"The Time I Spent On A Commercial Whaling Ship Totally Changed My Perspective On The World," a blogger named Ishmael writes, on the sister blog to The Onion. (But I like these titles better.)
Chris Adrian's The New World, a digital-platform book we wrote about before, is now on shelves. I mean that idiomatically and not literally -- as none of the editions favored by The Atavist's young publishing arm for this lyrical love story of life after death (interactive ebook app, text-only Kindle/iBook/Google) involve paper.
Writers of facial stage direction, beware: it is not actually the epitome of irony that smiling and crying can seem so oddly similar. At Aeon, Princeton professor Michael Graziono argues that the seemingly opposite gestures may just share evolutionary origins. (Pair with: Darwinist theories about "the evolution of the novel.")
"Internet reading takes up my time without my setting that time aside for it, and fills me with images and thoughts that I don’t perceive going in, like radiation... In these online minutes or hours, I drift along with my mouth open, absorbing whatever’s floating by, never chewing or even swallowing, just letting it all seep pre-chewed into me": an elegant argument against reading about books before you read the books in question at Electric Literature. (But we hope you'll continue to read The Millions anyway.)
"To read something before it is accessible to all is both a privilege and an unfair advantage." Je Banach's notes on keeping the secrets of the books she writes about (e.g., Haruki Murakami’s Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage) are thoughtful, poignant, and tantalizingly spoiler-free.
It was the height of the feminist revolution and one man was trying, unsuccessfully, to publish a book about a man amidst a midlife crisis. 25 years later, Esquire editor Gordon Lish read sections of An Armful of Warm Girl in a literary magazine and demanded that Knopf reconsider publishing it (they did). This week over at Bloom, Nicki Leone dives into the work of W.M. Spackman, the man often referred to as "Fitzgerald's literary heir."
There are three kinds of readers of David Foster Wallace's Infinite Jest: those who feel some niggling guilt about that brick on their bookshelf, those who've read it (proudly) but secretly may have no idea what happened in that tangled ending, and the people responsible for this excellent infographic. (Complement with cached commentary at Infinite Summer and a guide to the geography of Wallace's Boston.)
Oh, ghostwriter: that poorly-paid name snuck into the "Acknowledgements" section somewhere after agent's agent and ex-wife's third cousin. In the middle ground between Michael D'Orso, who spoke to The Millions of job satisfaction as a hired pen, and Sari Botton, whose reminisces are full of horror stories, Andrew Croft, author of 80 books that sold 10M copies under other people's names, offers a circumspect take in his Guardian profile. "The ghost is advised never to forget that, at the end of the day, he or she ranks somewhere between a valet and a cleaner."
With the end of the "Golden Age of TV," let's turn back to the show that started it all: Twin Peaks, "a revelation and inspiration for countless writers coming of age in the early 90s." The new Twin Peaks Project begins with this nostalgic article in The Believer.