Recommended reading: before you head to the theaters for the latest Jurassic Park film, make sure you know the series’s bookish roots.
"If you didn’t feel you were discovering something as you wrote your memoir, don’t publish it. Instead hit the delete key, and then go congratulate yourself for having lived a perfectly good, undistinguished life. There’s no shame in that." Neil Genzlinger at the New York Times lays some ground rules for those compelled to write memoirs.
Will anyone read Chuck Klosterman in a hundred years? Jonathan Russell Clark explores the possibility over at The Literary Hub: "What fate awaits the author of books so rooted in a given era? Can the accomplishment of capturing now remain significant or noteworthy forever? Will anyone read Klosterman in the future? And if they do, how will they read him?" In the mood for more JRC? How about his essay on the art of the first sentence?
"'There is almost no work, within the vast range of literature and science,' [Thomas Jefferson] wrote in an 1874 report, 'which may not at some time prove useful to the legislature of a great nation.' Thus the Library Of Congress’s mandate expanded: it would acquire anything and everything of importance ... By the late 19th century, the LOC had become a kind of national brain trust, a heritage of information that aspired to timelessness." This piece on the Library of Congress and its internet progress (or lack thereof) is fascinating and thorough. Go and spend some time with the digital archive, there are only around seven million gigabytes of information for you to thumb through.