One of the funniest newspaper clips I’ve read in some time!

I saw this on a friend’s Facebook wall and I couldn’t resist snatching this image and posting it here.  Apparently there is news to be reported when cows are assaulted by burros and die from it.  The parts in red are the best, of course.  “the Municipality considers that the cow provoked the ass” and “it was around a young burro, with much strength, and of course the cow left itself completely nude with its teats to the air, well of course it [the donkey] left its mother and charged.”

There are some sad realities embedded in that, but oh how odd this story reads!

National Book Critics Circle Awards finalists announced

Details are found here at the organization’s website.  Asterisks denote books that I have read, most of which I reviewed last year (with links provided to those reviews):

Fiction
Teju Cole, Open City (Random House)
Jeffrey Eugenides, The Marriage Plot (Farrar, Straus and Giroux)
Alan Hollinghurst, The Stranger’s Child (Knopf)
* Edith Pearlman, Binocular Vision (Lookout Books)
* Dana Spiotta, Stone Arabia (Scribner)

Nonfiction
Amanda Foreman, A World on Fire: Britain’s Crucial Role in the American Civil War (Random)
James Gleick, The Information (Pantheon)
Adam Hochschild, To End All Wars: A Story of Loyalty and Rebellion, 1914-1918 (Houghton Mifflin Harcourt)
Maya Jasanoff, Liberty’s Exiles: American Loyalists in the Revolutionary War (Knopf)
John Jeremiah Sullivan, Pulphead: Essays (Farrar, Straus, & Giroux)

Autobiography
Diane Ackerman, One Hundred Names for Love: A Stroke, A Marriage, and the Language of Healing (W.W. Norton)
Mira Bartók, The Memory Palace (Free Press)
Sharifa Rhodes-Pitts, Harlem Is Nowhere: A Journey to the Mecca of Black America (Little, Brown)
Luis J. Rodríguez, It Calls You Back: An Odyssey Through Love, Addiction, Revolutions, and Healing (Touchstone)
Deb Olin Unferth, Revolution: The Year I Fell in Love and Went to Join the War (Henry Holt)

Biography
* Mary Gabriel, Love and Capital: Karl and Jenny Marx and the Birth of the Revolution (Little, Brown)
John Lewis Gaddis, George F. Kennan: An American Life (Penguin Press)
Paul Hendrickson, Hemingway’s Boat: Everything He Loved in Life, and Lost, 1934-1961 (Knopf)
* Manning Marable, Malcolm X: A Life of Reinvention (Viking)
Ezra F. Vogel, Deng Xiaoping and the Transformation of China (Belknap Press: Harvard University Press)

Criticism
David Bellos, Is That a Fish in Your Ear?: Translation and the Meaning of Everything (Faber & Faber)
Geoff Dyer, Otherwise Known as the Human Condition: Selected Essays and Reviews (Graywolf)
Jonathan Lethem, The Ecstasy of Influence (Doubleday)
Dubravka Ugresic, Karaoke Culture (Open Letter)
Ellen Willis, Out of the Vinyl Deeps: Ellen Willis on Rock Music (University of Minnesota Press)

Poetry
Forrest Gander, Core Samples from the World (New Directions)
Aracelis Girmay, Kingdom Animalia (BOA Editions)
Laura Kasischke, Space, in Chains (Copper Canyon Press)
* Yusef Komunyakaa, The Chameleon Couch (Farrar, Straus, and Giroux)
* Bruce Smith, Devotions (University of Chicago Press)

Before the winners are announced March 8, I may review some, if not all, of the Fiction finalists and later tackle the winners in the other categories (provided that I haven’t already reviewed them).  These reviews will likely appear at Gogol’s Overcoat, with an overview post/review links here.

A nearly violence-free month of reading

A little over a month ago, I wrote a piece about what I saw as the problematic issue of graphic violence in certain fictions.  In it, I said this:

But despite the round-and-round nature of the often-derailed discussion, I think the core issue (or “core” to me at least, but then again, I was the one who initiated that discussion there) is the problematic issue of graphic violence in fiction.  I am not a pacifist; sometimes violence is a regrettably necessary last resort to aggressive violence.  But I have experienced enough over my professional career (which at times has involved me working directly with or teaching teens that have suffered emotional, physical, and mental traumas, including sexual abuse) to abhor graphic violence for the sake of “authenticity” in fiction (read “violence for violence’s sake).

It is strange to read comments arguing that violence has to be included in order for something to be “real;” especially odd when the works in question are epic fantasies.  Yes, yes, I can hear almost the thoughts of those who are thinking, “Hey!  But if the setting is a violent world, shouldn’t one reasonably expect there to be violence?”  This of course presumes that violence is somehow necessary in order for the story to be told, something that often is not the case (I doubt Patricia McKillip’s The Riddle-Master trilogy would be improved with gore, explicit swearing, and a rape or three thrown in to show how “dark,” “grim,” and “gritty” the setting is).

But let’s humor that train of thought that says in a violent world, violence must be shown.  How explicit should it be?  Should there be an unrelenting amount of violence described in detail, down to the downy ass hairs of those being raped in every possible orifice?  Most people would probably say no, that there are limits to the effectiveness of depicting such violent acts.  Yet “too much” is a blurred line. 

These are, of course, opinions I still hold over a month later.  Yet I thought it’d be interesting to look at what I’ve finished so far in January 2011 and what I am reading to see what acts of violence, if any, were depicted and the level of graphicness.  Here’s what I noticed so far:

1.  Graham Greene, The Power and the Glory.  There is an intensity to this tale set in southern Mexico in the 1930s during a period of anti-clerical repression that makes this tale seem more violent than what is depicted (there are very few deaths and none that are shown “on screen” here), yet the action seems to benefit from this not being spelled out.

2.  William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying.  Family chronicle that is a memorable read, yet no acts of violence occur here.

3.  Zora Neale Hurston, Jonah’s Gourd Vine.  Tale of an African-American minister in the early 20th century sinking under the weight of parishioner expectations and his infidelity.  No violence outside of spousal abuse very early in the novel, which the boy stops his mother’s paramour from harming her.

4.  E.M. Forster, Where Angels Fear to Tread.  Going to be writing about his works at length this month, so I’ll content myself with noting no violence in this novel.

5.  E.M. Forster, A Room With a View.  See above.

6.  Pietro Aretino, Sonetti lussuriosi.  Renaissance sonnets devoted to lust, particularly the poet’s preference to have anal sex with women.  No violence, however. (Italian)

7.  Anthero Tarquino de Quental, Os sonetos completos de Anthero de Quental.  More sonnets, but no anal sex depicted.  No violence, neither. (Portuguese)

8.  Graham Greene, The Quiet American.  Despite the backdrop of Vietnam in the mid-1950s as the French are pulling out and the Americans moving in, the tale has much more to do with intrigue, romantic and political alike, than anything truly violent.

9.  Augusto Monterroso, Cuentos.  His stories read more like fables.  Some acts of violence hinted at, but nothing described in detail. (Spanish)

10. Herta Müller, Tot el que tinc, ho duc al damunt.  Her 2009 novel about Romanian Germans being rounded up by the Soviets in the last year of the Soviet Union.  Devastating, with some acts of violence toward some of the characters, but nothing truly graphic. (read in Catalan translation, as it was the only one available in e-book form)

11.  Sohrab Sepehri, Water’s Footfall.  Bilingual (Persian and English) mystic poem.  Nothing violent.

12.  Sully Prudhomme, Les vaines tendresses.  Late 19th century poetry.  No violence. (French)

13.  Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God.  A few depictions of marital abuse, but nothing that is portrayed in explicit detail.

14.  Lawrence Durrell, The Alexandra Quartet.  Intrigue, but no real violence depicted.

15.  William Faulkner, Sanctuary.  The most violent story I’ve read this month.  A “fade to black” rape scene and a couple of murders that take place, with brief descriptions of the shootings.  Mob lynching at the end.

16.  Maurice Maeterlinck, Death.  Essay on death.   Nothing violent.

17.  Forugh Farrokhzad, Remembering the Flight:  Twenty Poems by Forugh Farrokhzad.  Passionate 20th century Persian poetry, in a bilingual edition.  No violence.

18.  Adonis, A Time Between Ashes and Roses.  Mid-to-late 20th century Arabic poetry published in a bilingual edition.  No violence outside of allusions to protests and wars.

19.  E.M. Forster, Howards End.  See above.

20.  Various, The Upanishads.  Ancient Hindu scriptures.  Not violent.

21.  E.M. Forster, A Passage to India.  See above.

22.  (In Progress)  Ben Marcus, The Flame Alphabet.  Children’s words physically afflict parents, but nothing graphic about this.

23.  (In Progress) Tomas Tranströmer, The Great Enigma:  New Collected Poems.  It’s poetry.  No violence.

24.  (In Progress) Giosuè Carducci, Rime Nuove.  Late 19th-early 20th century poetry.  No violence. (Italian)

These are mostly reads (with the exception of Faulkner and Hurston) that I only decided to read shortly before I finished reading them; no real premeditation on what I would read.  Seems I’m more in the mood for reading poetry, even odd, amorous poetry about the poet’s love of anal sex, than I am about reading anything truly violent, at least in the sense of the action being described in detail.  Just thought that was an interesting sidenote to last month’s discussion, so make of it what you will, I suppose.

Today is Squirrel Appreciation Day

Yes, once again it’s that most wonderful time of the year, where the most interesting, vicious, and voracious creatures on this planet get their own day of appreciation.  Be sure to take a moment (or hours) today, if you can, to watch your local squirrels in action (or see them battle snakes on YouTube).  And if you are blessed enough to have rabid Serbian reading squirrels (like I am), be sure to read plenty of squirrel-friendly material today, otherwise they might gnaw your crappy books into shreds.

More cover art to delight and fright you

Here are some books that I have bought or received over the past half-week. Some have excellent cover art, while others are trashy. Which ones do you like and which do you disdain?

The Persian edition of Sadegh Hedayat’s The Blind Owl and a bilingual Arabic/English edition of Adonis’ collection.

Two new books.  The first is an Edgar Rice Burroughs anthology and the other is Saladin Ahmed’s debut novel.

New Mark Hodder and a reprint by Tachyon of a 2009 de Lint novel.

Ben Marcus’ just released novel and a famous book by the 1951 Nobel Literature laureate.

Two French editions of Sartre and Molière.

There’s a couple of jokes can could be made here.  Make them.

ARC cover for the new Kress and a really crappy cover for Tolkien’s poem translations.

Very 70s to me.

Also a 70s cover, but uh…

Finally got my hands on a print edition of The Weird

Recognize the translator?

Reviews that you have missed if you have not followed me to Gogol’s Overcoat

As I said last month, not many reviews will be appearing here on The OF Blog in 2012 due to commitments elsewhere, namely Weird Fiction Review and Gogol’s Overcoat.  But for those of you unaware of what I have written review-wise for the first 18 days of this year, here are some bits for you to consider:

Weird Fiction Review:

Article on Augusto Monterroso

Article on Julio Cortázar (goes live sometime in the next 1-2 weeks; draft completed this morning)

Gogol’s Overcoat:

Faulkner Friday:  As I Lay Dying (1930)

Zora Neale Hurston, Jonah’s Gourd Vine (1934)

Faulkner Friday:  “A Rose for Emily” (1930)

1961 Nobel Finalists:  J.R.R. Tolkien

Zora Neale Hurston, Their Eyes Were Watching God (1937)

Scheduled for Review January 20-31:


20 – William Faulkner, Sanctuary (Gogol’s Overcoat)

22 – 1961 Nobel Finalists: E.M. Forster (Gogol’s Overcoat)

24 – Ben Marcus, The Flame Alphabet (Gogol’s Overcoat or OF Blog)

25 – Zora Neale Hurston, Mosses, Man of the Mountain (Gogol’s Overcoat)

27 – William Faulkner, “Barn Burning” (Gogol’s Overcoat)

28 – Draft due of article on Mercé Rodoreda (Weird Fiction Review)

29 – 1961 Nobel Finalists:  Robert Frost (Gogol’s Overcoat)

30 – Zora Neale Hurston, Seraph of the Suwanee (Gogol’s Overcoat)

31 – Saladin Ahmed, Throne of the Crescent Moon (OF Blog)

A couple of these might move up or down a few days (minus the Faulkner pieces, which will be set in stone for Fridays), but I think this ought to get some readers excited.  So if you want to read more review pieces by me, be sure to bookmark the sites above and to visit frequently (should note WFR is updated almost daily and my contributions are a very small part to that wonderful site).  Also, if you happen to like one of the reviews, feel free to leave a comment or to forward it onto others, as it’d be nice to have more word of mouth for Gogol’s Overcoat, new as it is and all.

In protest of ineffectual protests, I’m leaving the lights on

The older I get, the more cynical I’ve become about a few matters.  Much as I have disdain for the possible ramifications of the SOPA (Stop Online Privacy Act), this notion of “going dark” (or having a website “down” or not updating for a day) strikes me more as an ineffectual gesture than perhaps just simply calling for people to flood the phonelines, Facebook walls, Twitter accounts, and email inboxes of those local Representatives and Senators that have indicated possible support for the provisions in this proposed law that would damage more than foreign pirating websites.  Something tells me that 99.99% of those who are debating this bill will never be aware of even a Wikipedia “going dark,” so perhaps it might be better to just organize in a more effective way and just lobby the hell out of those wavering senators?

In the meantime, I’ll be working on two reviews, checking my email, and perhaps send an actual email in protest rather than posturing and pretending that’s such a great thing to do.  After all, the revolution won’t be televised…nor will it occur by having a few, minor symbolic protests that will not get the attention of those who decide these things.  Maybe it’d be best if you put actual money where your mouths are and donate to those lobbying against it?  After all, $5 will certainly be better than 0.00001% of the populace being aware that you “went dark” for a single day.

A few book/e-book statistics on my foreign language collections/libraries

I thought I would do an inventory of the non-English language books/e-books that I currently own (doing a similar thing for my English-language books would be pointless, since I trade in several dozen if not a hundred or more a month, so it’d be too fluid of a number).  I’m going to divide this into two parts, secular and religious, to account for where I shelve some of these books and the uses to which I may or may not put them.  The numbers were surprising.  The total numbers will be listed first, followed by e-book numbers, if applicable.  Not all of these have been read, mind you (some I just collect because I can), but here goes:

Secular:

438 Spanish (15 e-books)
141 French (19 e-books)
 65 German (3 e-books)
 41 Italian (10 e-books)
 35 Portuguese (7 e-books)
 31 Serbian
 11 Latin
  5 Russian
  3 Attic Greek
  4 Persian (3 bilingual poems, 1 volume of Hedayat’s writings)
  2 Romanian
  2 Catalan (1 e-book)
  1 Modern Greek
  1 Polish
  1 Hungarian
  1 Irish
  1 Norwegian (1 e-book)
  1 Arabic (bilingual poem)
___
781 secular books (56 e-books)

Religious:

2 Koine Greek (1 Septuagint, 1 New Testament)
2 Latin (1 Vulgate Old Testament (e-book), 1 Revised Vulgate New Testament)
3 Spanish (1 Protestant edition, 1 Catholic edition, 1 Prayer Book)
1 Haitian (Protestant)
1 Serbian (Protestant)
1 Croatian (1 Prayer/Songbook)
1 Gullah (New Testament)
1 Portuguese (New Testament)
1 Russian (New Testament)
1 Romanian (New Testament)
1 French (Protestant)
1 Czech (New Testament)
1 Turkish (New Testament)
1 German (New Testament)
1 Indonesian (New Testament)
1 Persian (Devotional guide)
_
20 religious books (1 e-book).  Most of these were printed by Protestant publishing houses that I found for a cheap price at a used book store or received as a gift (exceptions being the Greek and Latin copies and the noted Spanish edition, not to mention the two prayer/songbooks).

Almost forgot to add the various grammars, phrasebooks, bilingual dictionaries, and defining dictionaries (only 1 for Spanish, none for the others) that I own:

4 Attic Greek grammars
2 Koine Greek grammars (religious)
1 Modern Greek grammar/phrasebook
2 Latin grammars, 1 Latin phrasebook, 2 bilingual dictionaries
1 Persian grammar, 1 bilingual dictionary
1 Gujarati grammar
1 Hindu/Urdu phrasebook
3 Portuguese grammars, 2 bilingual dictionaries
2 Arabic grammars
2 Italian grammars, 2 bilingual dictionaries
1 Irish grammar
1 Swahili grammar
1 Basque grammar
2 Chinese grammars
1 Hungarian dictionary
1 Welsh grammar
3 Serbian/Croatian/Bosnian grammars, 1 dictionary
1 Thai phrasebook
2 Romanian grammars, 1 dictionary
1 Haitian grammar
2 Russian grammars, 1 dictionary
1 German grammar, 2 dictionaries
1 Quechua grammar
1 Finnish grammar
-
38 total

Combined with an estimated 1400-1500 English-language works that I still remain, it seems foreign languages are occupying more and more of my libraries, secular and religious alike.  Not too bad.  Now if only I could be as fluent in all of them as I am with English or even Spanish.

1/19/12 Update:

Changed the totals to reflect 1 Spanish, 2 French, 1 Arabic, and 1 Persian secular books and 1 Persian religious book that I’ve purchased over the past three days and now have in my possession.

So there’s raging butthurt on the intarwebs this weekend!

I see that Liz Bourke’s review of Michael J. Sullivan’s Theft of Swords has stirred quite a ruckus on Strange Horizons, with around 50 comments the last time I checked.  Such things fascinate me, similar to how I used to watch a candle glow and the molten wax carve channels; I just can’t look away, even if I have seen it hundreds of times before.

So Bourke writes a strongly opinionated piece that skewers Sullivan’s reprinted (and formerly self-published) first two novels.  She uses hyperbolic language to create a heightened sense of her disapproval of this epic fantasy’s structure, before going on to lay out the reasons why she thinks the work is crappy.  Attention is drawn from the beginning, but yet not to the detriment of her actual argument that the story is clichéd, the writing is uneven to atrocious (with quotes provided as evidence of these assertions), with questionable plot logic and characterizations.  Nothing out of the ordinary, considering that this format has a long and storied tradition in Anglo-American reviewing (see some of Edmund Wilson or H.L. Mencken’s negative reviews, for example) and that Strange Horizon has a long tradition of encouraging its reviewers to be as forceful and strong with their opinions as the review merits.

So what’s the fuss, you wonder?  Well, from what I’ve seen, there were several people tweeting and retweeting links to the review.  Several of these people had either read Sullivan’s works before and either did not agree with the substance of the review or they took exception to the manner of presentation.  It always fascinates me to see which types of reviews draw the most responses.  Almost without fail, those reviews are of romance novels, paranormal romances, so-called “urban fantasies,” and epic fantasies.  None of these literary genres occupy a privileged position; several critics take a rather dim view of works whose main defining traits are their ability to mimic the tone, structure, characterization, theme, and even prose of other works. 

When asked to describe why these works are liked by them despite others having misgivings about the quality of the prose, narrative, themes, or characterizations, frequently there will be variations on the apologia that the work was “light,” that it was a “real page-turner,” or that it was “fun.”  What isn’t really said here is that those words do not define any real characteristics of the book at hand as it tries to place that book in context to other, similar works whose main trait is that their supporters tend to be inarticulate in their praise of works that others find to be weary, derivative, and on occasion stultifying works. 

If we drop the above-mentioned “light,” “page-turner,” and “fun” from the critical examination/defense of the review in question, what is left is an almost inchoate babble that the reviewer is “too forceful” with her opinions, that since she is studying to be a classics historian that she is “not qualified” to discuss these works, that the piece is “an attack piece” or “hatchet job,” and so on ad nauseam.  What is not found is an actual substantive defense of Sullivan’s work, despite the requests from a few for those commentators who have read his novels to elaborate on their disagreement with the argument itself (rather than the tone and thrust of the argument, which many there have settled for doing), but instead an obfuscation of what could be an excellent opportunity to make a cogent counterpoint(s).

Many know that I have an ambiguous stance in regards to epic fantasies.  As a narrative form, it does have the potential to say certain things about how we view the world, particularly in a metaphysical way, yet too often there is this perception that writers don’t go far enough, either in their development of the narrative themes or in the mechanics of the narrative (prose, characterization).  It would be nice to see those who love this form to dare be articulate about why this form is worth reading, for when they use near-meaningless platitudes (“fun,” “light reading,” etc.) without placing them in a better context, the more positive part of their counterarguments sounds more like a sulking child saying “No, it’s not!” without ever demonstrating an ability to cast their preferred reading in a positive light.

And then there are the ad hominems and tone arguments.  Bourke has caught some flak for not being invested in the area, as if she (and by extension, Strange Horizons) were somehow aiming to take down epic fantasy releases by not showering them all with hugs and rainbows.  I suspect those making such comments are not regular readers of the site’s reviews section, which has covered several epic fantasies more favorably than some (myself included) would have done.  Yet there’s a nasty undertone to a few of the comments:  Bourke is not qualified because of her other interests (as if reading Chaucer means one cannot appreciate a well-told epic fantasy – that was one of my favorite dumb comments to read in quite some time) or, as could be darkly hinted in a couple of responses, because she is a woman.

Sure, that might not be directly stated as such, but if one were to parse what some said carefully, there is this sense that the “sweetheart” and “dollface” comments from a now-banned commentator are meant to denigrate her views and to dismiss what she had to say because she is a woman.  Although that was the strongest and most extreme example, one cannot help but wonder if some of these comments attacking the reviewer (while failing to provide plausible counters to the review itself) are signs of something else.  Maybe, maybe not, but that niggling doubt is now there for me at least.

As I said above, the responses have largely devolved to an inchoate mess.  I see only a little discussion of the narrative itself and that on the whole seems involved tortured logic to explain away Bourke’s criticism of the prose and the female characters.  If only the comments were limited to even this rudimentary discussion, then perhaps there wouldn’t be such an uproar.  But when the main issues seem to revolve around the tone of Bourke’s review and whether or not she (and by extension, Strange Horizons) is qualified to post negative reviews of epic fantasy, with the ancillary concern that some of these comments are motivated by problematic concerns, it is hard for me to fail to conclude that this entire issue is a matter of what some might eruditely call “raging butthurt on the intarwebs.”

Ballantine Adult Fantasy covers, Part II

And here’s part II. Hope these cover art images do not scar you for life.

Trippy.  It’s like a slinky man inside of the woman while a butterfly and a unicorn are inside of another.

I’ve always wondered why giant birds prefer virginal women.  Can someone explain this to me?

I think someone was on acid when designing that attire for that woman in the corner.  Oh, and there’s a definite bird fetish going on in these covers.

It’s a stairway to heaven and I think the spider is taking it.  The wizard can’t seem to decide between the sea serpent and the ship.

Goes to show that the misappropriation of non-Western motifs can be a very, very, very bad idea.  Almost as bad as the butterfly dude on the second cover.

Giant cobra temple/queen or flame-breathing swan:  can’t decide which is more frightening to contemplate.

Didn’t know horses like to eat peacock shrubs.  Or maybe those are just the dude to the right on the first cover’s camouflaged brethren?

Oily sea serpents and fish with wings…okay, was LSD really that good back in the 60s and early 70s?

Yes, next time you want crab meat, remember that they too are the spawn of Cthulhu.

There’s a battle raging, but what the hell is up with the hog?