Tag: #books

  • Paul Auster (1947 – 2024)

    I read the news today that Paul Auster had passed away. Kind’a always thought that Paul Auster would just be hanging around forever. Somewhere in Brooklyn, scribbling away, and walking around. I don’t know if any of that is true, it’s just what I expected.

    I first read Paul Auster in 1997 or 1998, and the book was Hand to Mouth: A Chronicle of Early Failure. I’m not 100% sure how this book came to me, but I’m pretty sure it was a Christmas gift from my parents. Maybe I put it on a list, but for whatever reason, it was the right book at the right time. For you see, I had just dropped out of college to peruse my career as a writer/artist, and then I read this book, wherein Paul Auster is pretty much telling me that I have ten awful years of struggle, disappointment, and failure headed my way. But he told it is such a funny and depressing way that, for all the wrong reasons, this book inspired me to continue following my path in the arts. And also, to read as many books by Paul Auster as possible.

    I had hoped to have met him one day. Not to have a conversation, or tell him how much I enjoyed his work. No, I just wanted to say “hi” to him on the street, like neighbors. And that’s the other great thing that Paul gave to me; he presented New York City (Brooklyn, actually) as this great place to meet and make friends with people who are nothing like you. There are all kinds of great things about the City, that artists have been talking about for years (the arts, nightlife, money, danger, excitement, scandal…) but he always gave me this feeling that, yes those things are here, but the people of this place, these characters of the City, are what makes this place magical.

    The other thing that I loved about Paul Auster was that the guy just wrote all the time, and produced so much work. This is the “hard working American” side of me that still sees production as one of the measuring sticks of artistic excellence. He created nonstop. He tried things, and sure, maybe not all of it was The New York Trilogy, but I have respect for the people out there that keep trying something new and producing.

    So I guess, thanks Paul Auster. Thanks for trying to talk me out of being creative.

  • Personal Review: “First Love” by Gwendoline Riley

    For the life of me, I don’t remember who or what recommended First Love to me. It was on a list of books that I should read, and when I found a copy of it at the Strand, I picked it up without a second thought, nor having any idea what I was about to get myself into. To be honest, I appreciate the joy and excitement that comes from reading a book that I know nothing about, by an author I also know nothing about, because it does afford me the ability to truly experience a work without any preconceived notions. In this situation, I didn’t even read the description on the back of the book.

    First Love isn’t about the “happy” side of love. It’s not about the joy, fulfillment, or really any of the positive side of love. Oh, now and then, that side of love does show up, but on the whole, that’s not what this novel wants to explore. For the protagonist Neve, she shares with us all of people that she first experienced a form of “love” with; her mother, her father, a boyfriend, and her husband. Each relationship is troubled, difficult, in some cases even toxic, and they all overlap on each other, influencing each relationship from actions that happened in the past, and fears of what might happen in the future. For this reason, it is not a traditional novel, and time and events shift – nothing is linear here, but it adds greatly to the theme of these loves bumping and conflicting with each other.

    I found myself thinking about the works of Rachel Cusk and Maggie Nelson as I read this book. Riley’s novel tackles a serious subject, but the narrative never becomes weighed down, as it feels like a conversation. As such, this book was akin to the Outline Trilogy, and the examination in Bluets. It felt very internal, that we were being let in to very personal thoughts and exanimations. I will say that though First Love is a new form novel, like Outline, Riley did have a more traditional climax here, which gave the novel a satisfying conclusion.

    When I read a book like First Love, I am rather envious of writers like Gwendoline Riley, who create drama and self-examining characters, while never making their stories so personal that it becomes dull of whiney. It’s a bit of a magic trick, that is fun to experience. Thank you, to what, or whomever put this book on my reading list.

  • ODDS and ENDS: Goodbye VICE, WONKA Disaster Documentary, and Disc Golf

    (Locks clipped nightly)

    I never trusted VICE. I remember watching an interview of Shane Smith, the co-founder, on Charlie Rose of all places. The two things I took away from his word salad answers was that HE was the only person who could save media, and HE was the coolest person on the earth. (You know, “He’s hip! He’s cool! He’s 45!”) Turns out VICE was never profitable, though it was valued in the billions, and all Smith was good at was convincing VC’s to give him millions over and over again. As for the media, they did what everyone else does; the C-Suite got paid millions while the staff was paid virtually nothing, and they put out tons of content- quality be damned – to drive up traffic. I do feel for all the people who lost their jobs, just like everyone over at BUZZFEED, and all the other writers at all the media companies. In the end, Shane Smith got what he really wanted; he’s rich.

    I’m not here to dog pile on that Scottish “WONKA Experience.” There are tons of great takes out there, so I won’t embarrass myself in trying. But I have started to wonder; How long until someone produces a WONKA Disaster documentary? I think it took two years for the Fyre Fest to get the treatment, so my guess is that in nine months we’re gun’na hear from the Oompa-Loompa bartender lady about what really happened. (UPDATE: The Fyre-ing of this has started)

    For me, it’s almost disc golf season. I have no idea if there is an official disc golf season, my guess is there is, but I view March as the start. I’m looking to make par this year, as I have never done that, it seems like a reasonable goal.

  • Artist Books

    Over Winter Break, our little family went to the Museum of Modern Art here in Manhattan. Part of the reason to go was to kill an afternoon, but also the kid really is loving her art class at school. They were studying Picasso before the break, and she remembered that MoMA has several of his very famous paintings, and was excited about seeing them. For the wife, she hadn’t been out in the City in a while, you know, to actually enjoy this place – so she was hip on going. Me; I love going to museums – any museum: historical, art, kid, whimsical, yarn, whatever…

    So, up on the top floor, MoMA is holding a retrospective on Edward Ruscha. I was vaguely aware of his work, especially the gas station stuff, but I didn’t know a whole lot about the guy. Let me say this, if you are available, you should go check it out. His work covers several different mediums, and is a very interesting digestion of Post War America, and the growing of Pax Americana.

    Out of all his works, the one I was most drawn to were his artist’s books, the first being “Twentysix Gasoline Stations.” There was something to the simplicity of the work in the book, and the efficacy of the design on the whole. Ruscha went on do many other artists books, all keeping with the same design theme. What these books reminded me of was two things; gallery books my uncle would make, and other artist’s sketchbooks.

    I am aware that Ruscha’s artist books were not sketchbooks, but a complete work unto itself, but I have been to other artist’s shows were they make a single sketchbook into a work. Some of the most interesting I have seen, sadly I have forgotten names, were books that had cut out pictures from magazines and newspapers, or were a combination of text ant drawings/paintings.

    And then there are the gallery books that my uncle used to make. He was a painter/artist who spent time in New York in the late 50’s and 60’s and then relocated to Houston. When he had a show in a gallery, books would be printed for the event, but my uncle took extra time making these limited-edition books individual and unique. Some of the books he would personally swipe paint across the cover, and I think one he would rip the corner off of the first page, to make each book feel “used.”

    And for the past week, in the back of my head, I have this “artist book” idea-thing kicking around in my head. Not sure what to do with it. About six months ago I started farting around with the idea of making a limited run “zine” that would feature crayon drawings and poems with my kid, but that never materialized. (I think my daughter was never on board with the idea.) But I like the idea that writers should adopt artists books as part of their medium to work with. This would be more than a chapbook, as it would incorporate more visuals and play with format and style. For a writer not only works with words, but also the form that books can take, right?

    I’m going to play around with this some more. Even though I might just be describing chapbooks…

  • ODDS and ENDS: Caroling, Sweaters, and Oh Dolly!

    (I Still Want My Hula-Hoop!)

    Does anyone go caroling at Christmas time? When was the last time you remember seeing carolers walking around your neighborhood? Honestly, for me, 1982 or 1983. It’s a fuzzy memory, but I feel like when we moved to Texas from Alabama, which would be 1983, that there were a group of people who wandered around our neighborhood. I mean, we lived in a subdivision outside of Dallas, and winter in Texas is like 45 degrees at night, so it wasn’t a rough experience being outside. I want to say it was a church group, no shock there, right? The other thing I remember is that it meant a lot to my mother. I guess it was something that happened back in her childhood of the 50’s in small town Illinois.

    I just got word from LL Bean that the sweater that I ordered for Christmas has been delayed and I won’t receive it until after the New Year. I did wait to order the thing, and my pause is my downfall. I say all of this not because I am slowly beginning to dress like a guy who lives in the Vermont woods, but because the wife and I just buy our own gifts. I mean, we will still shop for each other, a little, but on the whole, we just go out and buy what we’d like for Christmas. Sure, sometimes we give each other a list, and shop off of that. Yet, it’s just easier to buy what we want, wrap it up, say it’s from the other, and act very surprised on Christmas morning. Sure, the “surprise” part is gone, but the satisfaction of getting what you want, and not have to exchange anything, is rather rewarding.

    If you don’t have “Hard Candy Christmas” on your Holiday playlist, you really are missing out.