From Andy Warhol’s A to Vassilis Vassilikos’ Z (and now Tom McCarthy’s C), AbeBooks lists the shortest book titles.
A to Z of the Shortest Book Titles
Is It Now.
With texting and instant messaging perpetually on the rise, the world’s punctuation is starting to evolve. At The New Republic, Ben Crair identifies an odd new consequence of this change: the period is now a sign of anger.
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Amanda Hocking Gets the Times Magazine Treatment
Amanda Hocking, 26-year-old self-publishing wunderkind, earns a New York Times Magazine profile describing her road to a $2 million deal with St. Martins for rights to her ten novels including My Blood Approves and Hollowland.
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From Wharton to Woolf
Did Virginia Woolf learn a bit of her modernism from Edith Wharton? John Colapinto argues so in The New Yorker, pointing out that the famous middle section of To the Lighthouse seems to mirror the innovative end of The Age of Innocence.
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Remembering Jenny Diski
Frederick Tuten recalls the first fan letter he ever wrote to novelist Jenny Diski in his 1999 interview with the author for BOMB Magazine.
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The Stories We Tell
Of more than 23,000 front-page articles that appeared in The New York Times between 1939 and 1945, only 26 were about the Holocaust. Watch a powerful 18-minute mini-documentary about “how and why the genocide of Jews was neglected and euphemised by the Times, and by extension, the American people.” Pair with our piece about the German traditions of the Denkmahl and Mahnmahl, two different kinds of memorials with subtle, yet important distinctions.
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J Dickens
Yea, yea, it’s Charles Dickens’ birthday. I’m sure you’ve heard, or at least been told by Google. But he’s only one artist born on this day. In addition, there’s James Yancey aka J Dilla, one of the most influential hip hop artists and producers of all time.
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I need to finish my novel called .
Stephen Dedalus once planned to do a whole series of alphabet books. From Ulysses, Ch. 3 (Proteus), Stephen’s thoughts while walking along Sandymount Strand: “Books you were going to write with letters for titles. Have you read his F? Yes, but I prefer Q. Yes, but W is wonderful. O yes, W.” (Has anyone ever skewered an author’s narcissism more sharply, or more warmly and sympathetically, than Joyce does here?)