A smaller-scale "tribute" on the site of the Rocket to the Moon ride. It's now a pizza place. Photo by Tom Arthur.
I’ve been surprised to find myself re-reading, after god knows how many years, the massive Titan science fiction trilogy by John Varley. Berkeley Original paperbacks from 1985. The three books (Titan, Wizard and Demon) weren’t even side by side on my bookshelves, but their broad spines beckoned. How come?
Oh yeah: I recently visited Disneyland. That’s why. read more »
11.05.09 § 0
Cynthia Ozick calls Alice Munro “our Chekhov”, and I couldn’t agree more. Not only am I amazed that she hasn’t won the Nobel Prize yet, I’m amazed that hordes of dazzled, appreciative readers haven’t gathered in the Ontario countryside, woven their own Nobel Prize out of roots and branches, and presented it to her door. It’s a deep pleasure to come across a collection of Munro stories that you haven’t read yet, as I did last week with The Progress of Love, first published in 1986.
There’s one fascinating element I find myself noticing in these stories—and now that I look, in other Munro stories as well. It’s just one facet of her talent (and I’m sure there are PhD theses on it) but worth noting nonetheless. read more »
02.16.09 § 0
“The fire spoke, chattering like a madman, and then quieted again in a helix of sparks. My friend, so still and copper-outlined in the dark, said something so softly that I cannot, even more than thirty years later, hear what it was.”
This is a passage that displays at least three facets of Andy’s world-class chops–probably more, but here’s what struck me about it upon a recent reading: read more »
02.13.09 § 0
I’m trying out a new category of occasional postings. Like most writers, I can’t help but deconstruct other writers’ work on the fly. When I’m reading a book, often I’m struck by a particular passage–how it rings true (or false), and achieves (or fails to achieve) a particular effect.
So I’m going to start sharing those paragraphs, and my reactions to them, right here.
These aren’t meant to be construed as book reviews. The engagement is on the language level, and not necessary reflective of any overall opinion of the book itself. Ultimately, I’m not talking about the book, but rather about the carpentry of writing, as glimpsed within a particular set of pages.
Okay? Bear with me. My first entries will be on Andrew Sean Greer’s The Confessions of Maxi Tivoli, which I’m re-reading for an upcoming article of mine.
02.01.09 § 0
