Don't Flip Out

Hey, remember when I was reading, oh, let's call it a semi-experimental fragmentary "literary novel" and at the same time I was reading, oh, let's call it a pulse-pounding thriller, and they both mentioned Gogol and everybody got so excited? Well, I finished those two books and started on two more mismatched volumes... this time, a book of academic lectures by John Ashbery and a mystical sci-fi adventure by Philip K. Dick. And hold onto your hats, because THEY both mentioned John Dowland, noted composer of the English Renaissance. Are you flipping out? I need you to get a grip on yourself! Anyway, I have moved on to KING SORROW, a book by Joe Hill about a scary dragon. Now, look. I would have been happier had I not known about the dragon, and I was just reading along for 100 pages like, where is this going, and all of a sudden there is a dragon. That would have been a surprise! But I don't think telling you about the dragon is a spoiler because the big scary dragon is on the cover of the book. All right! So one character in the book offers to go to a place called the Nite Owl and pick up some beer, which I mention for the usual reasons. On the previous page, however, Mr. Hill has informed us that the characters shop exclusively at 7-Eleven. Now we are getting into the kind of stuff that makes me the foremost literary critic of our times. First of all, I never really thought about how to spell 7-Eleven before. Left to my own devices, I would put it like this: 7-11. That's wrong! I thought about it because the novel brings up 7-Eleven enough to make one ponder the spelling. That being said, why does the character offer to go to the Nite Owl instead of the 7-Eleven? Well, the character in question is rather quippy, and maybe he thinks "Nite Owl" has a better ring to it for the quip he is making at the time. I have to say, he's right! Or maybe Joe Hill decided he had mentioned 7-Eleven enough on the previous page. We'll never know! Also, is "Nite Owl" the actual name of a chain of late-night pharmacies or something? That's something else we'll never know, because I'm so lazy.

It's Okay When I Say It

Another advantage of having the hardcover edition of a book you first read in manuscript form is that you can check out the "Acknowledgments" and see if you made the cut. So, Ace indeed gives "Perennial thanks to Jack Pendarvis" (so far so good!) for my "fuzzy memories" (!!!) of "the Atlanta bar scene and life down on Highland and Ponce." I would argue that Dr. Theresa and I supplied Ace with memories of our old neighborhood that were vivid, crisp, and sharp as a tack! I do realize that I described my brain as "fuzzy" as recently as November 9.

Everybody Wants to Read the Book

Hey! I'll be interviewing Ace Atkins about his brand new action-packed novel EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD at Off Square Books on Tuesday at the usual time. Why am I telling you this? Is it because I think the "blog" is a great place to advertise? Hell no. It's because way back in June of 2024 I read the first draft of the manuscript, which had the acronym OWLS in it, a fact with which I tantalized you mercilessly. So now I can finally reveal the source! Which is, as I may not have made clear, EVERYBODY WANTS TO RULE THE WORLD by Ace Atkins. I just double checked the beautiful hardcover first edition and confirmed that OWLS is still there, much as Francis Scott Key once excitedly remarked about a flag. I bet that's a big relief. Unlike Dr. Theresa's birthday murder book, in which OWL stood for "Olympic-Wallawa Lineament," Ace's OWLS stands for (I don't think this is a spoiler) "Older, Wiser, Livelier Souls." I wondered: was this something Ace made up? I guess not! I found, for example, an OWLS program in Jones County, Iowa, where "events include snowshoeing, cross country skiing, a hike to discover skunk cabbage... [and] several evening hikes to Codfish Hollow Hill Prairie." Sounds great! I'd include a "hyperlink," but I know it would just become a zombie "link" one day, and anyway, the hike to discover skunk cabbage took place in 2022. I'm sorry to get your hopes up!

Marvelous McNeil's Mad Martian Movie Musings

Anyway, McNeil wrote to say he recently watched the brand new UFO documentary that, I assume, has the very nation abuzz. I said oh, should I watch it, and McNeil said no. His favorite part was how the interviewees were placed in settings that, to quote McNeil, "were all different, but they were all very Dino-ish. Cozy. Sophisticated." With the characteristic adjective "Dino-ish," McNeil alludes to 20th-century entertainment icon Dean Martin. McNeil went on to note that one interview subject was not afforded the same luxury as the others. He, to again quote McNeil, "was in a black t-shirt in front of a chalkboard. Walking around a lake, alone, cold, hands in pockets. Sitting at the foot of some national monument - alone. Hahaha."

Everything Is a Screen

"The appearance of a very small owl?" I don't even feel like telling you why that is phrased as a question in a Lydia Davis book I'm reading. It would be easy to tell you, probably, but it seems like it would require loads of typing. I have this Lydia Davis book sitting by my laptop in my home office, where I used to keep a book because the awful AT&T "internet" stopped working at the drop of a hat, but even though I have better "internet" service now, I still keep a book there, maybe for when I get tired of staring at the screen. Then I can stare at a page, which is really just another kind of screen, isn't it? I should shut my eyes. But isn't that a screen? Isn't everything a screen when you think about it? Who said that? Plato? By now it should be clear I don't know what I'm talking about. Oh! Also, this owl in the Lydia Davis book is an owl she read about in ANOTHER book, so now I have to put THAT book on my big long list of books with owls in them, too. That happens from time to time: from time to time the owl in a book will be an owl from a different book than the book the owl is in. I said what I said.

The Lonely Pelican

You know how I have books just thrown strategically all around the house so I can pick them up wherever I am and fill my noggin with the interesting thoughts that make me so special. So yesterday I read parts of two different books, one a... oh, let's call it an "impressionisitic literary collage"... and the other a crime thriller. And they both mentioned Gogol! You can imagine how I ran around the house waving my hands in the air. Imagine it, I said! But I don't care when a book has Gogol in it. I only care when a book has an owl in it. And you'll say this is cheating, but while reading about Mary Sidney in that Million Dollar Book Club selection, I grew interested in how she translated the Psalms into rhymed English poetry, finishing a project begun by her famous brother Philip Sidney, who had died when... oh, I can't remember. I think he forgot to put armor on his knees when he went into battle? Don't quote me on that! You can look it up and tell me how wrong I am. So, as I say, you'll call it cheating, because I went in knowing that the one psalm I love to babble about all the time has an owl in it. The one that in my King James Bible goes "I am like a pelican of the wilderness: I am like an owl of the desert." Well! In the Sidney version it goes "And so I bray and howl,/ As use to howl and bray/ The lonely pelican and desert owl,/ Like whom I languish long the day."

Bowling Alleys

In the same passage from her diary of the year 1616, Anne Clifford reflects on how her husband is hanging out in bowling alleys while she is at home with a "sorrowful and heavy heart" trying to take care of serious financial matters. Bowling alleys! That's a direct quotation. Except for the exclamation point. Did you know they had bowling alleys in 1616? I'm not going to look into it. Yes, all right, you already knew they had bowling alleys in 1616, it's something they taught you in kindergarten, you think about it all the time. You're so great. You make me want to puke.

It's Back

Yes, yes, I'm always going on about owls and nobody knows why. Now that we have that settled, would you be surprised to learn that the 125th selection of the Million Dollar Book Club - SHAKESPEARE'S SISTERS by Ramie Targoff - has an owl in it? No, you would not. The diarist Anne Clifford - one of the eponymous, if figurative, sisters in question - writes "I may truly say I am like an owl in the desert." Longtime "blog" and/or Bible fans will recognize the psalm that she is only very slightly paraphrasing. Why, we've seen it quoted in so many books, including THE ANATOMY OF MELANCHOLY. So many books we've lost count! Well, two or three. Four, counting the Bible. And who wouldn't count the Bible? You? Don't make me laugh.

From the Golden Toilet

Speaking of... what? Well, I know what I mean. Going from Queen Elizabeth in my fuzzy little brain to Dr. John Dee, I was put in mind of the chronovisor, a gadget McNeil emailed me about recently, under the heading "Forget the Golden Toilet." Perhaps I should explain the subject line of McNeil's email. Have you not heard of the famous artwork that was fashioned in the beauteous form of a golden toilet? McNeil and I used to amuse ourselves thinking of clever ways to steal the golden toilet, but then someone stole it in real life and ruined our fun. Now, according to all the newspapers, the golden toilet is back - and better than ever, I assume. But why am I telling you this? After all, McNeil has commanded me to forget the golden toilet – review the title of his email for confirmation - and think about the chronovisor instead. I’ll provide a "hyperlink" (here) so you can begin your own stupid journey of discovery about the chronovisor, a device that allows you to see back in time! Supposedly. Well, the idea behind the chronovisor put me in mind of my own big idea for seeing back in time, which involves an impossibly powerful telescope and a faraway galaxy. The narrator of Flann O’Brien’s THE THIRD POLICEMAN (or is it his hero de Selby, much quoted in footnotes?) has a related (?) notion involving an infinite series of mirrors, if I recall correctly, which the structure of this sentence throws into doubt. McNeil declared that my idea would indeed allow us to see ourselves eating lunch in high school, what a dream come true. Anyway, as our email chain became longer and longer, I kept misreading McNeil’s subject header as "From the Golden Toilet," which I finally told him. I think he said I could put that on his tombstone, but I countered that it might work better as the title of an edition of our collected letters.

Royal Glue

Okay, in this Million Dollar Book Club selection, I just read about "a twenty-four-foot-long mechanical dolphin whose belly contained a large group of musicians." Is our subject a Miley Cyrus show? No, but that's a good guess! It's just a little party set up in a private home for a traveling Queen Elizabeth I. "Now, wait a minute," you'd be saying if you existed. "Doesn't the Million Dollar Book Club read celebrity bios and books that are celebrity-bio-adjacent?" What, you don't think Queen Elizabeth I was a celebrity? Okay, okay, I admit she's not even really what this book is about. She's kind of the glue that holds it together, but don't tell her I said that. I don't think she'd like the comparison!

Book Club Newsletter

The Million Dollar Book Club (formerly the Doomed Book Club) has just embarked on its 125th selection, according to Megan's calculations. I'll let you know if it has an owl in it. That's all we can look forward to in this crazy world, I tell you. And at my back I always hear time's wingéd chariot hurrying near.

Spy Beans

Still reading THE NIGHT MANAGER, the John le Carré novel recommended by Ace Atkins. There's something in it called Operation Night Owl. What is Operation Night Owl? Hell if I know, and it doesn't seem as though John le Carré feels like spilling the beans. You know him! I don't. I've never read one of his books before. And I never will again. Just kidding, John le Carré! He doesn't care. He's dead.

Reading Stinks

The other day the thought occurred to me that I might have become eldery enough to start reading John le Carré. I asked around among some friends, and Ace boasted that he had started reading le Carré at the age of fifteen. Ace was already elderly at the time! That's my conclusion. Anyway, as you know, I have been reading ancient (as opposed to elderly) things, or about ancient things, for quite a while now, so when I picked up John le Carré from the bedside table last night and read (I paraphrase lazily), "The stock market was troubled in Zurich," or something like that, my immediate reaction was "Zzzzzz," because I had fallen fast asleep after two paragraphs. But it's not John le Carré's fault! Or maybe it is. I mean, on Halloween, I was finishing up Seneca's plays and reading stuff like "They say the spirits groan here in the dead of night, the grove resounds with the clattering of chains, and the ghosts howl... Old tombs break open, releasing hordes of wandering dead." You try going from that to the Zurich stock market.