Blake Butler
http://www.gillesdeleuzecommittedsuicideandsowilldrphil.com/
Blake Butler lives in Atlanta. His third book, There Is No Year, is forthcoming April 2011 from Harper Perennial.
This is not not a Contest
Clearly self-serving, but it’s free (like self promoting contests should be), and there’s already a ton of prizes, so what the hay:
Lamination Colony is hosting a free writing contest, no entry fee, with prizes of publication, books (including html contributor Chelsea Martin’s everything was fine until whatever), handmade art, a picture of my ass, and a continuously increasing array of prizes donated from all around, including (so far):
* (1) copy of Shane Jones’s ‘Light Boxes‘ from Publishing Genius
* (1) copy of Molly Gaudry’s ‘We Take Me Apart’ forthcoming from ML Press
* the last hand edited manuscript of THE SELF ESTEEM HOLOCAUST COMES HOME and a printed copy of FROWNS NEED FRIENDS TOO (new two books from Sam Pink)
* a copy of William Walsh’s ‘Questionstruck,’ Thomas Cooper’s ‘Phantasmagoria’ and Issue 7 of Keyhole, all from Keyhole Press+ a ton more listed here
More prizes are being added by the hour (feel free to offer up your own), and again, it’s free.
This is a serious contest, there will be a winner, (at least 1-2) runner ups, everyone will get free shit, it will be free and people will read words maybe and talk about it not because there was a contest but because there are words.
For more info on what/how to enter, check the specs here. Thanks.
Review of Matthew Simmons’s ‘A Jello Horse’ (by Christopher Higgs)
I see this text consisting of a heart and appendages.
The heart = the funeral.
The appendages = the memories (of what it’s like to be a kid & of previous dating experiences) – plus the experiences at the roadside attractions.
Oddly, the heart (the funeral section) seemed to be of tangential importance. What seemed to hold the most significance, for me anyways, were the appendages. But perhaps that observation says more about me as a reader – and what I see as a tension between reality and imagination – than about the text itself.
As a reader, I generally tend to dislike conventional realism because I find it uninteresting to read a transcript of a situation that could feasibly occur in the ordinary reality in which I live: in the case of A Jello Horse it would be what I am calling the heart — the transcript of driving to a house party, playing pinball, going to a funeral, going to a health clinic, etc. And to be honest, I can’t really understand why other people don’t feel the same negative reaction to this kind of realism. I mean, we already share this ordinary existence, why would I want someone to tell me about their version of it? That would be like someone giving me a running commentary while I’m watching a Lakers game. It’s like: dude, I’m watching it with you, I don’t need you to tell me your version of it – I already have my version, which I will always value greater than anyone else’s version. What I don’t have is whatever strange imaginary things other people hide in their heads, which is one of the primary reasons I turn to literature in the first place.
Uncategorized / 34 Comments
May 27th, 2009 / 7:57 pm
May 27th, 2009 / 7:57 pm
Video Game Art: ‘Passage’
There’s been a lot of discussion of video games and their influences on literary art.
Here, then, is a rather rare and interesting entity in the realm of conceptual gaming: Jason Rohrer’s ‘Passage.’ (Free to download and very little time required in the playing, give it a try, you’ll see).
Because the point and nature of the game are not immediately apparent, you should download and explore it, paying attention, and then, if you are interested, follow for more thoughts after the break.
Two Dollar Radio rereleases Rudy Wurlitzer
Two Dollar Radio has just now rereleased Rudolph Wurlitzer’s classic ‘Nog,’ a sincerely gritty and visceral book with sentences that crush. Having read this book in earlier editions, I can tell you this book feels just as vital and fresh now as it likely did among the literary terrain of its original release in the 60’s, perhaps even more so.
But let’s don’t have me give you the word on it. Let’s have Thomas Pynchon:
“Wow, this is some book, I mean, it’s more than a beautiful and heavy trip, it’s also very important in an evolutionary way, showing us directions we could be moving in — hopefully another sign that the Novel of Bullshit is dead and some kind of re-enlightenment is beginning to arrive, to take hold. Rudolph Wurlitzer is really, really good, and I hope he manages to come down again soon, long enough anyhow to guide us on another one like Nog.”
Death to the Novel of Bullshit, what else can you ask for?
Friday G-Funk Throwback For Ya’ll Bitches (With Flute)
Don’t never forget bout Nate Dogg:
I got love.
Dispatches from Captain Maximus (guest posted by Michael Bible)
Michael Bible, a former student of Barry Hannah (and wearing one of the best names around), shares some of his Hannah light:
Zita, an odd and earnest woman in her 60’s, sat in on Barry Hannah’s workshop. She often reeked of gin. She hounded Barry so much about “rules” to writing (something he preached hard against) that he finally caved and wrote out a few things for her about her writing. She photocopied the handwritten “rules” and passed them out to everyone in the class the next week. So when reading this remember they are addressed to her.
1. [Your writing is] in the rut of adjectives and “Life Studies.” In the rut of people who aren’t there.
Sonora Review 55/56
The forthcoming new double issue of Sonora Review features, among other things, a massive tribute to my man David Foster Wallace, fiction by HTML Guru Ryan Call, local favorites Sean Lovelace and Keith Montesano, and if that’s not enough for you to want to buy it, well, just go back to one of our other recent threads arguing about who’s a dick and who isn’t… dick.
Look:
Seriously, this is an issue worth getting excited for. Get off yr butt and order it and whatnot. Here’s some more info:
The preorders for the latest Sonora Review issue, featuring an expansive in-addition-to-the-awesome-fiction/non-/poetry-lineup Wallace tribute section, including the uncollected Wallace story, Solomon Silverfish, essays and reflections from Sven Birkerts, Michael Sheehan interviewing Tom Bissell, Charles Bock, Marshall Boswell, Greg Carlisle, Jonathan Franzen, Dave Eggers, Ken Kalfus, Glenn Kenny, Lee Martin, Michael Martone, Rick Moody interviewing Michael Pietsch, and art and prose from Karen Green, will have shipped by (NOW!). We’ve had a wonderful response, and while issues are still for sale they’re no longer available through paypal: just follow the check mailing instructions below and you should be able to get your hands on this truly remarkable issue, which also includes new work by Aimee Bender, fantastic short-short contest winners, and interviews with Marilynne Robinson, Junot Diaz, Ron Hansen and Ben Marcus.
Uh, duh. Let’s go!
Uncategorized / 10 Comments
May 21st, 2009 / 1:52 am
May 21st, 2009 / 1:52 am
Down South with the Ghost of Larry Brown (guest posted by Kevin Sampsell)
Is it weird to cry over the death of a writer? When Larry Brown died just before Thanksgiving in 2004 at the age of 53, I remember seeing the news of it on a web site and involuntarily saying “Holy shit” out loud, even though no one else was around. I didn’t cry then but I wanted to, as if my tears would represent a show of respect or offer a thank you to the man who wrote many of my favorite short stories and novels. His writing was a beautiful streamlined machine, full of blunt emotion, a subtle trashy humor, and down-on-their-luck country boys, and hard southern women. With each book, Larry’s style got tighter, more muscular. Later novels like Joe and Fay conjure up names like Flannery O’Connor and adjectives like classic and cinematic. In 1994, I saw Larry read at Powell’s Books from his memoir, On Fire. Although he didn’t like to do the book tour circuit, and often drank too much while on the road (drinking is often the favorite pastime of his characters), he was on his best behavior and was soft-spoken and gentlemanly when I asked him to sign my books. Two years later, he came back to town for his powerful revenge novel, Father and Son. For some reason, I missed that reading, but I heard he was bleary-eyed drunk and read a rape scene before plopping down to sign books for the stunned audience.