Without debating the individual literary merits of Franzen vs. Weiner, Picoult, et al., I think it’s fair to say that there are as many good female writers out there as males, and also fair to say that a sizeable portion of those books written by women have been dismissed as “Chick Lit.” Maybe Eat, Pray, Love has been so successful that many recent books by women that also wander into the realm of relationships have been branded “Chick Lit” by association. Whether or not E,P,L actually fits that genre, reviewers have been tossing the term “Chick Lit” around promiscuously, with a derision that may derive from envy. In any case, it seems any book written by a woman that describes her emotional journey, with some humor along the way, is in danger of being painted with that broad, Bridget Jones make-up brush. I hoped the term “Chick Lit” would’ve blown up with the Sex in the City II suicide bomb, but it seems to linger like bad perfume.
There are, I understand, books that deserve to be called “Chick Lit” — ones in which finding the right Hermes purse counts as a serious plot line, and hair colorists figure in as major characters, developing from chunky highlights to subtle weaves. I don’t know: I’m too busy reading Jennifer Egan, Hilary Thayer Hamann, Vendela Vida, and Mary Karr. But I suspect some reviewers take one look at the pretty cover of a female author’s book, with suspicious praise from Oprah and a few other women’s magazines, and dismiss it as the same kind of fluff.
—Laura Fraser, for The Daily Beast, on Chick Lit vs. Dude Lit and why bad female novelists get a worse rep than bad male ones. In Dude Lit, of course, you get all the same emotion- and relationship-based drama as in Chick Lit, only everything’s expressed through the healing power of obscure rock banks, there’s a lot more narcissism, and reviewers like it a lot more.
For the second year, The Guardian will be running its “Not the Booker Prize” competition, where recent literary greats can compete (as nominated by Internet commentators) for this coveted prize:
The prize was designed to thwart three common flaws in the real Booker Prize: your favourite book didn’t win (and if you are me you had two favourites on the shortlist and they still didn’t win because Sarah Waters can’t catch a mainstream literary break and obviously the judges just didn’t actually read Summertime, the book that does win is usually about post-colonial guilt, Irish poverty or English middle-class Islingtonians having Terribly Important Thoughts about their boring love lives, and the panel is made up of people no one’s ever heard of. The Not the Booker prize panel is also made up of people no one’s ever heard of, but at least they have the Internet commenting trail to prove they have opinions. And the ironclad Terms and Conditions which basically, just go read it:
“The author of the winning book will receive a Guardian mug. They may not want it, but there’s nothing we can do about that. No prizes will be awarded to readers for submitting a nomination, but you will have our undying gratitude for taking part, cracking jokes about the entries, composing odes in praise of Sam Jordison or sniping from the sidelines, as you see fit.”
The best part, however, is that the only previous winner of the Not the Booker prize, Rana Dasgupta, called his victory “very depressing.”
This full-scale, anatomically correct figure by Jeremy Mayer is made entirely out of typewriter parts fitted together without soldering, welding, or glue.
“I’m very interested in assembly, particularly in nature. I pay very close attention to the strong current in science and technology flowing inexorably toward an emulation of natural systems. [...]
I started working with typewriters in 1994 while living in a small town in Iowa. They’ve always been intensely interesting to me (when I was about ten years old I wanted to take apart my mother’s 1920′s Underwood), so it was natural that, having a typewriter and some free time, I would want to dissect one.”
Nude IV (Delilah)
66″x32″x36″
Typewriter parts
2009
Photo by Josh Miller
Nude IV (Delilah) by Jeremy Mayer, Josh Miller is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 United States License.
*Update: This post should probably be called, ‘Today is Tuesday. Here is another typewriter, because I screwed up the date on the auto scheduling.’ But it’s not. Double the typewriters, double the fun, etc.
Don and Peggy are interviewing Danny Siegel, a potential copy writer whose only talents are wearing ugly suit jacket, writing ads that use the words “the cure for the common” whatever, and mentioning Roger Sterling in every other sentence. Then they eat him alive.
Don: ‘Hanover Bank, the cure for the common… bank.’ What about ‘Alka Seltzer, the cure for the common cold’?
Danny: ‘The cure for the common cold’ is the idiom I’m playing off.
Don: It’s an idiom. Did you know that?
Peggy: So other than your summer internship at Needam, do you have any actual advertising experience?
He doesn’t. He has also submitted other people’s ads in his portfolio. Then he tells them he’s a hard worker. They wish him the best of luck. Then he asks Don for restaurant recommendations.
Don: Am I on candid camera?
It turns out Danny is Jane’s cousin, which explains the constant references to Roger. It also turns out SCDP is up for a Clio Award. Peggy is excited. Don tries not to think about it. Then she updates Don on Vicks.
Peggy: Your new art director has been waiting for synchronicity, which involves me coming up with a bunch of ideas, chasing him down, and having him him draw all of them, and then lose them.
Don reminds her she has a deadline.
Don: And don’t think you can spend Monday hiding around corners and trying not to make eye contact. I will find you.
Peggy says she’s not the problem. Don says she is, because Stan is more experienced. Then she wishes him good luck at the awards and leaves.
Roger is starting his opening scene cigarette and talking about silent movies to Caroline, who is taking notes. It turns out the reason for this is that he is writing a memoir.
Roger: Why am I talking about silent movies?
Caroline: I suppose it’s part of the chapter on your childhood?
Roger: That part of my book is getting bigger and bigger. Why is that?
Luckily for her, someone knocks and she doesn’t have to answer.
Don comes in, looking exceedingly self-satisfied, even for Don.
Don: I thought I should tell you this in person. That kid? Cute prank.
Roger: I told him to be himself. That was pretty mean I guess. So when does he start?
Don: First of never.
Then Roger tells him that not hiring Jane’s cousin will cost him a “personal gift expenditure’ of $500 to $1000. Don does not seem bothered by this. Roger wishes him luck at the awards. Considering this episode aired the night of the Emmy’s, this timing is probably intentional.
Roger has a flashback to when he met Don, who was working as a fur salesman and doing the in-house advertising. Roger looks at Don’s ad and hands him his number.
Don: Look at that. Can I give you a call?
Roger: First of all, you need 20 of those, and second of all, no.
This scene is actually a lot funnier if you don’t realize it’s a flashback, because then it looks like Don and Roger are fur shopping together, Roger is looking for a special something, Don picks out something nice, Roger tries it on and then gives Don his number. BUT ANYWAY.
The coat is actually a present for Joan. She tries it on. Then Roger sees Don’s portfolio is also in the box, which Roger says is out of line.
Then Roger decides to put his flashback in his memoir.
In the present, they are having a meeting, but the clients are late, and the Clio’s start in an hour, so everyone starts drinking in preparation. Peggy asks whether Joan is going. Pete tells Peggy they only have four tickets, and there will be a lot of clients there. Peggy says she has work to do and leaves. Don actually looks concerned about this.
Peggy goes to Stan’s office, interrupting his presentation of an ad that never aired to two secretaries. He is wearing a leather jacket inside for some reason. Peggy kicks them out.
Peggy: Are you going to use the KKK to sell cough drops?
Stan: Until you give me something that will get my juices flowing.
Peggy: Should I get Megan back in here? Maybe she’s not repressed.
Stan: Why is it so hard for you to accept that man’s natural state is nude?
Peggy: Because I’m civilized.
Stan says she is brainwashed by society. Peggy asks whether he’s been yelled at by Don yet. Then they go to work.
At the awards, Don and Roger are drinking and wondering where their clients are, but not in a way that shows they actually care. Ted Chaough goes up to them and calls them Pebbles and Bam-Bam. Roger makes fun of how many vowels Ted has in his last name. Ted makes fun of the fact that SCDP wasn’t at the awards last year, and leaves. Read more
Vampire Weekend preformed a live cover of Springsteen’s “I’m Goin’ Down” at a show in Vancouver on Saturday. If I had to pick a perfect band to cover Springsteen, Vampire Weekend would not be on the list: Vampire Weekend is upbeat but sad and sings about punctuation. Adjectives good enough to describe Springsteen (most of the time) have not yet been invented. Nevertheless: the combination of the two is pretty great.
“Like any other person who reads a ton of books, I hate many, many books. Oh, how I hate them. I have performed dramatic readings of the books I hate. I have little hate summaries. I have hate impressions. I can act out, scene by hateful scene, some of these books. I can perform silent hate charades.
And in the past, I have reviewed a couple of books I hate. And then I would always feel crappy afterwards.
And I would wonder why. After all, I hated them! It was a public service to warn people off them!
This is why. One is that I am sort of terrible at reviewing things I hate. I am not reasonable about it. I do not add ‘Oh, but despite my loathing for the subject matter, the prose was excellent’ or ‘Still, the idea of a dragon in love with a tree is an intriguing one.’ And I feel that, especially since hate reviews are the most popular ones, because people love to see people hating on stuff, nobody is sure why but it is fascinating! — I feel it’s important to be able to write a hate review as close to objectively as you can, explaining why and wherefore, and not only getting your cruel mock on.”
So for the past few weeks I’ve been live blogging Mad Men. This has resulted in adventures such as being three minutes late due to a thunderstorm with sheet lightning while driving in a tiny car behind police officers and walking in on scenes that gave me the impression that Peggy, in those three minutes, had some how gotten married, and in other adventures like 80 billion people Googling “Ted Shaw” after the last episode when really they all meant Ted Chaough and winding up here ’cause I screwed up too. Blogging stuff: It is exciting, is where I’m going with this.
But now, I have completed my internship at UTP, and have returned to boozy Montreal for what snarks should feel free to call a victory lap, one result of which is that access to a television (along with in-house laundry and ant-free cupboards) has vanished into the ether/ my parent’s living room eight hours away.
My expression, upon realizing that I would not be able to watch Mad Men live and blog about it, was tragic. So tragic that to illustrate it, I need to use Mad Men Yourself, which is a fitting tribute in addition to adequately capturing my level of devastation. It was this:
But then, I remembered the magic of the Internet! If by magic, you mean “sites of dubious legality with live streams.” Also: the fact that I am not alone in my live blogging, and could probably figure out what was happening more or less in real time, by careful scanning of Twitter feeds and guessing based mostly on the 20 second sneak previews posted online in advance. After this moment of realization, my expression was this:
I also realized that the paradox of live blogging a show before I had actually seen it doesn’t exactly make sense, particularly since it would be No Fun.
The result of which is: Live blogging Mad Men will continue. Eventually.
Some weeks, it will be less delayed than others! These are the weeks I find friends to bribe in return for their televisions. Other weeks, I will see you Tuesday! Which is historically about how long it takes to (ahem) find and watch the episode by alternative means. These weeks, I will try to add to the hilarity by quoting from various analyses and/or including actual facts about what might have happened in the episode (also known as the art of the recap), but only time will tell whether this will actually happen. If history has shown us anything, it’s that the answer is, probably.
Theories about lesbian satanist gangs are a crucial starting point for any police investigation.
Never trust your father.
Never trust your guardian.
Never trust your estranged twin sister.
Never trust male police officers.
You know what? Just don’t trust anyone.
Except for investigative journalists. Especially if they make constant references to Pippi Longstocking or use Nikon cameras.
Billy’s Pan Pizza is a food group.
Milk, regardless of how long you leave it, never expires.
People still use Palm Pilots, with which they can send and receive email, make calls, and hack into internal government and news outlet networks.
If you have tattoos and piercings, you are automatically hot, but no one will understand why, because you have tattoos and piercings.
A high-profile criminal case can be handled and won by a lawyer who a. has no experience with criminal justice, b. has no knowledge of her own case because her client is chronically unavailable, and c. is receiving most of her information from journalists.
Getting shot in the head is no biggie. Neither is removing the bullet. Why not ask your drunk doctor friend to guide the operation?
When a Palm Pilot is unavailable, hackers use Macs.
It is totally reasonable for a small monthly magazine with a staff of nine on a good day to spend 150,000 kroner investigating a single story.
Anyone getting on a train going to or departing from Central Station is required, by law, to visit the restaurant car for coffee and sandwiches.
If you are a lesbian and own a strap-on, handcuffs, or latex anything, the police are allowed to ask you about it in an interview and not go before an ethics board.
If you are an investigative journalist hunting the government and on deadline and feeding a lawyer information for a criminal lawsuit and you disappear for three days to have sex with your government agent girlfriend, no one will be bothered by this.
Random noncommittal sex: a good way to deal with plot stagnancy.
It is totally possible for a book with terrible sentence structure to sell 27 million copies and remain essentially unedited, despite the fact that the author was dead and nothing was standing in the editor’s way.
This full-scale, anatomically correct figure by Jeremy Mayer is made entirely out of typewriter parts fitted together without soldering, welding, or glue.
Don and Peggy are interviewing Danny Siegel, a potential copy writer whose only talents are wearing ugly suit jacket, writing ads that use the words “the cure for the common” whatever, and mentioning Roger Sterling in every other sentence. Then they eat him alive.
[Oil on canvas 2008. Via