“We have a customer who eats Bibles. She’s very nice, but she will walk up to a section, rip out a page, and eat it. She much prefers Catholic versions—she won’t touch King James Bibles.” This interview with the owner of Brattle Book Shop in Boston illustrates the peculiar idiosyncrasies of daily bookstore life. For all you romantics out there, here is a love letter to the brick-and-mortar bookstore.
"My father’s life intersected with a century of conflict, horror and invention. He deciphered these histories for me, making me his scribe in a new century. My successes were his successes, and his stories thrum in every word I write. He taught me to see like a writer, to be attentive to the stories that spring up everywhere ... It’s an attentiveness to the world, to ordinary suffering, to the love that persists in its midst. My sense of the world, of history and humanity flows from this awareness — and the attendant grim humor — my father used as his guiding lamp in the darkness cast by racism and poverty." Over at The New York Times, Walter Mosley recalls the lessons taught to him by his father, Leroy.
There is good news for those of us whose dreams of artistic superstardom don't seem to be panning out -- a job listing from McSweeney's seeking failed artists for an associate position. "We would hate for you to be pretentious," the listing states, "but if you don’t regularly call other people pretentious — this might not be the job for you."
Expats of all stripes have trouble defining the word “home,” which is true even when the expat is someone like James Wood, who left England for America in the ‘90s and set up a life for himself in Massachusetts. In the LRB, he describes the odd pain of emigration, lamenting that his "English reality" has faded into memory. (You could also read Charles Finch on trying to live up to Wood’s standards.)