Book Review Alert: Tinkers
At 191-pages, not-quite 5 x 7 inches in size, and with a lone person tromping through snow on the cover, “Tinkers” by Paul Harding is so darling, I couldn’t wait to read it.
The title is terribly sweet—sweet enough that a friend mentioned it would be the perfect name for a puppy. And the hype didn’t hurt, either: this year’s Pulitzer winner was picked up by a very small and very young publishing house, the Bellevue Literary Press, after the author received enough rejection letters to make a lesser writer want to throw her laptop onto a bonfire.
(Continue reading on Culture Lust.)
Want to be breathless? Get Marisa Silver’s “Alone With You”
For the past several months, I’ve been carrying on a love affair with the short story. I’m generally predisposed toward novels but these days, given the chaos of modern life, it may be a day or two (or, admittedly, longer) before I have time to settle in again. At which point, I’m out of sync with the pacing and often need a good memory jog to keep moving forward. Then there’s the battle to stay awake for more than 20 pages. The short story is a fine alternative. It’s compatible with my bedtime reading, but also with the all-too-brief minutes of free time throughout the day. Really, it’s a perfect and immediate literary fix when done well.
It might just be all about the hokey pokey!
I will, I will, I will! weigh in on the UCSD PR nightmare that seems to get worse with each day, and which makes me want to bubble-wrap my little girl before I launch her into the dangerous territory of adulthood. But for now, I’m busy faxing and re-faxing and re-faxing again, reams of paper. I make love to a fax machine every day and quite frankly, this has got me wondering—as I fix another god^$(#(@ * motherf!*%$#^$#%^&$%! blasted paper jam—at the meaning of my life.
On Monday, I decided it was meaningless and cried twice. On Tuesday, I confirmed it was meaningless, and cried three times. I mean, holy smokes, folks: I DO NOT CRY AT WORK. It’s against my personal code of conduct. And the a realization that my career consists of minute-to-minute use of a nearly obsolete technology is that much more humiliating.
But. I can write! Right? That’s got too count for something. No?
So in the midst of all this faxing and crying and crying and faxing and feeling generally boxed in, I continued to vent my frustrations about John Mayer. You see, it’s more advisable for me to aim my freak-out at him, than it is my lovely husband. Fewer repercussions, if you know what I’m saying. Plus, Sam’s a terrific guy while Mayer is….well. You just need to head on over to Culture Lust and read on.
Calling all bookworms
My book reviews now have their very own byline over at Culture Lust, which is terribly exciting for me (you can read my review of Jose Saramago’s Blindness here and Sara Gruen’s Water For Elephants here). And yet, I can’t help but wonder why KPBS would want to risk their fine reputation by slumming around with yours truly…
No matter. I live for driveway moments and love KPBS so dearly, I not only tend to listen to the same story on my drive home from work that I listened to on my way in, but I often cry both times. That, my friends, is dedication. Needless to say, I’m honored to have such a reputable platform. Their class is already rubbing off on me, too: Nowhere in my review of The Believers did I use the F-word, discuss vibrators or wish chronic dysentery on any Republicans. Though I’m pretty much always wishing chronic dysentery on Republicans, especially under- and uninsured Republicans. It’s my own personal campaign to win hearts and minds.
Anyhow. If you’re looking for something to read, Angela Carone is offering up an array of options at Culture Lust during this week-long celebration of books. Go pay her a visit and see if you can’t find something to your liking. And do tell: What will you be reading this weekend?