What I’ve Been Reading - June 2008

July 3, 2008

Books Acquired
Arthur & George – Julian Barnes
The Devil in the White City – Erik Larson

Books Read
McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, Issue #26 – Dave Eggers (editor)
McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern, Issue #27 – Dave Eggers (editor)

I regularly heap buckets of praise on the McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern literary journal/book series. Not because I’m some kind of Eggers fanboy – far from it, I find him to be, at times, grating and arrogant – but because I genuinely enjoy the journal for its originality and content.

Through the series, I’ve discovered a handful of writers I’d have otherwise probably never have stumbled upon. And, in the meantime, I amassed a collection of wonderfully designed books to adorn my shelves at home. In fact, the McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern shelf – now featuring nine issues of the quarterly and a handful of other graphic novels – is one of my favorites, a kaleidoscope of color and design, of discovery and promise.

Discovery. Promise. These are the things you look for when flipping through a set of short stories – especially when those short stories are by authors you’ve never heard of. Novels are big and weighty, and I’ve rarely just picked up a random novel by an author I’ve never heard of and read it (Toward the End of the Morning by Michael Frayn notwithstanding). Instead, I rely on the word of others, or on a familiarity of author or storyline.

It’s just a time thing. Novels take time. Short stories don’t, so discovering new writing talent is so much easier when combined in a short story anthology.

Sorry, I should explain myself. I talk about this because June’s reading, while not as fruitless as May’s, consisted of just two short story collections; McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern Issues #26 and #27.

The original premise of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern – much like the original premise of The Believer magazine – was to take good writing that had been passed on by the bigger publishers and collect them in one place. In doing so, McSweeney’s became the publishing version of Bonnaroo, a place for independent writers to gain some traction and, as time went on, a place for larger acts to reach a smaller, more intimate audience.

Those larger acts certainly turn up, too. The list of authors seemingly too big for an independent publisher reads like an issue of the New Yorker. Here’s a sampling, stolen from Wikipedia: Denis Johnson, William T. Vollmann, Joyce Carol Oates, Jonathan Lethem, Michael Chabon, Susan Straight, Roddy Doyle, T. Coraghessan Boyle, Steven Millhauser, Robert Coover, Ann Beattie…

…and Stephen King.

Whoa. Wait. Stephen King? The King of Horror? The most famous author in the world that doesn’t use initials in his or her name?

Seriously.

Okay. To put this into perspective, let’s first take a look at the steps to reading an issue of McSweeney’s.

The first thing I do upon grabbing an issue of McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern is admire the cover. I consider the theme, and make a snap judgment on whether or not it’s cool. This weighs heavily into the readability of the issue – if it’s well designed and interesting, I’m more likely to pick it up sooner, less likely to leave it on the shelf while I slam through other novels.

Issue #26 was actually three books: a book edited by Stephen Elliot named Where to Invade Next (a frightening account of all of the countries that have a problem with us, their motives and their likelihood of invasion, based on Secret Service documents) and two half-sized short story collections designed in the style of war-time troop reading material. Issue #27 consisted of three books as well: a wonderfully designed story collection, a collection of Art Spiegelman’s daily drawings and one of the often included art-books that McSweeney’s produces – this one a collection of art with words and humor or something. Both issues featured interesting binding and themes, though Issue #26 was rather ugly.

Once I’ve decided the validity of the design, I open up to the list of authors. I scan for names I recognize. The excitement of reading the newest issue is almost identical with the speed in which I return to it. For example, I recognized no one from Issue #26, so I let it sit for nearly three months before finally committing to it.

Issue #27, however, is a different story. There’s that name. STEPHEN KING.

Growing up, I devoured every Stephen King book I could. My favorite was The Stand, and I loved the Dark Tower series. My mother helped in her own way by being an avid collector of Stephen King books, owning each one up until The Tommyknockers (a book that annoyed her so much that she simply swore off of King altogether, never buying another book until buying me Insomnia for Christmas).

For a few years, I poo-pooed King’s work. This was during an ill-fated college period when I fancied myself an intellectual, too learned to stoop to King’s level. No, I don’t read Koontz or Grisham or anything popular. I simply wouldn’t do that. It’s not literary.

Then, just like that, I realized that Stephen King, just like J.K. Rowling or J.R.R. Tokein or Janet Evanovich, has a valid place in today’s literature market, and that it didn’t matter whether or not the book was critically acclaimed but more that I liked it. So Stephen King was welcomed back, a sheepish look on my face as he shook his head knowingly. “I knew you’d come back,” I could hear him say. “I’m not a bad author because I’m popular. I’m just a rich one.”

It seems as though King himself feels the sting of popularity. His book on writing (cleverly called On Writing) came at a time when the literary world was beginning to write him off, and a recent turn toward smaller audiences and more literary novels has been viewed as a change of ideals. He’s no longer banking on horror to bring in the money – hell, he hardly needs money anymore – so he’s writing what he wants. When he wants.

Look at The Green Mile. Look at Insomnia. Look at the end of the Dark Tower series. Look at this story in McSweeney’s. This isn’t a horror writer we’re talking bout. This is a writer. And, this is someone who’s never going to be acclaimed like Updike or Roth, but this is someone who’s going to keep writing what he wants. Because he can. Because he’s good enough to do it.

When it comes down to it, this is the best part about McSweeney’s Quarterly Concern. It’s design and authors and writing selections and themes are so good. They’re unknowingly arrogant in their combination of great binding and great writing. But they do it without pretentiousness, or at least, any that I can see. They’re not too indie for the big names. Sure, they’ve got Stephen King. So? You get the feeling Dan Brown could submit a story and no one would blink.

So it’s always a pleasure to open up those pages and see what big name is included. Or, if the spirit is a little askew, no big names at all. Sometimes you’ll get seventeen fractured novels, other times you’ll get an entire issue of comic love. It’s always a surprise. And that’s why I keep subscribing – one of the only things I’ve subscribed to for longer than two years.

After all, you never know what you’ll miss if you stop.

Tags: What I've Been Reading, Books, Writing, Writers, Literature |

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Baptised by neon

June 30, 2008

Take an old paint store.

Fill it with movies. Lots of movies. Thousands of movies.

No, no. Not in any order. Just put them anywhere. Organize them by genre, but that’s it.

Vaguely update the sign. Sure, keep those neon paint cans. Reorganize some of the letters to spell “Fun.” Wait, no “F?” Go ahead and cut that “R” into shape. There you go. Perfect.

Fill the window with large plants. Make the floor layout like a maze. Hire only the dirtiest looking people. Use the upstairs for porn. No, not the softcore stuff you can get on Cinemax – we’re talking the real thing. Go ahead. Put it all upstairs. While you’re at it, advertise a 365-day-a-year adult movie sale. After all, you need to keep the product fresh.

Did I mention having the movies in no order whatsoever? That’s important.

Perfect. Welcome to Video Mania. Or, to be specific, Video Mania Store 4 – The Fun Store.

But don’t stick around too long. It’s the only Video Mania remaining. And it’s closing.

Located right on Minnesota, The Fun Store was the most visible of Video Mania’s four stores and, for as long as I can remember, it’s most successful. It was one of the first video stores in the area to feature DVDs (hence, their claim as the city’s DVD Store) and when DVD rentals dipped, they became one of the only real Internet cafes in town.

Aside from this, they are best known for being a scary, sketchy chain of businesses. Video Mania was famous for not caring much about looking good. The most common fixture is duct-taped carpet. It’s staff could be more “escaped convict” than “friendly smile.” It’s where you went for a cheap movie. It’s where you went when your Blockbuster card had late fees.

And though the store was filthy, the staff unresponsive and the films unorganized, and though they’ve tried renting inflatable animals, video cameras and Internet access long after the industry was viable, Video Mania is still legendary. Legendary in the same way an old, failing bar with a cantankerous bartender is legendary, or a mangy cat with too many years. In a way that requires patience, that demands back story, that looks for a special kind of insider knowledge.

Legendary in its rundown nature. Legendary because it was here first, and because there are memories housed within its failing frame.

As a kid, I lived just blocks from Video Mania. And, as an avid Nintendo junkie, I was in love with the store for its revolutionary ideas.

Like 33-MARIO, the local phone number to see what new video game titles had arrived. (The recordings, always done by the store owner, Harlan, frequently referred to Ms. Pac-Man as “M.S. Pac-Man.”)

Or the Hourly-Arcade, a line of video game systems set up like an arcade, with hourly rates – a smorgasbord of choices, a way to keep us kids out of our parents hair.

Video Mania was the first place that bought and sold used video games in Sioux Falls. It was an early adopter of live, webcams, regardless of their relevance. It filled its walls with unclassifiable films and games; the kind that you couldn’t find anywhere else. Its selection was wildly varied, spanning the entire length of recorded film. Old, new, it all melded together, making each visit a certifiable treasure hunt, with only an old, very basic computer available to aid you in your search. It was dirty, and mean, and gross. But it was fun. And it was mine.

One by one, each Video Mania location has closed, their doors barred by a new breed of video store – one that catered to the clean, to the easy, to those who only wanted to watch new movies and had little time for searching or, in most cases, true aesthetics – and a new wave of online DVD delivery. In addition, the owner’s frequent troubles with newspaper vending machines has led to numerous fines and a heightened state of agitation. The lease on the second-to-last store was not renewed, and continued pressure has forced Harlan out.

Regardless of the reasons, Video Mania, now with just one location remaining, seemingly on life support for years, is having its plug pulled. Dutch Auctions have begun, with the stock being sold off to the first people to find the right value.

My dream? To go down during its last days and see if those neon letters are still for sale. The letters that broadcast the business’s frugality, their inattention to detail, their rock-bottom nature. That “F,” lovingly crafted from an “R,” the first letter in a grand promise – that inside those doors, through those plants, around the documentary section and into the back, would be a world of fun.

My fear, though, is that the building will be torn down, ground into rubble and forgotten. Another chapter in Sioux Falls local business torn away from the bindings, like so many others before.

With the “FUN” left to rust. With all of its filthy charms left to die.

The Minnesota Avenue Video Mania Store (via Video Mania home page).

Tags: Movies, Sioux Falls |

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The CSA: Week 5

June 29, 2008

For six summers, we have blindly thrown our trust into nature’s ability to produce full-grown vegetable plants out of nothing but seeds and sprouts.

We have counted on having lettuce and peppers and zucchini and tomatoes. We have counted the radishes and bathed in carrots. We have rearranged our yard, moving rocks and laying railroad ties and creating gardens where there once was none.

Yet, every year, part of our trust is bashed. Thrown against the chain link fence. Stomped on by steel cleats. Dug out with a trowel and left to wither in the sun, to be chopped up in lawn mower, to decompose back into the earth.

And as decomposed plants turn into the minerals that ultimately help new growth, our trust is always renewed, with each new spring serving as a kind of Green Thumb Aphrodisiac, convincing us that, yes, once again, we can do this; pests and drought and blight and attention be damned!

I’m talking about our garden. And this year, it’s fighting for its life.

Not all of it, mind you. There are always parts of the garden that will succeed despite the pests that attack it. The radishes always sprout and are plentiful, the cucumbers will continue to grow, the tomatoes are planted in abundance to guarantee at least a small harvest. But others always seem to be foiled.

Ask our peas, which this year (in the middle of a strong sprouting) were picked over by birds. Or our beets, which last year suffered from a lack of water and this year suffer from a lack of, well, a top (the birds are to blame, again.) Some seeds have always been too deep. Others, regardless of the fence or whirligig flowers, are picked over by the neighborhood pests – the rabbits and birds that are only safe because we haven’t purchased a bb gun and (more importantly) because a child has moved in across the yard.

It sounds dire, but it’s typical. We are gung ho about the opening of garden season, but see our attention wane as the days become hotter, as we become accustomed to waiting, as we see the plants seemingly doing well on their own.

The tomatoes will flourish, as always. The cucumbers will grow, and we will be pickling long throughout the summer. We have a hint of lettuce. And, naturally, we have more radishes than we know what to do with.

I didn’t make it to the Farmer’s Market this Saturday – Kerrie and her mom and Sierra made the trip without me, as I stayed behind to get some housework done. I do know that, upon their return, the holes in our garden were filled. Our weekly single kohlrabi root, a plethora of radishes, beets of two colors and more onions showed up at our door. At this rate, we’ll hardly miss the kale (and the beets, and the carrots, and the peas) that failed from our own garden.

Which means, as last week, more tasty salads, more egg salad with fresh onion, more radishes as snacks. Our haul:
Kohlrabi
Green onions
Red onions
Radishes
Beets
Yellow Beets

The replacement is okay. If anything, our garden will slowly transfer into a large tomato garden. Instead, we’ll just rely on someone else – someone more attentive, with nothing but our vegetables on our mind – to produce our crops.

In the meantime, we’ll just eat more radishes.

Tags: Sioux Falls, Food |

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16-Page Read: Hug

June 25, 2008

Hug Hug by Jez Alborough

I have a favorite book. Kerrie has a favorite book. Chances are, all of us as adults have favorite books, and those favorite books aren’t the same as our favorite books from when we were 15. Or 10. Or five.

We weren’t always in possession of a favorite book though.

Think about it. We weren’t born with a favorite book. Likely, no one remembers their first favorite book.

Regardless, we had one. At sometime during our first year, we grabbed a hold of a book and claimed it as our own, selecting it above all others as “favorite,” and though we may not have cognitively known the importance of our selection, and though we may not have even been conscious of the fact that it was a book at all, it became our favorite.

I bring this up because Sierra now has a favorite book.

All I can do is beam, really. I think it’s so cool – my little girl, enjoying books. It wasn’t that long ago that it seemed like she was done with books, for a while at least. But now, here she is, enjoying books. (Enjoying. Not reading. Reading would actually involve a working knowledge of words an concepts.)

She sits on the floor, grabbing books, ripping them open, making little excited sounds and holding them up to us. She enjoys sitting in our lap and pointing at the pictures. At times, it seems like she “gets” what’s going on. She’s on that precipice, staring over the edge, ready to jump into reading like her parents and her grandparents before her.

So yeah, she enjoys books. But of all the books she has, she especially enjoys Hug by Jez Alborough.

Hug is everything you want a children’s book to be – easy to read, simple, a little emotional, a lot of fun. It follows a baby gorilla – Bobo – in his search for his mother.

I’m not going to lie. This book can be heartbreaking. It tugs on all of my parental heartstrings. After all, Bobo has lost his mother, his safety net, his giver of hugs. And as he sees each pair of animals, he is reminded of that loss – what begins as a happy recognition becomes a sad tale of remembrance, a sadness that can only be cured by a hug of his own.

Bobo views each hug (performed by a continuing cast of jungle animals) with growing panic until, finally, in a flood of tears, he cries out for a hug of his own. His mother arrives, everyone hugs, then everyone hugs again, then everyone hugs in an inter-species group hug, and everything ends happily.

So you’ve got diversity. You’ve got real feelings. Best of all, you’ve only got three words (“hug,” “Mommy,” and “Bobo.”)

More than that, you’ve got a book that manages to affect us as parents, the idea of our children being lost without us, searching for nothing more than a hug. The only thing I can ever think of doing after reading Hug is to reach down, give Sierra a hug of her own, and start again. We’ll read it two or three times through, and a hug is given at the culmination of each reading.

Maybe that’s why it’s her favorite. And maybe that’s why, after 11 months of reading children’s books, it’s quickly becoming one of mine.

Tags: Books, Sierra, 16-Page Read |

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A thousand words from perfection

June 25, 2008

f-stop. Aperture. Lighting. Shutter speed. ISO.

It’s like a whole new language, this photography business, one filled with words that aren’t just difficult to understand – they’re difficult to implement. Concepts that take a second sense, on-the-fly adjustments to create perfect images, color checks and lens switches and do we need a tripod or not oh well let’s just see if we can be steady enough with our hands alone.

And then, just like that, you get a photo with perfect framing and great lighting and a sharp focus and superb depth-of-field. It happens for us at a 5% rate, I’d say – the perfect timing with the perfect settings. It seems so worth it, at that point.

It’s been two weeks since Kerrie and I bought our new toy, the Canon EOS XTi. It’s been fun - options are amazing, which will come as no surprise to those who have switched from a simple point and shoot to a full digital SLR. We can actually set depth of field, play around with lighting and create better pictures. Even pictures taken on auto look better.

But I know it could be more. Let’s just say I can’t quite leave well enough alone.

I already want to buy a different lens (lower aperture, please - f1.2 would be nice, f1.8 would be acceptable). It means I want to play around with filters, even though I don’t know how to use them.

Most importantly, now that we’ve got the most basic of basics down, and now that my Flickr account is filled with several dozen of our own pictures, I want the marginal images – the ones I think are nearly there – to become just as artistic as the classics.

In other words, it’s time to tackle Photoshop processing. And this, my friends, might be the hardest thing I learn with photography.

A semi-successful picture can be made good with increased contrast or a slight vignette; a great picture can become a thing of beauty. But the ins and outs of this post-processing isn’t something that can be learned overnight, a frustrating thing to someone like me who longs to be proficient immediately, to be pumping out “favorite” worthy images on day one, who has no patience for the typical.

It’s this drive that fuels my desire. It doesn’t come often, but when a passion is born so quickly – when an all-encompassing hobbies is taken on, the type that leads to more and more and more, one that adds parts and skills and knowledge on an almost daily basis – it pushes me to become better. It’s what drove me to write. It’s what drove me to read more. And now, it’s what’s driving me to the art of photography.

To capture life. To recreate moments in a way that is truly unforgettable. And to help fuel a creativity that, at times, not even a thousand words can fulfill.

Tags: Photography |