forward to it.

Today is Friday, but it's not THE Friday

 

  

Reader-Writer Moments #432 & #433

"I see a lot of people, especially younger people, they involve themselves---they have an opportunity to open a restaurant---they involve themselves heart and soul, and that's good, but to the point where they may get burned out. My viewpoint is, there are other parts to life that are very important, and it's by maintaining that balance that I can always find this to be exciting and always get pleasure out of being involved in cooking. If this is the only thing I do and I do it eighteen hours a day, it becomes drudgery and something I may not look forward to. A friend of mine felt that way: he hated to go back into the bakeshop, into the kitchen, and that's terrible if it comes to that, because then he doesn't do a good job. You're not happy, you're miserable, you don't look forward to it."

"You know an artist is represented by his or her paintings or drawings or sculpture, the quality of it...I think we project our values by the food we have on the plate, not necessarily in an artistic sense, but in the sense of flavors we offer. I always feel that when I put food on the plate for my family---anybody---I'm saying 'I feel good about this. This is what I believe is good food. If it's not good food, I wouldn't put it there. This is what I like, this is my standard, this is what I believe is good food and I hope you enjoy it.' I think you make a value statement every time."

        -Ferdinand Metz, speaking to Michael Ruhlman in The Making of a Chef

Oh yes.

 
Absolutely, 100%, with every fiber of my being, yes.  A swoon-worthy reading "room", no?

I've spent the morning admiring the gorgeous of work of another very talented Richard Powers (not Echo Maker, Galatea 2.2, The Gold Bug Variations Powers, but Federal NSW Australia, Havana, Kuala Lumpur Richard Powers) and I'm smitten & transported & thrilled. 

Wonder if the two have ever met? Wonder if I could write a whole story about men named Richard Powers?  Wonder if that sounds as nutty/cool to you as it does to me. No matter - breathtaking work that has my brain making other connections to other artists is always a good thing.

Photo above of Fire Canyon House in Santa Barbara, via Apartment Therapy.

Finding Inspiration in Unusual Places

It has been so long since I blogged properly (tweets don't count) that I didn't even know my login/password to Typepad.  That's a sad, sad state of affairs.  I'm still questioning many of the points raised in my post on loving books/being done with books - namely having something of value to add to the mix that isn't already being added by the vast number of those who blog about and report on books.  I've also been working my ass off, so there's that.  Mortgages, taxes, a family member with cancer, and neighbors with attorneys can seriously hamper your productivity.

What it all comes down to though is this - I need to be writing a book.  And the more time I spend writing about the writing of books, the less I write my book. Simple, you'd think. But oh so not. I believe there is something else I wish to do with it all - some site, some group blog, some channel that will take everything to the next level.  I don't know what that is yet (do you?) so I'm taking my inspiration where I can find it and remaining open to many creative/design influences. That "next level thing" is in me somewhere, I just need to tap into it.

Until said thing is located, here's what I've been inspired by lately:

  

(Loeffler Randall's Poppy Perforated Sandal, Man on Wire film, David Turbridge's stunning Floral Pendant, Amienne font by ascender fonts)

Reader-Writer Moment #428

I haven't had a moment of "oh yes, this is spot on" in a long time and while I've been enjoying Seth Greenland's Shining City, it wasn't until the revelatory end that I arrived at this pasage:

"It must be glorious to exist in the eternal present, Marcus thought, as he watched the littled dog dig a hole. He wished he had faith. He envied those who did, and the blissful afterlife they were promised. In the meantime, this was the dirty world in which he found himself, the moist field on which he played; this realm of animal and mineral, salt, iron, water, dust, light, desire, and darkness. He'd seen it up close, tasted it, felt it in his pores. It was the essence, bountiful and life-giving, and human beings wanted to touch it, wanted to live, to stretch their spines, arch their backs, and, arms spread, face the sun, fingertips reaching upward toward the eternal sky. But they needed to go to school, to work, to make money, to raise families, to bury the dead. He understood. He knew."

I suspect that many are feeling this unique brand of desire mixed with harsh reality at the moment. The beauty of this passage, though, is that it resonates in any time, any place. It strikes me as a dreamy example of damn good writing.

Shifting

 

I've been caught in a whirlwind of goodness and not so goodness and there's so much going on I've been unable to stop and think.  For the past two days I've been sick and had to settle down.  A wonderful thing has happened as a result: glimmers of a story (that until now have appeared in quick bursts of half-memory, half-make-believe only to fade as soon as I re-focus back on the insanity of my working life) have become concrete. I'm mining past moments to tease it all out, but it is happening.

I must work again today - despite the holiday. Crazy/un-fun deadlines press down on me and add a tension to my shoulders I cannot fully describe.

But - it is happening.  I must stay in this zone and allow this story to unfold. I must believe that a day is coming where I can focus only on this. Until then, I will be at one end of counterbalance, far from the fulcrum. (Image via.)

Hannah Tinti Compares Diaz to DFW

Flavorwire has an interview with Hannah Tinti, author of the remarkable Animal Crackers and The Good Thief (must read this pronto), in which she talks of managing creative writing classes:

"A lot of teaching a creative writing class is about managing personalities. Learning how to workshop something so that everyone leaves a room feeling inspired, rather than depressed."

And likens Junot Diaz to DFW:

"It would be some sort of combination of Gabriel Garcia Marquez and like David Foster Wallace, or something like that — particularly with The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, with all the footnotes and asides."

I'm with her on the first point, less so on the second one.  Yet I think its safe to say I'm biased in favor of DFW and I'll admit that if someone compared me to Robert Luis Stevenson, I'd probably flatter them right back as well.

LA Weekly Woes

While it is no surprise to many in LA that our beloved LA Weekly has undergone a transformation as of late, nothing shines a light brighter on the dismal state of affairs than Marc Cooper's LA Weekly: The Autopsy Report (via) posted on his blog last night. Wow. Just. Wow.

I'm most saddened about the changes because LA Weekly regularly published original fiction by a great number of interesting voices and many insightful bookish writers can be found within its pages.  The paper is (was?) also a welcome antidote, sorry to say it, to LAT, when it comes to annual lists of books to be read and so forth.  We'll see where the cards fall on this one...

Lit Bits & A Bit About Reading Resolutions

• Sad news in the Bookish LA world which I'm sure you're all well aware of by now - Glenn Goldman, owner & founder of the essential Book Soup, has died. The bookish crowd has written several excellent posts on the subject and I suspect more will be penned in the coming days.  The bits that spoke most directly to me include: David Ulin at Jacket Copy (where there are some lovely comment tributes as well), C. Max Magee & Edan Lepucki at The Millions and Goldman's LA Times obituary.
• Book Soup is also for sale. As I have the pleasure of covering bookish events each week, I see first-hand how the sale and/or closure of fine book stores affect not just our wider literary culture, but how they have a literal effect upon the number of readings in a given week, month or year that Angelenos can attend.  The loss of Dutton's was immense, the loss of so many other great bookstores added insult to injury, and I hope as I'm sure all of you do that the important work that Goldman started at Book Soup will continue on, regardless of who ultimately owns it in the future.
• The first Week in Bookish LA in 2009 is off to an ambitious start, with a load of events crammed into Thursday and Pinky's Carolyn's pick of the week, Denis Dutton (editor of Arts & Letters Daily) at the Central Library @ 7pm on Wednesday night discussing his book The Art Instinct: Beauty, Pleasure and Human Evolution with Michael Shermer.
• Slumdog Millionaire is quite good, and I do love a good Danny Boyle jaunt, but it is not the best film ever made, nor is it the best film I've ever seen or even one of the best films I've seen in the past five years, as so many are stating.  I can't help but feel our need to have hope in these dark times is the reason the beat-the-odds message of this film resonates with so many, on such a deep level. I'm trying to think of a recent book equivalent, but can't come up with one at the ready. You?
• Not only do I love that Richard Nash at Soft Skull is asking for feedback on cover art preferences for Pasha Malla's debut short story collection, The Withdrawal Method, I love that I found out via @softskull.  Vroman's tweets regularly (@vromans) and I've gotta say, outside of my unwieldy Google Reader feed bonanza, Twitter is my main source for links, info, general vibe of a given day, etc. I wish more bookstores, readers & writers would get thee to Twitter.
• I'm not one who typically goes in for the reading resolutions that so many folks are making, but I can't deny the lure of mapping out a year of reading. There is something so controlledabout such a plan and reading for me (and I suspect most of you) is nearly the opposite of controlled. One book leads me to another, one author leads me to countless others, a conversation, a tweet, a dinner, a film...all lead me to something else.  While I like the idea of mapping out this chaos, I know it will never stick. Yet, still I find I want to jot things down.  See what I'm thinking of reading just to...see. Not resolutions per se, but maybe mini-resos that are...plausible.  As I expect to read several new books this year (some of which are known to me at this moment in time and so many that are not), I'll stick with the not-new ones I very much want to get to: re-read all of David Mitchell in prep for his forthcoming novel & finish up all of Bolano (only The Savage Detectives remains) so that I can properly tackle 2666.  That seems doable. Right?

The Halting & The Hoping

These words are overdue & I'll attempt to speak as plainly as possible:

 

• I stopped blogging about books because everything began to feel like one big self-congratulatory circle of those in the know slapping backs and those not in the know trying desperately to elbow in. I did not want to play the who could link faster game any longer. I lost interest in adding to the noise simply to do so. I decided I'd only post if I had something new to contribute to the larger bookish conversation.
• This desire to only contribute new insight or new informatio instead of re-reporting what has been reported elsewhere, quickly became a fire that touched everything else I'd normally touch.  My not-yet-launched wine blog seemed instantly stale and blogging at LAist confused me further.  Despite how insanely busy these past few months have been at work, I still wanted to blog every day. I found that not blogging was just as challenging as blogging.  Each time I opened a post, I had to ask myself: will you be adding to the conversation with this post? Or will you instead be summarizing a reporter's hard work? Or linking and citing and sourcing still others' work?  Or, in my time-honored habit, will I be whining (as it could be argued I'm doing here) about something that is specific to me and may be of little interest to anyone other than me? It is amazing how little I had to say when I couldn't fall back on my usual tricks!
• Then DFW left us and I was gutted (yes, Mark, gutted) for a spell so long it surprised me. There were many things I wanted to say about DFW and how his writing affected and inspired me in a way that few writers have and that I did not even fully realize until he was gone.  Yet, before I could assemble my thoughts cogently and attempt to get them on the page, the coverage of him became so insane that to even express the depth of his work and its influence on me would have seemed tawdry & cheap.  Like I was glomming on.
• I sunk further into frustration when I saw that many others, who had not read his work and seemed only to know of a few factoids and his celebrity, used his death as an opportunity to cast the spotlight in their own direction. I loved, however, the tributes of those who cared a great deal and I'm ashamed to say I'm getting teary-eyed now just thinking about them.

• I have missed interviewing authors, but I have not missed reading every new book that comes out on insane deadlines so that I have no time to read any books except the new, new, new books. I have taken great pleasure these past few months in reading books that were published long ago.
• I am saddened about the state of publishing, of the plight of independent bookstores, of the LA Times Book Review, of the LAT in general, of so many, many things that are central to ensuring that talented, undiscovered writers find readers.
• This is where I come full-circle. Despite all my uneasiness about the state of blogging and my deeply felt quest to only contribute something new to the conversation, I've come to see that books and the writers who write them (hah!) need all the attention they can get. I suspect that will be the case in 2009 even more so. 
• I can't tell you exactly what this means for Counterbalance, but I can tell you I'm back.  I spend most of my daily hours working with clients on digital marketing, social media and other online programs to ensure their ideas, products and brands are known, clearly understood, and sought after by the right audience. I spend the remaining daily hours reading novels (and attempting to write them) and worrying that other writers and their books aren't getting the attention they deserve. Seems to me this confluence of forces should produce something new to add to the conversation in 2009...I do hope you'll join me.

The Persistence of Fire Alarms

There are many reasons for the eerily quiet posting schedule here as of late (and as I've promised and over-promised, I'm sure it will all trickle out in good time because I've no intention of abandoning the blog ship entirely), yet there is one reason in particular that has had me over the barrel and unable to come up for air in months.  I've just remembered (and am oddly comforted by) a spot-on passage from Then We Came to the End by Joshua Ferris:

"A new client pitch due Monday meant a full week of one o'clock nights and a few hours of sleep on random sofas on Sunday. It was called a fire alarm, and when one came along you had to drop everything. There was no going to the gym. Theater tickets were canceled. You saw no one, not your five-year-old, not your marriage counselor, not your sponsor, not even your dog. We feared the fire alarm."

Consider this month - and last month and the month before that - the month of the persistent, never-ending, always looming, ever-terrifying fire alarm.  I have not seen my dog, I've not seen the inside of my gym in months (and it shows) and there have been many theater, event, and travel cancellations.  As the year winds down and I try to catch up on much needed sanity and sleep, I'm hoping to have a fire alarm-less life in the first part of 2009 so I can get some reading & writing done.

Mightier, Indeed

 

I am so, so sad to have missed out on this limited edition print by Seb Lester.  I've got several pieces from the excellent Keep Calm gallery, but this one seemed destined to be mine. Alas, it sold out almost as soon as it was introduced earlier this week. 

Bookish LA Still Delivers

I'm inching my way back into the blogging world by slow degrees and yes that means I've missed many excellent readings in the past two months. It also means I've been spotty with my LAist Get Your Lit On coverage.

But I'm back and Get Your Lit On: The Week in Bookish LA is up. It is lovely to see that even though I've been on hiatus, the LA lit scene is still delivering excellent evenings of writerly pontification and inspiration.

The one must-see event for this week? Tomorrow night's group reading for The Paris Interviews Vol III at The Hammer Museum with Philip Gourevitch, Stephen Gaghan, Mona Simpson and...surprise literary guests. Delicious! 

Be there or...you know the drill.