 |
|
|
|
The 26th Miami Book Fair International, Nov. 8-15, 2009
|
|
|
|
|
| 2009 book fair poster by Jeff Kinney |
Far
from Miami? Florida Book Review is again live-blogging from Miami Book Fair International. If you would like to read last year's live-blog, it's archived here. Read the live-blog below to experience the Book Fair from afar. Were you at the Fair? Thanks
to all who came by the Gulf Stream Magazine/Miami Poetry Collective booth or e-mailed us and gave us your observations and
comments about the Fair--and the live-blog. 
|
|
From top: Campbell McGrath introduces the Miami Poetry Collective. Carol Todaro, Miami Poetry Collective. Michael
Thomas, Jonathen Lethem. John Radanovich discusses the life and music of Benny Moré. (photos, Esther Martinez)
|
Saturday, Nov. 14, 5:40 PM
As the Street Fair winds down, some exhibitors are packing up and others are standing in front of their booths, making final
offers. One not-young man says to me, plaintively, "A nice book for a young girl?" holding up a book with
a pink cover. The incongruity of his product strikes me, but I brush by. There's no time left to explore. I'm
on my way again to the Council of Literary Magazines & Presses, where Chattahoochie Review
editor Marc Fitten's voice is going strong. Now you can get as much as you want for $5. I point out that I spent
$5 yesterday and he says I can help myself to anything I want. I look and ask, how come I never saw any Chattahoochee Reviews here? He admits he forgot them. He's promoted every magazine but his own.
I promise I'll check it out online. I go off with a Colorado Review, a magazine
called Zone 3, and some pretty postcards for the Apple
Valley Review. —Lynne Barrett
Sunday, Nov. 15, 3:45 PM I overheard a group of people saying they should wait until after 4:00
PM to buy books because that's when the prices go down. If one of them wants to get their hands on Thomas Mann's The Magic Mountain, they're in for a rude awakening. I just bought the last copy. Heck, I didn't have any cash
left yesterday to buy a used copy (in great condition) of Milan Kundera's The Joke,
and today it was gone. Dariel
Suarez I may have my library card revoked for saying this, but readings are my least favorite
part of readings. I should clarify—it depends. I enjoy hearing an author read a poem, an essay, or a short story.
What I don't love is the reading of a random scene from the middle of a book. I have trouble engaging with a sliver
of a story when the characters, their natures and interrelationships are established little-by-little throughout the book.
This was my problem when I sat in on the reading by Ben Greenman, Jonathan Lethem and Michael Thomas.
Greenman read from his novel, Please
Step Back, and I'm sorry to say it, but I wanted to. Not only because the reading took place in the infamous
wind tunnel known as Paviliion A and I could barely hear him, but because his book, about a fictional "rock n' soul"
star who rises and falls during the Sixties, sounded like a cross between That Seventies
Show and Almost Famous.
Next up was Jonathan Lethem who read a scene from his newest novel, Chronic City.
In the scene, the protagonist and his friends are sitting around smoking pot and trying to come up with a way to get rid of
the eagles nesting on his balcony. It seems, you see, that Manhattan has been taken over by predatory animals, and all
these two do during the entire scene is get baked and consider bringing in animal control, literally. Kangaroos to get
rid of the monkeys. Monkeys to get rid of the zebras. Huh? I had a hard time relating to the rambling dialogue
and absurd premise of the scene, but then, I'm not the Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle
type either.
I would have left if Michael
Thomas hadn't said that he'd be reading a short piece of nonfiction. He was at the Book Fair promoting Man Gone Down. Thomas said that since everyone insists that his novel is biographical, he would read
some memoir so people could later call it fiction. Thomas's piece described his struggle with an interracial identity
and a white girlfriend. Later, I looked up his novel. It's pretty much about the same thing. Thomas's piece
wavered between self-loathing and self-pity, indulgent in both cases, But his poetic sensibility,
akin to Auden's or Langston Hughes' (both of whom he quoted), gave his prose a depth and gravity that stayed with me long
after the reading.
I wanted to stay
for the audience questions. It's always my favorite part because I like to hear authors be themselves. But I was
done. The day was winding down and I was tired. For hours I'd been bouncing from reading-to-reading and I was
starting to get grumpy. Nothing a frozen lemonade wouldn't fix.
Esther Martinez Sunday, Nov. 15, 3:39 PM
I'm in Pavilion A waiting for the panelists to arrive—Ben Greenman, Jonathan Lethem, and Michael Thomas—when I
run into my personal friend and local author Andrea Askowitz who is upset about two things. One: she didn't bring enough
copies of her hilarious memoir My Misterable, Lonely, Lesbian Pregnancy. And two: she said she just left the Dr. Seuss
tent and that pro-lifers have somehow found a way to use Dr. Seuss to promote teir agenda. I mention that the left is
using Sesame Street to push theirs. Still, it gives a whole new meaning to Red Fish,
Blue Fish. Esther
Martinez I just bought a paperback
copy of Bernard Malamud's The Magic Barrel, a National Book Award winner, for $1.
It's nice to know that buying good books is an addiciton that doesn't have to hurt my pocket.
Oh, and in the same tent where I purches Malamud's classic,
yesterday I saw over a dozen used copies of Shakespeare's plays lined up on a table. Today I saw only a handful.
Good to see Shakepeare is still a hot seller.
Dariel Suarez I snuck out during the Q&A part
of the Island Rhythms panel to catch the second half of Pablo Corzo's discussion of his book, La porfia de la razon (The Insistence of Reason), a polemical work
which speaks out against Cuba's totalitarian regime. "Twenty years after the fall of the Berlin Wall, the Cuabn
Wall is still standing," said Corzo, who is co-founder of El Instituto de la Memoria Historica Cubana Contra el Totalitarianismo
(The Institute of Cuban Historial Memory Against Totalitarianism).
According to Corzo, you don't need 190 pages to tell this history of Cuban oppression since the Revolution, you would need
volumes, tomes with thousands and thousands of pages. "We'd need to tell of the concentration camps," said
Corzo, "of those who have disappeared, of the firing squads." The author refuted the claim made by some young
"compatriots" that Cubans did not resist Castro's Revolution. According to Corzo, much of Cuba's history has
been lost under Castro's regime, which has instituted a state of absolute control over hisotyr, so much so that there are
events, both personal and public, whose history is no longer transmitted even from parents to children. As a result,
today the historical truth of the island's past does not even exist in the imagination of Cuba's youth.
Corzo said his book is called The
Insistence of Reason because "reason is on our side." Despite the mass arrests half a century ago;
despite the "Black Spring" of 2003 during which the Cuban government arrested 75 "dissidents," most of
them human rights activists, journalists, and intellectuals; despite the fact that some 200 Cubans remain imprisoned for "political
crimes;" "We have not yet won," said Corzo, "but neither have we been defeated."
It was a charged Q&A. There were Cubans who admittedly
had fought during the Revolution, taking up the cause against Batista's corrupt and decadent administration only to realize
too late what they had helped usher in. There were a number of former political prisoners in the room who shared harrowing
experiences of torture including mock executions. There was one gentleman who said, optimistically, that history would
eventually condemn Castro's regime. Regardless of their different perspectives, it was clear there was a feeling common
to all of them—the feeling of betrayal.
As a second-generation Cuban American, I have inherited this feeling of betrayal. It saddens me when I see my usually
progressive friends wearing a Che Guevara t-shirt. Hpw do I explain to them that Che was, as Corzo called him, "a
missionary of violence" who brought the gulag system to Cuba? "Is there a formula for destroying myths?"
someone asked. Corzo returned to the struggle for reason. It seems our island is in a state of contant return
and most Cuban exiles are as stuck in history as present-day Cuba is in the past. They are still trying to return to
the ideals of the Constitution of 1940, to a state of civil rights and sovereign rule which never came to fruition.
This is why, said Corzo, it remains as important as ever for Cubans to witness.
Corzo's book and the discussion were in Spanish. De nada.
Esther Martinez Saturday, Nov. 15, 2:39 PM The 1:30 PM panel on "Island Rhythms" included Dr. Joseph Scarpaci (Cuban Landscapes) and co-author Armando Portella, as well as John Radanovich, who authored a history of the
life and times of Cuban music great Benny Moré.
Cuban Landscapes is an exploration of how different disciplines grapple with "cubanidad,"
or Cuban identity. Scarpaci explained how the hulls of ships were used as roofs for churches, an invention which exemplifies
how the deforestation of the island and the use of its precious goods found synergy with maritime activity.
Scarpaci described how, early on, Cubans attempted to disassociate
themselves from their colonial past. Cuba's most famous poet, Jose Marti, wrote about the exceptionalism of all things
Cuban. The mangos! The piña (Spanish for pineapple) so much like a Cuban woman! "The bees," wrote
Marti, "must be native and not from Spain, because Spanish bees sting while Cuaban ones are only loud, like us."
Scarpaci went on to discuss varioius landscapes
of contemporary Cuba, both literal and figurative: the landsapes of abandoned sugar mills, once the crux of the Cuban economy;
the landscape of advertising—not golden arches, kings, or Tide Bleach—but advertising the ever-present revolution
and its tenacious ideals, the landscape, simply put, of propaganda. Scarpaci also spoke on the information landscape,
both in terms of information people know thanks to the electronic age, and information Cubans don't know. For instance,
the ubiquitous image of Che Guevara whose murderous role during the revoution most young Cubans ignore.
According to Scarpaci, today's Cuba faces the same question as
Germany after the Holocaust and post-czarist Russia: what happens with art when culture is appropriated by a totalitarian
regime? In a great example of bi-national collaboraton for the prservation of shared heritage, the United States and
Cuba are working together to restore and preserve the house where Hemingway lived as well as a number of his manuscripts which
were literally unearthed by his granddaughter. "Since tourism opened up in 1993," said Scarpaci, "Hemingway
is so present in Cuba, you'd think he was born there. There is a plaque anywhere he had a drink . . . or an affair."
He also spoke of newer, developing landscapes—a
cliff near Camp X-ray and Guantanamo Bay which serves as an overlook for tourists hoping to catch a glimpse of a terrorist,
the upward thrust of bohios (country huts with straw roofs) as Cubans build lofts,
or barbacoas to resolve the problem of housing. That's what Cubans do, they
"resolve." Resolver in Cuban is a word that means finding a solution
to a problem or situation in a way that is industrious and resourceful.
I asked Scarpaci about the artistic landscape, if there is one, given that Cubans still live under a government that suppresses
dissent of any type. Scarpaci's answer came too quickly, too easily, and it disappointed me. He pointed out the
"tremendous audio landscape" of street musicians, rappers and clandestine radio stations. He talked of local
"arts and crafts." "Is it mostly grassroots art?" I asked him, pushing the issue. "Aside
from artisans, are there also artists?" I tell him that I attended a reading at last year's Book Fair by Havana
writer Wendy Guerra, whose writing is banned in Cuba and only published abroad. Scarpaci insisted there is art in Cuba,
from local crafts to museum masterpieces. I thought of the fact that jazz, because of what it represents, is still illegal
in Cuba. I suspetct Scarpaci handles my question like a true Cuban, resolvió.
John Radanovich gave an engaging presentation of
his book The Life and Music of Benny Moré—a name which for most Cubans
is enough to stir up nostalgia. Arguably the island's most celebrated musician, Benny Moré was a Cuban cross
between Jerry Lee Lewis and Elvis Presley. He was a party animal, a jokester, a "happy drunk" as Radanovich
described him, who died a sad death caused by cirrhosis at the age of 44. Moré was a country guy, a rural cane
cutter who gained national celebrity as a singer. He had many woman, at least 12 children and was known for saying,
"las primas son para mi," or "the cousins are mine," referring
to the second cousins he had romantic relationships with.
Radanovich spoke of his difficulty in gathering information and his naiveté in the early stages of that process,
arriving in Cuba and asking, "Where are the archives?" Apparently there is a Cuban tradition which dictates
that the joke is on the gringo. When Radanovich asked where the closest photocopier was, the locals laughed and said,
"Hialeah."
Radanovich's book sounds like a must-read for anyone interested in Moré's official biography. Cubans are still
fiercely proud of Moré. Radanovich bet he could start a fistfight at Versailles Restaurant on Calle Ocho just
by asking whether Beny's name had one "n" or two. Radanovich asured us it has two. But I'm not asking,
just in case.
—Esther Martinez
Sunday, Nov. 15, 2:30 PM
Looking to quench my thirst for poetry, I went to the Tigertail:
A South Florida Poetry Annual reading at 11 AM in Pavilion C. Although two of the scheduled presenters, Denise
Duhamel and Campbell McGrath, were not able to attend, I was happy to see my former Creative Writing professor and good friend
Michael Hettich there. Just last week I was glancing over my autographed copy of Flock
and Shadow and the dedication he'd written, when I thought to myself, I need to make time to pay Professor Hettich
a visit. He opened
the event by talking about the 7th edition of the Tigertail anthology, giving us some
background as to how Duhamel, McGrath, and he ended up as editors of this edition. Hettich read excerpts from his introduction
to poet Yayha Frederickson, and then proceeded to read some of Frederickson's excellent poetry. Next on stage was Hugo
Rodriguez, whose poems for the anthology had been selected by Duhamel. Rodriguez has been a City of Miami firefighter
since 1982, and his powerful poetry reflected a lot of his experiences on the job. He mentioned how hard it was to save
people in real life, and that he'd had the romantic idea he could perhaps "Save them on the page." He continued
on to say, "I'm not sure I've saved anyone but myself." Last to read was Jill Allen,
and F.I.U. M.F.A. graduate whose work had been selected by McGrath. Allen read a few poems which contained vivid imagery
and a soothing, meditative tone. By the end
of the reading I felt energized and ready to take on the alluring bustle that is Sunday afternoon's Street Fair. Dariel Suarez
I am waiting in line to have two of my books—Boston
Noir and The Given Day—signed by Dennis Lehane, although the lines for
Lehane and Paco Ignacio Taibo II, editor of Mexico City Noir, have somehow bled into
each other and now form one confused crowd of people. Considering how long the line for Lehane appears to be, I am feeling
rather selfish for expecting him to sign two books, especially since I am going to request a personalized signing in one of
them. I wonder if I should recruit my wife to stand in line alongside me with my other book, although that still feels
deceptive.
But the woman in front of
me is reaching into a rolling suitcase full of books, which she appears to have organized rather well, pulling out a series
of Lehane hardcovers. A man a few spots in front of her is holding eight books. There is a man next to me in the
line for Taibo who has in his hands a small library of the Mexican author's books. Suddenly I don't feel so selfish.
The man with the stack of eight books gets to the
front of the line and then leaves rather quickly, making me wonder if Lehane is refusing to sign multiple copies. Perhaps
he is just the quickest book signer ever. The woman with the suitcase also leaves abruptly. When I get to the
front of the line I exchange a few quick pleasantries with the man whose path I hope to follow. After all, I am an aspiring
writer hoping to make it into and through the MFA program at FIU, also.
Lehane laughs at my unusual personalized request, which asks him to settle a debate over the film portrayal of one of his
literary characers, but grants it. Then a woman interrupts us by asking him how he could possibly say that Boston is
a boring city, which he did during his discussion of the Urhan Noir series, alongside Taibo and the editors of Los Angeles Noir, Bronx Noir, and Miami
Noir. I hope he doesn't turn back to me and say, "You're still here" when she leaves. He doesn't.
Lehane opens my second books and looks to me as if awaiting another unusual request. Not wanting to be so bold, I simply
ask him to sign it, which he does. Thank you, Mr. Lehane.
Edward Irvin
Saturday, Nov. 14, 1:40 PM The crowd at the street fair is thick and barely moving as I try to make my way down
a block of exhibitors. It's a gorgeous day, bright and hot but with not as much humidity as usual, and people with strollers
and people with wheelchairs, the alpha and omega of readers, try to make their way among the throng. And at the end
of the block, here I am again by the Council of Literary Magazines & Presses, where an editor of One Story has magazines out and some plastic cups of wine. I decline red wine: it's not a good idea to
drink and blog, and it's too hot, really. Mark Fitten (editor, Chattahoochee Review,
fiction writer, see Saturday's blog) is calling out to the crowd and many of my students come by, drawn by magazines they
hope to be in sometime soon. Resisting the magazines (clearly I have not a wine problem, but a magazine habit), I say
I'll come back later.
—Lynne Barrett Sunday, Nov. 15, 1:35 PM
Dennis Lehane offers hope to procrastinators: " I write like a snail jogs."
Edward Irvin
Sunday, Nov. 15, 1:27 PM
Best book title I've seen all fair? Walter the Farting Dog: Banned from The Beach. Poor Walter. Your struggle is quite palpable. David Gonzalez
More proof that the Book Fair isn't simple about the
Joyce Carol Oateses and Sherman Alexies of the world, I've had the remarkable experience of meeting Gigi Stetler, author of
Unstoppable, a nonfiction memoir of how she rose to the top of the RV industry.
And shereas you might think that a memoir about building a small recreational vehicle empire might not be the most engaging
of reads, here's a small sampling of the horrors she's endured on the way up: a "fat cat good ol' boys industry,"
as she put it, 21 stabbing wounds—given her diminutive sie, i wonder where they all fit—a heroin habit and a cocaine
cowboy boyfriend and a collection of friends that have all wound up dead or in prison. To meet Gigi is to get a sense
of what perseverance looks like. Her life might not have been a smooth ride, but I'm willing to bet that any one of
the RVs in her small fleet are a joy to ride. Especially for Gigi.
David Gonzalez
Eating lunch in the Authors' Suite, I was joined by Carole Boston Weatherford, who is reading at 2 PM from her new book of
poems, Becoming Billie Holiday. This is Weatherford's first year at the Book Fair, and she said she's really enjoying
it so far. "It's a big deal," she said. Weatherford also writes children's literature and teaches at
the University of Lafayette. Not only is she a New York Times bestselling poet, she is extraordinarily nice! I
asked her what contemporary books she's teaching in her courses that she recommends. Her answer: Brian Selznick's The Invention of Hugo Cabret.
Esther Martinez |
|
Johnny Temple, Akashic Books Publisher sees Miami by night; Urban Noir panel: Denise Hamilton, Dennis Lehane, Johnny
Temple, Les Standiford, S.J. Rozan, Paco Ignacio Taibo II; Dennis Lehane and Les Standiford.
(photos, Kimberly Standiford)
|
Sunday, Nov. 15, 12: 28 PM
Crud, here I am back in the loathed Pavilion A. It’s as cavernous and noisy as ever. Still, I’m about
to hear the panel on Akashic Books’ Urban Noir series, which ought to be great. Les Standiford,
the director of FIU’s Creative Writing Program, editied Miami Noir, and Dennis Lehane, our most famous alum,
is talking about Boston Noir. I see a lot of familiar faces. Also on the panel are S.J. Rozan (Bronx
Noir), Paco Ignacio Taibo II (Mexico City Noir), and Denise Hamilton (Los Angeles Noir).
Les moderates. The Akashic series is pretty prestigious, so all these folks are accomplished writers, genre and
otherwise. Les immediately declares that he’s abandoning moderating duties: “Asking someone to moderate
an author’s panel is really like asking them to herd cats, so I’ll just let everyone take their turn speaking.”
He teases Lehane—“Our committee has a few more questions about your defense, Dennis,”—then tells us
what a pleasure it was to be able to include some first-time writers among established authors in Miami Noir and
puts in a plug for “the novel of crime and punishment” as the best literary expression of South Florida’s
character. If you know Les, this is familiar stuff, but he’s as charming and his observations are as interesting
as ever. Taibo has some trouble with his mic,
then opens up with, “Mexicans are paranoid. The best definition of a Mexican is someone who thinks that They are
following him.” The way to tell what’s really going on in a place, he tells us, is to talk about it from
the noir perspective. “Particularly so in Mexico, no?” He wants us to know that Mexican noir isn’t
just stories about drug wars, though. There’s a strong surrealist strand, a strong element of magical realism.
He talks fast and is a little hard to hear over the air conditioner: “Mexico City is actually several cities …
[something something] … from the first world overlaid with … [something something] The mystery story is a way
of cutting diagonally… [something something] … and in the middle of that the complete absence of [something
something]. I talk to North American audiences and afterwards feel that I’ve said nothing that is true.”
Even with the gaps – especially with them! – he’s fun. I think I want to read this book.
He does go a little long, though. Rozan takes over at a sprint. “The problem with writing about the
Bronx is that everyone already knows what it’s like, or thinks they know. It’s a deep, dark slum, right?
But actually it’s very diverse.” So she went out of her way to represent that diversity. Still, some
seriously gritty elements naturally made their way into the book. She wanted someone to tell a story about Riker’s
Island, NYC’s famous prison, which is located – where else? – in the Bronx. She was able to get an
inmate author to do that, describes working with him on the story, and she’s enthusiastic about the results. Sounds
pretty cool. Like I said, it’s a good series.
Hamilton, coming from Los Angeles, is interested in talking about the history of noir. “L.A. Noir has traditionally
been dominated by white males.” But the population of L.A, has changed. “A lot of really interesting
stories are happening in these obscure suburbs that have become really ethnic communities.” She’s interested
in exploring the idea of noir from an immigrant perspective: “People used to come from Sioux City and Spokane.
Now they come from Bangkok. But the desires and motivations are the same.” Crime, she concludes, transcends
all kinds of barriers of ethnicity and nationality.
Lehane begins by apologizing to the Editor-in-chief of Akashic. “Because,” he says, “asking
me to take over any kind of organizational project is asking for a disaster.” Mystery, he goes on to add, isn’t
his forte. “If you can’t figure out whodunit in my mysteries, you’re probably kind of stupid.”
But he loves noir, an American invention like jazz or hip-hop, “and subversive like them.” He goes on to
talk about wanting to represent “the New Boston” in the book, “a wonderfully successful City on the Hill,
a safe city, a happy city, but a city a lot of people have been swept out of. It’s a much less interesting city
than it used to be.” Once again, I skip out on the Q-and-A.
Gotta hit the Gulf Stream booth.
—Jamie May Saturday, Nov. 14, 12:26 PM
—Lynne Barrett
|
Sunday, Nov. 15, 12:25 PM Enjoyed hearing Meri-Jane Rochelson of the
F.I.U. English Department read from and discuss her new book, The Career of Israel Zangwill
(11:00 Sunday). Zangwill was a multi-genre writer, Zionist, British Suffragette [sic—it was a unisex term] and
probably the best-known Jew in the English-speaking world a hundred years ago. The issues that caused his eventual fall
from favor in the Jewish community are still very much in play today. Territory—the displacement of Arabs in Palestine
seeming infeasible, Zangwill lobbied for a halfway house Jewish state in East Africa, Canada, or Australia. And assimilation—his
wife was non-Jewish, and he had no problem with Jews embracing facets of national identity in the countries where they lived.
I got the sense of a man who was impassioned and influential but not doctrinaire. He was known to contradict himself.
So the book's cover is apropos—a trick-mirror photograph of the day that shows five sides of Zangwill.
Reading with her was Aryeh Rubin, editor of a compilation of
profiles of 27 Jewish Sages of Today in the U.S. and Israel. People like MacArthur
Fellow Aaron Lansky, founder of the National Yiddish Book Center (who hasn't been featured at the Book Fair since 1985?
Bring him back!). The book of role models is intended as an antidote to the mindless worship of athletes, manufactured
celebrities, and other false idols. One source of the idea was the "rabbi cards" Aryeh saw ultra-Orthodox
boys in Brooklyn studying (presumably as antidote to the baseball cards of the day). He came across as a bit preachy
to Rochelson's enthusiastic and informative, but his book raised the most probing question during Q&A: Why do the
individuals profiled not double as leaders of the Jewish-American commmunity? Aryeh responded that, unfortunately, as
we see in the political realm every day, accomplishment and commitment are often not the sources of power and influence.
Late in his career, Zangwill might have agreed.
Robert Morison Sunday, Nov. 15, 12:16pm
I post the latest
from the Author’s Hospitality Suite in the MDC Library. The cup of coffee and comfy chair are pretty awesome. They’ve
got these little croissants here, one of which I’m going to grab as I go out. —Jamie May |
Sunday, Nov. 15, 12:10 PM Random Book Fair Observation: Why do female writers and book
lovers alike also love scarves? Even in 80 degree weather? I noticed this yesterday
when Jill McCorkle was wearing one. Lydia Davis was wearing one. I was wearing one.
My fifteen year old sister. My friend Denise who I ran into at the fair. The
lady in font of me right now is wearing one. Maybe it’s because it’s freezing cold inside the
lecture halls and pavilions where most readings are held. Maybe it’s because scarves are like the
bookmarks of the fashion accessory world. Maybe it’s because Kafka is right: we all have a frozen
sea inside of us and literature is supposed to be the ice-axe to break it up. But then with all the good
literature at the Book Fair, why do we still need the scarves? —Esther Martinez |
Saturday,
Nov. 14, 11:19 AM
I’ve skipped out on the last few minutes of John and Dan Chaon’s Q-and-A to make the biography panel. What I’m
really excited about is hearing Francine Prose talk about Anne Frank. Frank’s Diary is exciting and moving to
me, but most conversations about her are deadly pious—though Frank herself was anything but. If you haven’t looked
at the Diary recently, check out the unexpurgated version published after her father’s death. The entry describing her
own adolescent vagina in loving detail is a good tonic for the Anne-the-martyred-middle-schooler image you may have leftover
from your own middle-school reading of her. Roth’s Ghost Writer, Jeff Mangum’s album with Neutral Milk Hotel,
In the Aeroplane Over the Sea: there’s some stuff out there that gives Frank back to us as the truly brilliant, sexual,
and, yes, tragic person she portrays in her diaries. Francine Prose is a pretty sharp cookie, not one to go in for pieties,
so I’m hopeful she’ll do something similar.
First I listen to Brad Gooch and Philip Lopate, speaking on Flannery O’Connor and Susan Sontag respectively.
It’s a lot of talking. During Lopate’s section, the yellow-shirted, teenaged Book Fair volunteer behind
me whispers to his partner, “Oh my God, why is he so boring?” Nevertheless, he gets some laughs and a nice
round of applause at the end.
When Prose’s turn comes, she makes me nod by calling the diaries a literary masterpiece right off the bat: “It
occurred to me,” she says, “that Anne Frank has never really been taken seriously as a writer. She’s
taken seriously as a victim.” In writing her book on Frank, a literary response to the Diary, Prose re-read all
three versions of it; Frank rewrote every entry in her last four months of her hiding. Reading these versions allowed
Prose to see Frank developing her literary chops. “It’s a sad thing, of course,” Prose notes, “because
she could do nothing all day except read and write. But it did turn her into a fine writer.” Prose also
gives us a brief publication history for the Diary. Anne’s father, Otto Frank, who survived Auschwitz, emerges as a
hero here, going to tremendous lengths to see his daughter’s work published. So I guess I forgive him for cutting
the vagina passage.
I’ve actually been meaning to pick up Prose’s book on Frank for a while now. Guess this confirms my purchase.
Poor Kenneth Turan follows Prose. A huge number of people get up and leave before he can start speaking. Apparently
Prose is a huge draw. I’m tempted to take off as well, but why not give the guy a break? He’s talking
about Joe Papp, the theater producer responsible for starting Shakespeare In The Park, among plenty of other productions.
I’ve never heard of Papp before today. The teenagers behind me resume whispering. Every once in a while
the blond woman sitting a row ahead of me shoots them a dirty look. —Jamie May Sunday,
Nov. 15, 11:05 AM —Susan Falzon (in upstate
New York) Sunday, Nov. 15, 11:00 AM
—David Gonzalez Sunday, Nov.
13, 10:55 AM To check
on comments left with our Blogging Gator, I stop by the Miami Poetry Collective/Palm Beach Poetry Festival/Gulf
Stream Magazine booth. These organizations typify the scrappy and entrepreneurial spirit of the arts in South Florida
in these under-funded days. Gulf Stream is distributing free a miniature version of its current online issue to
draw people to read the magazine. PBPF extended its workshop application deadline to include the Book Fair. The MPC has sold a lot of copies of 5¢, the fifth issue of its Cent Journal. The MPC says "The price is in the name
and we don't make change." So if the smallest thing you have is a dollar bill, the issue costs a dollar, but I'm
told some have willing paid $5. This issue (available now through Art Basel Week) is beautifully designed and will hold an insert of the "poem fleuve" broadside
the MPC will present (a one time only reading of the work) as a session at 4:30 this afternoon.
At intervals the Poetry Collective poets have been working on their "Poem Depot" manual typewriters,
composing poems to order for individuals willing to pay $2 for a poem (more for a sonnet or villanelle). Yesterday I
saw Tallahassee poet Dave Kirby in the author room showing someone the poem he'd commissioned. I ask MPC poets Nick
Vagnoni and P. Scott Cunningham what topics have been requested so far. Coffee, the Redlands, a commune in Vermont,
Turducken, Viginia Key, and "pursuing a career in law and justice" were some that they recalled. The MPC doesn't
keep copies; the purchaser gets the original, done in original typewriter ribbon ink on MPC paper. The
Poem Depot regularly occurs at Wynwood Arts night, various galleries and museums, nightclubs, and other festivities.
The Depot will have its first anniversary in the Spring and there has been talk of requesting those
who have poems to send them in for display in a gallery show. Vagnoni suggests this might be called the "Poem Repo."
I point out that in the days of the manual typewriter there was a related item called carbon paper which everyone used to
make copies as they went. Is it even available today?
—Lynne Barrett
|
Sunday, Nov. 15, 10:50 AM Having not known how to respond to John Dufresne’s
reading last night, I’m going to give it another shot this morning. John is reading with Dan Chaon, whom I met
last night at Granta’s party down in some bar in Brickell (where, incidentally, I felt like I did when I used
to crash college parties in high school). John
reads first, different sections than he did last night. Introducing the first section, he tells us that he, along with
the narrator of Requiem, Mass, attended Catholic school. “That’s kind of a scab that you pick for
the rest of your life,” he says. The passage runs through a litany of wrongs suffered under the supervision of
nuns, and concludes with the memorable line: “Sometimes I just wanna stick my dick out the window and fuck the world.”
This is followed by a portion about a former baby-sitter with MS and drugged-out-boyfriend problems. It’s harrowing
enough on its own, but for me it takes its full impact from its place in the book. The novel is written as a memoir,
and it’s full of these little records of lost people. (Maybe it’s something about John’s book itself
that gives me a hard time responding to readings of it.) Dan Chaon reads from his new novel, Await Your Reply.
Launches into his reading with no preamble. We get dropped into a passage about a father driving to the hospital with
a badly hurt son. Good phrase: “The car pursues its pool of headlights.” Then a passage about a woman
who’s dating her former high-school history teacher and has moved with him to Minnesota. This part’s funny,
but the humor is sort of situational, so it’s hard for me to reproduce here. Then again, I seem to be the only
one chuckling, so maybe there’s a problem with the part of my cognitive process that detects humor. Is it producing
a false positive? Eleven AM feels pretty early to me this morning. Now a passage about twin brothers, one of whom is
descending into paranoid schizophrenia or something similar. Chaon adopts an amusing gruff voice reading the dialogue
of a character named Mr. Breeze, a hypnotist. These three passages, Chaon tells us, give a little taste of the three
narrative strands in the novel, but with them presented independently like this it’s hard to tell what they have to
do with each other. Still, each is pretty interesting in its own right. I think I’m going to have to check this
book out. —Jamie
May Sunday,
Nov. 15, 10:35 AM Nothing goes
better with a good book than a hot cup o" joe. And you better get it now that it's still only 77 degrees.
Right next to the Gulf Stream booth (#102), the good people at Land O'Lakes have set
up a coffee cart to promote their new flavors of half-and-half. Free coffee! Read all about it.
—Esther Martinez
|
Envious from afar:
This came in from
a NYC radio host and former bookseller who is reading our live-blog.
Lynne Barrett
I realize as I sit in my favorite coffee shop in Greenwich CT reading The Florida Book Review Miami Book Fair 2009 blog that I'm turning a deeper shade of green than the color used
as background for the blog. My envy drippeth over. John Hodgman? Jim McManus? Margaret Atwood?
Orhan Pamuk? Iggy Pop? Joshua Dysart? Isabella Rossellini? Joyce Carol Oates?
Otehr than Steve Jobs, who's done more for Apple Computers than
John Hodgman? Jim McManus made me want to go to Vegas to test myself and my poker skills in the WSOP. Atwood!
Blind Assassin—need I say more? There's the old saying that: "For
a nickel I'd watch monkeys have intercourse." I get to watch Isabella Rossellini have sex with all sorts of odd
creatures . . .Does life get better than this? Well, yes it does. There's Joyce Carol Oates..
I was still in the book business back in 1987 when Oates's On Boxing was published. The controversy was astounding. The literati asked
why she'd do this book: "What does she know about boxing?" The average sports fan was angered that this tiny
female author would be so arrogant, asking the same question but worded a bit differently: "What the hell does
a woman know about boxing?" NOt knowing much about the sport myself, I turned to the boxing aficionados I knew
to tell me if her work was a glancing blow or a knock-out punch and to a man—yes, they were all men—they said
she was the real deal; she knew her stuff.
Since I can't be there, I can at least live vicariously through the FBR's great Book
Fair blog. It brings back memories of great books and the personalities that write them.
Thanks.
Bill Buschel http://billbuschel.wordpress.com
|
Saturday, Nov. 14, 10:49 PM Standing in the midpoint of a long line
waiting to see punk pioneer Iggy Pop: the end of a long but exciting day. Overheard, "I like his music but it's
so dark I can only listen to it once." Versatile crowd: Ramones era punkers with studded leather jackets and tight
black jeans, retired baby bomers with studded sweaters and stretch slacks.
Inside, seated about two-thirds of the way back in a large, crowded room. (How does the tallest guy in the room always know
to sit directly in front of me?) Iggy pops on stage . . . Awww, how cute, he's carrying his white toy poodle Lucky.
Co-writer potographer Bob Matheu is with them.
First (ironic) question from moderator Brad Sokol—Actor's Studio vibe—"What about the supposed darkness of
your music?" Iggy, in a rich, gravelly voice, "[As kids] we tried to be great artists but didn't know jack
shit about it and that rubbed people the wrong way." Iggy tells humorous stories about the early days: shaving
his eyebrows, but then on stage realizing the brows were there to prevent sweat from running into his eyes; bass player trying
to be like Hendrix and burining his instrument but, knowing he couldn't afford it, tries smothering the flame with his body
while wearing one of Iggy's expensive shirts which he borrowed for the evening. Audience, myself included, eats up every
anecdote with much laughter and applause. On how he developed his bare torso wardrobe: "By the second gig I was
working just in jeans to keep it simple. I'm most comfortable like that." As he's speaking, Bob Matheu's photos of Iggy and the Stooges are projected
on two large screens—they run from the band's early, mid-sixties days until the present. One amazing photo stands
out: Iggy walking like Jesus on water, across a large mass of audience, held up by their outstretched hands. Best quote
from Iggy, "In the eighties (during the lean years) I had to struggle to keep going. Now I'm back to fuck you!"
Big applause and laughter: amen to that! Highlight for me, I asked him a question about how he reflects upon his body
of work. He laughed and said, "I love to sit on my couch, stack up my large pile of CDs on my coffee table, sometimes
splitting the piles, shuffling them about, and just admire them." After this evening, I admit, I admire the man
who made the CDs just as much.
—Louis Lowy
Saturday, Nov. 14, 10:05 PM Never realized how hard it is to take
notes while your cheeks hurt from laughing. Speaking of which, the mystery of what causes people to laugh was among
the dozens of tangents pursued by John Hodgman and Larry Wilmore (Chapman, 5:00 Saturday). Well, duh! The answer
is obviously "John Hodgman and Larry Wilmore." They sat down together and began mock interviewing each other
about their respective new books (Hodgman: More Information Than You Require; Wilmore:
I'd Rather We Got Casinos and Other Black Thoughts), then ragged and riffed on whatever
topic popped up—their mutual employer (The Daily Show, where Wilmore is the "Senior Black Correspondent"),
the Church of Satan (he needs a church?), technology wars (Hodgman is the personification of PC in the Mac ads), and on and
on. They played off each other (and intrepid straightmen
and straightwomen provided by the audience) for over an hour. All humorous devices were welcome, including sight gags
(talking-book CDs make good coasters) and hilarious silence (when someone tried to ask them a question about literary process).
The session even featured a new species of question from the audience—the non-question. No, I'm not talking about
the idiot whose windy preamble drives his own question out of his head—they're a dime a dozen. This was a pure
and genuine non-question. Young woman waits her turn for the center-aisle-front microphone and sheepishly explains that
she's in a really bad seat way in the back and just wanted to see the guys up close. Feigning (?) flattery, John and
Larry immediately promoted her to a seat up front. Her friend, too.
I gravitate toward humorists at the Book Fair (see you tomorrow for Roy Blount, Jr.), and this was the most spontaneous-continuous-hilarious
session I've seen since way back in the day on a Sunday morning when Calvin Trillin and Dave Barry, pretending (?) hangovers,
read from and commented on each other's work, and things disintegrated from there. By the way, Dave is AWOL this year,
and I overheard some of his Chapman-inmate fans complaining. But, hey, they already know the AARP and Pope jokes by
heart, and Hodgman and Wilmore more than filled the void.
—Robert Morison
Saturday, Nov. 14, 5:49 PM For those attending the Fair whose dance
card for Sunday is not yet full, please allow me to make a recommendation: don't miss Luis Alberto Urrea, appearing at 4:30.
This remarkable triple threat—poet, novelist, and nonfiction writer—is also a very funny, entertaining speaker.
You'll enjoy yorself, I promise, and discover a new favorite writer.
His latest novel, Into the Beautiful North, follows a group of young women who cross
the border to recruit seven young men—a la The Magnificent Seven—to return to Mexico and help protext their village
from banditos. The Miami Herald calls it a "wondrous yarn in the hands
of terrific storyteller. . . Urrea's meticulous detail makes the story come to life. Not to trivialize, but these characters
cry out for a sequel—maybe a telenovela."
—Debra Dean
|
|
International Food Court at the Book Fair.
(photos, Esther Martinez)
|
|
|
|
|
|
Info:
The Book Fair's "Evenings With..." appearances: Sunday, Nov. 8: Novelist Margaret Atwood, poet Elizabeth
Alexander Monday, Nov. 9: Novelist Barbara
Kingsolver and food writer Ruth Reichl Tuesday, Nov. 10: Memoirist Jeannette Walls Wednesday, Nov. 11: Novelist Richard Powers Thursday,
Nov. 12: Writer and film-maker Isabella Rosselini
Friday, Nov. 13: Nobel Prize winner Orhan Pamuk  Keep up on the latest news about the Book Fair and other happenings in the literary world. Read Chauncey Mabe at Open Page, the Florida Center for the Literary Arts blog.
|
|
Mitchell Kaplan, Chairperson
of the Board of Directors of Miami Book Fair International, is everywhere at the Fair. Photo, Kimberly Standiford
|
Saturday, Nov. 14, 5:05 PM
I sneak in late to the 2008 Florida Book Award Winner reading. Susan Womble is reading and I try to get my computer from my
bag without making too much noise. Womble won in the Children’s Book category for something called Newt’s
World, but I never really manage to figure out what it’s about. Something about kids in a special school thwarting
a kidnapping attempt? Our hero is in a wheelchair.
John Tkat, the YA winner, is wearing his Florida Book Award, a gold medal. It’s a little weird. He’s
bald as an egg and has a booming voice. Loud reader. His book, Whispers from the Bay, is about a teenager
who can communicate telepathically with dolphins. In summarizing what happens after our hero is washed off a boat in
a hurricane, he erupts with the memorable phrase: “And so the dolphins use their echo-location to find him!”
Next up: Non-fiction. Winner: Shawn C. Bean with The First Hollywood. I’m pleased to be
getting into the adult-oriented stuff. Enough heroic children. Bean’s book is about the early film industry based in
Jacksonville, which, he tells us, actually predates the Hollywood system by three years. He reads about
Norman Studios, one of the first studios to make films starring Black actors, for Black audiences.
The room only has space for a few panelists at a time, so the first three tag out and the next four sub in. Debra
and Joel Shlian are the winners of the Genre Fiction category with the collaboratively written Rabbit in the Moon, a
historical/medical thriller set around the Tiananmen Massacre. Debra introduces and Joel reads a passage about a father
smuggling his daughter out of Shanghai in 1949. Now we have David Kirby, winner for
The Temple Gate Called Beautiful. Kirby’s kind of a big deal. In addition to two Florida Book Awards,
he’s won a Guggenheim Fellowship. He wears what I presume is the Guggenheim Winner Uniform: baseball cap and Hawaiian
shirt. He plugs his most recent book, a biography of Little Richard. I’ve known of Kirby for a long time—he’s
popular among my poet friends—I don’t know his stuff too well, so I’m pleased to get to hear him read.
His poems are talky even on the page—I think it’s part of his thing—and that’s represented out loud
by his poem-reading voice being almost exactly the same as his audience-patter voice. Lots of poets adopt a more resonant
tone and rhythmic pronunciation for their poems, but not Kirby. It makes for a slightly weird reading, but I think I
like it.
Finally, John Dufresne gets up to read from the winner in the Novel category, Requiem, Mass. John’s
a professor of mine at FIU, so I’ve read the book myself with great interest and have heard him read it before.
But, odd thing: I’m kind of not listening as John reads. Or rather, I am listening, but instead of hearing John
read his chosen passage, I’m kind of hearing the way it connects to the rest of the novel. I’m glad to hear
John again, but what I really want to do is go home and take another look at my copy of the book. Makes it hard to write
a blog entry, really. Is that a common experience at the Book Fair? Does the stuff you’re in love with already
always escape you? Public readings are fun, of course, but I guess they never replace the experience of turning the
pages yourself. —Jamie May |
|
Miami Poetry Collective/Palm
Beach Poetry Festival/Gulf Stream Magazine shared booth, photo, Esther Martinez. Living statue, photo,
Kimberly Standiford.
|
Saturday, Nov. 14, 5:45 PM While checking out some used books with a couple of friends at the Street Fair, I
bumped into writer John Dufresne, who was there with his wife, Cindy Chinelly. I took classes with both of them at Florida
International University, so having a chance to mingle was a treat. Even more special was the fact that I was holding
a copy of Dufresne's Love Warps the Mind a Little in my hand, the one novel of his
which I have yet to read and which I was about to purchase. Coincidence? I think not.
—Dariel Suarez Saturday, Nov. 14, 4:19 PM Mia Leonin wants to know where the contemporary writers writing about Miami are.
—David Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 4:09 PM
I'm waiting patiently for the start of a reading by Jennine Capo Crucet (How to Leave Hialeah),
Mia Leonin (Havana and Other Missing Fathers) and Cecilia Milanes Rodriguez (Marielitos, Balseros and Other Exiles). It was supposed to start at 4. Must
be running on Cuban time.
—David
Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 4:00 PM I stop by the Council of Literary Magazines & Presses booth, and even though I
know I really shouldn't acquire any more literary magazines, the 5 for $5 deal is irresistable, and the selection huge.
I get an Oxford American I don't already have (with dvd), a Subtropics, a Georgia Review, a recent issue of West Branch (a magazine which published a story of mine early on and then had me in for a reading at a festival
at Bucknell, so I'm forever fond of them and want to know what they're up to), and a magazine I don't know called The LBJ which despite that moniker is a magazine of "Avian Life Literary Arts"—LBJ stands for literary bird journal, I read inside. Marc Fitten, fiction writer (his first novel is
Valeria's Last Stand) and editor of the Chattahoochee
Review, has an energetic street vendor's cry. He throws in a copy of Rain Taxi
Review of Books. One Story, to which I subscribe, will be having a mini-reception at the booth Sunday at 1 and
I think I'll stop by even though I know I absolutely shouldn't acquire any more literary magazines.
—Lynne Barrett Saturday, Nov. 14, 3:00 PM Now for the card-playing portion of
my afternoon. Jim McManus is promoting his new book, Cowboys Full: The Story of Poker.
I dug his account of reaching the final table in the World Series of Poker, Positively Fifth
Street, so I've been looking forward to this. Unfortunately Pavilion A is a giant, echoing cave, and it's hard
to hear the speakers over the noise of the tremendous air-conditioning units.
McManus speaks first. He's weathered; looking at him makes me think of a line from the Harper's
article Positively Fifth Street was based on, in which he mentioned having stained
a tooth smoking opium somewhere in Southeast Asia. The new book is a history of the game. Poker, by his account,
is a syncretic form of gambling native to America, a combination of a French game called Beaucoup and an English game called
Brag. The book goes all the way back to the development of cards themselves from their dominoid origins.
He reads from a chapter about a game involving
Todd Brunson, son of Doyle Brunson, a.k.a. Texas Dolly, author of the famous Super System poker strategy book. McManus
is great at weaving the narrative of what happens at a card table together with players' characters and histories, but
unfortunately I can't really hear him. He seems a little uninspired by the venue, and his reading is flat.
Reading with McManus is Andrew Ross Sorkin, who
looks like a fresh-faced Harvard grad but is actually a veteran finaincial reporter for the New York Times. His book
is called Too Big to Fail, about the fall of Lehman Brothers and the general collapse
of investment banking last fall. Sticking these two readers together was a neat move; as McManus noted, both of them
are esentially discussing risk-leveraging games. It sounds, from his own account, as though Sorkin got some pretty incredible
access to sources for this thing. "For instance," he says, "this may freak you out." He claims
to have learned, from talking with Ben Bernanke's staff, that the language for the Troubled Asset Relief Program was
not written after the Fall crash, as you might have expected, but in April 2008. Which means, of course, that people
in the Federal Reserve were considering the prospect of the crash well before it happened. And there's more in that
vein. Sounds like a pretty useful book. Furture historians will be pleased, even if present readers are freaked
out.
They're done talking by 3:30.
During the Q-and-A, most of the crowd seems interested in talking to Sorkin, whereas I'd like to hear from McManus.
But it's a little hard to figure out what to ask him. "Would you bet an inside straight-draw when your opponent
is representing a pair of aces?" No, of course he wouldn't.
Sorkin's talking about the need to increase the capital reserve requirements for investment banks. I wonder: is that
like getting them to play limit instead of no-limit poker?
By the bye, if anyone from my regular five-dollar game is reading this: want to play cards this Thursday night?
—Jamie May Saturday, Nov. 14, 2:54 PM Outside Pavilion A there's a woman doing a "living statue" bit. She's dressed up as some kind
of angel? It's a little weird. Hair spray-painted white and gold, face white, big white skirt, totally unmoving.
She's standing on something underneath the skirt, so she's about nine feet tall, and her face looks too small for her body.
Kids pose for pictures, giggling.
—Jamie
May Saturday,
Nov. 14, 2:45 PM While on our way to Pavilion A for the
Joyce Carol Oates reading, my friend Carl and I noticed a group of three lively young women who were standing in the middle
of a Street Fair alley. Just as we walked by, one of them said to her friends, "I should write a book about all
the STDs you can get in Miami." Carl looked at me in disbelief. "I need to give it a few seconds to sink in,"
he said, shaking his head. I smiled in return and said, "I wonder if the book will be available at next year's
fair."
—Dariel Suarez Saturday, Nov. 14, 2:40 PM
What's with Pavilion A? (Be and
C may have similar problems, but I haven't sampled them.) It seems to be the substitute for the auditorium in Building
1 (under renovation), so major acts appear there. But the air conditioning blowers are deafening. Audience can't
hear speakers, and vice versa. After the audience congregates as far from the blowers as possible, it looks like all
the wedding attendees are relatives of the bride. And it wasn't that hot a day. so the congregation was chilled.
Solution is simple—run the blowers between sessions and not during. People complained, but I take it the room
monitor doesn't double as room engineer.
The 1:30 session had four renowned women writers, introduced by FBR's own Lynne Barrett. Lydia Davis (The Collected Stories of Lydia Davis) read samples of her many short forms—right down to the tongue-twister
and epigram. Mary Karr takes the non-enigmatic route. Lit is her third
book of memoir (The Liar's Club and Cherry
preceded it), and brown liquor reportedly features prominently. She didn't read from it (wish she had a bit), but the
anecdotes she provided as backdrop to her livfeand books gave a sense. For example: what happens when a girl from the
"ringworm belt" (consider that phrase stolen) section of the country encounters the Hamptons. Jill McCorkle
(Going Away Shoes) was brilliant as both writer and reader. She read a short but intricate
story on finding "Mr. Right"—sort of. Jayne Anne Phillips (Lark and
Termite) read a short piece on novel-writing, then demonstrated the theory by reading about the character named Termite.
—Robert Morison
Saturday, Nov. 14, 2:09 PM There's a woman sitting
behind me with a black cowboy hat on. She wears dark shades and a dark shirt and is busy scribbling notes. Her
right hand is tattooed like a Maori warrior's face. I can't take my eyes off of it. Jorden tells me, That's Joy
Harjo. Now, that's another reading I've got to pencil in.
—David Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 2:00 PM I'm catching the 2 o'clock Mystery Writers
of America event. David Haberg, Jonathon King, and Martha Powers, authors respectively of Burned,
The Styx, and Conspiracy of Silence.
The reading takes place across the street from the fair proper, on the first floor of the parking garage. I have
to wend my way through a series of dim hallways to get there. When I arrive, though, it's pretty well attended.
The crowd is older, largely white, about an even mix of men and women. Is this the face of U.S. mystery readership?
Haberg talks mostly about his career. He's
a past nominee for an American Book Award, but I'm not familiar with his work. Along with Burned,
he's also written something called The Expediter? He's sunburned, moustached.
Tells us a story about being moved up to first class on a plane because he gave the pilot a signed copy of one of his books.
If you've got a book out, take note.
Powers has written fourteen books. Once again, I don't know any of them. (I'm here to broaden my horizons.)
She started out writing historical romance, then moved to suspense novels. Had a hard time selling her first one. "The
first chapter details the rape and murder of a ten-year-old child," she says, "which made it harder to boil down
to a one-liner. This was before The Lovely Bones came out, and you couldn't tell publishers,
'I've got this great novel about the rape and murder of a ten-year-old child.'" I guess not. The book she finally
published is called Sunflower. It saw some changes, but she warns us that the
kid still dies.
Jonathon King I know
a little bit about. He won an Edgar Award a few years ago—that's the prize for best mystery novel by an American
author—for his novel The Blue Edge of Midnight. His new novel, tough,
is self-published. Seems like someone like him ought to be able to find a publisher. Says something about the
state of the literary marktplace that he hasn't.
After they've introduced themselves, people ask questions about how to be a mystery writer. They describe their processes.
All seem to agree: the best way to be a writer is to write.
—Jamie May Saturday, Nov. 14, 1:48 PM There's so much stuff here that sometimes the Book Fair seems to consist solely of missed
connections. I see John Dufresne, Cindy Chinelly, and their son Tristan in Building 2. John is here reading from
his most recent book, Requiem, Mass. Cindy, as the Assistant Director of the
Composition Program at F.I.U. where I teach, is my boss. They're on an escalator, I'm heading to the men's room.
We wave and they're literally whisked away out of sight.
—Jamie May Saturday, Nov. 14, 1:40 PM I attended the "Freedom to Write: PEN International panel on Censorship" on Saturday
morning at 11:00 AM, at Chapman Conference Center. Authors Sam Tanenhaus, Mary Gordon, Michael Thomas, Francine Prose,
and Ana Menendez discussed different aspects of censorship during a lively and informative event.
Tanenhaus opened the discussion, making a reference to Philip
Roth and some of his writing. He then posed questions to his co-panelists, including, Why don't we say what's uncomfortable?
and How often do writers use ideas they know are controversial? Mary Gordon followed by joking that Philip Roth can
write anything he wants because "everyone will think he's wonderful." She addressed the audience directly,
saying that we should write what we think is true and not be afraid of marginalization, and that the only thing we should
ask ourselves is, "Is what I'm writing going to do harm?" She also stated that, sadly, "People think
fiction isn't real. They think reality shows are real."
Michael Thomas came next He was funny thoughout his reading, saying early on, "I've always had trouble with words,"
referring to their meaning. He discussed our constant struggle to find the exact words we wish to use in order to convey
a specific idea or emotion, and how being completely honest sometimes scares people. He said he found it funny when
he was asked to do readings at private schools or literary events so he could share his "report from the margins"
as a black man who used to work in construction, under the pretense that they wanted to hear what he had to say. Then,
once he'd get there and shared his piece, they'd realize they didn't really want to hear it.
Francine Prose read a little about the censorship of The Diary of Anne Frank. It was incredible to hear how some Christian fundamentalists had demanded that
the diary be reomoved from libraries and not taught at schools because it would otherwise foster rebellion and drive the children
to "eternal damnation." Finally, Ana Menendez shared some statistics that revealed the number of writers who
have been imprisoned, harassed, investigated, sued, etc., from January to June of this year because of their work and then
read the names of writers and journalists around the world who are currently in jail due to their defiant stance against censorship.
After the event concluded, I went to the atrium
down the hall from the center and got a personalized autograph from Menendez, whose short story collection In Cuba I was a German Shepherd I really like.
—Dariel Suarez Saturday, Nov. 14, 1:36 PM Imagine that.
Lynne Barrett introducing Mary Karr, Jill McCorkle, Jayne Anne Phillips and Lydia Davis.
—David Gonzalez
Saturday,
Nov. 14, 1:35 PM
When I was a kid, I used to watch G.L.O.W., Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. These days, I’m still watching
G.L.O.W., but now they’re the Gorgeous Ladies of Writing, women who wrestle
with the big issues of human existence. I think that’s what Lynne Barrett said during her introduction.
Or maybe I’m in a Book-Fair-Frenzy. Either way, it was great to sit in on a reading
with such literary heavy-weights as Mary Karr, Lydia Davis, Jill McCorkle, and Jayne Anne Philips. These
are not authors writing women’s literature; they are women producing great writing, proving how much women have to say
about the human experience. Maybe that’s what Lynne Barrett said…
The reading opened with Lydia Davis, who read several pieces from her Collected Stories, among them one about an
old dictionary which the speaker realizes she treats with more care than she does her own son, another about boring friends,
and one about a woman named Mildred who masturbates with an oboe. Then Mary Karr, who was gracious
and gorgeous in a black shirt and skirt worthy of Carrie Bradshaw, spoke about her newest work on nonfiction, Lit,
which she said is both about how literature saved her life and about getting “lit” on drugs and alcohol. Lit
is about Karr’s desire to escape the home she grew up in “with bullet holes in the kitchen wall” and become
a “normal” woman. She wanted to be a wasp, she said, “because the average American wasp can ignore reality
better than any drug addict.”
Jill McCorkle began the reading from her collection, Going Away Shoes, with a quote by Gloria Steinem who asked,
“If the shoe doesn’t fit, must we change the foot?” The collection, said McCorkle, is about characters who
are learning that their feet are “just right.” McCorkle has a charming southern accent, an added treat to her
reading of a story about a young single woman, quite happy with her bachelorette status and tired of being set-up by her friends
at church “swinging-singles-sing-a-longs.” McCorkle’s character invents the perfect man, a man, she says,
“created in my image and then roughed up in a way I find attractive.” Her reading was fun and funny, and the story
at once light and surprisingly deep. The last
reader was Jayne Anne Phillips who read from her novel, Lark and Termite, a coming-of-age tale of two brothers growing
up in West Virginia. She also read from an essay she on kismet where Phillips writes that “novels
are all about risk, about that lack of guarantee, just like life.”
—Esther Martinez
|
|
Jayne Anne Phillips, Jill McCorkle, Lydia
Davis, Mary Karr being introduces by Lynne Barrett photo, Robert Morison
|
Three views of Joyce Carol Oates:
So far three blog
entries on the JCO reading at 12:30 on Saturday have come in. We may get more, who knows?
Lynne Barrett
Sunday,
Nov. 15, 12:31 AM Every year there's one author that really makes my Book Fair. Last year it was Frank McCourt. This
year, it was the great Joyce Carol Oates, who was attended by a packed house—standing room only—and read from
her newest novel, Little Bird of Heaven. Oates was introduces by fellow novelist,
Debra Dean, who called it a great honor, noting that Oates needed no introduction. "Still," asked Dean, "who
among you didn't crane your neck upon entering to catch a gimpse of the great duchess of doom herself?"
I didn't crane my neck. I had front row media seats.
But for those not as lucky, I'll tell you that Oates looked just like you'd expect. Brown wispy curls framing her face,
its wan complexion exaggerated by dark red lipstick and lgiht blue shadow above her deep-set, misty eyes. Dainty and
unassuming, Oates posed for pictures with her book opened in front of her. She wore a blue and turquoise top of what
looked like crushed taffeta, the slinky material clinging to her slender frame. She hardly looked up, didn't smile.
Despite the bright attire, there was something fittingly gothic about her. Then she spoke.
If you haven't heard Joyce Carol Oates speak before, I can tell
you that she sounds nothing like you'd expect, at least not by looking at her. Or maybe she sounds just like you'd expect
if you expect her to sound like her writing: confident but self-aware, witty but humble, assertive but soft-spoken.
There were loud fans blowing cold air into the tented pavilion. "Can you hear me?" Oates began, pulling the
microphone closer. Many shouted polite no's. "Then how do you know what I asked?" she said.
And so began the delightful—yes, I said delightful—hour
with Oates. Dramatically speaking Little Bird of Heaven is a story about Krista,
a young girl whose father is accused of murdering a beautiful bluegrass singer who sings the song the book is titled after.
For Oates, it's a story about a girl who loses her father. It's also a book about social injustice, something she said
the reviewers missed. "The little bird," she said, "is like our spiritual selves, frail and fragile,
and we don't really now what it is until we lose it." Oates read a scene from the novel in which Krirsta learns
of her father's charge from her mother. In truth, it was difficult to hear her well, even from the front row.
The fans were that loud, and Oates speaks like a little bird herself. The best review I can give it is "Buy the
book!" which reviewers are saying puts Oates in the ranks of Dostoevsky. Debra Dean mentioned this during the introduction.
Oates later joked, "I wonder what Dosty would have to say about being ranked with me."
The Q&A, crowning jewel of any reading, did not disappoint.
There's always that one audience member who thnks they're going to impress the author (and everyone else there) by asking
some inane question with no good answer. The one at this reading asked: "If a phrase was a portrait, what
would it say?" Oates was thrown off at first. "I don't know," she said, "she tried?"
Then she turned the question around on the poser. He was stunned silent. Oates smiled. "Not so easy
to come up with one on the spot, is it?" she said.
"Do you ever finish a book and feel like you'll never write another?" someone else asked. "When you finish
a book, you generally feel really good," Oates responded. "It's the first six weeks that seem like a steep
incline and I feel like Sisyphus except what I'm pushing up are trash cans." Then, the questions got really good.
An older, distinguished-looking gentleman approached
the mic and laid it on thick. "It's a well-known fact," he said, "that you're an excellent teacher and
inspiriting educator. What is the secret?" "I think I'm gonna take you home with me," Oates said.
The crowd erupted in laughter. "No, seriously," she asked the man, "are you spoken for?" And
turning to the crowd, "He seems like he'd make a nice husband." After making that man blush for probably the
first time in many years, Oates answered with one word: "Enthusiasm."
One audience member asked how Oates treats violence in her work, how writers
aestheticize it. Oates said that all great literature, from Homer to Shakespeare, is "steeped in blood."
Then she shared the following story: when Oates' mother was 9 months old, her father (Oates' grandfather) was murdered in
a bar. Because of this, Oates' mother was given away. The murder was never solved. And it altered not only
her mother's fate, but of course Oates's herself. "If you go back far enough in any family history, there is some
unsolved mystery," Oates said.
To the question of what books she as recently read that she recommends, Oates gave a "plug" for her former student
(and my literary crush) Jonathan Safran-Foer, author of the acclaimed Everything is Illuminated
and, most recently, Eating Animals. (Jonathan, if you're reading this, call
me.)
Esther
Martinez Sunday, Nov. 15, 12:24 AM At Joyce Carol Oates' reading from her new
novel, Little Bird of Heaven, which took place in Pavilion A at 12:30 PM, Debra Dean—currently
my fictionprofessor at F.I.U.—did a wonderful job introducing the featured writer. While doing so, Dean read excerpts
from a couple of reviews which compared Oates to Fyodor Dostoevsky because of the amazing quality of Little Bird of Heaven. Later on, while talking to the audience about the reviews, Oates said she was
very flattered by them, but that she couldn't help wondering what "Dusty" would say.
Oates was incredibly funny throughout her reading, often making witty comments
about herself, her work, and the audience. She shared that the original name for the novel had been Sparta, the fiction name of the town in the novel, which is supposedly located in New York. She then
confessed having found out that there is an actual Sparta in New York State, and that she justified herself by saying hers
was a little bit more to the east. She read a chapter from her book, and then answered a few questions from the audience.
When asked what method she uses to be a good professor, her answer was: "enthusiasm."
Dariel Suarez Sunday, Nov. 15, 10:57 PM
Lowlight was a brief
reading from the book. Sometimes hard to tell when she was reading and when she was supplying missing back story midstream,
but mostly it was the acoustics. Highlight was seeing her in role of teacher (she's a Princeton prof) and her generosity
in responding to questioners. Nobody had to ask the obligatory question about her literary influences. Her command
of the canon was palpable.
Robert Morison
|
Saturday, Nov. 14, 1:15 PM
Blackened grouper wrap with zucchini and squash. $6.
—David Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 12:21 PM I was sitting in the Authors' Suite,
delighting in my backstage access, when I was joined by husband and wife team, Donald Worth and Nina Weber Worth, proud Miamians,
preservationists, and conceptual producers of the book Art Deco in Shanghai and Miami Beach.
Nina quipped that they were enjoying the glitz, glamour, and champagne before they turn back into pumpkins once the Book Fair
ends. For authors and bookies alike, the Fair really is a sort of Cinderella's Ball . . . except John Hodgman is our
Prince Charming. (John Hodgman is the dorky PC in the Mac commercials. Get it? Prince Charming = PC.)
—Esther Martinez Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:54 AM
Gulf Stream's neighbors in the booth to the south are two authors promiting their
self-published novels. R.N. Matos is the author of Chronicles of the Damned,
a vampire/werewolf novel that explains historical mysteries as the results of supernatural conflict. He's got bookmarks
with character bios on the back. I learn that Vlad, a vampire, "has become obsessed with finding a particular that
he believes will be the key to unlock the secrets of the land once called Kharsag. Through intimidation, manipulation,
and determination he has climbed to the top of the Legion leadership, but his methods have even made him enemies among his
own kind." Matos, who wears a cool Mohawk and a Vampire the Masquerade t-shirt, is from Miami, and he's here in
partnership with Lucky Strike Lanes, a South Beach bowling alley. I pick up a flyer that advertises the novel on one
side and offers 10 frames and shoe rental for free on the other.
Lawrence Kaplan, author of House of Ghosts, seems to be a little nonplused at sharing
a booth with Matos. From the titles, you might think their books were a natural match. Apparently the Book Fair's
organizers did too. But in fact House of Ghosts is a historical mystery.
Kaplan bills it as "Raymond Chandler meets The Winds of War." The
nature of the mystery is a little vague to me. Something to do with why the Allies didn't bomb Auschwitz?
Both of them have sold a few books, but not quite
as many as they'd have hoped. Well, it's still early. Do them a favor and visit their websites: www.gothicgraphix.net and www.lawrencekaplanauthor.com. Jamie May Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:50 AM One of the popular free "swag" items given out at the street fair is a fan (on a stick, in the style
of fans waved at churches in the rural South) with the image of Edgar Allan Poe on it from the Mystery Writers of America
Florida chapter booth (which is adjacent to the Murder on the Beach booth, the two forming the hub of crime buying at the
Fair). On the back is their web address. Now all over the fair you can see Poe's comical/grim
image. I'm imagining Poe, who performed The Raven at dinner parties in New York just to get a free supper in his last,
impoverished years, coming to the Book Fair. How long would that signing line be? —Lynne Barrett
Saturday,
Nov. 14, 11:42 AM I'm sitting in on a panel
on the subject of the nonfiction graphic novel (how's that for a hybrid genre?) featuring Dan Goldman ('08: A Graphic Diary of the Campaign Trail), Josh Neufeld (A.D. After the
Deluge), and Joshua Dysart (Unknown Soldier). The walls in the room feature
stunning art and photography featured in what is, in Goldman's mind, the front-runner for this year's Eisner Award, The Photographer.
If you do catch a panel in Building One, Room 1365, come early and take a few minutes to absorb it all. You'll thank
me later.
—David Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:12 AM
In the spirit of free speech, each member of the PEN International Panel on Censorship gave his or her personal take on how
American writers confront issues of censorship. The panel included Sam Tanenhaus (The Death
of Conservatism), Barnard Professor Mary Gosdon (Reading Jesus: A Writer's Encounter
with the Gospels), novelist Michael Thomas (Man Gone Down), critic Francine
Prose (Anne Frank), and local litearati Ana Menendez (The
Last War).
The discussion began
with San Tanenhaus, who described himself as "the oldest living American Jew to have never been to Miami before."
Tanenhouse opened the dialogue by returning to an argument as ancient as Plato's Republic
and Aristotle's Poetics. He said there are two ways that authors confront censorship
in their own writing: ideologically or aesthetically, and that these two notions intersect at morality. Tanenhaus said
writers must always be mindful that issues of acceptability or social decorum not undermine the candor we expect from serious
writing of any kind.
The real challenge,
according to Mary Gordon, is writing something that you are not proud of and that you think the reading public might not be
proud of either." Speaking mostly about self-censorship, Gordon raised the issue of personal experience, asking
whether life can be copyrighted. For the twenty-first century person, naturally inclined to write about herself, the
questions, said Gordon, are: "Whose material is it anyway?" "Do have the right to write about my
mother?" My family?" "Can I turn their lives into fiction?" Gordon's answer: "You
have the right to write anything you want, but not to publish anything you want." Still, she warned, there is a
difference between saying "I don't want this published" and "I find this objectionable." Gordon
closed by saying that writers should not allow their struggle with censorship to encroach on their responsibility to witness.
Michael Thomas had a written speech prepared, but it read more
like a stream-of-consciousness pondering on the power and purpose of words. To do justice to his reading, I will attempt
to capture it's style in this summary: "Among the things my father gave me was 'Orwell on the knee.' . . . We say
'troops' instead of 'humas' because 'we lost 7500 umans' ust doesn't sound right. . . words should unlock our secrets and
not bury them . . .rather than be alienated by words, I want to be made whole . . Machiavelli believed there's the way the
world is and the way it ought to be and words exist for the way the world ought to be . . ." Thomas used to do
construction work in Brooklyn. During a job he had the following epiphany: "Manal labor builds so little, the word
builds flesh."
Francine Prose read
from her newly published hstory on Anne Frank, her diary, and life, stating the surprising fact that The Diary of Anne Frank
is aong the ost censored books in this country, not because it deals with the Holocause, but because it deals with Anne Frank's
burgeoning sexuality. "How unfortuante," said Prose, "that the book should be banned for something it
does well." Prose told of a schoolteacher who lost her job in 2004 for assigning the book to her 9th grade class.
According to Prose, the parents who complained charged the book with "encouraging secular humanism and tolerance,"
teachings which they said went against their deepest beliefs.
Last to speak was former Miami Herald reporter and novelist Ana Menendez. She called
attention to the fact that each year PEN International pblishes a book with the names of writers imprisoned for issues of
censorship. "It is this thick," she said, holding her thumb and index finger about two inches apart.
As a way to honor those people, Menendez chose to use her time on the panel to read from the book of names. For the
next seven minutes or so, she read name-after-name until the list became a sort of incantation. I nticed that al the
names were either Asian (many sounding specifically Chinese), Middle Eastern, or Hispanic, which is telling about the state
of free speech and civil rights throughout much of the developing world. Menend closed with a barrage of statistics
on censored writers worldwide from January to June of this year alone. There were many more, but I managed to capture
the following: 9 put to death, 136 cases pending, 72 under investigation, 193 on trial, 21 sentences, 56 in detention, another
56 harassed, 32 under threat, 2 kidnapped, 1 in hiding.
Esther Martinez
Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:10
AM
This just in! CNN has changed Dr. Sanjay Gupta's assginment and his 1:00 PM appearance has been cancelled. I'm
sitting in Chapman Auditorium, one of the largest veues at the Fair. The PEN International Panel on Censorship is just
about to begin. It was just announced that Orhan Pamuk, one of the six panelists scheduled to speak on "Freedom
to Write," is also unable to attend. I am going to exercise my freedom to write that I am very disappointed.
—Esther Martinez Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:08 AM Al Gore keeps getting better. More articulate, impassioned, witty, electable (if
he wanted to take time out from saving the planet for future generations' occupation). He kicked off Saturday at the
Book Fair (9:30 in Chapman) in SRO and Standing-O fashion. After the obligatory self-deprecating warm-up ("I used
to be the next president of the United States," etc.), he gave a quick overview of the "unequivocal evidence"
(at least in the minds of science- and fact-based people) of the progress and present danger of global warming. Don't
worry, Florida, the lightning and fires will get you before the rising ocean does. Then he made the case that, from
a U.S. perspective, the triple threat of climate, economy (let's create jobs), and security (let's break the reliance on foreign
oil) can be addressed together through an all-out commitment to renewable energy.
His new book, Our
Choice, is his plan for dealing with the inconvenient truth of global warming, and he gave a chapter-by-chapter tour:
how we got in hot water, the ready state of renewable energy today (except for the transmission grid to move it around), the
role of living systems (forests, soil, population), the obstacles that need to be removed, and what we owe future generations
("What were you doing while the icecap melted, Grandpa, watching Dancing with the Stars?").
He's given this talk a zillion times already, but his passion still takes over. Running short of time, he said he'd
cover the last few points quickly, but then one of the points grabs him, and he can't not
say everything he wants to.
Gore is
relentlessly pulling together the evidence on what's happening to the climate and what to do about it, and he's working with
every organization he can enlist in the cause. The situation is complex, but his closing "call to arms" is
simple: "Don't just change your light bulbs, change our policy and laws . . . We have everything in place to solve the
problem except political will, and political will is a renewable resource."
—Robert Morison
Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:07 AM BOOKS OR BUST! While waiting for
one of the readings to begin, I met Jean Driscoll, a Book Fair supporter and a Naples resident. Jean said this is the
third year she has taken a charter bus packed with friends and book club members to Miami to spend the weekend at the Fair.
At a time when the publishing industry is struggling (is it ever not?), it's so reassuring to know there are people out there
who consider a book fair as worthy a destination as Atlantic City.
—Esther Martinez Saturday, Nov. 14, 11:03 AM "Libros! Cinco dolares! Libros! Cinco
dolares!"
—David Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 10:55 AM There's a bookseller tent with a banner that reads "How to Get Your Book Published/Laugh
Out Loud." I'm not sure how to interpret that.
—David Gonzalez
Saturday, Nov. 14,
10:33 AM For $43 I came away with a killing of
six books from one of the booksellers I most look forward to visiting every year at the book fair, Pineapple Press.
The press specializes in Florida (as well as Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, and sundry aspects of Southern Culture) literature.
Expect to find books on topics as diaprate as haunted lighthouses, fine dining during hurricane blackouts, folkloric history
of the lower Keys, Dixie barbecue, guides to Florida landscaping, compendiums of shipwrecks and the finer points of divorce
proceedings thorought the state of Florida. Publisher David Cussen and his wife June are manning the tent, and they
are both as pleasant as can be. I told Mr. Cussen that I was a beginning writer and that I wrote almost exclusively
about Florida and its myriad cultures. He said, "Well, keep writing and one day we can publish one of your
books." I smiled politely but thought to myself, You're not telling me anything I haven't already pondered. David Gonzalez Saturday, Nov. 14, 9:45 AM It's quiet still. Parking was a cinch and only a few of the vendors have opened
their tents. The calm belies the density of people sure to take over the streets in a few hours. There's no line
at the Café Bustelo cart, so I buy a cortadito and pair it with an arepa for breakfast. David Gonzalez |
Friday, Nov. 13, 4:53 PM
My press pass gets me in free to one of the Florida Council for the Literary Arts' workshops, which normally cost $50.
Sweet! Earlier in the day Jill McCorkle ran a fiction workshop, which sounded cool, but I missed it. This one
is "Inside the World of Publshing" with PJ Campbell and Kirsten Neuhaus.
Workshop participants trickle in gradually, clutching folders and plastic bags,
presumably full of manuscripts. Some are dressed for writerly success in slacks and blazers. Others, like
me, sport sneakers and wrinkled shirts.
Campbell is director of events at Wiley Publishing. Big smile, pearls, khaki jacket and pointy shoes. Her theory
is that what it takes for an author to succeed "at the bookstore level" comes down to one thing: "Relationships."
She's the author of 101 Author Tips: Creating A Successful Book Campaign.
She asks whether anyone has had a book published.
One guy goes, "Uh-huh." Well then, is anyone working on a book? Everyone in the room puts up a hand.
(Me too.) One attendee can't contain herself, pipes up to tell Campbell: "You are exactly what I needed.
You are exactly the angel I've been loking for!" We're an enthusiastic group.
Campbell's talking mainly about the process of promoting a book, and what authors
can do to make their books popular. She mostly runs through the steps she took to promote her own book. It's a
little meta: You can learn how to promote your book by studying the way I promoted my book about promoting books! She advises us to join writer's associations, use social websites, get media coverage. "I don't
have to tell you how big video has gotten on the internet. Use video." Surely good advice, but it leads to
another meta moment: she shows us video of herself giving a presentation like the one she's giving us right now. This
video is posted on YouTube in order to promote her book. I quickly lose track of what's advice about how to promote
and what's actual promotion.
Authors, she tells us, must be
ready to promote themselves and partner with the publisher. Know the publisher's departments: Publicity, Events,
Sales, Creative Services, Distribution Center, your in-house contacts. Yikes. Sounds like work.
The crowd is gettig antsy. Enough about promotion!
How do I get my book taken? A couple of people interrupt Campbell to ask this in anxious tones.
Campbell defers to Neuhaus, who runs her own literary agency.
She's younger, less smiley. She notes that she takes a second look at query letters that reference books she's already
been an agent for. She also tells us she takes a lot of stuff based on references from trusted sources. Not music
to the ears of a roomful of aspiriting writers without connections.
"But do you need an agent? To get published, I mean?" says an audience member. Neuhaus and Campbell are in
agreement on this: the answer is yes.
After a while, Neuhaus takes over altogether. She's worked for a few different types of agencies, one a celebrity non-fiction
agency: "Actually the last time I was in Miami was to meet with a very famous musician. That was probably
the most nervous I've ever been." I'm tempted to raise my hand to ask who, but she seems to be withholding it on
purpose. Wonder why? She's much lower-key than Campbell, but clearly quite experienced. I'm pleased to note
that she's still interested in representing novelists. Everything I hear these days makes it sound like publishing types
are more and more regarding that as a losing proposition.
As thing turn into a Q-and-A, I take off. As I depart, questions about query letters, proposals, manuscripts, and choosing
agents ring in my ears. Literary ambition springs eternal at the Book Fair.
Jamie May Friday, Nov. 13, 4:30 PM Just wrapped up a not-super-successful Poem Depot with members of the Miami Poetry Collective. We sold seven poems. Now that the kids have gone home, most people sem a little wary about approaching the booths.
I do manage to get into a conversation with a woman about the pure knowledge her spiritual teacher has to offer down in Booth
251. Didn't catch Teacher's name. Man, apparently this Book Fair is shaping up to be all about expanded consciousness
for me. In the end, the apostle doesn't buy a poem. "You know what the economic situation is like,"
she says.
—Jamie May Friday, Nov. 13, 1:56 PM Took a walk around the booths. As usual, religious publishers are out in force.
Favorite booth names: "Logosophy" and "Spiritual and Spiritist Books." What's a spiritist?
A couple of Islamic organizations. They looked like they weren't getting a lot of traffic. The Ahmadiyya Muslim
Community prominently displays a sign condemning murder for any reason. I wonder if people are going to want to talk
to them about Fort Hood?
As I walk around
I'm handed a tabloid called Kabbalah Today. I learn that "Kabbalists are
ordinary people just like you and me; the only difference is that they have developed a new sense that enables them to feel
an additional realm of reality, the spiritual world." There's a feature on the back page titled "Ask the Kabbalist."
Neat!
Jamie May Friday, Nov. 13, 1:08 PM I'm manning the Gulf Stream booth, handing out fliers and talking up our upcoming online issue. Friday is a slow day at the Street Fair.
A lot of elementary school students in matching t-shirts. A group of nine- or ten-year-old girls come by and stare at
our promotional materials in silence for a minute. "Are you girls interested in literary magazines?" I ask.
"Yes," they answer suspiciously, then walk away without another word.
I'm stuck working the booth, my replacement not having arrived yet. That's OK, I was late for my shift too.
Jamie May
|
Saturday, Nov. 14, 9:30 AM
I must begin by saying I am a huge Orhan Pamuk fan. Ever since one of my professors recommended his books about three
years ago, I've been in love with his writing. In my humble opinion, he's quite possibly the Gabriel Garcia Marquez
of my generation. So when I had a chance to attend "An Evening with Orhan Pamuk" on Friday at 7:30 PM, I couldn't
help but be overcome with excitement.
As soon as I got there, I was glad to have arrived early. The line stretched down the hall away from the Chapman Conference
Cente and around the corner toward the building's atrium. I took my place in line and entertained my ears with the sound
of people talking about Pamuk and his books. After going inside and taking a seat, I watched the auditorium fill up
in a matter of minutes. I must confess I had no idea Pamk had so many followers in Miami, but the realization made me
happy.
As I anxiously waited for the
Nobel Prize winner to take the stage, I began observing the black curtain to the left of the stage. It opened and closed
from time to time, so I was hoping to get a glimpse of the backstage area. Then, I saw him, though just for a
moment. Pamuk was speaking with a couple of people, laughing and shaking hands. That's when it hit me. I
was about to see Orhan Pamuk speak. Here. In the flesh.
From the moment he walked on stage, he began talking about his new novel, The Museum of Innocence,
which he described as a love story. He admitted having bought a large number of books that dealt with a similar theme,
reading them, and then asking himself, "What can I do different?" As a response, he decided that his book
should chronicle, in detail, all the things we feel and experience when we fall in love. He told us that the main character
was a thirty-year old Turkish man, rich and good-looking, "Like [in] cheap novels." He talked about using
Istanbul as a backdrop, and then read excerpts from different parts of the book. At one point, while referring to his
main character's situation (the man's engaged and having an affair on the side), Pamuk started to say some negative things
aout the character's disposition. Catching himself, he stopped and said, "Maybe I shouldn't judge him."
The audience laughed, and he moved on with the reading.
During the Q & A session, Pamuk was asked about Istanbul, to which he replied, "Istanbul is my home. I've lived
there all my life." He stated that he wrote about the city so much because that's the place he knows best.
Also, he declared that, in his opinion, Gabriel Garcia Marquez is the best novelist we have today, and later said that the
four greatest novelists of all time were Leo Tolstoy, Fyodor Dostoevsky, Marcel Proust, and Thomas Mann. He spoke about
the difference between "verbal" writers and "visual" writers, and said that he considered himself the
latter. He mentioned William Faulkner, Italo Calvino, Jorge Luis Borges and Virginia Woolf as important influences,
and shared that from a very young age he had prepared himself psychologically to be happy as an artist sitting alone in a
room.
Toward the end of the session,
a lady in the audience asked him about his scuffle with the Turkish government a few years ago. He replied, quite politely
and half-jokingly, that many journalists still inquire about this issue when he himself deems it irrelevant today, and that
the worst thing the Turkish government ever did to him is the fact that people still ask him questions like hers. The
crowd reacted with an eruption of laughter and applause.
Afterwards, I stood in line for a few minutes and got my copy of My Name Is Red autographed.
"Thank you so much," I said as Pamuk wrote. "It's truly an honor." He looked up at me, smiled,
and said, "Thank you."
Yes,
I almost passed out.
Dariel Suarez Friday,
Nov. 13, 10:30 AM I saw the first three
of Isabella Rossellini's Green Porno very short films about the sex lives on insects
on the web when they debuted there in 2008. These two-minute flicks are light and deep, funny with, often at the end,
a shock of sadness. We watch her mate as a male fly, and then see the proud couple's offspring as maggots coming out
of the head of a dead Isabella Rosselini. Writing, directing, and performing, Rossellini takes the appealing personification
of bugs we know from children's books and adds "porno," which is simply the reality of sex and birth and death,
often death with an element of ecological peril. The first series drew millions of viewers to Sundance online and won Webby awards for best experimental film and best individual performance. Rossellini went on to make two more
series, looking at marine life, and, now, Green Porno the book, which includes the
complete dvd.
Rossellini's Book Fair
appearance on Thursday evening drew a large crowd to Chapman Auditorium. Perhaps some were there to see the star of
Blue Velvet, the daughter of Roberto Rossellini and Ingrid Bergman, expecting a celebrity-bio-type
event, but the bio here was all biology, as Rossellini explained how she began writing and directing these projects and showed
a sampling of the two minute films and a six minute one (which she referred to as her "epic") on elephant seals
that combined animation, documentary footage, and commentary by biologist Claudio Campagna. Like her work, Rossellini
is charming, impish, and gracefully serious, never preachy. A measure of her success in compelling the audience to see
what she is up to is that the questions centered on her writing and her creative evolution. The influence of the silent
film shorts she saw in Italy as a child, her interest in nature at fourteen, her work as a model and actress, all led her
to the particular and original work she is doing now.
Afterwards, as people lined up to have their books signed and raised their phones to take pictures, I thought about a conversation
among my neighbors in the audience beforehand, about the Book Fair's need for financial support and the ever-thinning coverage
of books in our local newspapers. Somehow, the innovation of Rossellini's work overturned all worries. When in
two minutes one can be entertained, amused, and shocked into thought by the image of Rossellini as a molting shrimp or anchovy
struggling to stay in the midst of her school of anchovies to survive, one goes out into the night refreshed in belief in
the simple power of story, character, and art. Lynne Barrett Wednesday, Nov. 11, 3:30 PM I went to
see Prometeo Theater's presention of Chéjov vs. Chéjov on Tuesday at
8 PM, a play that combines elements of Anton Chekhov's life with some of his short stories and one act plays. Presented
in Spanish with English supertitles, the show is performed mostly by students of Prometeo's Spanish-language professional
theater training program, the only one of its kind in the entire country. The production is being presented in conjuction
with Miami Book Fair International.
I arrived early and was able to be among the first to go inside. Although I had been to this theater before and knew
that the stage reaches near the entrance at a lower level than the audience, I was suprised to see the actors already standing
in set positions. Because of this, I was immediately transported into another world as I bordered the stage on the way
to my seat. Once there, I fixed my eyes on the characters, their varied expressions and revealing postures, seemingly a sign
of things to come.
During the course
of the show, with help from a few of Chekhov's own characters and the writer's reflections on them, we discover aspects of
Chekhov's life that yield a greater understanding of his dreams and struggles, as well as his legacy. An avid fan of
the Russian master, I truly enjoyed director Jacqueline Briceño's fascinating
vision, along with the outstanding job done by the cast.
At the conclusion of the show, the cast and crew were introduced to the audience by Prometeo Theter's director Joann María Yarrow. After taking their places on, a stage Q & A session began during which I asked lead actor Jorge
Hernandez, a professor in Prometeo Theater's program, to talk about the process of channeling Chekhov the man. Hernandez,
whom I had met on a previous occasion, joked that my question would lead him to places he didn't necessarily want to go.
However, he ended up sharing his admiration of Chekhov's view of the world, especially the writer's love for nature and humanity.
He also confessed that playing the character was a pleasurable experience because he saw a lot of Chekhov in himself.
A lady from the audience commented that she was
moved by the performances, and that she thought the applause offered to the cast was a genuine response to a poignant play.
Finally, the director spoke about the research she did and the importance of knowing more about Anton Chekhov's life.
Before leaving the theater, members of the audience mingled with the actors on stage, shaking hands and offering congratulations.
I had a chance to shake hands with Hernandez, who thanked me for my question with a warm smile.
Chéjov vs. Chéjov will
be performed at 8 PM Thursday and Friday, Nov. 12 and 13, and Friday and Saturday, November 20 and 21, at the Prometeo Theater,
on MDC's Wolfson Campus, Building One, first floor, 300 NE 2nd Avenue. The director and cast have been invited to present
the play at the New England Russian Theater Festival this coming February. Dariel Suarez I attended the "Evening with Margaret Atwood" event on Sunday night at 7
PM and it was great to see the auditorium packed to capacity. The line stretched through the spacious halls of the building
long before the event began, and though I arrived close to starting time, I was able to get a good seat.
Margaret Atwood came out with a great deal of energy and enthusiasm. She opened with her trademark dry humor and made
it a point to address vegetarianism, free-trade coffee, and bird conservation, issues that she's been heavily involved
with for several yars. She even asked the audience to raise their hands and pledge to drink only a certain kind of coffee,
the harvesting of which does not threaten migratory birds in a way that mass-market coffee exports do. Being one to
make only pledges I intend to honor, I kept my hand down. Not that I hate birds, mind you."
Her reading came from her new novel The Year of the Flood, which takes place in the same future world as Oryx
and Crake, her apocalyptic parable about the dangers of genetic engineering. I brought my well-worn copy of Oryx and Crake and luckily got it signed. I'm a sucker for book signings.
Prompted by an audience question about whether she considers her work
science fiction, she went into her speech regarding her belief that science fiction must involve either people going to other
planets or beings from other planets coming here, a definition that I've always disagreed with and still do. Atwood
refers to her work as 'speculative fiction,' which of course is fine. As a fan of science fiction literature (and
yes, it can be literature), I have issues with any definition that would exclude writers such as Philip K. Dick from the science
fiction canon.
But Atwood was wonderfully witty and intelligent,
as she always is, and it was a privilege to hear her speak. I'd never been to one of her readings before. I just
recently bought her new book and it's high on my "To Read" pile, and I hope it provides as profound an experience
as I got from Oryx and Crake.
Jamie Elens
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
