John Jeremiah Sullivan’s “Diary” for the Financial Times features the Mars Curiosity, Quaker school songs, and all sorts of family bonding.
“I have always wondered.”
The Perilous Art of Giving Books
What is the right book for the right reader? Arts Beat gives examples of books given as presents in literature, which can be just as perilous as giving books as gifts in real life.
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Such Thing As a FAT MIND?
“Directly you are in motion you will feel quite helpless, and experience a sensation of being run away with, and it will seem as if the machine were trying to throw you off.” The bicycle was little more than a confusing craze back in 1877. The London Library has just uncovered some fascinating and hilarious vintage educational pamphlets on everything from ‘The Gentlewoman’s Book of Sports’ to ‘Cycling As a Cause of Heart Disease.’
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Kafka’s Hidden Manuscripts
The Independent reports on the unpublished works found within Kafka’s safety deposit boxes, and why the hidden manuscripts have long been tied up in Kafkaesque red tape. (via AuthorScoop)
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Dear Colon
On the heels of all this talk of colons, Emdashes solicits open letters to punctuation marks.
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The Debut of Two Fancy New Faces
Two journals started the week by showing off their fancy new faces. Gigantic launched a new web site for the magazine, featuring a chapter from Shya Scanlon‘s Forecast 42 and new fiction by J.A. Tyler. The Barnes & Noble Review debuted a toothsome redesign along with a sobering essay on book publishing by former Executive Editor-in-Chief of Random House, Daniel Menaker.
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John Jeremiah Sullivan is the most overrated writer currently being overrated. I just got done reading “Diary” and all I can say is, That’s it? That’s what passes for the best American letters has to offer, according to most of the blogosphere and a good portion of the Quality Lit world. I felt the same way about 80% of Pulphead. So now I think I’ve read enough of John Jeremiah Sullivan to have an educated opinion. I wouldn’t say his writing is bad, it’s not, it’s good, it’s fine, I guess. More laconic Midwestern earnestness. Yawn.