Year: 2020

I keep a Slack chat open with a group of buddies all day and we spend time in there joking and chatting and complaining. This morning I suggested that Mondays should begin with a sock puppet show to gently ease you into the week, explaining that not only isn’t it the weekend anymore, but that it is time to sober up and start doing the things you are expected to, accompanied by a primer on what those things are. “You are a ______. That means you do things like _____, ______, and _______. And if you don’t do these things, you will die impoverished and alone.” Then the puppets would hand you a coffee and say, “Take your time. So long as you’re at your desk by nine.” Here’s hoping a browse through news of the shitshow that is our world acts as that puppet show for you today. Up and atom!

• Gentle, fun book quiz to start your week (wait til after lunch so you don’t fail and cry at your desk);
• Neil GaimTan’s Goodreads got hacked (is Goodreads still a thing?);
• How pubs can take advantage of artificial intelligence (for when, you know, regular intelligence doesn’t work out);
• On literary MILFs (article SFW, but if you don’t know what the term MILF means, don’t Google it til you’re on your own computer… even then if you’re prudish);
• 13 pioneering black librarians;
• On the reading habits of 20C authors;
• How we acquired our language of infection;
• Diversity in Westerns? (We’ve been watching through Sergio Leone movies with the kids, so they probably assume diversity in Westerns is limited to white American and Italians);
• GGs pushed to 2021;
• Rate buster children’s author has 12 books this year;
• Don’t anyone feel sorry for TK421 Musk, or whatever the kid is called… There’s no tragedy being born a billionaire;
• Another one of these “how to” articles for self-published types;
• Why we’re reading bucket list books during quarantine;

Admit it, you thought you were going to really cut into the list of books-you-always-meant-to-read-but-never-did-and-yet-still-pretend-to-at-parties, but here we are, two months in and you’re mostly scouring the house for old Far Side compilations and reading the back of cereal boxes like when you were 8. Well, here’s a primer on how to thematicize (?) your schedule and get yourself started on that pile of classics that looms over you like your-impending-mortality-after-a-life-of-failure. Enjoy!

If you are the kind of person who likes to embark upon a project in times of stress, there are worse choices during quarantine than trying to read your way through a bunch of the classic great books. Reading a book can take you out of yourself and your situation for a while, and nourish your mind in a way that more passive entertainment might not. Plus, finishing a book you’ve always meant to read but never quite got around to will give you a warm glow of virtue.

(It’s also absolutely fine to decide not to do anything productive right now. It’s a global emergency! Do whatever you have to do to get by! This article is just for people who respond to anxiety by giving themselves homework.)

But if your only plan is to read books you vaguely understand to be classics, the idea of starting can be overwhelming. Where to begin? How much work are you committing to? Do you even have the attention span to read right now? So I’m here to offer you a strategy.

I’ve organized some of the go-to great books into a few different categories, based on how much work they’re asking of you. Decide what level of concentration you’re ready to commit to right now, and then work from there.

Some interesting info here from BookNet on new accessibility initiatives in the ebook world. A lot of this is way out of my wheelhouse, but I like to wideband things on this issue that is finally getting some attention. Mostly I don’t read ebooks, and for me accessibility largely means the chance to go to book conferences online or have books delivered with groceries. Glad to see this work being done.

In March 2019, the Canadian federal government announced a $22.8 million budget, spread over five years, to support accessible publishing in Canada. This was the apex of many conversations among book publishers, ebook developers, accessibility service organizations, librarians, and publishing support organizations about accessibility in digital publishing. And it was thrilling and inspiring.

We’re at an accessible publishing tipping point — in Canada, and more broadly in publishing. There’s a metric tonne of good work happening right now in many different quarters. I will encapsulate what I’m aware of here but if I am missing something, please do correct me. I welcome hearing about other projects.

What goes on behind the scenes at small bookstores? I mean, besides the silent weeping and fantasies about robbing the bank next door?

Many small bookstore owners welcome the opportunities presented through increased online communication. Mary Swanson has owned the Bookloft in remote Enterprise, Ore., for 30 years, and she employs many of the techniques described by Ineson. She keeps a diverse array of products, changes displays, and mixes new and used books throughout her store, which also has a café and locally made arts and crafts for sale—all in 1,000 sq. ft. of space. Though Swanson consumes industry news and information, she has only been to BookExpo twice. “Winter Institute always sounds appealing,” she said. “But I live in a mountain valley, so getting out in January or February isn’t possible.”

Through choice or adversity, many small bookstore owners also have to embrace a willingness to consider drastic changes. After 18 years in the same location, Diana Portwood of Bob’s Beach Books in the coastal town of Lincoln City, Ore., recently moved her store, downsizing to 1,200 sq. ft. while also making it Americans with Disabilities Act compliant. Working five days per week in the store and two days handling paperwork and ordering from home, Portwood said that the move was challenging but worth it. “I pay myself a salary,” she said.

You made it to Friday! Cross that off your list. Actually, that might be a great way to get something done at least once a week. Add “Make it to Friday” to your to-do list and then every Friday enjoy the satisfaction of having actually crossed something off. Make it to Friday. Ahhhhhh. Don’t forget it’s Mothers Day on Sunday. Not that you’re going to be able to do anything with Mom. Maybe, you know, just fucking look after yourself like a responsible adult and stop letting her do the lion’s share of care-giving, you ungrateful bastard.

As a reward for your survival, I’m going to try to make this news dump without a single Covid story in it… Can I do it? Stay tuned.

• Bezos in the crosshairs over whistleblower retaliation;
• On writing porn as high art;
• Remember when Wallace Stevens broke his hand on Hemigway’s face? Good times. Damn, I would LOVE to have broken my hand on Hemigway’s face;
• Can the bookstore be reimagined?;
• Do these indie store bestsellers surprise you?;
• CBC recommends some books for Mothers Day;
• Guns n Roses doing a picture book for kids with James Patterson… I shit you not… (side note: I really hope that once they get old enough for false teeth, they switch their name to “Gums n Roses”);
• What are people checking out? At the library, you dirt-minded lech;
• Jackson Poetry Prize awarded;
• Montreal Poetry Prize extends deadline;
• Top o’ the yarnin’ to yeh: Irish Novel of the Year shortlist;
• For those of you jonesing: Free poetry events to watch online;
• S&S stays afloat on digital sales;

Tom Holland (who is, I believe, the charming young man who currently plays Spiderman, unless there’s a lucky writer with the same name) tells the Guardian his favourite book as a kid was a Moomintroll one by Tove Jansen. We have had so very many of these books and stories come through the house. In fact, there is a basket of books by the toilet upstairs where I insist on ghettoizing the boys’ poops that still has Moomin books in it. They’re evergreen in terms of delight. When the 17 year old was a toddler he was scared shitless of the Hobgoblin though. It was traumatic. He wanted to read the book, but not those pages. Narrative sacrificed for comfort. Like a Dan Brown novel.

More than any other book I read as a child, Moominland Midwinter has kept company with me through my adulthood, perhaps because it serves as a study of what it means to leave childhood behind. If Moominmama is Jansson’s tribute to her much loved mother, Ham, then Too-ticky, the wise and cheerful creature who spends the winter camped out in the Moomins’ bathing-house, is her portrait of the artist Tuulikki Pietilä, with whom she had begun living shortly before embarking on Moominland Midwinter, and who would be her partner for life. Now, at the remove of decades, I can much better comprehend the dread I felt looking Moomintroll alone in his house, and the pleasure that I took in his friendship with Too-ticky, since I can recognise in them a prefiguring of the adventure of my own life: of what it means to go out into the world, to leave childhood behind, to discover new love.

Recently I have come to see Moominland Midwinter in another more disturbing light. Ever since the lockdown began, it has been haunting me as perhaps the ultimate fictional mirror held up to our current experience of pandemic. That may seem a startling claim to make, yet nothing in Defoe or Camus evokes quite so brilliantly the sheer strangeness of what we are currently going through. “I abandoned the Moomin family’s terribly hackneyed summer veranda,” Jansson wrote in 2000, “and stopped writing about what was deeply loved and guaranteed to continue the same and tried to write a book about how hellish things can be.”

Lots of talk of isolation and books these days. What sorts of titles should be making it big right now? Historical fiction is the mainstay. Anything but the now and the truth, please. For me, the genre that seems most important is beer. But I am hardly a bellwether.

The genre could continue to flourish through troubled times, some commentators think, because it can help to anchor anxious readers with its strong sense of place and often quite traditional storytelling structure. “I think there could be more appetite for more classical storytelling and an emphasis on story and building other worlds, particularly past worlds,” says Emma Paterson, literary agent at Aitken Alexander. “There is a comfort in a beginning, middle and end.” Immersive and expansive historical backgrounds also provide much-needed escape: despite the arguable differences in literary merit between The Mirror and The Light and aforementioned WW2 hit Forever Amber, there are also parallels between these 900+page doorstop novels and their level of detail. Just as Mantel is known for the zeal of her historical research, so Winsor reportedly read 365 books on the Restoration ahead of Forever Amber, during her husband’s five-year wartime absence.

You know, the weather out here on this island in the North Atlantic may be problematic (it’s, like 6 degrees outside right now and there are still patches of dirty snow in my backyard), but I am thankful that I live in a country that took this shit seriously enough. And, as much as it pains me to say it, Trudeau is doing a great job. Even better is that our province, Newfoundland, has finally enacted one of the best back-pocket reasons for living here: the ability to shut down the borders to tourists, allowing us time to ride out the zombie apocalypse living on fish, berries, and root vegetables. God guard thee, Newfoundland. We have had very few new cases the last few weeks and only have a handful of active cases. Not letting people in (can you believe tourists were already showing up with their mainland breath and sneezes?) will hopefully keep things this way. So all this to say, while I will still wear a mask for our once weekly shopping trip to buy teen chow and etc., I will not fear for the safety of my vulnerable family members while doing it. Thanks, Canada and NL.

• Daniel Radcliffe and Stephen Fry are teaching David Beckham to read (or something);
• Dr. Anthony Fauci: protagonist of trashy porn book from 1991?;
• 150 yrs of Canadian history retold as we need to hear it;
• LitHub points to this 19thC character trope generator;
• Oprah (American royalty via billionaire status) sent books to erstwhile royal baby Archie for his birthday (despite being raised Scots-Irish, I am of the opinion that the only good Royals are ones who have had the good sense to flee the Royals);
• Frankfurt promises to rise anew from the ashes of the world;
• But should book fairs be in person?;
• Band with catchy tunes but dumbest name ever is fighting book bans;
• Part two of BookNet’s story on the impact of Covid-19;

Is breakfast the most literary of the meals? NYT asking the the hard-hitting questions we need asked right now. (Ms. Ninja can turn anything into breakfast by putting an egg on it. And it’s always delicious. When I try similar it just ends up as food poisoning.)

Breakfast is the least analyzed meal. With quarantine, it’s taken on new meaning. We’re no longer grabbing a coffee and a corn muffin from the minimart, hustling to work as if Vince Lombardi were chewing us out. Some of us are taking more care with it.

There’s a small literature of the meal. I’ve owned breakfast cookbooks I’ve never opened. (Breakfast cookbooks are always slightly ridiculous.) But there is also, if you’re alert to it, a lot to be gleaned from novels, biographies and memoirs about starting your culinary day.

Vanity Fair examines why poetry is having a day in the sun during the crisis. Maybe if we just kept the world in constant peril, poetry would … oh, wait … it’s been in constant peril for decades now. Right. Well, maybe if we kept the capitalist system of indentured servitude disrupted long enough we could… Ah, nevermind. Let the Millennial and GenZ types handle it when they come to power. We GenX types just want to get on with writing and living. Hopefully the kids will remember us as the ones who were sensible during the apocalypse and will venerate us for just doing the things that were necessary to keep… HAHAHAHAHAHA… hahaha…. wooo!…. sniff…. I’m dying here…. lol…. I almost got through that.

Poems are shooting up like roadside daffodils: Richard Brautigan’s short poem, written in 1969, about feeling bad today appears in an Instagram story; Ada Limón’s “The End of Poetry” replicates on Twitter; a “poem train” email shows up in the inbox. The world-disordering pandemic has infused new collections, written years ago but publishing now, with topical significance. Joyelle McSweeney’s Toxicon and Arachne, published by Nightboat a month into America’s fight against the novel coronavirus, depicts a world of chemical spills and pestilence. Victoria Chang wrote Obit, a collection of obituary-style mourning poems out from Copper Canyon Press, in the weeks after her mother’s death; it serves as an extended meditation on loss, and those left behind. “ I always knew that grief was something I could smell,” she writes. “But I didn’t know that it’s not actually a noun but a verb. That it moves.”

“Poetry tends to hang out at points of transformation,” says musician and United States poet laureate Joy Harjo. “People may have not much interest in poetry at all or even read it much, but when a death happens in the family, or some other grief event, or marriage, or falling in love, or falling out of love, birth—people always turn to poetry.”

Already, poets are capturing this moment. On the first day of San Francisco’s shelter-in-place order, and one week after the publication of her new collection, Ledger (Knopf), Jane Hirshfield wrote “Today, When I Could Do Nothing,” about the gentle and possibly futile gesture of saving an ant as the world begins to crumble. Carol Ann Duffy, who served as Britain’s poet laureate from 2009 until 2019, is spearheading a project called Write Where We Are Now, in which she has asked fellow poets to create a “living record” of the pandemic.