The Prophet of Zongo Street is the debut collection by the Ghanian writer Mohammed Naseehu Ali. The collection of ten stories has garnered a number of high-profile reviews, including in the NY Times, the SF Chronicle and the LA Times, in which Merle Rubin wrote, “Although many in these stories are misled by philosophies, faiths and ideas that promise to provide all the answers, Ali shows time after time how ordinary human kindness is the one quality capable of redeeming it all.” You can read an excerpt from the book here, and Ali’s story “Mallam Sile” was in the New Yorker a few months back.Christian Bauman’s new novel features a prominent blurb on the front cover from Robert Stone – a good sign if you put stock in such things. Bauman’s first novel, The Ice Beneath You, was “a war story for the new millennium,” according to PW, about the US effort in Somalia. Bauman’s new book, Voodoo Lounge takes on similar themes, set this time in Haiti. From the review in Booklist: “The term ‘voodoo lounge’ refers to the machine-gun nest on the port bow of a ship. Reading this startling novel is the literary equivalent of standing watch on that perch.” Bauman’s Web site is here. The book comes out around Sept. 1.T.C. Boyle, an old favorite of mine, has a new collection of stories coming out shortly called Tooth and Claw. All of these stories have been previously published in various periodicals, including several in the New Yorker – here, for example, is the collection’s title story. Boyle also has an excerpt up at his Web site. And, by the way, if you are a fan of Boyle at all and haven’t visited his site, I suggest you check it out. It features a very active message board that includes frequent appearances from the author himself.John Irving isn’t the only one who’s written a novel about tattoos lately. Jill Ciment’s latest, The Tattoo Artist, is about an artist couple – Sara and Philip, enmeshed in Manhattan’s avant garde scene in the 1920s, who travel to the South Pacific in search of inspiration. Once there, they are forcibly tattooed by the natives and then trapped by WWII – a castaway story. The book has recently been reviewed in the NY Times and somewhat more favorably in the SF Chronicle.
Derek Dahlsad has never owned a bookstore and does not have “significant bookselling experience,” but he has, nonetheless, put together some very compelling thoughts on how to make small bookstores more successful. In his article at The New Publisher’s Journal, he lays out several ideas, some of which are very good (“3. Magazines are impulse buys; do not devote floorspace to a ‘magazine area.'” and “7. Store hours can be from 2pm – 11pm.”). It’s a worthwhile read for anyone considering getting into the bookselling business or if you’re just wondering what might keep all those little bookstores from going under.
I was in search of something light after Libra and turned to Henry Miller’s Under the Roofs of Paris. Miller wrote this piece for spare money after his return from Paris by submitting 5-10 pages at a time. He got paid $1 for each page and submitted them to a Mr. xxxx who ran a bookstore in LA. One day he dropped off 10 pages and let Mr. xxxx know that this was it, the novel was complete. The catch is that Mr. xxxx also carried nude pictures and pornographic literature at the back of his store. I don’t know if you already guessed but Miller was writing for the illicit part of the store, hence Under The Roofs of Paris is pure pornography, and well, it is sick. I enjoyed the book immensely, mostly because it left me gaping at the obscenity Miller put into words: incest relationships, black masses at the French countryside, tricking prudent American women into orgies, and teenager whores are just the beginning in this 126 page book. There is a very loose plot that revolves around sex and I would suggest that you do not approach Under The Roofs of Paris unless you are already perverted or have a desire to be.To snap out of the ludicrous state of mind Miller put me in, I turned to Alvaro Mutis’ The Adventures and Misadventures of Maqroll, which I had been meaning to read for a second time since November ’03. [Emre’s piece on Maqroll previously appeared here.]After Maqroll I could not bring myself to start a new novel and turned to Jorge Luis Borges’ Collected Fictions. I had kept my brother John Leahy’s present at my bedside table for most of the year but the period immediately after Maqroll is when I turned my full attention to Borges’ labyrinths and tried to decipher them. I must admit that I feel very illiterate while reading Borges and have quite a difficult time connecting certain dots in his stories, mostly because of all the literary references that I cannot catch. Still, I enjoy Borges’ stories a lot and value his old-school language, use of fairy/folk tale language, and matter-of-fact style. He drops gems such as “One man’s dream is part of all men’s memory” in each story, which I believe Maqroll would value greatly and inscribe on the walls of the restroom corridor at The Snow of the Admiral. Collected Fictions is best read in a coffee shop, Lucy’s, or in bed, accompanied by black coffee, vodka, or water.Previously: Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8