“The late 1920s found him in Hollywood (‘This place is loathsome’) drowning, stingless, in MGM honey, while doing hack work on a silly Marion Davies vehicle. His descriptions of reptilian studio fauna make for delicious reading.” At The Daily Beast, a look at P.G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters.
The Walking Tour is drawing ever nearer! Get all the details and RSVP if you want to be notified of any schedule changes.In the NYRB, Mark Danner examines the politics of torture, and J.M. Coetzee gets deep inside Samuel Beckett's head.James Wood finger-drumming on YouTube is just the most weirdly hypnotic thing we've ever seen.Typewriter-part art. (via The Rumpus)A new front runner in the coolest bookshelf contest. Think of it - geographic classification! (for American lit only)"Geoff Dyer book unlikely to win Bad Sex Award"Jane Austen got rejection letters too.Wow. A new Kurt Vonnegut collection is on the way. Amazon has it listed.A glimmer of good news in the newspaper business?Audrey Niffenegger is having a pretty good recession.Further Reading: Kevin's list of families and fiction has garnered many additions from readers in the comments.
Over at Ploughshares, Daniel Peña traces a parallel between Maggie Nelson’s The Argonauts and Gloria Anzaldúa’s hybrid text Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza. As he puts it, “To separate Anzaldúa from the larger canon (and subsequently from those books she influenced) is to ignore her contribution to American literature. It’s to say she doesn’t belong in that kind of highbrow conversation, which she so obviously does—even Nelson acknowledges that she does.”
If you haven't gotten enough of literary New York quite yet, here's what the Guardian (UK) thinks you should be reading about "the American dream concretised in a shimmering mirage, the burgeoning metropolis of hope built on foundations of money, drugs and exploitation." Less judgmentally, Grantland's Kevin Nguyen focuses on two new books set in Queens, recommending High As the Horses’ Bridles by The Millions' own Scott Cheshire, which is no Brooklyn hipster novel: his opening scene ("among the finest published this year") has a 12-year-old offering a prophecy of Armageddon.