Not the Booker

You've got to give the Guardian props for this one. After the Booker longlist was revealed, a blog post discussed how "the internet" always disagrees with the judges.

These criticisms fall into three main camps:

1) Your favourite book didn't win. This is the most egregious error the judges make, and they make it again and again. Worse still, instead of your favourite book, they select one that is at best mediocre and at worst thoroughly dull. What's wrong with them? 2) The books are always about post-colonial guilt, Irish poverty or English middle-class Islingtonians having Terribly Important Thoughts about their boring love lives … Where's the SF? Is that not literature? Where's the danger? Where's the challenge? Surely they are missing something. 3) The panel are unrepresentative. Who are these people? Who chooses them? Why should, say, James Naughtie be judging this year's prize? Are they really better judges than you or I?

The Guardian handed over nominations to the general public, compiled the list and invited all readers to judge by voting (and the only mention of possible voter fraud was to dismiss the idea, kudos!). And now, at long last, the shortlist, announced. Another list full of books I haven't read yet. Charming.

It's a nice idea. In fact, a really nice idea. Handing over a chunk of the responsibility to the masses, the folks who ultimately read these books. And so what if the Not the Booker prize lacks the prestige of the Booker and receives only a mug as a prize? It's a good way to find out what books people are reading... Hopefully next year the Guardian will also tackle something bigger - a reader driven prize looking at a different set of books. Perhaps books from non-Commonwealth English speaking countries (there's a big one across the pond, right?). Or perhaps a prize for books translated into English. Or maybe round up the year's self-published novels and see what gems lie there. But I suppose I should be satisfied for now and get reading.

Childish and mature white kings

I finished György Dragomán's "The White King" a few days ago and perhaps it says something about the way I've been branching out recently, but I found the book to be most interesting and quite excellent. It wasn't just the jist of the book - a Hungarian author writing about communist Romania (or thereabouts) through the eyes of a child - but also how the book was done and where it came from. Diversity in literature is always good and "The White King" took me someplace familiar but somehow new.

It's strange to see how the book was received. Published by a major publishing house in March of 2008, it received a few fairly praiseworthy (but simultaneously vague) reviews in a number of different publications and has a small amount of customer reviews on various sites. The customer reviews that do exist are also flattering, though most agree that it's a difficult read. Because it is. Parts of the book made me cringe not because of the writing, but rather because I could recognize the horror of the situation that the 11-year old narrator (nicknamed "Djata", though his real name is never revealed) could not. It is the sign of a competent writer, I think, to create a world that makes the reader at once uncomfortable, eager to read on and completely in tune with the character, viewing the world through the childish eyes yet understanding it with the adult mind.

What is particularly remarkable about "The White King" is the careful balance between adult and child. "Djata" is a preteen living in a Soviet world, telling his story in a childlike manner. On the one hand, he recognizes important moments where he ought to act like an "adult" and yet other times he resorts to younger behaviour patterns, such as reminding the reader of an event that took place a few chapters earlier. He, like many children his age, constantly attempts to act older and more mature in order to prove himself. Yet he holds on tightly to childish hopes and dreams, convincing himself that things will get better, unrealistically. It displays the contradiction that is growing up perfectly, having the childish and the mature side-by-side.

I'm particularly struck by how "technically standard" the book is. Coming-of-age books are so common the genre is cluttered. Books structured with chapter-stories can be found almost everywhere. Stories about the atrocities or the horrors of difficult regimes are not new. Somehow, though, all aspects merge to make a book I liked a great deal. Now, a few days later, I find myself wanting to continue reading it, as though there are more chapters hidden in the back cover. I suppose the ending is unsatisfying in that sense, but I'm not sure I can fault the author. After all, the book is well written, stuck with me and nudged me to write about how "Djata" is an excellent embodiment of the blurry child-adult line. And as for the why the book has not received more press, though, I simply don't know.

Amazon review of the week

This old "customer" review of "Of Mice and Men" is perhaps the most thoughtful one-star review I've encountered recently:

Although this book was very well written, I couldn't understand it very well. I probably would not have finished it if it hadn't been required reading for school. I would think that older kids might be able to undertsand it, but that most of it is too subtle for eighth graders.

I read "Of Mice and Men" that year later in ninth grade but found that the story made perfect sense while, interestingly enough, the Steinbeck of the year from eighth grade ("The Pearl", which remains one of the most terrible books I've ever read) didn't. However, I've reread "The Pearl" since then, found it as bad as it ever was, and yet "Of Mice and Men" remains one of my top favorite books. This review does point out problems with the education system that allows eighth graders to feel this way ("Oh, I guess it's a good book but I'm just too stupid to get it."), but the honesty of the reviewer deserves its mention. Meanwhile, this comment was left below:

Eighth graders???!!! Are you kidding me? By thirteen ANYONE should be able to understand this, unless the world is going very quickly downhill...

Just goes to show that sometimes the commenters who are convinced they are enlightening others are absolute idiots and simply cruel.

Inverted writing

A few days ago, I took advantage of some free time to sit down with a couple of library books. Topping the list was "Inverted World" by Christopher Priest, a book I'd picked up randomly, in part because I saw it was a NYRB edition (strange for this library) and also because I thought a break from the usual in the form of science fiction would be welcome. In truth it was, but as with a few other unexpected reads I've encountered recently, the points that cropped up had little to do with the story itself.

In "Inverted World", Priest switches back and forth between third person and first person. The uniqueness in this is that the narrating character doesn't change. Often, when a book shifts point of view, it's because the reader is moving in the direction of another character's take on the subject. Here, however, part II maintains Helward as the main character, continues his story precisely where it left off in part I, and the only difference is that the reader is now officially "out of his head". It is not a failed device. The story continues unobstructed and doesn't find itself so complicated by the changes that the reader can't continue. But reading the book, there appears to be no reason for this different format.

The solution to this odd narration mystery is as bizarre as the point itself. According to Wikipedia, the book's structure is meant to follow the shape of the strange world in which Helward lives - the inverted world. But reading the book did not hint at this, where the author attempts to emphasize the strangeness of his science fiction through the writing style. It seems odd that Priest would craft his book so carefully but would not reveal in his writing even the slightest hint that the point-of-view changes are meant to shadow the story. The mysteries of the world itself are only revealed deep in the book - perhaps this is why I was unable to catch on.

A bookstore story

Looking around today in a small used bookstore, I came across "Daniel Deronda". This is a fairly organized store, but the occasional book will find itself misplaced, usually just accidentally stuck one shelf above or below its appropriate home. But after a few moments of continued browsing, I found two extremely elegant editions of "The Mill on the Floss" by George Eliot, an entire bookcase away from "Daniel Deronda".

"Daniel Deronda", also written by George Eliot. I took a step back and where was Daniel? Alongside the complete works of Daniel Defoe. The chunky Deronda was quickly snatched and placed between "The Mill on the Floss" and "Adam Bede", thankfully located on the E shelf and nowhere near Samuel Beckett or Saul Bellow.

Wi-Fi plans

Barnes & Noble, following the launching of their brand new e-book store, have decided to go all out on the digital front by offering free wi-fi in their stores. Via Publisher's Weekly:

CEO Steve Riggio said providing free Wi-Fi to customers is helping the retailer “[extend] the sense of community that has always been in our stores.” The company also stressed that in offering free Wi-Fi, customers will be able to easily download and preview e-books. [...] Riggio called the addition of free Wi-Fi in all stores “a natural progression of our digital strategy to provide customers with more choices in how, when and where they want to read.”

Irony lies in that a few of the customers will probably end up taking advantage of this free wireless to use the still cheaper Amazon, after comfortably comparing prices at the store. Will it succeed in making the giant, often incredibly not customer friendly corporation more "communal"? Unlikely. We'll have to see if B&N's assumption that more people will buy e-books while sitting at the store comes true. It seems completely contradictory to all laws of internet logic (like using the internet to buy things in order to not go the store, convenience, etc.), but it'll be interesting to see what happens.

The merits of negativity

With the drama surrounding Alice Hoffman and Alain de Botton's responses to seemingly spiteful and mean reviews against their books fading, there's a good opportunity to look at the "negative review" a little. Not how authors should respond to them - that's been handled quite a bit - but rather if negative reviews should even be written. And if they should, how? In my post on why we review from a few months back, R.T. left an interesting comment:

As a reviewer (for print and online outlets), I try to adhere to a straight-forward policy: I do not write negative reviews. In other words, if the book lacks merit and I can find nothing positive to say about it, I take a pass on reviewing it. There are too many good books to spend precious time on the others. I have had editors insist upon a review, even when it was going to be unfavorable, and at that point the editors and I have had meetings of the minds in which my policy prevails. My reasoning for the policy is simple: Readers look to reviews because they are seeking out good books to read, so why tell readers about bad books? To do so is a waste of time for everyone involved.

It's an interesting policy, one that I absolutely disagree with. The purpose of a review, in my mind, isn't simply to say if it's a good book and pass it along, but perhaps also to steer people away from it. It's more difficult today with blogs that often pump up the same books but if a reviewer says, "You will not like this book because of: ... ", I'll understand it and take it into account. But if all I see is gushing praise for a book, people saying, "It's the best book ever! It's amazing!" I'll be getting a skewed view of the book.

Perhaps this is just my own personal method, but before I purchase/acquire a book, I like to see the so-called negative reviews, whether they're on Amazon (I use Amazon as a blanket term for all localized review sites), blogs, or elsewhere. My philosophy is as follows: If someone can logically and reasonably convince me that the book is flawed, clearly listing reasons why (without resorting to petty name-calling), I accept their points and reach my own conclusions. If all the "negative" reviews are one sentence blurbs of "worst book ever" without offering any support for the claim, I have to assume the book is actually good, because nobody has provided me with proof otherwise. And if everyone followed R.T.'s idea, instead of just most reviews being positive, all reviews would be positive and gushing, meaning that it would (mistakenly) appear that all books are amazing. Or a bad book would have no information on it, meaning people simply wouldn't know to stay clear.

Negative reviews are necessary. Not all books are perfect and a reviewer should never feel bad for voicing an honest opinion (assuming it is done in a calm, reasonable fashion without resorting to childish insults - this is applicable to the author's response as well!). A reader spotting a negative review is getting another opinion, rather in the same way that another positive review would bring forth some new points (hopefully...). Negative reviews are not spiteful, angry responses, they are different sides to the issue and are sincerely helpful. In my mind, to avoid them is simply foolish.

Amazon review of the week

Often after I read a very good book, I like to see other opinions. This old review (in its entirety) of "If This is a Man" ("Survival in Auschwitz") caught my eye:

I have read many Holocaust biographies and autobiographies and this one was by far the worst one i have read. I could not finish the book, it was so uninteresting. i felt no connection with the author and narrator and I felt like he was making his experiences up. If you want a good book on the Holocaust try Alicia: My Story by Alicia Appleman-Jurman. It shows a true hero of the Holocaust is one of the best and most amazing books I have ever read.

After I had the gall and the audacity to compare this exact book to "Night", I should not mind another reviewer finding a different memoir to compare to. However, "Alicia: My Story" tells a completely different survival tale and much in the same way that I felt Anne Frank's diary cannot be used in a comparison, I feel perhaps Appleman-Jurman's account should not come up against Levi's. Still, even as I disagree with the reviewer's opinion (and face a few twinges of annoyance at the implication that Levi's story is made up), once again I must respect this dissenting view and appreciate the interesting points it raises.

Extras and packages

While most new books today come elegantly packaged with a nice cover image, a small author blurb, acknowledgments or an afterword by the author, and (increasingly) the occasional reader's guide (often rather pointless), some books still seem to lag behind. Sadly, these are usually the books that need the additional information most.

In the internet age, it's useful but unnecessary to have so much information about a new book unless the book takes place in a certain period and the author (or publisher) feel it's their duty to add small tidbits in addition to the hard facts. An amusing author blurb is always enjoyable but rarely sheds light on the book in cases of standard fiction. Reading guides are occasionally interesting but should probably remain on the internet (why waste the millions of sheets of paper for something most people don't read?). A reading group guide is perhaps helpful to reading groups but even so, it is not a required part of the book itself. There's no need to include it directly in the book. Author afterwords, on the other hand, often do provide a bit of food for thought, showing the reader a bit of what the author thought writing the book. Always interesting.

What's frustrating is a case like "Truth" (Zola). The book was published in English in 1903. The single available English edition is this 1903 version, published almost immediately after the book was written. The only occasional interference by the translator is the fairly irrelevant introduction or the rare comment about how the book wasn't properly edited because Zola passed away as he was beginning the editing process. But reading this today proves to be a problem. The points the translator references (discussing secular education and how soon it might change) are certainly outdated. It would be fascinating to have, like what Oxford World Classics tends to give, detailed annotations. Rather than wonder, "Well then... when did this happen?" and have to search futilely, the book would offer answers to all the time relevant questions.

With older books, this "extras" issue seems a little more relevant. It's the way of the world that things change, meaning that even the best books occasionally need a little explanation. It's extremely annoying to get a book packaged exactly as it was a century ago, down to the same font and translator notes, with no additional information regarding everything that's changed in the last century. Or, perhaps even worse, books that have phrases in other languages and don't come with a mini-dictionary. A book like "Villette", by Charlotte Brontë. The constant French may not have troubled the Brontë sisters and their contemporary readers, but for most readers today, something like the Bantam edition I own is a slap in the face. Riddled with French, the publishers did not see fit to provide readers with translations for any phrase, even though they occasionally serve as the main point of the paragraph. And it's simply not enjoyable to read a book and not understand about a third of what they're saying. I don't ask the book to give me the historical context in this particular case, but at the very least casual footnoted translations.

For modern literature, there's less of a problem. The packaging issue is so important to selling, most books come with too much. The older books suffer and ultimately torture the readers for it. I have to wonder about the reasons for blessing modern books with unnecessary information but leaving out crucial bits from older literature. If only publishers felt packaging was as important for the classics as it is for debuts, readers might better appreciate the classic literature. Yet I do maintain some level of optimism, as I suspect the next reissue of "Truth" in a century from now will come with a couple of time relevant annotations... for 2003.

Publisher gloom

It's hard to view the publishing industry very cheerfully after reading Publisher Weekly's annual salary survey. While some results are understandable (employee job security has dipped in the last year, unsurprisingly), others are not. Take, for instance, this: the average pay for men is higher than that of women by $30,000 (the stats are all for the U.S. only). Trying to find an excuse is proving difficult in this case. So the number is perhaps down from previous years... but that's still big. Or perhaps take a look at "Number of Employees Receiving Bonuses" table:

	Percentage	Median Bonus
Editorial	34%	$2,500
Sales/Marketing	45%	$6,000
Management	43%	$15,000
Operations	39%	$2,750

Why such a gap between editorial and sales? Sales almost always end up with significantly higher salaries (with the exception of the south, where they're equal). Half (50%!) of employees are unsatisfied with their job and 53% complain that their salaries are too low. Another point of interest is the "greening" of the publishing industry. The stats are intriguing if a little disappointing. Why are only 52% of companies printing on recycled paper as opposed to, say, 70%? It's not as if the quality is any worse (particularly when some companies insist on using rough, poor quality paper).

The entire article is fascinating and though I don't fully understand all of the various charts, there's a lot to mull over. For instance, though I'm mostly pointing out the disappointing aspects of the survey, the fact that fewer employees plan on quitting in the next two years is very interesting (and positive). Still, pay is down and employees are nervous. And the gap between men and women should not be so wide. There's still a way to go.

Happily ever after?

I wonder if I'm the only one finding this slightly odd, but there seem to be a whole lot of book related dating sites popping up and getting attention. First Penguin Dating and now Borders UK has started Happily Ever After, a dating service for readers. The Guardian laughs:

I don't know if Borders will actually be making recommendations for dates in the same way as they recommend books, but it would be priceless if members got regular email updates: "Did you enjoy, Mark, 34, of Swindon? Then you should try Gareth, 36, of Slough." Or: "After dating Sally of Birmingham, 86 per cent of customers go on to date Jayne of Devizes."

Meanwhile, both sites recommend books to read while waiting for dates. Penguin offers author tips about dating (thus advertising the authors' books) and Borders offers self-help books or books about dating, in order to make things smoother. Or in their words, they offer "the latest and greatest advice on all things dating". In other words, both sites have found a way to sell dating related self-help books. Huh.

Summer reading for kids

Nicholas Kristof of the New York Times is best known for op-ed articles about critical world issues. So it's interesting to see him talk about summer reading for kids and give a list of recommended books.

A mountain of research points to a central lesson: Pry your kids away from the keyboard and the television this summer, and get them reading. Let me help by offering my list of the Best Children's Books — Ever!

Kristof's list has a few age-old titles alongside immensely popular modern counterparts. He even described within series' which book is the best to start with, a point I've always wished would come included in lists of this sort. He encouraged readers of his column to come up with their own ideas, leading to the third post on the subject, where he offered some of the reader suggestions. In this post Kristof acknowledged that perhaps those who read his blog aren't the parents whose kids are at-risk and that they may not need to ensure as critically that their children read this summer, but it's still very important and obviously never hurts.

In regards to Kristof's original idea, there's quite a bit to be said. It's not surprising to hear that the lack of cognitive stimulation in the summer probably hits at-risk kids more than it does middle-class ones, and I certainly see how reading helps this problem. Encouraging literacy and reading is always good, but it's particularly important among kids. I definitely appreciate his efforts at fixing this situation and encouraging parents to help their kids read good books. This list may only be a starting point, but it's an absolutely great one. Mr Kristof, I tip my hat.

Comparing Auschwitz

It's very difficult to get away with comparing books, particularly if the books are not all that similar. Somehow, though, as I finished reading Primo Levi's "If This is a Man" ("Survival in Auschwitz" in the U.S.), I found myself thinking a number of things which led me to some comparisons. Reading this powerful account of Auschwitz made me wonder how "If This is a Man", written in 1946, was not required reading for me at any point while many other Holocaust memoirs and stories were. Following that train of thought, I pondered over books that are frequent class reads: "Night", by Elie Wiesel and the ubiquitous "The Diary of Anne Frank" or its various poor variations (the play version that my class suffered through, for instance, was terrible).

Anne Frank quickly falls into another category. Hers is a diary, childishly written and focusing (understandably) on her small world. It's the story of hiding. Levi and Wiesel's accounts fall into a different but shared category of survival in the work camps, specifically Auschwitz. One is by a living author, a man who has received the Nobel Peace Prize and whose work was picked as an Oprah book club choice. The other author is a suspected suicide case (on which Wiesel actually commented with a famous quote), a man whose writing appeared only relatively late in his life (the exception being the aforementioned book), and enjoys little fame in the U.S. (though he curiously enough appears to be much more popular than Wiesel in the U.K.*).

The main difference between their books, though, is in the actual content. Wiesel's account is almost literary: it's an emotional read where he presents the story in simple, touching phrases. Levi's memoir, meanwhile, is factual. Instead of delving into the emotional turmoil of Auschwitz, he presents the way prisoners "lived" there, highlighting various aspects of survival in the camp, from stealing to friendships. Levi writes rather intellectually and almost distantly, keeping himself fairly far, for the most part, from the actual goings-on. "Night" is clearly about Wiesel's own personal views.

The reason for comparing these two books is stupid. So I've heard of "Night" my entire life and only now encountered the strength and importance to Levi's words in "If This is a Man". Yes, many very bad novelizations and memoirs are taught around the world during Holocaust units over the calm brilliance of Levi's writing. "Night" is fairly ignored in the U.K. and in the U.S. "If This is a Man" continues to be minor. The comparison serves only to highlight how some books achieve fame in different ways and how their popularity is so completely contrasted. Perhaps there is a reason why Levi is not taught and Wiesel is. Perhaps there is only room for one such memoir and between the two, "Night" was picked. But it seems to me like these books come as complimentary to each other. First comes Primo Levi with the facts of life in Auschwitz and then comes Elie Wiesel, filling in the missing emotion from Levi's account.

The conclusion from comparing incomparable works is simple. Each book deserves its own attention and fame. Each seeks to present a different side of Auschwitz, different literary tactics and very different lives. Attempting to justify the popularity of one over the other proves to be pointless: both books are excellent and special - and must be read.

*Based on Amazon.com, goodreads.com, Amazon.co.uk, and bookdepository.co.uk sales ranks, number of reviews and number of ratings

A library story

A semi-local library has a strange annual tradition. At the beginning of summer every year, this small library cleans out its shelves and puts books outside for any library patron (or even simple passerby) to take. These aren't a few weeds here and there that the library removes. Hundreds of books are placed outside and anyone walking by (this is within a larger building, not the street) can take however many he/she chooses. This collection of books is a strange one, with volumes ranging in languages and difficulty levels (classics alongside childrens' comic books), but it's very interesting. People come out of curiosity, convinced they'll find nothing and leave with an armful of books. The books are also different ages: some are fairly modern novels that didn't get a lot of attention from readers and others are ancient hardbacks with dust all along the spine and pages. The purpose of this spring cleaning is obvious. The library, which is small and doesn't have much room for expansion, needs to clear space for new books. Rather than throwing away these at-times falling apart books or selling them, the library chooses to hand them out for free.

There are many pros to checking books out of a library. The books are free, there's always bound to be a wide variety, etc. For some readers the library isn't enough. I, for instance, thoroughly enjoy rereading books. I like being able to pick a book up at any moment and know that I can set it aside whenever I like, without having to renew or return the book. There are many advantages to owning books and the two often come head-to-head. Many feel that purchasing books is wasteful; some think that checking books out from the library is too much effort. Used bookstores serve as an in-between. This case goes even further.

Nobody ever complains about book gifts. To receive a gift is a pleasure, not a frustration. Worries about space for the books become almost irrelevant when you don't pay for them. Even if you don't get around to reading them, the guilt sensation of not finishing a book before returning it to the library isn't there. For the library giving away books, this scenario works well too. They get rid of books and don't have live with the shame that they threw them out. Many libraries do similar things with book sales, but looking at some of these books (one of which literally has dust climbing out of the pages) makes me wonder if that's the right way for the libraries to make money. With the exception of one brand-new book (still in its wrapping), all these books are clearly used. Some to the point where any price would be too high, either because the book is falling apart or because my level of interest in the book is so low there's no chance I'd ever spend even a cent on it. However, when offered for free, I grabbed these books no questions asked. And, I suppose, even the most ardent of library supporters would not hesitate to do the same.

There is no particular lesson to be learned from this, just observations. I wonder if other libraries have similar "give away" policies and if, indeed, other readers find this form of book acquisition suitable. In the meantime, I'll enjoy the books I managed to grab and await next year's stacks of "unwanted" books, where I might once again find a few gems.

Brave new irony

Another example where the reader knows something the author doesn't. Except in this particular case, the result is pure amusement:

"But what would Socialism mean, according to your idea of it?"
"Oh! Some kind of Aldous Huxley Brave New World; only not so amusing ... " [p.88, Keep the Aspidistra Flying]

Oh, irony. Perhaps, then, Mr. Orwell was aware of what a dull little masterpiece his "1984" would be. Perhaps, in fact, it was all planned ahead...

Wishful thinking

Dystopias are a common enough discussion in literature. With dystopian literature found in a wide variety of genres, presenting futures where each highlights one potentially prophetic aspect of modern society, it's easy to forget that another type of book exists as well: that of wishful thinking. I can think of no better example than "Truth", by Émile Zola.

"Truth" is loosely based on Zola's own experiences in the Dreyfus affair, in that it highlights anti-Semitism in [the then] modern French society. The first three quarters of this large book is about anti-Semitism and the Catholic Church's influence in France at the time. It's hard not to walk away from the book with a clear image of Zola's own personal views of religion and education. The book centers around Marc and his desire to see secularism triumph against the evils of religion. The last quarter of the book displays Marc's (aka Zola's) wishes. While these 150 pages are entirely unnecessary for the book, they shed quite a bit of light on Zola's own wishful thinking. He takes the reader years into the unnamed future and rough estimates suggest it ends well into the early 20th century. Zola's desire to name the future he'd like is clear: he declares that the legislature "finally" voted for a complete separation of church and state, decades into the book. The translator then notes that this is indeed Zola's wishful thinking, for as of the translation (1902-3), such laws have not yet passed though the translator adds that it "has never appeared more likely than it does now". Zola doesn't leave it at that and goes further:

Why did he speak of the Jews? Anti-Semitism was dead--to such a degree, indeed, that the new generation failed to understand what was meant when people accused the Jews of every crime. [p. 542]

That once filthy print had been quite transformed by the new spirit, which had raised its readers both morally and intellectually. ... The Press will, indeed, become a most admirable instrument of education when it is no longer, as now, in the hands of political and financial bandits, bent on debasing and plundering their readers. [p. 564]

On the one hand, reading Zola's thoughts at the time are enlightening. Aside from his blatant political views, his Dreyfus style ideals are showcased in the form of his mirror character, Marc. Yet by setting to print what he hoped would occur, Zola ultimately serves rather as dystopian books do: the truth to his words casts an ugly light on what readers know actually occurred around the time the book ends. In the end, even wishful thinking and Utopia bring the modern reader the gloom of a dystopia novel.

Author feedback

A couple of years ago, I wrote a positive review, one where I wholeheartedly recommended the book. Still, I pointed out my one problem with the story as a sort of warning to any reader who might get turned off by it. The next day, the author responded to my issue by dismissing it and even almost mocking it. I was at first a bit surprised that the author would bother reading my review and then slightly annoyed. I had stated my opinion but to be ridiculed by the author for it seemed a bit harsh.

In recent months, I've seen this happening in a number of places. Authors can now be found quite easily on the internet. They write about upcoming works, keep up-to-date blogs and websites, and are very involved in the internet publicity of the book. Along with this, though, come situations like the one described above: authors find reviews of their books and respond to them. Sometimes graciously, sometimes less so.

Immediate feedback is a general internet trait, but when it comes to writing, it seems to take on a life of its own. Talk of "interactive literature" (where readers can respond as the author writes the story) and mass-reader reviews make it much easier for the author to see reader responses (sometimes positive, sometimes not). At the same time, it makes it much easier for authors to respond. An author can immediately try to defend his/her work and "fix" the image or correct the interpretation. I once saw an author try to explain that her book was not part of the genre the reviewer assumed it to be, was not about what the reviewer felt and the reviewer had, in fact, missed the point. Which, of course, raises the question: How can a reader who interpreted something differently than the author intended be missing the point? It is still a fault on the side of the author.

But author feedback brings many good things too. Just as it's incredible to read authors' letters and notes on a manuscript in order to further understand their writing, it's helpful to see them blog and describe how they see their books. It's adds another level of understanding, the same way a biography might. Author responses give the impression that they really care what people think and that they read each and every opinion, meaning that they might possibly learn from the less-than-favorable opinions.

Of publishers and industries

BookExpo America may have been a couple of weeks ago, but its impact is still being felt. At least, by those of who follow Three Percent, eagerly awaiting the next installment in the series about points that popped up during the expo. While all are interesting in painting a picture of publishing today, a few particularly striking points were raised (*profanity warning):

If the industry wasn’t fucked, there would presumably be enough space in the culture for long-form, independently edited print reviews, book news magazines, online literary mags, bloggers, social networking recommenders, etc., all of which would connect readers with books in different ways, with different levels of authority.

Presenting the problem in one concise paragraph. While the entire entry in the BEA series is interesting, it's the point raised here that really got my attention. The article aims to bring up the problems regarding bloggers and publishers but here it's pretty clear. The left hand has no idea what the right hand is doing. Each medium is separate, has separate rules and different points but all seem to be competitive. Unnecessarily so, especially taking into account how different they are. The book-blogging panel was allegedly meant to find a way to bridge bloggers and publishers together, but all it did was highlight the industry's flaws, misunderstanding the purpose of many blogs. Bloggers have existed for years; many get free advance copies from publishers and do plenty of publicity for these books. But all of the coverage takes blogging as competition when compared to newspaper critique. Which, Post points out, is hardly relevant anymore, especially since newspapers barely appear at this expo. The next installment (the most recent), though, is the one that stands out most:

Or even better, why couldn’t BEA have a panel about e-books that includes a cultural critic, a publisher, an author, a reader? Create a space for real debate and discussion?

I know I’m repeating myself, but publishing is really, really shitty at doing market research. But what if you had a few thousand (ten thousand?) “regular readers” hanging out in one place where you could potentially interact, ask them questions, engage in some sort of feedback loop that would improve your business practices? This could be revolutionary . . .

The panels that I've seen (National Book Critics Circle on book reviews in 2010, here and here) don't have this. Which is a pity, because it really makes the most sense. The book industry spends all day complaining about how they're failing, how nobody wants to read anymore and how everything is over for them. The fact is that they're wrong. People still read and being arbitrarily told what people do or don't want to read shows how out-of-touch publishers are with the readers who ultimately purchase their books. For instance, some publishers are certain that Americans don't want to read foreign literature (part III; also Literary License's thorough take). And so they will not bother seeking out quality foreign literature for translation. A pity and a shame.

The book industry has for too long done whatever it has thought is right and has too often been incredibly wrong. Most readers want different types of books. Even readers with strictly set comfort zones enjoy looking outside the box every once in a while. Only publishers aren't willing to think clearly when it comes to eBooks and the future of the printed book. Publishers aren't willing to admit that the internet and access to free information make the market a different place than it was ten years ago. They aren't willing to work with the public to finding a solution. We get patronizing publishers who don't ultimately care about getting quality books out there. We get a book fair that doesn't admit itself to the greater public and alienates common readers. Post points out that almost every other country with a major book fair gets massive publicity in the non-book world. Only BEA remains exclusive and closed off, preferring pointless panels about how bloggers shouldn't be considered the same as professionals and other subjects along those lines. It all seems a stupid affair, something that may have once worked wonderfully to hype booksellers and reviewers up about books. A novel idea. Now it only seems like a display case of an out-of-touch industry. Harsh, but sometimes that's how it looks.

Some light reading and a quote

Found in the form of Sylvia Plath's unabridged diaries. While reading someone's personal thoughts is a bit disconcerting at times, the book is good for sporadic reads. Plath is one of few poets I've actually read and the occasional poems and poetic moments in her diaries make this a fascinating read. That and Plath's infamous depression. And irony of ironies, as I began reading this heavy book (674 pages, not including the notes), I came across this line on page 10:

And I don't want to die.

Normally, that would appear to be a completely normal sentence. Especially taken in context, where she sounds glum but determined to live. Still, knowing how Plath's life ends makes this simple sentence positively reek of irony. Aside from that, the book is, so far, not much beyond well-written diaries with a bit too much angst on their mind. Also perhaps the prequel to "The Bell Jar". The stalker-sensation is slowly fading and I think this might help further my understanding of "The Bell Jar" and of Plath's poetry. Or I'll continue analyzing this like I might a novel and point here to some foreshadowing. But that seems a bit too morbid.

Chemistry

I'm currently reading Primo Levi's "The Periodic Table" and an odd thing has occurred - I find myself wanting to discuss the book at every moment. And I'm not even halfway into the book. It used to happen very rarely that a book made its way into my life so casually, but this is the third time in recent months where I've found a book that even as I'm reading it affects me so profoundly. This is one that can be discussed along the way.

"The Periodic Table" has perhaps the strangest structure I've encountered in a while. Told in short stories, it's basically a memoir that focuses on science. Each story is centered around one element. Some are long stretches (the opening story, for instance, serves much more as an introduction to Levi's background than any actual relation to chemistry) but others are chemistry stories: the second story tells of how Levi first fell in love with chemistry and a foolish experiment he conducted. Levi practically assumes anyone reading the book knows exactly what he's talking about when he mentions oxidation reduction, various textbook experiments, and many properties of certain elements. And if you don't know chemistry? Tough luck understanding some of the humor.

One of the points that keeps coming up for me is how different the book is. Even though I know it's a memoir, that this is Levi telling me straight-up about his life, the book doesn't feel like a memoir. And it definitely doesn't feel like a novel. It's somewhere in between, where the author is at once so close and so far from the reader, creating the mistaken sense that Primo Levi is currently sitting in front of me and is telling me a story. All the while confusing me further.

A final thought: The last story I finished (Nickel) made me realize that I'm not simply enjoying the book (for its writing, its chemistry, and its cleverness), but also that I now must read every other work Primo Levi wrote. Levi describes his struggles in extracting nickel from the mined rocks. The entire chapter built up my own need to see this problem solved and when Levi finally thinks of the correct (if slightly unorthodox) way to fix his problem, I, the reader, felt happy. Then Levi says how at the time, he tried not to think about the consequences of this discovery, that this method would assist the fascist war effort. He tried not think that this would assist Nazi Germany in continuing the destruction of his (Levi's) rights and life. Levi conveys this flat, distant emotion in an instant and it's impossible not to swallow hard, realizing the truth in his words. As a testament to this incredibly written book, I too discovered that I had tried not to think about those crucial points.