two umbrellas

I spend a lot of time reading. I love to read. In fact, when I was thinking about a career for myself, I would think, “What job could I have that would allow me to read all of the time?” Often, some sort of night-watchman would always seem dangerously appealing for a little, bookish lady. So, I thought again, and decided a high-school English teacher could work. And did – for a few years, at least. Then, I went into publishing, where, sadly, I had little time for actual reading – though, in its defense, I was working with words. When I became a full-time mama, I had some free time to read and thought, “There must be something I could do with that.” So I decided that I would review books. Fortunately, someone was willing to let me.

It was a nice (albeit non-paying) gig. I could review any new or recent fiction or non-fiction that I wanted. What a great idea! I could read whatever I wanted, write about it, someone would publish it, and possibly someone would read it. Amazing. I started scouring my wonderful S Philly branch of the FLP. I tried keeping up with blogs and new titles. I even received a free review copy. I had made it! I was a reviewer. But something just didn’t feel right about it. (Not receiving the free book – that was great and I loved the book and tried to write as glowing of a review as possible for it because everyone should read What We Were Doing and Where We Were Going by Damion Searls.)

First, I started reading books differently. I started reading them analytically. I began to seek out specifics in the books: reasons for people to like or dislike it, good quotes, etc. rather than letting myself experience the book as a whole. My reading experience was getting so lost in my concerns for the article that I was starting to resent reading. Even though I could have read just about anything I wanted to, I felt paradoxically constrained by the obligation to review. Since my reading time has been limited with the Parasol running around, that time has become more and more valuable. Somehow, now, I felt pressure to read certain books and felt I couldn’t read what I wanted. Though I could. I know – a bit neurotic.

Second, I found writing reviews to be hard. That sounds like an excuse – and maybe it is – but it was challenging. I would think about the reviews I liked to read and found that that was part of the problem. When I do read book reviews, I often read the ones for books that I probably won’t read. Often, if I read reviews for books that I actually want to read then I learn too much about the book (usually there’s too much plot synopsis), so much so that it takes something away from my reading experience. That experience, for me, is something personal, a discovery, of sorts, of how I react to the words on the page. If I know too much beforehand that sense of discovery is tainted. For example, I just picked up Colum McCann’s new novel, Let The Great World Spin, from the library. NYTBR had a review, which I started to read. The first paragraph was okay: a little plot summary that I already knew. And then out of nowhere the author writes (and I’m paraphrasing) that this was one of the best books he’d read. Great! Thanks a lot! I stopped reading. I don’t remember who the reviewer was so I don’t remember if I trusted him or not. But I knew that the review would be biased and tell me way too much, considering there was a whole page left. I already had high expectations for the book since I like Colum McCann; but, I didn’t want a one page version of the novel or a one page sales pitch. Let me decide.

So if I didn’t want too much plot or too much opinion from a book review, what, then, was I supposed to give my audience? I don’t know. I still don’t know. How is it different writing this blog than writing for a publication? The main reason is voice. On twoumbrellas, I don’t have to develop a voice – I already have one. I write this blog for me. It started because I have a terrible memory. I write about books so I can remember them: remember how I felt, remember what they were about, and use it as a guide – for myself – of the narrative of my reading (and sometimes writing) life. I post about other things, too, but mostly what I read and what I think about it. Why then couldn’t I transfer it to this other publication? Most likely a personal hang-up of my own but I think that has to do with the editorial slant of the magazine. I just didn’t fit in. I thought I could fake it but I couldn’t keep that up. It just wasn’t me. It didn’t feel right.

So I stopped writing reviews (officially). I still write them here because this is my little space to do it and I still have a terrible memory, in fact, it’s getting worse.

But as I write this, I am trying to figure out why I read book reviews? What do I want to get out of them: recommendations? book choice affirmation? Probably a little of both. Often, I read reviews after I’ve read a book to get a different perspective. I think I read them just because I like to hear/read/discuss about books. Not sure. But, I will continue to read them but more often than not I won’t finish them.

If you’ve never read Infinite Jest but always wanted to, now’s your chance – it’s an Infinite Summer (and you’ll have a support group!). I wish this was going on when I read it. Once and done for me (for now) I’ve still got Cervantes and Proust to tackle. (via)

Speaking of DFW, hipsterbookclub has an essay by the woman who designed some of his books. From my experience in publishing, it can be an intimate relationship. A touching essay.

The Seven Types of Customer: After working full-time at a Borders in Philly, this made me laugh, and laugh, and laugh…

I’ve got another review up at WFTC. It’s Mary Gaitskill’s Don’t Cry. Here’s a bit:

I’ve only ever read two of Mary Gaitskill’s story collections: Bad Behavior, her first (published in 1988), and Don’t Cry, her latest. Both are highly charged works of fiction — strong, full of sexuality, intensity, and intelligence. After reading both of these collections, I have come to the conclusion that if I ever had the chance to meet Mary Gaitskill I would be quite intimidated. Her writing is tough and confident, somehow masculine and feminine at the same time, which doesn’t make it feminist — it makes it authentic.

The NYT has a fun essay by Geoff Nicholson about food and eating in literature.

I’ve realized that the moments of literary eating I like best are the ones in which the characters suffer because of their food. In “Gravity’s Rainbow,” for instance, there’s an early scene in which the wartime inhabitants of a London maisonette enjoy bananas served in myriad forms, including mashed bananas “molded in the shape of a British lion rampant.” This is good stuff, but the truly magnificent scene in the book has Tyrone Slothrop sampling various hideous English candies, flavored with the likes of quinine, pepsin, eucalyptus, tapioca, until, choking, he’s offered a Meggezone, “the least believable of English coughdrops.” This is a real product, a nasty little black lozenge, still available, and if my childhood memory is reliable, Pynchon’s description of its effects — “Polar bears seek toenail-holds up the freezing frosty-grape alveolar clusters in his lungs” — gets it about right.

The article led me to Nicholson’s blog, Psycho-Gourmet. Very funny, indeed. But I read my blogs with Google Reader – now stylishly updated by mr. twoumbrellas with Helvetireader. I have a folder for food blogs and a folder for literary blogs. Where, oh, where should I file this one? I think I’ll put it with the food blogs; but I love when literature and food collide.

I know it’s a bit late, but I went to the Free Library Festival a few weeks back. I have to say I was a bit disappointed in the size this year. Usually the vendors stretch all around the library but only one block had vendors:



There was still a good offering of local university presses and bookshops. Harvest Books was giving away free books (which means you couldn’t get anywhere near the stand). I had never heard of Harvest Books before and didn’t realize they were in the Philly area. I’ll definitely have to check out their warehouse someday or order online: Hooray, local booksellers!! There were also some magazine stands: N+1 and McSweeney’s made appearances. Here’s another shot:



I didn’t make it to see any of the authors this year. A disappointment, I’m sure, but I was suffering from an allergic reaction to an Rx which made me look and feel like a poorly copied Seurat – there’s always next year. Although with the small size of this year, I am hoping there will be a next year…So, don’t forget to support your local library!!

My review of Miles from Nowhere by Nami Mun at When Falls the Coliseum is up. Here’s a bit:

There are so many things that could be potentially cliche about Nami Mun’s Miles from Nowhere: the title, the cover, the characters, the plot — just about everything. The main character, Joon, runs away from home when she is twelve. Her father has left the family, which drives her mother to insanity. After leaving her mother, Joon goes down the inevitable path of drugs and prostitution as she copes on the streets of New York City. But there is something keeping this novel from falling into the trap: Nami Mun’s writing.

My ‘New Lit’ column will appear the first Wednesday of each month. Check it out…

As most people had been, I was very excited to see Mark Twain on the cover of Time. I was so excited to see historical, literary relevance in a mainstream magazine that I, in fact, went out and bought a copy. (I will spare a long gripe of how expensive the magazine was.) I have a tendency to be sentimental about certain things in print – I keep a practically useless folder of torn out stories from the New Yorker and Harper’s; but I digress…so I purchased this issue and I am sorry to say that I had.

Other than the photographs of Twain, there is nothing worth reading, unless you’re in the sixth grade and have been assigned Huckleberry Finn for Summer Reading. I was amazed – no, appalled – by the reading level in the magazine and the lack of real focus for the essays. The cover boasts the following taglines: “How he changed the way we view politics”, “Why he was ahead of his time on race”, and “What his writing can teach America today”. Sounds interesting and compelling, possibly even informative or, dare I say, provocative (can we even talk about race?). The essays glossed over each thesis and instead became a collection of some ‘dangerous’ quotes from Twain’s writing and at least two or three paragraphs in more than one essay about how Twain is the precursor to Jon Stewart, Stephen Colbert, Bill Maher, and Saturday Night Live (SNL, I’m sorry to say, is about as relevant and topical as the TV shows and celebrities it parodies). I’ll admit that I am not well versed in contemporary satire but why was there no mention of George Saunders or at least another writer.

I understand that they are going for a large and wide readership. So, can I forgive Time for its lack of depth in its articles? Why must they assume that the average reader, I’m not going to say adult reader either because this magazine could easily be read and understood by junior high students, needs to be hand-held? The entire magazine is laid out as though I were watching television one frame at a time. Yes, I applaud them for respecting Twain, but I can’t forgive them. It is a shame that print media feels that it must compete with visual media, although that may be another issue entirely.

Don’t forget that Monday 16 June is Bloomsday. The Rosenbach Museum puts on a splendid reading from noon ’til 7pm – plus a host of other Joycean events. I thoroughly enjoyed last year’s reading.

The Guardian reports that Granta names Alex Clark as first female editor

The NYT discusses filming The Road in Pennsylvania. I was beginning to feel some home state pride until I read this:

The producers chose Pennsylvania, one of them, Nick Wechsler, explained, because it’s one of the many states that give tax breaks and rebates to film companies and, not incidentally, because it offered such a pleasing array of post-apocalyptic scenery: deserted coalfields, run-down parts of Pittsburgh, windswept dunes.

Hooray!!