I came to read Let The Right One In at the recommendation of a friend whose opinion I hold in high regard.  I am going to admit right here that in high school the two of us read vampire books.  Then we quit reading vampire books around the same time for about the same reasons.  But that is perhaps another post. 

Let The Right One In is set in the Stockholm suburbs in 1981. I kept thinking, "This seems anachronistic," and then immediately thereafter thinking, "Oh, yeah.  It's 1981!"  Every time they talked about the new Kiss album, or described the apartments.   I finally got temporally oriented, but I never got a real sense of Sweden.  I'm comparing this to the sense of Iceland that I got very strongly from Last Rituals, which actually suffered from a flatter plot.  Maybe the point is that Sweden is does not leave an impression on you.  The characters, however, were more textural and detailed.

Anyway... it's the coming of age story of a likable-enough adolescent boy-doofus complete with bullies and elaborate revenge fantasies. There is a manhunt for a mysterious serial killer, a smattering of dead-end kids, and a cadre of hapless neighborhood alcoholics.  It sounds like the feel good hit of the season, doesn't it?  But for once the vampire isn't some sensitive guy with dreamy eyes!  In all, John Ajvide Lindqvist does a good job of maintaining my interest for the long haul and I was rewarded with, if not a twist, then a flourish at the end.

So, it wasn't the greatest piece of literature in the world, but it was meaty, creepy, supernatural mystery, and-- best of all-- it was different.

So now let's all listen to Morrissey.

Black Music , Gavin Petrie Editor and Designer (New York: Hamlyn, 1974) came out of the discard bin last week.  Confident from my new-found ventriloquism skills and cheered on by Paul's suggestion that I make this a feature I went looking for more trashed treasures.  And how could I NOT grab a book with Billy Preston on the front?  Sorry I forgot to scan the front before I released it back into the wild, but I did get the awesome one to the right.

In a world of top 5 lists it is refreshing that Gavin Petrie comes up with his top 21 black artists of the day (1974).  As I flipped through the pages, most of the artists made sense. There were a few-- three to be exact-- that I had to read up on. Can you guess which three?

Here's the list:

1. James Brown
   
2. Ray Charles
3. Staple Singers
4. O'Jays
5. 3 Degrees
6. Chi Lites
7. Thom Bell
8. Bill Withers
9. Pointer Sisters
10. Barry White
11. Maytals
12. John Holt
13. Isley Brothers
14. Harold Melvin
15. Smokey Robinson
16. Stylistics
    

    O'Jays in hoodies
17. War
18. Al Green
19. Bobby Bland
20. Dandy Livingstone
21. Billy Preston

Here are the ones I had to look up:
 7, 12, and 20.

And here's what I learned.

I'm a little ashamed that I did not recognize Thom Bell's name.  He was a producer and arranger of the Philadelpia Soul Sound. He worked on countless Philly soul hits (with The Delfonics, The Stylistics, and The Spinners ) and wrote a few songs you'll recognize:  "I'm Stone in Love With You," "La La Means I Love You," "Living a Little, Laughing a Little," "Rubber Band Man," and so on.  Parenthetically, I did not realize that there is a direct connection between the sound of Philadelphia and strings and horns of smooth jazz.  I really need to read that book House on Fire and catch up on my Gamble/Huff/Philly knowledge. Yeah, Archie Bell says that they're from Houston but the song was produced and recorded in Philadelphia. Like that's not confusing enough.

John Holt is "The Barry White of reggae," according to Petrie at least.  (And we ALL know how cool Barry White is.  He has all the smoothest pix in Black Music.)  Early in Holt's career he worked with The Paragons. I've got "The Tide is High" from 1967 and a couple of later things.

Dandy Livingstone came to England from Kingston, Jamaica in 1959. He had hits with  "Reggae in Your Jeggae," "I'm Your Puppet," and "Rudy A Message To You." I am excitedly on the lookout for two of his songs: "Move Your Mule" (1968, Down Town) and "Donkey Returns" (1968, Trojan, as Dandy & Brother Dan All Stars).  Dandy appears to be my kind of guy!

Well, that's what we scrounged out of the discard bin this week.  Black Music by Gavin Petrie.  It was a pretty dull and flimsy book on what should be a pretty juicy bit of music history.  But as usual, I learned something.  Books don't have to be good to teach you something.  Go figure.

Land 250 is published by the Fondation Cartier Pour L'Art Contemporain in Paris to accompany a big exhibit earlier this year.  It's a nice hefty volume with a sturdy, grippy cover and medium weight paper.  So, yes, it does feel good to hold. Between my public school French and Ms. Smith's crazy handwriting I managed to turn it into a learning experience.

But the photographs... the PHOTOGRAPHS are the thing.  They are two hundred fifty delicate black and white ones created with Polaroids by Patti Smith.  She started out with a Land 100 in the 70s but later got a Land 250, of which there is a photo in the book. She went back to shooting Polaroid after the death of her husband Fred Sonic Smith.

In her introduction she writes that, "The experience of taking Polaroids connects me with the moment.  They are souvenirs of a joyful solitude."

I felt it.  Time doesn't exist in these pictures. Fred waves back as he pauses before a door. 

Bye, Fred.

Most of these images come from Paris, where used to live in 1969.  French culture was always an influence in Patti: Rimbaud, Genet, Artaud and Baudelaire.  Brancussi,  Houdin, and Maupassant. Man Ray.  Man Ray.

In 69 Patti was sitting on the curb in Montparnasse writing in her notebook about Picasso.  She looked and saw a plaque.  The photograph is of a studio where Picasso worked.

There are the obligatory Robert Mapplethorpe photos: his hands and the tambourine he made for her, seen of the front of "Twelve."  I understand that Patti and he had a bizarre chemistry.  He just gives me the willies.  It's not his work.  I'm good with that.  But the guy starved a monkey to death in his apartment.

Several are shot in Montparnasse cemetery where one is surrounded by poets, philospher, writers, and artists.   They're all dead.  But they're all there.

There is one photo of Susan Sontag's grave on the morning after her funeral.  Patti went back to the graveside to take photos because Annie was too stricken to return.  She said the flowers looked fresh.

There's nothing stiller than a tombstone, but Jackson Pollock's monolith is still-- palpably, creepily still.

Her son, Jackson, has a tattoo of his father on his shoulder. 

For animal lovers I have included a passage and a photograph about a goat she encountered on a beach in Senegal.  The donkey, of asse, is from Namibia.  That's for me.  So is the monkey painting.

You'll recognize that painting of Leonardo's of those guys at that table.

But I bet that you didn't know that Virginia Woolf watched her mother die in a mirror, because she couldn't bear to watch her straight-on.  That pitted mirror is in there.

The Lenny Kaye portrait gave me a lump in my throat.  It wasn't anything special, just a guy in a chair.  But it is so warm.  And strangely spiritual.

In conclusion:  You should go to your library (type in your zipcode & Worldcat finds it) or independent bookstore and pick up a copy of Land 250.  Literally pick it up.  Remember, I said it feels good.  I also recommend the slide show at Lens Culture.  They also have text from the book.  It is a nice site.

 

april is the cruelest month etc. what remains?
brian jones bones, jim morrisons friend jimi hendrix
bandana. sweatband angel...

from Patti's poem "picasso laughing"

Asse, Namibia

There is a class of books that are discarded from any library collection.  We call them weeds, or discards, and they are the result of surveying the collection for out-of-date, out-of-favor, extraneous, or physically repellent items.  Before you get all indignant, be advised that without the important deaccessioning of some materials there would be no room for new materials.  Furthermore, the practice pre-dated me by decades (at least) so don't get militant on me. 

A lot of libraries use these culled items for their annual used book sale.  So you, the customer, benefit.

Our library system is awash in donated books to resell and something like a coffee-stained copy of a Danielle Steel book is beneath our customers' standards.  So our weeds go into big welded-wire bins which we, humble library gnomes, are allowed to pilfer.

I sort through them for old books in patterned buckram bindings and celebrity cookbooks.  I don't actually climb into the bins, but I have been known to hang over the side in an unladylike manner.  Sometimes I find a happy surprise, like an out-of-print title I've been coveting.  So what if it has an ugly cover or writing in the margins?

This is how I came to possess a dog-eared copy of Ventriloquism Made Easy: How to Talk to Your Hand Without Looking Stupid! by Paul Stadelman and Bruce Fife

In case you've been pondering whether you should quit your day job and start a career as an entertainer, here are some professional development tips from a... professional.

p. 6
Ventriloquism is enjoyable not only because it can be used for creating comedy but because it is mysterious.

p. 7
Ventriloquism can be used not only to bring traditional ventriloquial figures and puppets to life, but also unconventional objects such as paper bags, gloves, even socks.

p. 18
For a novel twist, instead of using a lifeless figure that you make look alive, use a living figure and make him look like a dummy.

p. 21
Why should magicians and clowns have all the fun?  Ventriloquists can join in the excitement of balloon sculpturing and make talking balloon animals.

p. 25
I also recommend that, if possible, you take your book and your partner into a private room for your practice session.  You will learn faster if no one sees you in the progressive stage.  You are not yet ready to perform.

p. 30
The simplest method for handling labials is to simply dodge them.

p. 36
The first hint it to put emphasis on the words without labials.  For example, in the sentence "I can play the guitar," if you emphazise "guitar," slight variations in the word "play" ("tlay") will not be noticed.

p. 39
To help you build an interesting character, you should give your puppet preferences on subjects such as music, clothes, sports, friends, and food.

p. 43
But don't make the mistake of jiggling the head continuously; it's distracting and will make your audiences nervous.

p 59
If you are interested in selling yourself as an expert ventriloquist, the ability to smoke, drink, and eat while the figure is talking will add to your reputation.

p. 62
You can use ready-made dialogues, but writing your own material is best.

p. 63
Joke #3
Farm Boy:  My pop can't decide whether to get a new cow or a new tractor for his farm.
City Boy: He's certainly look silly riding around on a cow.
Farm Boy: Yeah, but he'd look a lot sillier milking a tractor!

p. 67
Just reading about ventriloquism won't make you a ventriloquist.

p. 84
Paul: You're at the foot of your class.  Why don't you try to get to the head of the class?
Windy:  Why?  They teach the same things at both ends.
P:  Your teacher said you spelled needle N-E-I-D-L-E.
W: That's right.
P:  That's wrong.  There is no "I" in needle.
W:  Then how you going to thread it?

p. 91
You: Old MacDonald, it isn't me... I wasn't going to mention it, but you smell like a barnyard.
Old MacDonald: I just came from feeding the pigs.
Y: How long have you been raising pigs?
O: Forty-eight years/
Y:  Seems like they'd be grown by now.
O: I said I'll tell the jokes, sonny!
Y: Do you have any other animals?
O: Yeah, I got a flock of cows.
Y: Not flock, herd.
O: Heard what?
Y: Herd of cows.
O: Well sure I've heard of cows... I said I had a whole flock of them!

p. 95
You:  How does an alligator get here from Florida?  Did you swim?
Gator: (Sarcastically) Did you swim? ... No. I flew.
Y:  Come on. Alligators can't fly.
G:  Tell American Airlines that.
Y: You came on a plane?
G:  No.  I came IN a plane. They thought I was a suitcase.

(This book is a candidate for deaccessioning because it has been superceded by a 2nd edition, NOT because it is lame.)

*Not to worry, classic works of fiction will never be completely deaccessioned.  It doesn't matter how many years Martin Chuzzlewit sits there without checking out, we will keep at least one copy because of it's noble provenance.

Laughs.  Lots and lots of laughs.

Names selected for their awesomeness from Bertha Venation by Larry Ashmead:

• Vaseline Glass
• Jermajesty Jackson (Jermain Jackson's son)
• Shanda Lear (William Lear, Jr.'s daughter)
• Johan Riley Fyodor Tiawo Samuel (Seal's and Heidi Klum's son)
• Shreiking-Loud-Train-Whistle
• Dooly Ponder
• Bopeep Seahorse
• Formica Dinette
• Placenta Louise
• Quentin Cumber (Q. Cumber)
• Peter Enis (P. Enis)
• Rita Book
• Randy Hamburger
• Kodiac Yazzie
• Baskerville Holmes
• Van Lingle Mungo
• DeMarcus Faggins
• Fonda Dicks
• Sally Forth
• Septimus Lurch
• Nira Hardon Long

From the department of strange marriages:

"A literary agent, Janis Donnaud, had childhood friends named Barbara Fatt and Bill Heavy.  They got married.  Odd names before the union, odder after, and odder still when they had twin boys, Lemon Jello and Orange Jello."

"Author Andrew Solomon's father went to law school with Mel Hiney, who married a Smith classmate of her mother's called Barbara Fatt, and became Barbara Fatt Hiney."

"His college classmate has a high school teacher with the first name of Vermester, who marries Mr. Bester and became Vermester Bester."

'"Llonald King sent me this note: 'Joseph Cotten's son married (against his family's wished) the girl next door.  Her name was Velvet Satin, Satin being a name the father of the family , who was an immigrant from eastern Europe, had adopted and made legal.  Thus the young woman's name became Velvet Satin Cotten.'"

Place names that make me giggle (all in Great Britain):

• Gropecunt Lane, London (renamed Grape Street)
• Merkins Venue
• Hole of Horcum
• Upper Dicker
• Nether Wallop
• Mudchute
• Crotch Cresent
• Titty Ho
• The Furry

I've been a little busy IRL and not very reflective or articulate of late.  As I read my neighborhood posts I feel bad about myself.  What a lump I am.  At the very least I can attempt to write about the books I've been reading.  I can't promise that it will be informative or entertaining but here we go.

The Monster of Florence by Douglas Preston with Mario Spezi

I am a sucker for a good true crime book.  I prefer them to be thoroughly researched, I like the elements to be clearly laid out, and-- most of all-- I like a good fluid narrative style. Having said that, I have read, and enjoyed, some real drek also.

The Monster of Florence case spans three decades, during which a number of couples where slain as they made out in their autos in the Tuscan countryside.  Besides the murders I am pretty fascinated with the prevalence of parking for Italian youths and the slightly weirder tradition of pervy old guys creeping around to watch and photograph them doing so.  The Monster case has had plenty of suspects, numerous arrests, and lurid conspiracy theories.  And all of this has been the subject of jurisdictional and investigative conflicts between the carabinieri and the polizia.

I've long wanted somebody to write about the Monster of Florence killings in English.  When I heard that Douglas Preston (of Preston and Child) was doing just that I was both pleased that a novelist was writing it and apprehensive that a novelist was writing it.  So I waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  It turns out that Preston and his co-author Mario Spezi (who had been reporting on the case since the 80s) got too closely involved in the the investigation and the politics surrounding it.  The two were accused of hampering the investigation and suspected of planting evidence.

The book is structured in three parts.  The first and longest part is about the series of murders and Mario Spezi's investigation of them.  The second part introduces Douglas Preston into post-monster Tuscany where he befriends Spezi.  And the final bit is about the prosecution's pursuit of Spezi and Preston for involvement in conspiracy and cover-up of the crimes. 

Having read and watched a documentary on the writers' ordeals, I anticipated getting bored and bailing after the first section.  I surprised myself when I had finished the whole thing. 

Also, from the facts of the case as they are presented in MoF, I agree with the authors' conclusion on the true identity of the Monster.

Here is the link to a good article in The Atlantic that you might want to read if you are not up for the whole book.

Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World by Vicki Myron

OK.  Here's the story:  1. Tabby kitten found in the book drop of a small Iowa town's library book-drop on the "coldest morning of the year."  2. Librarian keeps cat.  3.  People love having a cat in the library except for the ones who don't think a cat should be in the library.  4.  Cat gets comfortable and nobody dies of allergies.  5.  Cat is a picky eater.  6.  Cat becomes celebrity locally, then nationally, and finally world-wide.  7. Cat gets old and you can guess the rest.  

This book is generally a little dewy-eyed for my taste.  It's a great heart-warming story-- totally worthy of a lengthy article but not quite enough to sustain a whole book.  I fought the urge to skim but finally I gave in.  Life is too short to dwell on every nuance of of a small-town cat's life. 

My other complaint is that Dewey confirms the image of "librarian" as "lonely middle-aged white lady who loves cats."

Dewey Readmore Books website.

Stay tuned in coming days as I arduously grind out a few more reviews.  Maybe they'll even get better.

I am a couple of weeks behind on my weekend book roundup, so this will be a chunky one.

First up, Will Eisner. Here are three of his graphic novels based on his old neighborhood, Dropsie Avenue in the Bronx.  Contract With God and Other Tenement Stories (1978) is widely accepted as the first "graphic novel."  Contract, along with Life on Dropsie Avenue and Life Force all releate stories from Eisner's days growing up in the Bronx.  Over time the area changes from rural to suburban to urban then transmutes through the influx of various groups of people: WASPs, Irish, Jews, Italians, African-Americans, Puerto Ricans, hippies and so on. I have Fagin the Jew and Will Eisner's New York: Life In The Big City on my list to read next.

Next up are a few books (graphic novels) by Marjane Satrapi.  Satrapi grew up in Tehran during the Iran-Iraq war and then went to Vienna for school and to escape the conditions in Iran under the Ayatollah Khomeini's regime.  Persepolis and Persepolis 2 tell her story during these years.  Embroideries is about the lives of women in Iranian culture and it draws on the uncomfortable justaposition of sewing and sex.  Chicken With Plums is the tale of the last days of  Marjane's uncle Nasser Ali Khan who, in 1958, out of despair decided to lay down and die.  If you are interested in her, there is great interview with her over @ bookslut.

Then there was The Cheese Monkeys, a novel by Chip Kidd.  Kidd is widely known as they guy who changed the way people make book jackets.  In the spirit of "write what you know" Cheese Monkeys is set in a 1958 university (Penn State) art department graphic design class.  It is a period piece, a coming of age story, and a design manifesto.  The cover of CMs is truly worthy of Kidd (cover design by TK).  The cover seen here is a concealed by a slipcover that had to be slid on by hand and the copyright information is printed across the endpapers.  Kidd's publisher, Scribner, was choking on these special features UNTIL Kidd renegotiated his royalty.  Wow.  A guy who would reduce his cut to assure that the packaging is just so. 

In an interview I read Kidd comments that he watches lots of Law & Order.  He suggests that the show should be renamed "How to Construct a Plot."  Which reminds me that I never wrote up True Stories of Law & Order.  I was familiar with most of the stories in the book:  murdering transvestite millionaire Robert Durst, the repressed memory case of George Franklin,  and Norman Mailer's protege, Jack Abbott.  But I have one particular favorite.  Every time I hear this story it is so bizarre that it's like hearing it all over again:  two lawyers in San Francisco who were keeping a Presa Canario for an Aryan Nation dude in prison when the dog attacked and killed their neighbor (Diane Whipple). 

Last for now, Fast Forward I, a sci-fi anthology edited by Lou Anders.  There are a couple of Robyn Hitchcock poems, which is sad because they don't hold a candle to his short stories.  For me the highlights were Paul Di Filippo's "Wikiworld" and Ken MacLeod's "Jesus Christ Reanimator."  The rest was the regular sci-fi short story fare.

Here's a book that I didn't want to like (because it seemed a formulaic gothic tale) but I thoroughly enjoyed.  The contemporary component of Thirteenth Tale concerns a reclusive author  on her deathbed who recruits a bookish but troubled heroine to write her biography.  

The retelling of the author's life constitutes a story (or stories) within a story.  And here is where Setterfield turns up the gothic.  The author's story runs through the whole list of gothic elements:  the ancestral manor, sprawling gardens, twins, inherited insanity, suspicions of incest, a ghost, quirky domestics, and an idealistic governess.  At one point a baby even shows up on a doorstep.  It would seem farcical if the prose was less fluid.  Setterfield coaxes you along with parallel narratives.

Just as TT is shaping for a perfectly predictable ending, Setterfield throws us a couple of curves.  Nothing too drastic, but still a bit of a surprise.   Ultimately, Thirteenth Tale is a "recommend."