More times than not we consider ourselves savvy individuals, especially when it comes to literature. After all, it’s what we do, and think about, and dream about. But, after reading David Shields’s Reality Hunger, our proclaimed savviness is under construction. Are Shields’s concepts the stuff of a manifesto, or do they merely parlay the insight of thinkers from the past? Luc Sante weighs in on the NY Times. Speaking of manifestos, where do war veterans turn when they want to relive their experiences through books? Tim O’Brien comes to mind. But where else? Lewis Carroll was a tricky fellow; perhaps he should have been a mathematician, which leads us to The Big Short, a book about numbers and the housing crash of 2008. Elsewhere, John E. Bolt is interviewed in Bookslut, a critic pursues her fascination with taxidermy, and the Guardian figures the value of publishing the advice of aging poets is worth its stock in gold. Talk about savvy. — Kevin Murphy
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Monday’s Body of Work
Pedaling Toward Spring On Vashon Island
March arrives and with it comes the promise of spring. Soon the days will be warmer and brighter. Flowers will bloom. Fruit and veggies will grow. Birdsong will echo from the rooftops. All this in due time, friends. But until then, it’s still a bit dreary — at least here in the good old Northwest. To commemorate this transitional time of year, today we’re looking at literature news that’s on the move. Richard Bausch leads the push with a new collection of stories, followed by Ian McEwan, who is profiled — in all his transitory glory — by the Observer. David Shields’ Reality Hunger is sowing seeds with critics, Stephen Burt discusses the poetry of war, and the Complete Review examines a highly anticipated new translation called Hocus Bogus. Elsewhere, a journalist for the Post-Gazette recounts her inky relationship with J.D. Salinger, first edition titles garner praise from the Book Bench and the Book of Kells gets an animation job. Now that’s what we call a seasonal shift. — Kevin Murphy
Every day people carve new paths. It’s not simply that we yearn to construct additional roads, it’s more that we have an insatiable desire to arrive at new places — for industry, commerce, culture, and…literature. In keeping with our propensity for fresh locales, today we’re looking at books and stories that use pavement as their magic carpet. Let’s begin with William T. Vollman’s review of Routes of Man – a worthy read no matter which side of the road you’re on — and then consider Slate’s interpretation of the novelist’s modern-day Odyssey, which, rather oddly, parallels Anna Gavalda’s boulevard of broken dreams. Moving on, Stieg Larsson paves a one-way street to success, a Yankee from the Boston Globe road-trips to Flannery O’Conner’s native state, and N+1 has a high speed Vancouver narrative that brakes just shy of Rain Taxi’s collision with Brian Evenson, which, (roadies take note) makes all the difference in the world. — Kevin Murphy
The romance is over. It’s Monday. Maybe you’re a lucky government stud and have the day off. Maybe you’re not. In which case you, like us, sit idly morbid, humming leftover tunes from a Valentine’s Day that rode the crest of a fleetingly beautiful wave. It was a splendid, caterwauling weekend, one that saw the introduction of Dark Sky Books, but one also that disappeared quicker than a Sunday night box of sweetheart chocolates. Such is life — the writing life, that is. Speaking of which, here’s today’s literature news — guaranteed to mildly distract you from the abyss that is this wonderfully uncomfortable moment in time, Monday: The Guardian considers the emptiness of life, but will generation zero answer? Iain McGilchrist explains the limitations of duality, European novels gather rust, and a skeptical bookslut reconsiders her point of view. Elsewhere, the Living Scotsman describes an old school way of life, Mikhail Bulgokov is memorialized in the Irish Times and a 17-year-old author/plagiarist/writer-of-her-time is skewered in Harper’s Magazine. We urge you to move forward with stealth, caution and integrity. After all, Monday’s don’t fuck around. — Kevin Murphy






