Lit Bits: October 2007 Archives

You write War and Peace. And you say to your self, "Damn, I just wrote War and Peace."  And then you say to yourself, "You know what? I don't think I'm done. I think I'll keep writing. 'Cause it just ain't War and Peace until it's long enough to stretch to the moon."  But years later, some industrious fellow publishes that first draft, and then...lit fight!

The Unbearable Length of Time it takes to get recognized in your own homeland these days, at least for Milan Kundera, author of "The Unbearable Lightness of Being".  But better late than never.  Interesting footnote in the article, Kundera hasn't allowed his more recent stuff sold in Czech Republic, because of worries about "the quality of the translation."  I'm having a hard enough writing in only one language, so I can imagine the difficulty of porting your stories between two or three.

The vikings are finally invading Spain, but they're being nicer about it than they were to my ancestors in Northern Ireland.  It's a literary invasion this time.  Books are so much nicer than bloody hands.

Following up on an earlier post about Aussie literature and its fading place for Australian youth, I see that the Australian government will be beefing up Aussie lit offerings in schools.

In a town in Texas a teacher faces possible criminal charges for assigning a Cormac McCarthy book to high schoolers. The book, "Child of God", is often assigned in AP classes. The article reports quite a bit of grassroots support for the teacher, who is well liked and has been sent on paid leave.  Nice to see that stereotypes of small town Texas are being challenged by athletes wearing armbands in support of an English teacher. Perhaps the locals have discovered that nothing in any Cormac McCarthy book is any more lurid or graphic than the weekly plotlines of "CSI", "Criminal Minds", or a host of other prime time tv programs...

What? You haven't had enough fall color yet? Shame on you. Redeem yourself below.



At the Minnesota Landscape Arboretum, a jewel of a spot this time of year.  Meanwhile, at Carver Park Reserve, the cattails and rushes have gone brown and fall quickly slips away.

The Nobel for literature is on tap for October 11, and some names being tossed around include Philip Roth and Italian novelist Claudio Magris. Of those mentioned in the article, I'll confess I have only read Roth, so I will, in my own provincial way, root for him.

The Salt Lake Tribune does one of the better articles in response to a sky-is-falling report about how many Americans read literary fiction.  This one makes note that publishers are emphasizing more nonfiction because men are becoming averse to fiction; I have a simpler answer to why men aren't reading fiction as much.  College grads are far more likely to read fiction. Men are falling behind, drastically, in college participation. A study published 5 years ago had women well into the majority of college students; by now, this trend is likely far higher.

I spent much of my childhood in beautiful Santa Cruz Country, California, and was sad to read that one of its best bookstores has been vandalized by homophobes who targeted the gay literature section.  How sad--not to mention basically stupid--do you have to be to a.) spend your time vandalizing gay literature in bookstores and b.) do it in Santa Cruz County, California, a place where the banishing of gay books (which we have to assume is a goal of these morons) WILL NEVER, EVER HAPPEN. I mean seriously. I realize none of us thought these people were geniuses, but Santa Cruz? Isn't that like trying to scare all the Christian bookstores out of Alabama?

Jonathon Coe over at the Guardian celebrates classics of British literature - written by women, and recalls discovering them at a time when the canon was still a male country club.

Oprah says go read Marquez.

Lit fight! Boris Pasternak's son doesn't like how his father's book, Dr. Zhivago, came to be published and feels that the book's champion, Sergio D'Angelo, got waaaay too much of the profits.  Long story short, the younger Pasternak had his revenge by managing to put a scathing critique of D'Angelo's actions in a rather unusual place--the epilogue to D'Angelo's new memoir. Without him knowing.  Imagine putting out a memoir, and  then some guy who really doesn't like you inserts twenty pages that amount to "you suck."  Wow.

Stay tuned for Sunday fall color pics from central Minnesota.