Haut or Not: Joan Didion
We’ve been trying to do a special Joan Didion Haut or Not for the past few months, corresponding not only with her agent, but her agent’s numerous assistants. This paper-ridden FedEx-pectation process of contracts ultimately led to her New York apartment (we even hired a professional photographer), where it was precluded, indignantly, by Didion herself. She told us to thank her rheumatism, the only reason we weren’t all punched in the face. We were, however, able to sneak a quick peak at what appeared to be The Year of Magical Thinking, no doubt a signed copy.
Rating: Not (probably).
…or not. Guilty pleasures
I am so fascinated by Jimmy Chen’s peeks into the bookshelves and psyches of Giant readers, that I find myself wondering what volumes were lying on the periphery of the pictures submitted for Haut or Not, outside the camera’s some-encompassing portrait. What books do we not want our fellow tea-sipping lit snob confederates to see? I think we should lay it all out on the line, and I’ll start. In the interest of full disclosure, I won’t even stop at one bastard lovechild—I’ll give you three.
Atlas Shrugged, by Ayn Rand: The heroes are libertarian caricatures, the underlying philosophy is borderline psychotic and it’s a bazillion pages long. But, damn it, Rand plays me like a fiddle, and after each time I’ve read it (twice, so far), I emerge like the second coming of Ron Paul for about a month, until I remember that I’m not really a fascist asshole.
Any book by Clive Cussler: Sure, some are better (Treasure, Cyclops) than others (any of his latter day sins), but this modern master of pulp has written some of the best devil-may-care banter I have ever read. I wrote to him when I was in Little League, and not only did Cussler write back, but sent me the original postscript page, edits and all, of his book Inca Gold. Dude rules.
Shroud of the Thwacker, by Chris Elliott: I waited in line to get him to sign my copy of this book. Which he did. As Hiram T. Wifflepop III.
What books are you ashamed to love?
Haut or Not: Giancarlo Ditrapano
Finally — a rejection letter to (instead of from) the editor of New York Tyrant.
Dear New York Tyrant,
Thank you for submitting your book shelf to Haut or Not. Unfortunately, it’s not what we are looking for right now. We’re tying to go in a ‘maybe life doesn’t completely suck’ direction, and all your books have a ‘life completely sucks’ feel to it. Sartre was nauseous; Faulkner’s mother was a fish; Kafka’s Czech was never in the mail; never let naked boys hang out on an island; never let an alcoholic hang out under a volcano — yada yada we get the point. Cheever and Saunders offer jestful energy and enthusiasm, but then you go fuck it up with freaking Johnny Got His Gun — what every Metallica fan just had to read, huh? Grim-face Nietzsche is a redundancy, and what’s up with the Banville – O’Hara – Bowles ‘middle-aged man discontent’ trio? You too can stick your face at some foreign wind, but it’s not gonna help your hair situation. It would’ve been funny to see Isaac Babel next to Racial Hygiene, but you had to restrain yourself didn’t you? Also, you didn’t double-space your books, include a self-addressed stamped crate, or give us your BEST THREE BOOKS. Simultaneous submissions are not allowed, and you’re simultaneously being a prick and a pansy. Feel free to submit again, after you get some hope for the human race (which includes the Jews you Nazi).
Rating: Not
Haut or Not: contributor couplet
Justin Taylor
Of course there’s Barthelme — and Lish, and Brautigan, and Markson — these writers are not knee-jerk ambivalent with form, but better, curious about its malleability. They always nodded to the past, full circle. A hot rating is likely, if not inevitable, but what concerns me more is that pile of rubber bands, the Grateful Dead box set, and the array of book marks. Justin, please don’t tell me you’re one of those bookish hipster kids who wear rubber bands like a bracelet. If those function any way as cock rings, congratulations, your girth is unyielding. I had to google St. Mark’s Bookshop and it’s a pleasure imagining you perusing the shelves (we all love that glue and pulp smell) but must you take a complimentary bookmark every single time? Or are those testament to each book you bought there? As for the Grateful Dead — to borrow a line from my mother whenever she heard Motley Crue coming out of my room, “I can smell them from here.” Free love is okay, free drugs is probably better, but these guys were just annoying. I do give Justin props for boldly fracturing his rubber band bracelet image. Should we ever see Justin with a beard, we’ll know that shit ain’t Walt Whitman. Nah, it’s positively Haight Street. How about this for a c/o Lish title: Will you please take a shower, please?
Haut or Not: 3 balls in a sack
Ravi Mangla
Thing Things They Carried: all the crap on the floor because there wasn’t a table. Catch-22: there’s no table and all the books are on the floor. A Farewell to Arms: how about a farewell to crap on the floor? Independence Day: forget about pastoral America, first get your shit off the floor Ravi. The Tipping Point: it don’t matter if anything tips over cuz everything is already on the god damn floor. Introducing Derrida: are you serious Ravi? You actually care about post-structuralist linguistic theory? Dude, here’s a pre-structuralist theory: If Ravi gets his ASS to IKEA and gets himself a fucking table, he can put his lame shit books on it one day and not be such a carpet whore.
Rating: Not
Haut or Not: Zachary German
Tao Lin emailed us a sideways pic of Zachary German’s bookcase. I decided there was no point in straightening out the pic since German wasn’t straight (that’s arguably not a gay joke). Also, one can better see the spines this way. I cropped the entry into three separate pics (conveniently separated by shelves). There’s no way to do this except after the break — trust me.
Haut or not: A Triad
Alan Horn
Alan Horn apparently really wanted us to read the spines, as he included a very high-resolution pic accompanying the ‘regular’ pic. A lot a blood and sex if you ask me (and I’m not talking about the Bible): Psychopathia Sexualis: An [unclear] Forensic Study, Locked Room Murders, Philosophy in the Bedroom, A History of Secret Societies etc. I feel like I’m looking at Jack the Ripper’s bookshelf. ‘Summer Bachelors,’ ‘What is that?’ and ‘Kiss your ass goodbye,’ none of which I know anything about, are amazing titles. This is probably the most interesting bookshelf we’ve seen. I’ve been criticized often for relying too much on penis jokes, so let me just say that Neither Man Nor Woman: The Hijras of India sounds like a castrati — I mean, captivating read.
Rating: [fucking] Haut
Haut or Not: A couplet
Alicia Gifford
Folks, here’s sneak (albeit pixelated) look at what the fiction editor of Night Train reads. Tempted as I was to ask her to resend a higher resolution pic, I thought about the ‘visual vocabulary of spines,’ how we’ve come to recognize a book by its design — how the spine often acts as an abbreviated version of the cover, in terms of color, fonts, etc. The title’s legibility is often not as important as the spine’s thematic composition. Yes, you can’t judge a book by its cover, but you can judge how sauve the publisher is; and the publisher hires the editor that judges the book — so in the end it’s related. Matthew Simmons, who works at a bookstore, has a knack for pointing out books. So, what do you see?
Haut or Not: “Worst of” (w/ digression)
What I could see happening has happened: satirical Haut or Not entrees — and from whom other than ‘TTB’ aka ‘Two Tears Boye,’ from Jaguar Uprising Press. (Circa 07-08 TTB and his partner Golden Bear were lamented/admired for their satirical takes on Bear Parade titles.) TTB writes this:
Hi, My name is jimmy chen. I wuz wundering if u could review my current reads bookcase on yur super duper website thingy! THANKS A BUNDLE!! hehe lol.
Empathetic satire or pure derision? I’ll opt for the former. TTB’s jest was followed by no doubt a found picture of some girl’s stack o’ chick books. TTB’s derivative impulses are arguably haut, but this stack of books may be the worst stack of books I’ve ever seen in my life.
Haut or Not: A Couplet
Tim Jones-Yelvington
I can’t argue with this guy — these books are just too haut. Good to see ‘writer’s writers’ like Diane Williams and Steven Millhauser, powerful ‘famous’ ladies like Moore, Gaitskill (I wish her last name was Hall) and Oates; and of course, our friends Tao Lin, Blake Butler, and Kim Chinquee. (Incidentally, Rachel B. Glaser’s ‘fiction’ piece about Christ, and Christ-like pop figures, in the pictured American Short Fiction is fucking great.) Impressed to see Vol. II (In the Shadow of Young Girls in Flower) of Proust’s epic — as most people only read Swann’s Way and consider it done (like me). I will get slammed for this I’m sure, but I never really understood the cult behind Jesus’ Son. I have this theory that, like cats, we are either indoor or outdoor readers. Jane Austen would be the epitome of writer of indoor books, and maybe Graham Green or Conrad as writer of outdoor books. I’m an indoor kinda guy, and Denis Johnson feels outdoorsy. And just for the records, my ‘best american fantasy 2’ doesn’t involve the genre, but a shortage at the sperm bank during a sorority convention. I should grow up soon.
Rating: Haut