Everyone should encourage their animals to start up their own blogs. They should then link up and make blog pals with other online animals. This past weekend my cat Oscar began his own blog. So I thought I’d give him some hits by sharing the link.

Go easy on him, he’s just starting out. Luckily there is spell check and that helps his paws with his typing. Any other cats out there with blogs let him know and he just might want to link up. 

I was interested in reading the second American released fiction work by Irene Nemirovsky whose book Suite Française had achieved much popularity—mainly due to the author’s tragic death. She died in Auschwitz in 1942 just shy of turning 40. Now in this novella, called Fire In The Blood (also translated from the French by Sandra Smith) I have a bit better indication of where Nemirovsky stands as a writer. My main criticism with Suite Française was that despite showing some glimmers of talent, structurally the ‘novel’ was a mess. I say ‘novel’ because the book itself is actually 2 novellas—and had the author not perished so soon, she probably would have finished the work as the 5 part series she planned. (more…)

It has just been announced that Doris Lessing has won the Nobel Prize in literature. You can read about it in a Reuters article. I’m happy about this, because I get tired of writers just winning for their politics. Lessing is much better than the overrated Virginia Woolf.

Dan Schneider has written a review of her work. (more…)

There is a review of My Grandfather’s Son in The New York Times. As quoted from the William Grimes review:

“Here, emotions get the better of him, as he portrays himself as a persecuted, almost Christlike figure singled out by the liberal establishment, at the behest of his civil rights enemies, not just for criticism but also for total annihilation. You wonder if, when writing these fiery chapters, Justice Thomas recalled his own admiring words about his grandfather.” (more…)

A celebration is going on in regards to Allen Ginsberg’s poem Howl finally not being labeled “obscene.” For many years, in the 1950s and onward, Howl was considered obscene not for an overload of cursing but because it criticized much of contemporary American culture at the time. (more…)

 This is the poem for today, Friday:

Their Beauty Has More Meaning

Yesterday morning enormous the moon hung low on the ocean,
Round and yellow-rose in the glow of dawn;
The night-herons flapping home wore dawn on their wings. Today
Black is the ocean, black and sulphur the sky,
And white seas leap. I honestly do not know which day is more beautiful.
I know that tomorrow or next year or in twenty years
I shall not see these things- and it does not matter, it does not hurt;
They will be here. And when the whole human race
Has been like me rubbed out, they will still be here: storms, moon and ocean,
Dawn and the birds. And I say this: their beauty has more meaning
Than the whole human race and the race of birds.

Copyright by Robinson Jeffers

More of his stuff can be found here.

Read my dumb “MySpace” Questionnaire. Not for the prudish or easily offended. Just a little humor to get the day going! Hee hee!

(Contains adult language).

Book Review of Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography

I am really glad I decided to review Schulz and Peanuts: A Biography by David Michaelis. I had known a bit about Schulz in the past, in that he was somewhat a reclusive and quiet person, as well as melancholic. I had also wondered to what degree Charlie Brown played a part in being Schulz’s ‘alter ego’, and now after having read the book, I see how much a part his personal life made its way into his comic strips. Schulz, despite being a notorious self-doubter, knew from an early age that he wanted to be a comic strip artist. (more…)

My book club pick for October is Embers by Sándor Márai, published by Knopf. Click here to see how you can earn a free copy of the book, as well as here for a review.

Happy Reading!

It is difficult to review a work that one not only knows is unfinished, but also one that reads that way. Such has never been a stronger case than with Irene Nemirovsky’s ‘novel’ Suite Française. The book has been marketed as a novel when really it is two unfinished novellas, and according to the appendix in the back of the book, Nemirovsky was intending to make the final book contain five parts but unfortunately she was sent to die in the Auschwitz death camp in 1942 before she was able to finish it. Her daughter, Denise Epstein, then kept the manuscript for 64 years, not really reading it and assuming the notebook was only scribblings of everyday observations. When she finally opened it, however, she found it was something of a narrative structure, albeit one that was in desperate need of revision and never got it. (more…)

I have to say that I was pleasantly pleased after having read Diane Ackerman’s latest non-fiction book, The Zookeeper’s Wife. This is my first time reading anything of hers, and I was also surprised to find that she has talent as a poet. I say ‘surprised’ because more often than not, those who claim to have written poetry really don’t succeed at it very much at all, but Ackerman, who has a nature bent to her work, possesses both literary quality and a good sense of historical and scientific background, which makes this book work. The story is about a Polish married couple named Jan and Antonia Zabinski who also run the zoo in Warsaw. Set during World War II, what we get is not just a war story of Jews hiding in the zoo from the Nazis, but also we are shown how the animals were affected during this period. (more…)

I just finished reading Diane Ackerman’s The Zookeeper’s Wife that talks about a Polish couple who hides Jews in their Warsaw Zoo during the war. It’s non-fiction, and I’ll have a review up soon enough.

Tonight is the Ken Burns documentary–The War, which I plan on watching. Anyway, going back to the subject line, one of the things she spoke about in the book was an anti-Semitic children’s book called The Poison Mushroom. I remember seeing this book behind glass at the Holocaust Museum. The front image is that of a mushroom with a face on it with an overly large nose. In the book, the German children are all drawn cute and blond, while the Jews are ugly, have mean faces and huge noses. (more…)

I am feeling a little agitated. Ok, so I found out that on September 21, 2007 the release of Into the Wild will be coming to theatres, and then opening nationwide in the U.S. on October 5^th. What is this all about, you ask? His name is Chris McCandless, and—well let me just quote myself from my own blog to give you a bit of background:

One of the few books I’ve read in the past year that have had an impact upon my writing has been Into the Wild by Jon Krakauer. It’s the story of a young guy from the East Coast who, out of college decides to drop out of established society and essentially become a ‘tramp abroad’ for two or more years. He spends most of his time hitchhiking across the country, getting odd jobs for spare cash, living on meager needs, and all the while meeting people along the way, (but telling him his name is ‘Alex’ or rather ‘Alexander Supertramp) and keeping those he meets at just the right emotional distance (I’ve done this too) where he has no expectations to fulfill. But his life ended in 1992 where he went to Alaska unprepared and with only a bag full of books, a ten-pound bag of rice, and ‘lived’ in this bus till he eventually starved to death at the age of 24. Once word got out about his death, Krakauer did a story on him in Outside Magazine, followed by this book Into the Wild. Click here to read my full post.

So now there is going to be a film, directed by Sean Penn. Here is the trailer. The reason I am a bit peeved is because no one seems to mention the fact that this kid made poor choices. The film, although I’ve not seen it yet and so I probably shouldn’t bitch about it (but will anyway) from what I gather, the film seems to be stressing this idealistic attitude of “getting out of your comfort zone and taking risks.” Sure, great idea, you think. Why the hell not? But who is our example? A young guy who lived off the land for 2 years and ended up dead.

I think McCandless’ story certainly should be told, for I enjoyed the book very much and recommend it. I also don’t think he’s a bad guy, but probably was a very nice and genuine person (albeit juvenile and selfish). But I get annoyed with these folk who call this guy a hero. Most of us do not have the privilege of just dropping out of society and not owing up to our responsibilities because we don’t feel like it anymore. Also, McCandless is a rich, white kid who comes from a privileged family. He rebels against materialism, but I should also note that this is largely a thing rich people do. It’s like that line in Scorsese’s The Aviator when Howard Hughes tells Katherine Hepburn’s mother (after she’s told Howard that they as a family ‘don’t care about money’ and Howard’s response is, ‘because you have it’).

I’m all for taking risks in life and living it to the fullest and all that crap, (one of the reasons I’m a struggling artist and not an insurance salesperson) but I suppose now at the age of 31 and seeing how most can’t pay their mortgages and nor can most afford health insurance in the U.S. and how many Katrina victims are still living in formaldehyde-laced FEMA trailers and how in Iraq the citizens can’t even walk outside their homes without risking getting shot—it’s hard for me to celebrate these reckless ideals. For the same reason I despise New Age psychobabble for its shallow remedies (although I don’t despise Chris because I do want to see the film) I think that not acknowledging this guy’s foolishness is doing a disservice. Timothy Treadwell went to Alaska and got eaten by a bear and there was a film made about it. Dick Proenneke went to Alaska, built a cabin with his own hands, built the tools even, and survived because he was smart, intelligent, and most of all prepared—and he is talked about the least. Where is the film about Dick Proenneke?

I would love to go hiking across the country and see moose and elk and all those fury creatures and trees, but I need to get published first and…I’ve lost my point. Maybe I’m just wishing I were 20 again. Do I? Hell no. My 20s sucked. I am so happy to be over 30. Thank you 30!

Anyway, see the film…read the book…or not. Just think twice about calling Chris McCandless a hero. Although I do want to go to Alaska before I die, just not in the way he did.

Thoughts, anyone?

For anyone who has ever wanted an introduction to the Armenian Genocide, reading Margaret Ajemian Ahnert’s memoir, The Knock at the Door, would be a good place to start. The book deals with Ahnert’s mother, Ester, and how at the ages of fifteen through nineteen, the Armenian girl has to endure starvation, beatings, and rape—yet manages to survive. This story, based on the stories that Ester relayed to Ahnert, talks about how the Armenians were forced out of their houses, ordered to march for weeks through the desert with little food or water, undergo regular beatings and killings by the Turkish soldiers, and how anyone worshipping the Christian religion or speaking Armenian would result in torture and death.

In an interesting online interview with the author, Ahnert has much to say regarding the Genocide and the public’s denial of it. In Turkey, it is against the law to speak of it, and on May 1, 2007, Ahnert was giving a reading at a New York Barnes & Noble when she had several Turkish men in the audience stand up and begin to pass out flyers, claiming she was a liar. That story hit the news, and it was upon reading about that incident, that prompted me to purchase the book.

Throughout the story, after having survived the brutal walk through the desert and being left for dead, Ester is rescued by a woman and then eventually shuffled through several homes. In one house she acts as a maid, and upon overhearing some Turkish men bragging about the brutal ways in which they killed the Armenians, becomes so overwhelmed with fear that she falls down the stairs and eventually informs the woman of the house that she must leave. The woman, who at first said she was willing to treat Ester as a daughter, only allows her husband to rape Ester that same night. Then, as Ester is sent to an orphanage, where she is forced to strip down and undergo ‘lice treatment’ as well as molestation by one of the women, there she meets a Turkish man who takes her by force, marries her, yet regards her as nothing more than a slave. Ahnert talks about how during these years, Turks were allowed to marry Armenians or kill them, but they could not, under any circumstances, hide them. So because this Turkish man is willing to marry Ester, she is relatively safe for a while (albeit still undergoing regular beatings and abuse from her husband).

Several years pass, and then Ester believes she sees her brother on a wagon passing by. Running out to greet him, he helps her to escape by informing her of a place to stay. Ester escapes her husband and goes to this house that dwells one of the few Armenian families whose lives were spared because they are blacksmiths. The family takes her in, despite their constant worry of getting caught. Ester is forced to sleep in the moldy basement with vermin crawling all over her. Fearing the family would be ready to throw her out, she does not complain. Eventually, she is able to get to America after being given a third class passenger ticket and a false passport. But the insides of the steerage are no better. Larded with roaches and disease, people are crowded together and must suffer through the filth until they can arrive at Ellis Island. The book skips back and forth between Ahnert visiting her mother in a nursing home in 1998, and her mother’s experiences in 1915 through 1920. Ahnert also has a scene where she encounters a Turkish cab driver and fears to tell him that she is Armenian.

This book is one woman’s story—well two actually, and it provides a personal account of what happened during those years. Through Ester’s tale, readers will be given an introduction to the Armenian Genocide, and what those brutal times were like. Similar to that of the Jews, Ahnert speaks about the famous quote by Hitler in the Holocaust museum in Washington D.C., where he mentions that no one remembers what happened to the Armenians (implying that no one will remember what happened to the Jews either). The Knock at the Door is a memoir more in line with Frank McCourt’s Angela’s Ashes, where both stories serve to personalize the history, as opposed to viewing it only as dates and numbers. Angela’s Ashes is the more artful of the two books, while The Knock at the Door is more straightforward in its spare narrative style. Worthy of your readership, it is a story that will certainly pique your interest in wanting to know more. And if Ester herself were alive to know that, indeed she would be pleased.

Click here to watch a full interview with the author.

Click here for the author’s website.

I’ll admit that I’m not a big Kerouac fan. But today marks the 50th anniversary of his Classic On the Road, which was published today back in 1957. Of course that’s easy to figure–just do the math. The publisher, Viking, has released not only the 50th Anniversary of the novel, but also the ‘Original Scroll’ form. Kerouac supposedly wrote the novel on a scroll, where the book is more memoir than novel, since he uses the original character’s names. Dean Moriarty, his cross-country friend in On the Road, is really Neal Cassady, for example. I was recently in a Barnes & Noble and picked up the ‘Scroll Form’, and what you’ve got is no punctuation and no spacing–just one long excursion of text.

Some Kerouac fans are complaining about the reissued On the Road, stating how it’s not that different from their own tattered and dog-eared copy. But the Scroll Form, is, in effect, everything you’ve been missing and everything you could want to know behind Kerouac and his buddies. In effect, it is for the ‘die-hards’.

I am currently reading On the Road because all the excitement prompted me. It is a Classic that I’ve been putting off, simply because I’ve never been all that into the Beat movement and the whole ‘first thought, best thought’ thing. I love nature and outdoorsy writing, but the only book of Kerouac’s I’ve read before this one is The Dharma Bums and I thought it was kind of boring. So far, my experience with On the Road is that it is just okay. Although I’m not finished with it yet, it so far seems to be a bit longer than needed, for parts do get redundant. How many times do I need to read about Sal getting drunk and having sex?

Kerouac fans would jump on me for asking that, but I do think this novel is loved far more because of the nostalgia involved, rather than it’s literary value alone. Yes, I’ll agree that the book is “innovative” for its time, but so far it seems to be the affection readers have towards the book that drives its popularity.

And just to prove it, this year a film called Neal Cassady will be released. That is the part I don’t understand. All the man did was be a friend to Kerouac and have sex with Allen Ginsberg. I think the novel will be enough for me.

Michael invited me to mention my book club pick for September, which happens to be Richard Wright’s Native Son. If you click here, details can be read as to how to earn a free book.  Also, a great, in-depth review of the book can be found here. It was originally posted on The Moderate Voice. 

So I encourage you to participate. It’s not that difficult, considering all you need do is submit a question…

I’m depressed. Why? For the past ten months I’ve been having literary foreplay with a literary agent who told me she thought I was a ‘terrific’ writer, had excellent credentials and that she loved my work. She loved it so much that throughout this time, we spoke twice on the phone, and I shared with her 3 of my manuscripts. It seemed like she was pretty focused on having me as a client. That is, until last week when she told me no. Her reasons? She didn’t think she could sell my work to a major New York publisher, albeit admitting that it was a subjective opinion. So what did I do? I sobbed. I Moaned. I contemplated swallowing that entire bottle of Tylenol P.M. (Kidding). I bought a cheesy Hollywood movie on DVD that I spent too much money on, and ended up watching it as a means of trying to cheer myself up. Then I regretted buying it, despite sinfully enjoying it, throbbing head and all.

For the past four months, ever since I sent the 3^rd manuscript (in April is when I sent it) I’ve been saying how I just want to know her answer so I can move on. Yes or no? I thought that once I got it I would feel better, but now I only feel shitty. One of the things writers complain about is how they can never seem to find a literary agent who can recognize the quality in their work. But what do you do when you have that already, in addition to ‘excellent credentials’ (as she called them) and she still doesn’t sign you?

You go back to the beginning. Trying to get published is by far one of the most difficult things anyone can do. It’s like trying to get into Harvard medical or law school x 1000. Unless you are a celebrity or a media whore of some sort, the unconnected masses have to struggle like hell. I’ve come to the conclusion that the only way to get published and benefit in the short term is through luck. Quality (as I’ve shown) does not matter.

The agent told me I should submit to some small presses, one of which published a client of hers. I did. But again, getting accepted by a small publisher can be just as difficult as getting accepted by a large one. What really tires me is how few (meaning publishers) value the talent, only the ephemeral things like awards, who your publisher is, who blurbed for you. It does not matter if what you produce is shit, as long as you have these things. As proof, I’ll offer the fact that in his lifetime, Robert Frost won 4 Pulitzer Prizes for his poetry. I didn’t know that until I looked him up on Wikipedia. Does it matter? Now knowing that, is his poetry any better? Emily Dickinson was ignored in her lifetime. Again, does it matter now?

One of the things Woody Allen stresses in his film Crimes & Misdemeanors is how the thing people fear most is randomness. They don’t like knowing they have no control over certain things, and ultimately how success in life comes down to luck. Yes people will throw the whole ‘hard work’ and ‘talent’ thing in there, but that’s not what decides in the short term. I have those 2 things but I lacked the luck. So now I’m back to where I started: sending to a small press that will probably reject me, despite my ability to advertise on highly popular sites and the fact that my book(s) are not dull and pretentious, but actually insightful, fun reads if they actually read them.

I have not been lucky enough to push forward. My life remains a series of maybes and almosts. But despite the ass crack of life looming over me with ready-made shit, I still have hope as I look up from the bottom of the toilet. Appreciate that now, (the hope) because in five minutes that could (and probably will) change, for another dump always awaits.

By Jessica Schneider

http://jaschneider.blogspot.com/

PS- Michael asked me to link to my Ayn Rand post. Some interesting interviews with her you should check out, Mike Wallace (1959) & Donahue (1980).